Albert Fuller's Rendezvous Lounge

Albert Fuller and Hugues Cuenod

2010-12-08T02:39:00.000-05:00

The legendary Swiss tenor Hugues Cuenod died on Friday (Dec. 3rd). I've posted a reminiscence on my blog, but wanted to add some photos of Albert and Huguie here, as well as some words about Huguie by Albert. The photos are either from Huguie's archive, or pictures I took when Albert and I visited Huguie in Morges in 2002 - the Cuenod centenary. Words are from the Translator's Note of Hugues Cuenod with an Agile Voice: Conversations with Francois Hudry, which Albert translated from the French in 1999.

But first these words about Albert by Huguie, in the fifth of the conversations with Hudry:

The harpsichordist Albert Fuller...is one of my best friends. He is the most French of Americans. He knows Rameau and Lully at the ends of his fingers and lives his life constantly in the culture and the spirit of France. He used to load his harpsichord in a large station wagon and we crossed the country giving numerous concerts in many little and some large American cities. He is a very funny friend with whom I've enjoyed many amusing hours.

(AF) I first heard the riveting voice of Hugues Cuenod in New York in 1945; it was borne to my ear by the 1938 Parisian recording of Francois Couperin's Troisieme Lecon de Tenebres of 1714; it was also my introduction to the vocal works of Couperin. That combination of voice and composer remains to this day one of the unique pinnacles of my experience as a musician. The enduring power of Jeremiah's ancient, finger-wagging words, combined with the communicative musical power of Grand Siecle French classicism, was shocking in the extreme, perhaps especially because the entire experience opened a new door of expression, one I never knew existed.

As a graduate student at Yale in the early 1950s, I purchased Cuenod's Westminster recording of all three of Couperin's magnificent Lecons. These performances...bowled me over once again by their uncanny intensity. And then, Cuenod's bio on the jacket contained a striking sentence of hitherto unconsidered thought, at least by me. It read "Mr. Cuenod explains his artistic goal in these words: 'Though I earn my living by music I am not a professional who thinks primarily of business. I prefer the Epicurean way, to choose what is most interesting and musically rewarding.'" [Italics AF]

Well--this particular, and very personal idea so touched me that I began to understand how it resonated with my own still-green, graduate-student heart. Yet, I hadn't the slightest notion of how to realize such an ambition, or of even quite comprehending what his words had meant. As each of our lives represents in its own way a straight line, beginning with hindsight, it seems clear that the lines of Cuenod's and my life should one day intersect, at least professionally.

When that happened, it was also clear that we were to become friends, and later, when we toured together as a duo, it was even clearer that our spirits meshed when we were most vulnerable as artists, that is, when we performed together in public. Neither of us did anything the same way twice. Since my part of our performances was all improvised, I could mirror the smallest new ideas that his performance would suggest to me. On the other hand, he, hearing everything I did, was always receptive to the new hints of interpretation that my accompaniments might suggest. Performing thus with him before our various publics resulted in the greatest musical fun, and transports de joie I ever experienced; my memory of that is as strong today as ever.

Albert at Huguie's 100th birthday party, Theatre de Vevey, June 2002

EMA laureate Stan Ritchie's remarks on Albert Fuller

2009-08-25T15:41:00.006-04:00

Stan Ritchie

Anthony Martin writes:

Dear Paul,

I read with interest the acceptance speech of Stan Ritchie for an award from EMA and thought part of it (actually, much of it) should be on your AF blog.

Keep me posted!

apm

Stanley Ritchie received the Howard Mayer Brown Award for lifetime achievement in the field of early music at the EMA Annual Meeting in Boston on June 12, 2009. Mr. Ritchie, a pioneer in the early music field in America, has been a professor at Indiana University since 1982.

Stan Ritchie's acceptance speech:
I’m deeply honoured to be standing before you today as recipient of the Howard Mayer Brown Award and grateful to the Early Music America board of directors for having chosen me. I’m told that Howard’s last words, when stricken by a fatal heart attack, were “Don’t worry – this always happens!” Well, this doesn’t always happen to me! Indeed, this is the first time anything like this has ever happened, and so, when I received the call from Ron Cook informing me of the EMA board’s decision I was stunned.

I also feel humbled because I’m really sharing this honour with the hundreds of young people whom I have taught at Indiana University, the many colleagues in the world of Early Music with whom I have been associated in the past four decades, and two very special people who changed the course of my life. I have learned so much from all of these people, and in accepting this award I am their representative.

The two people to whom must pay tribute today are, in inverse chronological order, Thomas Binkley and Albert Fuller, both of them visionary leaders in the world of Early Music. When Tom Binkley wrote to Elisabeth Wright and me in 1982 to ask if we’d like to join the fledgling Early Music faculty at Indiana University, I remember him saying, “If it can happen anywhere in this country, it will be at IU.” Remarkable visionary and shrewd politician that he was, Tom overcame numerous bureaucratic obstacles to create the Early Music Institute, and our membership in its faculty for the past twenty-seven years has enabled us to work with gifted and talented students, many of whom are now among America’s foremost Early Music performers.

(Parenthetically, Elisabeth and I often reflect wryly on how successful we’ve been at creating our own competition!)

It can often happen that an innocent question is the cause of a significant turning point in one’s life. In the 1970-71 season, after escaping from the Metropolitan Opera, I joined The New York Chamber Soloists, a modern-instrument ensemble, whose harpsichordist was Albert Fuller. One day I mentioned to Albert that I’d like to learn more about Baroque music, and asked him if we could get together sometime and read some sonatas. No New York freelance violinist had ever said such a thing to Albert and he grabbed me and said, “When?” During our first reading session he said, “You know what they’re doing in Europe now?” I said, “What are they doing?” He said, “They’re tuning their instruments down a half-step and using gut strings and old bows.” I said, “Why on earth would they want to do a thing like that?” And he said, “Well, why don’t you try tuning down and find out?” Naturally, tuning a modern, steel-strung violin down half a tone does not produce the most convincing result, but neither did a recording of Leonhardt and the Kuijken brothers playing Rameau! Mine was a typical modern violinist’s reaction: I said, “That doesn’t sound like a violin! It’s like some sort of viol!” However, Albert was a very persuasive man, and soon I had had an old Tyrolean violin reconverted to Baroque specifications and a copy made of an old bow and was on my way to becoming a Baroque fiddler.

Albert Fuller was a remarkable man: an excellent keyboard player, a dedicated humanist, a fascinating raconteur and a gifted teacher. One of the aspects of his teaching that inspires me is something he frequently alluded to – he would refer to his teaching as “sharing”. For those of us who were privileged to work with him there was never a sense of being talked down to, or criticized for one’s shortcomings, but that he was sharing his ideas and experience and that he was encouraging us to be ourselves. I try to emulate him in these respects, and he remains my mentor.

The late cellist and gambist, Fortunato (Freddy) Arico, and I teamed up with Albert and started playing concerts in the New York area. Once in the summer of 1972 we played for an elite audience in western Massachusetts on a property named Aston Magna. That evening the idea of having a Baroque music workshop on the property was proposed, and the following summer Aston Magna, the workshop, festival and, subsequently, academy was launched.

In a very real sense, we, together with other members of the original Aston Magna family such as Ray Ericson, Steve Hammer, Bernie Krainis, Judy Linsenberg, Anthony Martin, David Miller, Loretta O’Sullivan, Ed Parmentier, Linda Quan, Jim Richman, Marc Schachman, John Solum, Mike Willens and Nancy Wilson, and others across the country such as the Caldwells and their colleagues in Oberlin, Malcolm Bilson, Sonya Monosoff and John Hsu at Cornell, Jim Weaver at the Smithsonian, Alan Curtis and Laurette Goldberg in California, were “pioneers” in the new field of Early Music in this country. The OED definition of pioneers is “foot soldiers”, specifically those whose job it is to go ahead of the main body of troops to dig trenches and erect fortifications, etc. We - pioneers all - motivated solely by curiosity about early versions of our instruments and by dissatisfaction with traditional approaches to Baroque music (since there was at the time no money to be made in this country playing the way we did!) following in the footsteps of an earlier generation, broke new ground and paved the way for the army that has followed.

Inasmuch as this is a Handel year, I would point out that, in a way, BEMF and our being here together this afternoon, four decades after the birth of the Early Music movement in America as we know it, symbolize Il trionfo del Tempo e del Disinganno, which means literally “the triumph of time and disillusionment”. What we in America, and others throughout the world, have managed to achieve in the past forty years is a reshaping of musical taste that has resonated throughout our profession. Back in the seventies, those wonderful, exciting early years of our at times tentative, and yet always enthusiastic exploration of the world of Historically Informed Performance, and the bad old days of New York Times music reviews, one of their critics snidely predicted, “This, too, shall pass.” Well, was he ever wrong! Whoever it was who said that must be so disillusioned! Forty years later we’re still here, we’re here to stay and we’re triumphant. This shall never pass!

Thank you, EMA, for the honour you have conferred upon me today. This is a very special moment, and this period in my life is very special for another reason as well – not two weeks ago I became a grandfather for the first time! But besides that, now that some of my ex- students are also teaching, I‘m a musical grandfather as well! And I’m very proud to be both.

The Legendary First Aston Magna Group Photo

2009-06-08T10:56:00.006-04:00

Aston Magna, June 1973 (click pic for larger image)

Courtesy of Anthony Martin, who writes:

Dear Paul, this might be worthy of posting, so that we can get corrective ID’s on the folks I have misremembered or misrepresented. This is from June 1973 after the two-week debauch that was the beginning of Aston Magna. Missing from the photo, among others, Michael McCraw.

[Editor's note: if you have an ID correction, please email me at paulfesta at gmail dot com and I'll update this post.]

Seated in front, left to right:
Deborah Robin
Frances Fitch
Ross Keiser
Mary Wyly
Jane McMahan

Next row, standing:
Nina Stern
James Wyly
(?)

Ray Erickson
David Behnke
Hannah Rose
Paula Stone
Judy Linsenberg
Anne Hornbostel
(?)
Jane Eston
Randee Berman

Next row, standing
Anthony Martin
Stanley Ritchie
Jay Bernfeld
Leland Tolo
Jaap Schroeder
Albert Fuller
Bernard Krainis
Robert Dunbar

Standing in doorway:
Edward Parmentier
Emily Romney
John Metz

The young Albert Fuller in the Washington National Cathedral

2008-12-03T21:13:00.010-05:00

Albert Fuller as the angel with flaming feet in John de Rosen's mural

in the Washington National Cathedral's Chapel of St. Joseph of Arimathea:

"The Entombment of Christ" (photo credit: Moon)

Oct. 31 brought the Washington, DC premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church, the Messiaen film of which Albert is both star and muse. The following day, I played, with pianist Jerome Lowenthal, the DC premiere of Messiaen's newly published violin and piano Fantaisie along with the other two Messiaen violin pieces - and since all three are short, Jerry and I filled out our hour in the Coolidge Auditorium with ten minutes of his giving a kind of Peter and the Wolf lecture-performance of "The Loriod" from the Bird Catalogue, and my reading from my book based on the film (thus also starring Albert) OH MY GOD: Messiaen in the Ear of the Unbeliever.

Because I played the recital on a Library of Congress violin (the "Betts" Stradivarius), I needed to be in DC a few days before the concert to get to know the instrument. I had enough spare time to tour around the city with friends who live there, and the three of us spent one afternoon at the Washington National Cathedral. That's where Albert was a boy soprano and discovered the organ, his "first instrument," within whose swell box he would have, as a young boy, the formative erotic experience he describes so gracefully both in the movie and in his memoir Alice Tully: An Intimate Portrait. The Bishop's Garden of the cathedral is where Albert's ashes are scattered, and so my visit was more of a religious experience than I usually associate with going to church.

What I'd forgotten about until we got to the cathedral was the presence there of a mural Albert modeled for when he was in high school. Described on page 48 of OH MY GOD, the mural is called "The Entombment of Christ" and features an angel with flaming feet, for whom Albert was the 16 year-old model (an irony he later noted, given his struggle with peripheral neuropathy). The library had sent me xerox images of the mural, but my friend Moon took the above picture, which gives a much better idea of the work.

Also wonderful to see St. Alban's School, the setting of so many Albert stories, and the Church of the Ascension and St. Agnes, where Albert got fired from his last organ job for playing "oriental and barbaric music" during a service (Bach's chorale prelude "Oh man, now weep for thy great sin").

Albert Fuller in the Washington National Cathedral

2008-09-23T16:00:00.005-04:00

The executors of Albert's estate generously gave me Albert's framed program from his 1950 organ recital in the Washington National Cathedral, in which he gave one of the very first US performances of Messiaen's Ascension Suite. Below find an image of that program, preceded (above this text and below it) by some illustrated background from the just completed second edition of my book OH MY GOD: Messiaen in the Ear of the Unbeliever, which is based on my film Apparition of the Eternal Church, of which Albert is both star and muse.

As usual, remember to click on these images to get a larger and more legible version. Also, the director's commentary at the bottom of page 39, above, continues onto page 40, which isn't included in this blog post. Last, if you're in Dallas, Chicago, Sackville (New Brunswick), Austin, Concord, Washington D.C., Phoenix or London, check this page for screenings between now and the December 10th Messiaen centenary.

Albert's movie at Library of Congress, the Barbican and beyond

2008-08-30T23:55:00.007-04:00

Albert onscreen in New York, accompanied by Bill Trafka at the organ, at St. Bartholomew's Church in February

Apparition of the Eternal Church, the Messiaen film of which Albert is both muse and star, will screen throughout the U.S and twice in Europe between now and what would have been Messiaen's 100th birthday, on December 10th. I'll be attending most of these shows, so if you catch one please be sure to introduce yourself - one of the best things about touring with this film has been meeting other friends and former students of Albert's.

I'm especially excited about this tour because it will take the film to Washington, D.C. That's where Albert gave his early Messiaen premieres in 1950, at the National Cathedral, and it was in the National Cathedral that he had the formative musical and erotic experiences that contribute so vividly both to the film and to his Alice Tully book. I was grateful Albert lived to see the film's New York premiere at St. Bart's in November 2006, but boy do I wish he could have seen it screen at the Library of Congress. Hot shit on toast, honey. That's really wild.

Friday, September 5, 2008, 9 p.m.
Rome premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church
Rome International Film Festival (one of the finest emerging film festivals in the southeastern United States)
The Clocktower, 2 Government Plaza
Rome, GA
$7.50 general admission
NB - I will not be attending this screening

Friday, September 26, 2008, time TBA
Norway premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church
With live organ accompaniment
Cinemateket Trondheim
Vår Frue Kirke (The Church of Our Lady)
Free admission

Friday, September 26, 2008, 1 - 3 p.m.
Texas premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church, with Q&A/reading/remarks
Southern Methodist University symposium "Olivier Messiaen: The Musician as Theologian"
Smith Auditorium, Meadows Museum, 5900 Bishop Blvd.
Dallas
$15 general admission or $5 for students (contact linhn@smu.edu or 214-768-3515 for more information)

October (dates, times and admission TBA)
Loyola University Museum of Art
820 North Michigan Avenue
Chicago

Monday, October 4, 2008, 11:15 a.m.
Illinois premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church, with Q&A
University of Chicago Presents 2008 Messiaen Festival
The Franke Institute for the Humanities
1100 East 57th Street, JRL S-102
Chicago
Free admission

Friday, October 8, 2008, 7 p.m.
Screening of Apparition of the Eternal Church
With live organ accompaniment, Q&A/reading/remarks
Saint James Cathedral
Wabash and Huron
Chicago
Free admission

Monday, October 20, 2008, time TBA
Austin premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church, Q&A/reading/remarks
Texas premiere of Messiaen's Fantaisie for violin and piano (pianist TBA)
University of Texas at Austin
Venue and admission TBA
Friday, October 31, 2008, 8 p.m.
Washington, D.C., premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church
Library of Congress
Mary Pickford Theater
James Madison Building, 3rd floor
Independence Ave SE, between 1st & 2nd Streets
Free admission; reservations required

NB: (from the LOC website) RESERVATIONS may be made by phone, beginning one week before any given show. Call (202) 707-5677 during business hours (Monday-Friday, 9:00 am to 4:00 pm). Reserved seats must be claimed at least 10 minutes before showtime, after which standbys will be admitted to unclaimed seats. All programs are free, but seating is limited to 60 seats.
Saturday, November 1, 2008, 6 p.m.
Washington, D.C., premiere of Messiaen's Fantaisie for violin and piano, with Jerome Lowenthal, piano
Remarks about the Fantaisie, Messiaen, and Apparition of the Eternal Church; reading from OH MY GOD: Messiaen in the Ear of the Unbeliever
Fantaisie performed on a violin from the Collections of Musical Instruments
Library of Congress
The Coolidge Auditorium
10 1st St, SE
Washington, DC
Free admission

Monday, November 10, 2008, 7:30 p.m.
Arizona premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church
Beyond Messiaen
Arizona State University
Frank Lloyd Wright's Grady Gammage Memorial Auditorium
1200 S Forest Ave
Tempe, Arizona
Free admission

Monday, December 8, 2008, 5:45 p.m.
U.K. premiere of Apparition of the Eternal Church
In conjunction with the Barbican Centre's 7:30 p.m. BBC Symphony Orchestra concert featuring Messiaen's rarely performed Un sourire
The Barbican Centre
Cinema Three
Silk Street
London
NB: My appearance at this appearance is uncertain.

Aston Magna tribute to AF

2008-08-24T12:47:00.003-04:00

Aston Magna, the music festival in the Berkshires that Albert founded, posted this tribute to him along with the photograph above (with Jaap Schroeder, Fortunato Arico, and Stanley Ritchie).

Trombones in Dido and Aeneas? Remembering Albert Fuller - a reminiscence by Larry Palmer

2008-07-23T18:33:00.005-04:00

Larry Palmer (photo credit: Southern Methodist University)

Trombones in Dido and Aeneas? Remembering Albert Fuller
The September 22, 2007 death of Albert Fuller brought back warm memories of several visits the fine American harpsichordist and educator made to Dallas. Perhaps the most memorable, amusing, and culinarily satisfying one occurred during the rehearsal period for the Dallas Opera’s production of Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas in 1972. Although I had recently played harpsichord continuo for a Dido performance in Norfolk, the Opera in those days disdained local artists if they could import someone at great expense from Milan or New York. The management did, however, deign to rent my Dowd harpsichord since neither Opera nor Symphony owned such an “off-beat” instrument.

Albert had called me from New York to ask “why [the hell] they would bother to fly him such a distance when I was already there?” but I assured him that the discrimination was general, not personal, and that he should just enjoy the production (which turned out to be costumed in futuristic, space-age costumes), and charge them a high fee.

One evening Albert arrived at the Fair Park opera theater to tune the harpsichord, but became alarmed when two trombonists entered the pit and began warming up. Perhaps, he thought, the scoring has been altered to match the costumes? But when a tuba player joined in he decided it was time to ask the musicians what was going on.

The brass players informed him that it was not Dido that was to be rehearsed that evening, but its companion work, Leoncavallo’s I Pagliacci (nearly as strange a coupling as the costumes and staging). Albert was quite incensed that the management had changed the rehearsal schedule without informing him, thus resulting in his flying (first class) from New York when he would not be needed.

I received a telephone call relating this sequence of events, concluding with “Well, I’m here, so before I fly back home let’s have dinner at the best restaurant in Dallas – and charge it to the Opera!”

I had dined only once previously at The Old Warsaw, then considered one of the finest culinary experiences available in the city, so that’s where we had our leisurely and memorable meal. I don’t know if this was a prime example of “turning annoyance into pleasure” or simply the best way to ignore a scheduling snafu, but it was certainly a civilized way to deal with the matter, and remembering it reminds of a happy conversation with a distinguished fellow musician. Ave Albert, et vale.

Comments welcome. Please address them to Dr. Larry Palmer, Division of Music, Southern Methodist University, Dallas, TX 75275
lpalmer@smu.edu

Originally published in The Diapason (Chicago), February 2008

Albert Fuller photos by Paul Festa

2008-07-09T00:06:00.007-04:00

Rummaging through old hard drives, I came across these photographs of Albert and friends:

In June, 2002, Albert and I were in Switzerland at Hugues Cuenod's summer chateau for his 100th birthday. I took a slew of pictures of him and Huguie and these are probably the best. We were on Huguie's lawn behind the chateau and Albert was reading Huguie something - what I don't remember.

Actually, I didn't take this photo - it was taken by my friend Anthony Lazarus over drinks at the bar I set up in my apartment - the Bar Nothing - which was modeled on Albert's Positive Bar. In the background is the portrait of me by Frank Yamrus, which would subliminally inspire the film I would later make starring Albert.

This picture was taken at Nick & Tony's, the restaurant down the block from Albert's place on 67th Street where he ate dinner more often than not in his last years. Albert and I had gone there for a bite after a few hours at the Positive Bar, and when we were finishing up, in walked friends. From left to right, above Albert: Paul Festa, Lowell Liebermann, Bobby White.

When my film Apparition of the Eternal Church screened in New York in February, Bill Trafka accompanied it live on the organ. The credits are set to Messiaen's Banquet Celeste, and the final chord sounds on this slow-motion clip of Albert at the moment he remembers the name of the work he's been listening to (Apparition de L'Eglise Eternelle). I got this shot of Albert and Bill during the dress rehearsal.

Albert Fuller's movie in Orchestra Hall, Minneapolis

2008-06-24T14:31:00.004-04:00

Albert Fuller in Paul Festa's award-winning and internationally acclaimed Messiaen film

Apparition of the Eternal Church

Tonight, Tuesday June 24, the American Guild of Organists will present Apparition of the Eternal Church - the film of which Albert is both star and muse - in Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis. The picture above is from this morning's sound check, with the Ondes Martenon players setting up below the screen for tonight's 8 p.m. Messiaen centenary tribute concert. The film, which is open to the public free of charge, starts after the concert, probably around 9:30 or a little later.

Tribute by harpsichordist Skip Sempé

2008-06-21T02:54:00.004-04:00

Skip Sempé

Pull Out for Handle – Push In for Mozart
Albert Fuller (1926 - 2007)

At the end of the day, and that day is sadly over, Albert Fuller was quite probably the essential American of the Baroque and Classical period instrument / repertoire movement. He died (as he lived) with dignity, at 81, in September 2007, at his New York residence - a home famous for both the music making and the social events which Albert hosted there for decades.

The New York Times obituary referred to Albert as a “Conductor”. Perhaps that is today’s idea of glamor and respectability. But, let’s remember that being a Conductor is a more or less effortless task next to being a Harpsichordist. The “distinction” from the New York Times is indeed a doubtful honor: Conductors are dime-a-dozen, but Harpsichordists are not. And, Albert Fuller was a harpsichordist, in the tradition of Landowska and Kirkpatrick.

I met him on Thursday, December 2, 1971, when I was living in New Orleans. He played a solo harpsichord recital on his William Dowd Boston (one of several that he owned over the years). The instrument flew, via air freight, with Albert for concerts all over the United States, and sometimes even to Europe. When I saw it being loaded back into the packing crate, I noticed a label on the side of the crate, which read “Pull Out for Handle”, next to which someone had hand written “Push In for Mozart”.

For this recital, Albert played Rameau, Couperin and Scarlatti. The result was that I decided that if I worked hard enough, I might one day be able to play those pieces with as much flair as he. Albert left a trace of all three of these composers on recordings: Rameau for Cambridge, Nonesuch, and Reference; Couperin for Nonesuch; Scarlatti for Cambridge and Reference. The Reference titles are currently available on CDs: there is also a Bach CD for Reference, which is not to be missed. If you have not heard these recordings, get a hold of each of them, have a good listen, and hear what was happening in America in the 1960s and 70s - the time when there was “only” Gustav Leonhardt, in Europe.

Albert taught and inspired many. His famous one-liner, “Fantasy precedes fact” particularly attracted those who did need to pose questions on this enlarged but real artistic concept.

Albert loved music and he loved his friends, and he did a remarkable job with both.

Albert engaged Jaap Schroeder to teach everyone in the United States what a Baroque violin and a Baroque bow were, and how to hold them. Not bad for a harpsichord player… The Aston Magna Academies, founded by Albert, were crucially important for the development of Baroque instrumental playing in the United States. Each and every “Baroque” instrumentalist, regardless of generation, who lives in the US and who plays on a Baroque or Classical instrument owes their livelihood to Albert Fuller. Believe me: I have a long and vibrant memory, and I well remember that Albert is the one who created the demand and the work for everyone in the US.

Albert was an outstanding example of the model of individual “no longer made” in America. He was an adventurous and courageous pioneer who went out on a limb because he knew that he was right. His reflections and interpretations were based on critical discernment, information and instinct, not on pedantry or political correctness. He used an incredible brain, he worked, and he was uniquely generous to his students, who treasured him as an “alternative” presence in their learning process.

Tribute by Classical Guitarist, Kevin Gallagher

2008-03-03T18:31:00.002-05:00

I met Mr. Fuller when I took his class on performance practice in 1992. Tyically, one would think a Juilliard class such as this would be centered around "what kind of trills to execute" and "which editions of Bach's works are the most authentic". However, I'm happy to report that his class had very little to do with any of that.

His lectures reminded us how magical the invisible world of music really is and how fortunate we are to study it. He encouraged us to use our imagination, to question authorities, and to create our own rules and lives. He wanted us to understand that the master composers were not just statues and chapters in music history books. They felt what we felt - they were warmed by the same sun, breathed the same air, walked on the same earth. They felt love and lust, joy and sorrow, victory and defeat. We are all one.

I was so taken by his lectures that I signed up for private chamber music coachings with him - and he let me take them as a solo guitarist. One day I played a Bach Largo for him in a rather dry manner. He stopped me half way through and simply said "think hand mic" and then sang the melody freely as a jazz singer would - pretending to hold a microphone in his hand. It might sound humorous, but I tell you that this one lesson changed my entire perspective on music.

Albert wanted us to think outside the box - and to realize that the box was put there by someone else. I'm very grateful to have known this man for even a little bit of time. May he be joyous.

Here is Kevin's blog.

Potential Buyers Serenaded

2008-03-01T08:11:00.006-05:00

From the "Big Deal" column in THE NEW YORK TIMES by JOSH BARBANEL

Published: February 17, 2008

You never know what a broker is going to find when showing a Manhattan apartment.

Sharon E. Baum of the Corcoran Group came across the unexpected when she opened the door of an apartment at 27 West 67th Street, owned by the estate of Albert Fuller, a harpsichordist and influential figure in the revival of early instrumental music. The co-op was as a haven for artists at the turn of the 20th century.

Ms. Baum and her client were greeted not by dirty laundry or even sweet-smelling cider bubbling on the stove, but by the strains of a work by Heinrich von Biber, a 17th-century composer, played on a Baroque-style violin with gut rather than steel strings by Colin Jacobsen, accompanied by a lute, harpsichord and cello.

Mr. Fuller’s apartment, a five-room duplex with a double-height living room and a barrel-vaulted 17-foot ceiling, had been used for decades as a musical salon and performance space, and while it was on the market, it was still being used for rehearsals.

Mr. Fuller died last September at the age of 81.

Since the first showing, Ms. Baum and James Roe, the executor of the estate and artistic director of the Helicon Foundation, which was founded by Mr. Fuller in the 1980s to support the early instrument movement, have been coordinating schedules. Now, musicians play when many potential buyers walk through.

“The kind of people who look at an apartment like this want to be near Lincoln Center and Juilliard,” Ms. Baum said. “Everyone who walks in doesn’t want to leave; they want to stay.”

The apartment, owned by Mr. Fuller since the 1970s, is decorated in an exuberant style. “The residence retains many prewar details awaiting restoration to their original glory,” Ms. Baum wrote in the listing.

Mr. Roe said that the foundation was supported in its early years by gifts from Alice Tully, a soprano and philanthropist, who died in 1993. Now, he said, a part of the proceeds of the sale will go to the foundation.

Albert's movie returns to New York - Weds, Feb. 27

2008-02-25T04:44:00.002-05:00

AF making a big impression on his audience in Mobile, AL

Apparition of the Eternal Church, the critically acclaimed and award-winning film of which Albert Fuller is the muse and star, returns to New York for one night only:

Wednesday, 27 February 2008, 7:30 p.m.
St. Bartholomew's Church, Park & 51st

This will be the first screening of the film with live organ accompaniment. It will include more live performances including the New York premiere of Messiaen's Fantaisie for violin and piano, and the launch of my book OH MY GOD: Messiaen in the Ear of the Unbeliever. The book is based on the movie and as such stars Albert as well. After the screening, premiere and reading, join us for an open-bar reception in the sanctuary.

More about the movie, including trailer, press coverage, and full cast list here, and more about the book, including ordering information for the limited first edition, here.

AF onstage at St. Bartholomew's Church

2007-12-30T23:01:00.000-05:00

On November 9th, 2006, Rooftop Films, the Premiere Commission and Great Music at St. Bartholomew's Church gave the New York premiere screening of Apparition of the Eternal Church, my film about people's responses to the music of Messiaen of which Albert is both muse and star. After the film, Bill Trafka played the organ, and after that Albert, the rest of the cast and I took questions. I just discovered these pictures on the Premiere Commission Website, which Bruce Levingston was kind enough to let me have full-resolution copies of.

New Yorkers--mark your calendar and save the date: Apparition of the Eternal Church returns to St. Bart's Wednesday, February 27th, 2008, at 7:30PM.

AF onstage with Premiere Commission event sponsor Bruce Levingston, fellow Apparition cast members Ricky Ian Gordon, Wayne Koestenbaum, Shanti Carson, Nancy Anderson and Manoel Felciano, director Paul Festa, St. Bart's organist Bill Trafka, and Rooftop Films program director Dan Nuxoll. Be sure to click on the image so you can see, via people's expressions, how Albert is charming the pants off us.

Article by violinist, Anthony Martin published in "Early Music America" Winter 2007

2007-12-06T20:42:00.000-05:00

Albert Fuller (1926–2007) in memoriam vitae bene peractæ et spiritus semper viventis (an article by Anthony Martin from “Early Music America Magazine,” Winter 2007, Latin courtesy of Otto Steinmayer)

Performer, teacher, conductor, thinker, catalyst, eloquent speaker and sympathetic listener, Albert Fuller was mentor, guide, and friend to the generations of students and colleagues he influenced and inspired and brought together. Among his many accomplishments was the creation of Aston Magna, where performers, artists, and scholars would work, play, and eat together—oh! the heavenly meals created by the virtuosi that Albert installed in the kitchen! One memorable summer there he brought forth the first performances and recordings in America of the complete Brandenburg Concertos. His Helicon Foundation will continue that multi-disciplinary exploration in New York. Albert taught at the Juilliard School for over forty years, seeking always to put technique and repertoire into a wider, humanistic context. Many who heeded him are now at the center of early music activities throughout America. His book on Alice Tully is also his own spiritual autobiography.

There is little I could add to Albert’s legacy, except to quote his own words, taken from various sources dating back to the beginning of our friendship. Most touching were his holiday letters, in which he shared his hopes and his fears, readings and poems that had excited him, and his feelings of love and connection with his worldwide family of friends. I hope this selection gives some idea of what moved Albert, who so moved us.

"We know where we have been: in high spirits, on a flight without always knowing where we will land and, with only a few and happily rare exceptions, in a collaborative effort characterized by kind words, hard effort and joyous feelings at the moment of performance." (1978)

"Our desire to contribute to the stylistic discernment of the various musical periods, and hence the true meaning of the music, is unique, strong and revelatory in new and unexpected ways. That you can share this adventure with us is a source of the deepest satisfaction of comradeship in the feelings of which all artistic works are the metaphors." (1978)

"In these hard times I feel that adding anything of good, even whatever little drop we may have of our good feelings and our benevolent aims, adding that to the rampant evil such as the confrontation of nuclear war, is a valuable thing." (1982)

"The love that we all share has been the real glue of our work together. The musical products of that work are themselves the testimony of the power of exercising that love. In addition many other facets of our lives have been illuminated by the brightness of all that loving effort together." (1983)

"To Aston Magna’s musicians as well as to those spiritually close to them, there was an underlying dynamic focus to the effort that was more important than the aural exoticism [of “original instruments”], a focus that was not so apparent to a large segment of the public nor even to many close to the foundation’s support. That was the feeling of newness of discovery or better, re-discovery, that attached itself to each performance. This new feeling derived not so much from the simple exercise of the “original instruments” themselves; rather, and more importantly, the instruments, as the true starting line, were the new tools that beckoned and prodded the players to exercise their art within a further and hitherto unsuspected spectrum of musical expressivity. This new territory was in effect the rediscovered chambers of psychological perceptions and emotional preoccupations of segments of our inherited past, of our own direct 17th- and 18th-century musical ancestors … Those who participated in this expansive growth of physical gestures and psychological conceptions formed into a network of musicians bonded and characterized by the intense camaraderie of initiation. Love for one another was fueled by the effort of new learning, and was fired on a regular basis by the excitement, the thrill, the frisson of participating, each with all, in the living performance results of the work." (1983)

"Although I can’t think of any time when I have been busier, nevertheless, it is almost 1991 and, boy, does that ever cause me to pause and to think over so many years of knowing people and working hard at what I love! I conclude that the work will be here long after I have departed hence and, thus, in the end it is the people who have shared what we love together that matters most to me." (1990)

"Gratitude is on my mind for all the musical experiences that continue to demonstrate the mysterious workings of the human spirit and heart, especially in the manner that only musical art can reveal." (1992)

"As we all hurtle toward the new millennium I suspect, I pray, I may know a little bit more than previously about what to do about each day." (1995)

"My 70th birthday isn’t a surprise; after all, you know I’ve been counting! Nevertheless, I can easily say that it’s the happiest birthday I have thus far celebrated. According to my parents, getting old was a drag. Not so here! I know more, I understand more and I love it more." (1996)

"My own problems over the past year have been far outweighed by the blessings of understanding and experience. In whatever the future brings I pray that our spirits may intertwine in some productive fashion to bring us all the measure of personal freedom that we can use for our benefit and that of our brothers and sisters." (1997)

"The cement that binds us together is our understanding that music holds an almost supreme place in our bodies, in our psyches and in our life’s study and work. What a great joy and comfort it is for each of us, and for those friends with whom we share the precious and unique understanding: the meaning of musical art!" (1998)

"I thank God, whoever she may be, that the Internet is really founded on the network of friendship that has held us all together." (1999)

“'Insanity is when we keep doing the same thing and go on expecting different results.' It turns out that, from my earliest years, this particular dictum has been the major reason for my growth in coming to terms with my own life, and for my success, if I may call it that, in being a teacher. Now, as an old geezer, I’m disappointed that I couldn’t have passed this idea on to more than I have." (2000)

"Sharing the heartfelt beauties of music and the other arts encourages me to continue to cling to my normally optimistic view: good finally triumphs over evil and mankind will one day fulfill the role to which all sages have always pointed us!" (2002)

"Now that the late century is behind us, I pray that each of us will do his/her part in attempting to 'calm the waters,' and pass the word and example of loving one another amongst us all, each in his own way. What else can an individual do except to offer one’s unique and individual energy in an attempt to steer the mass of humanity toward a truly creative and joyous existence?" (2003)

For Albert Fuller, music, the arts, and the sciences were all means to the end of uniting all human beings of the past, present, and future into one continuum of love and understanding. His faith in that project was the foundation of his life and work. Let us each endeavor to carry it on!

Juilliard Journal Coverage of the Albert Fuller Memorial Concert

2007-12-03T09:09:00.000-05:00

The December issue of The Juilliard Journal includes coverage of the Albert Fuller Memorial Concert, including photographs by Peter Schaaf and tributes by Andrew Appel, Barbara Bogatin, and James Roe.

For the article, "Celebrating the Life of an Extraordinary Musician," click here.

Bobby White's remarks at AF's Tribute Concert (12 Nov 07)

2007-11-23T21:38:00.000-05:00

ALBERT FULLER - Thoughts in Passing
How do I celebrate the life of someone as remarkable as Albert Fuller? How do I explain those feelings of loss, the loss of truly one of my very closest friends, mentors, best, best buddies in the whole world?

Albert was unique. I--and virtually everyone I ever have known that came in contact with him in the glory years, in Albert's youth and very enlightened older age, before he got ill these past several years and slowed down--all agree that there was no one like him. His radiant sense of humor and appreciation of the offbeat and bizarre, informed so much of what made him special.

His words and insights could sometimes be 'sharp', but they were always to the point. This ability was apparent from early on. Albert loved to tell how he handled a stern headmaster's challenge when he was a mere 9 year old boy in his Washington D.C. grade school. The teacher glowered at Albert in his seat and said, "MASTER Fuller, did you give me a dirty look?" Albert replied, with great calm, "Teacher, you might have a dirty look, but I didn't give it to you!"

The experiences that I had through Albert's kindness, his loving friendship, his caring about me as a human being, as a musician.. as an artist..enhanced my life in myriad ways....Albert reminded any and all of us, students and professionals alike, that we each must be (pause) "The Artist of Your Life". "Don't let people put you down!", he'd say. "Don't let ANY one smother your art! And the biggest person to watch out for in all of this, is your SELF, because YOU'RE the one most responsible for keeping that spark of art alive in your heart!"

Albert helped us achieve this so often by his own enthusiastic example......whether it meant cooking an absolutely FLAWLESS, Glorious, Chinese meal for a dozen friends, or a classic French meal, or an Italian one..or a Belgian waterzooi, (Pronounced vatter-zoy), ..whatever the cuisine, Albert could throw it together at the drop of a toque..(PAUSE) And there'd always be 'Music' following dinner, either live or in recordings of extraordinary performances from Monteverdi to ALMOST Montovani...by that I mean, Aretha Franklin would share the spotlight with Wanda Landowska or Janis Joplin with Couperin's Leçons de Ténèbres. If the music-making was superb, that's all that mattered to Albert.

I met him in 1961 when I was 24 years old– can it be nearly half a century ago?- at the Spoleto Festival in Italy. Throughout the 60s, 70s and 80s, I sang in numerous concerts with Albert at the helm. So many beautiful performances took place as well with Mel Kaplan's New York Chamber Soloists...Albert inventing away at the clavicembalo. As Artist-in-Residence at the NYU Medical Center over on East 30th Street, Albert presented many seasons of extraordinary concerts under the aegis of his great friend on the NYU Medical Faculty, immunologist Dr. Zoltan Ovary.

I will never forget the glorious Baroque operas Albert arranged and conducted here at Juilliard in the 70s, as well as endless instrumental and vocal works performed through the years at his Aston Magna and later, Helicon series. A stunning Platée- of Rameau- radiantly sung by then Juilliard student Barbara Hendricks under Albert's direction- is only one of many events that remain burned in my memory. His beautiful apartment on West 67th street with the two-story living room was the scene of so many wondrous musical evenings. Pianos and harpsichords and viols and lutes were constantly coming in and out of the apartment as young performers took their places for yet another 'soiree musicale' chez-Albert.

Lovely performances took place as well in a number of the several sumptuous apartments lived in by his great friend and musical benefactor, Gregory Smith. I recall a special evening of French poesie and Couperin music at Gregory's french-boiseried home on 73rd street just off Vth Avenue - The Pulitzer Mansion. Albert played harpsichord, Hugues Cuenod sang and Jean-Louis Barrault and his wife Madeleine Renaud read Racine and Moliere texts.

Albert had a great friendship with Alice Tully who was in his home so often for dinners and concerts. Through Albert, young performers got to know and perform for this legendary lady in the most gracious and personal of ways. How fitting that Albert was to be Alice's affectionate and perceptive biographer.

Another great friend and colleague was Hugues Cuenod, the Swiss tenor, who made his Met Opera debut in 1986 at the age of 84 in the Zefirelli production of "Turandot". I heard that performance, seated between Albert and Alice (who was born the same year as Cuenod..1902). Recently this past Summer, to the astonishment of us all, Albert, confined to a wheelchair, flew- ON HIS OWN- to Switzerland to celebrate Cuenod's 105th Birthday(!), and, as Albert put it all too prophetically, "to say 'goodbye' to Huguie."

I'd like to end this note on Albert by reading from an email I received from another dear friend and colleague, the distinguished British pianist Graham Johnson, who too, was devoted to this wonderful man. Graham writes: "..Albert retained voracious interests in ALL aspects of music-making and he greeted those whom he regarded as talented with an openness of heart that will always be unforgettable. Like all great artists he was capable of being moody and self-absorbed, but he remained to the end someone who respected talent when he saw it, and found it, as an utterly sacred thing, to be nurtured, helped, advised and encouraged....One of the greatest teachers, thus, that I have ever known.... After an evening in his company when he was on form, one could be lifted to another place. Whatever our problems, we were artists and part of a family that nothing could destroy. Albert made one feel part of a blessed community of kindred and supportive spirits."

Graham says in closing, "Albert treasured a signed portrait of Mae West that I had bought him at the Argosy Bookstore in Manhattan after staying at his flat in 2000. Couperin and Aretha Franklin.... Alice Tully and Mae West.... that was our incomparably curious, incomparably iconoclastic Albert."

Robert White
12 November 2007

Article in The Concise Edition of Baker's Biographical Dictionary of Musicians, eighth edition, 1994

2007-11-20T23:34:00.000-05:00

Fuller, Albert, American harpsichordist; b. Washington, D.C., July 21, 1926. He studied organ with Paul Callaway at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., then attended classes at the Peabody Cons. and at Georgetown and Johns Hopkins Univs. He studied harpsichord with Ralph Kirkpatrick at Yale Univ. and also theory there with Hindemith, graduating with a M.Mus. in 1954. He then went to Paris on a Ditson fellowship; upon his return to the U.S., he made his N.Y. recital debut in 1957; his European debut followed in 1959. In 1964 he became a prof. of harpsichord at the Juilliard School of Music in N.Y. From 1972 to 1983 he was founder-artistic director of the Aston Magna Foundation.

Remarks given by James Roe at Albert Fuller's Tribute Concert, 12 Nov 2007, The Juilliard School

2007-11-13T08:30:00.000-05:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I am so pleased to see a full house tonight. My name is James Roe, I am the Artistic Director the of The Helicon Foundation, an organization Albert Fuller founded in 1985 to explore the use of period instruments in chamber music from the 17th, 18th, 19th, and early 20th centuries. Emailing last week with Albert’s long time friend, Frank Heller, he mentioned how much Albert would have loved this program; indeed he would have. All the performers tonight are ones he loved dearly and with whom he had long fruitful association and so we thank them for being a part of this tribute. While I’m thanking people, let me express gratitude to President Polisi and Juilliard for hosting this event. On the Helicon side, I have to thank Matthew Herren for his indispensable assistance in planning this event. I also thank Helicon Board Member Karen McLaughlin and her friends at Live from Lincoln Center for producing and editing the recording of Albert speaking and for making the DVD included in your program. On a personal note, everyone who loved Albert owes a deep gratitude to Patrick Rucker, who in the last year of Albert’s life, and especially during his final illness, provided him with care, comfort and dignity as he lived out his final days in his own home.

I met Albert Fuller in 1990 as a student in his Juilliard Graduate Seminar called “Performance Problems in 18th-Century Music.” Seventeen years and two months ago, fresh and green from northern Michigan farm country, I was sitting just upstairs in Karen Wagner’s office planning my course work. “Why don’t you take Albert Fuller’s class?” she said, “I think you’d enjoy it.” Well, Karen, I’d say that was a terrific suggestion . . .

Albert referred to his graduate seminar as his STYLE CLASS. Any of us who spent any time with Albert, knew that his very life was a class in style — and his style was in a class all by itself.

His course didn’t follow the usual or expected linear format—usual, expected, and linear were never his abiding interests—rather it wended its way, equal parts Socratic and rhapsodic, through issues important to him: the power of artistic self expression to unite humanity, the development of an individual voice, and the recognition of historical music’s vernacular power. This last point was a great motivator in his exploration of period instruments and performance practice, the stripping away of grimy layers of interpretive build-up on centuries-old music could reveal audacious power in the original. But he also approached this question from the completely opposite direction, through popular music. For Albert, the question of cultural relevance was uncomplicated by category. He was touched by Madonna and Monteverdi, The Beatles and Bach, Aretha was divine, “Elvis was the translator,” and all music basically came down to singing and dancing!

From time to time, Albert would ask me to proofread his new Seminar materials. One day he handed me a nearly blank piece of paper, “Jim, take a look at my new final exam.” There was only one printed line which read: “Question: What have you learned from this class during the year? (Use both sides only of this one piece of paper.)”

This fall, I found a file full of answers to his final exam from 1998. Reading them, I was struck at the intimate and touching picture they painted of Albert as a teacher. He inspired these young musicians. They really got him. I would like to read you some excerpts from their answers. I happen to know that at least two people in the audience today were members of this class, and I’m going to read from both of their exams, but I won’t reveal any names. Don’t worry; you both got “A”s. So, here they are:

I feel that today, musicians rely too heavily on technique. It seems that fast, clean playing with lots of vibrato is what we strive for. But from this class, I have confirmed in myself that music comes first and technique is only a tool. Now I try to think about how singers would sing phrase and I imitate that on the cello.

In this class, we learned the importance of what earlier artists had to say and how to pass on their message by making music alive in the way it was alive for those who heard it for the very first time.

We should keep in mind that the audience we face is not of the past, but of the present. You have to look not only to the past to find music’s fundamental meaning, but also you have to look inside yourself for your own interpretation, which must inevitably reflect the psyche of your age.

This year, you didn’t once say, “You must agree with this interpretation,” you said, “This moved me, does it move you?” I don’t want to make your class sound like a therapy session, but now that it’s over, I feel that was its effect on me. In the past, I would pick up a new piece and say, “Where’s the hardest lick?” Now I think, “WHY did the composer write this? And WHAT does it mean?” You got me to confront getting on stage and saying something outrageous, something dark, something much more wild than the audience expected. This class has made me want to stop being a student and starting being an artist.

I think this class should be required for all Juilliard students. Everyone knows about music history and theory, but so few musicians know about themselves.

Your coaching me in the Beethoven C Minor Violin Sonata was particularly memorable. As you worked with us, I realized that I had never been taught to truly respect or create a logical interpretation of the set of instructions written down by the composer. I have also learned that there is a great deal of good French music.

I grew up in communist China and was taught early on to think like everyone else and to play the violin like everyone else. But you told me to become the artist of my own life and listen to my own heart. When I walked out of Juilliard after your class, I felt the sun shining on my face for the first time in my life. Thank you, Mr. Fuller.

All of this, of course, begs the question: what did you and I learn from Albert’s class and from his style? As we grapple with this question over the course of the next months and years, channel the Positive Bar: don’t give much heed to self-doubt, do not censor yourself, remember, fantasy precedes fact and your most precious possession is your own creativity.

The work and the joy of remembering Albert begins now. We’re all charged with it, and I can think of no better group of people to undertake it. I hope the champagne at the reception in a few minutes will charge up a bunch Albert stories. I have one would like to leave you with you that best describes what I learned from his class.

During my first years with Helicon in the early 1990s, Carnegie Hall presented us in a series called, Vintage Originals. Before one of these concerts, Albert gave a preamble that he ended by reciting the opening seven lines of the poem, “Peter Quince at the Clavier” by Wallace Stevens. The New York Times critic (I will refrain from naming him) complained in the paper the next day that Mr. Fuller had spoken of personal matters rather than technical. Therein is Albert’s lesson: technique is itself meaningless without something personal to say.

Here are the lines of Wallace Stevens that Albert so loved:

Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music.

Albert Fuller Memorial Tribute Program

2007-11-13T08:15:00.000-05:00

Albert Fuller Memorial Tribute

2007-11-12T08:00:00.000-05:00

A TRIBUTE CONCERT
CELEBRATING

ALBERT FULLER
_____

Monday
12 November 2007
6:00 PM

PAUL RECITAL HALL
THE JUILLIARD SCHOOL
144 West 66th Street

RSVP (required)
(212) 799-5000 x 329
_____

Participants:
Andrew Appel, harpsichord
Aymeric Dupré la Tour, harpsichord
Arthur Haas, harpsichord
Myron Lutzke, 'cello
Pedja Muzijevic, piano
Lionel Party, harpsichord
Joseph W. Polisi, President, The Juilliard School
Linda Quan, violin
James Roe, Artistic Director, Helicon
Marc Schachman, oboe
Jaap Schröder, violin
Jonathan Ware, piano
Robert White, tenor

Letter from oboist, Sarah Duval

2007-11-11T11:28:00.000-05:00

Dear Jim,

I just want to say that I was so sorry to hear about Albert's passing. He was a special man and influenced so many people, including me, in such a variety of ways. I was sorry that I lost touch with him in recent years.

When I worked for Aston Magna for those years under his directorship, it was his inspiring philosophies on music and life, and his wonderful charisma that made me choose the early music path, which I've never regretted. These days when I'm playing more "modern" oboe, and composing as well, I still hear his voice from time to time about creativity and the cosmos, and the link between all the arts. I especially thought of him during a recent visit I made to MoMA. It was the motion of one of Calder's mobiles that made me think of one of his quotes about the motion in visual art and music being similar.

I'll see you on Monday for the memorial.

All the best,
Sarah

AF Tribute by Peter Lombardo

2007-10-31T19:56:00.000-04:00

Zoltan Ovary, AF, Hugues Cuenod

A Memory

I first met Albert in the fall of 1963. I was on my way to a dinner party and was waiting for the elevator in my hosts’ building when two gentlemen came up who obviously were going to the same party. Apparently they knew more about the guest list than I did as the younger man said in that cheerful and friendly voice that I came to know so well. “You must be Peter Lombardo, I’m Albert Fuller and this is Dr. Zoltan Ovary.” That was the start of a forty-year friendship with these two wonderful people which has ended only now with Albert’s passing.

Others more qualified than I have written so eloquently of Albert’s musical genius and accomplishments. I can, however, speak to his friendship and generosity of spirit. I was a young physician who had just finished my training and had a head full of medical knowledge but no patients and few friends. Albert and Zoltan quickly changed that situation. They introduced me to their friends and colleagues who became my friends and patients. It was a privilege to have the world of baroque music opened for me by Albert and to share in his friendship which was always given with a spirit of joy and a patina of fun. Can we ever forget the wonderfully riotous and delicious dinners we had at Albert’s table?

All his friends appreciated and admired Albert for the music and we all loved him for the fun and laughter!

Rest in peace, dear friend you are missed.

Peter Lombardo

Tribute by Barbara Bogatin

2007-10-24T22:56:00.000-04:00

Albert Fuller, Mentor Extraordinaire
It’s amazing how many people who had the great pleasure of working with Albert consider him not just teacher, but mentor. Yes, he was a “specialist” in early music, but what he taught was all of music, and not just how to play with others, but how to play with life. To be caught up in his world was to look deep inside the music, to get “the shivers,” to meet an extravagantly colorful cast of characters, to read and think and laugh, and to eat and drink very well. What a stroke of luck to find Albert early in my Juilliard years, when he was just beginning Aston Magna, and eager to recruit interested students to come to Great Barrington, exchange our steel strings for gut and try out his Baroque bows. I spent eight summers there, learning that music is not in a world by itself, but integrally connected to the art, architecture, literature, dance and historical context of its time. In that musical and scholarly community that he created, we learned to make spaces between the notes, relish the symmetry in the gardens of Versailles, and dance the sarabande.

But it was all of life that Albert cared about, and I find his wisdom so relevant today as I try to guide my own children and students. At a time when I was feeling particularly lost, struggling to find my place in the daunting professional world, I saw Albert dining alone in a café on Columbus Ave. He waved me in, bought me lunch and at once tried to sort out my confusion. He told me to “make a list of everything you want to accomplish in the next year…..then in the next 5 years….then the next 10 years……then 20 years….and now listen to that still quiet voice inside, that’s connected to your heart and your gut, and let it guide you…..”

The big picture, and the most essential truth, that was Albert. He once told me that he loved museums because if he got very quiet and looked at great art for a long time, the paintings spoke to him. I didn’t have any idea what he meant at the time, but 30 years later, a quiet hour in a museum fills me with a calm joy. So take a few minutes out of your busy day, sit down somewhere, just be still, and listen very carefully…..you just might hear, way in the distance, Les Sauvages played on Baroque harp.

Barbara Bogatin
Cellist, San Francisco Symphony
(and occasional viola da gambist and Baroque cellist)

AF tribute by Johan Stern

2007-10-15T14:13:00.000-04:00

One time at Juilliard I had to take the baroque cello owned by the school to a violin maker for some adjustments and new strings. I was playing some chamber music with Albert and another student of his, the oboe-player Andrew Adelson, preparing some trio sonata for his recital. Albert suggested that I should take the cello to William Monical at Staten Island and he asked me if I would like him to join my trip – of course, I was delighted to accept his offer! From the first day I came to New York I was mesmerized by the city and used most of my spare time to explore it. In books like E.B White’s Here is New York or Singer’s Enemies unfolded all those typical New York stories of completely different worlds taking place just some blocks away from each other. It all felt so different from Europe, not to mention Sweden where I grew up!

We took the subway down to Battery Park, Albert lecturing about the history of the New York Subway, the different private lines long before the Metropolitan Transportation Authority. I couldn’t have found a better guide than Albert; with all his knowledge about the city he was the perfect companion, telling amusing stories, sometimes flavored with indecent details of the secret liaisons taking place in the empty driver’s compartments during roaring rides underground. We boarded the ferry and smelled the breeze from the sea and Albert’s stories changed, describing the sight of the QE and the other great ocean-liners and long before that, how poor and oppressed people from Europe approaching New York with hope of freedom.

Another great memory is how Albert in his Performance Practice class at Juilliard made a thorough analysis on Madonna and her Marie Antoinette remake of “Vogue” from the MTV Video Music Awards 1990. It was one of his many unique qualities – to see and understand a brief moment of what most of us would think was nothing more than superficiality, and understand the very human meaning of it as an expression – far out or "hot shit on toast under glass" as Albert would call it if it really was something very special. How an artistic statement always has many "historical siblings" – a direct link to history, and the need of generation after generation to retell it.

I am very grateful to have so many good memories around Albert's: all the discoveries in our coachings with the TestosterTones playing the Brahms trios, our sudden concerts! – his great trust in us, his warm hospitality, our exit subito when he suddenly felt tired and we, totally unaware of how time flies absorbing scents and sounds of the enchanted gatherings around the Rendezvous Lounge – overtaken and aroused scattering into the city night. I have written him many times over the years, just small notes on postcards from my tours and travel. It was always so natural to share a new moment of experience with Albert.

To put words to what Albert represents is very hard but I can honestly say that still 15 years after my great couple of years at Juilliard, he is still with me on a daily basis in my musical life.

Understanding the Invisible Art

2007-10-09T11:38:00.000-04:00

[In the late 1980s and early 90s, Albert Fuller conceived and produced a television pilot called "Understanding the Invisible Art" in the hope it might provide an outlet for Helicon on PBS. Alas it didn't, but the materials he created give a wonderful distillation of his thoughts. The following is an excerpt from the introduction. More to come.]

General introduction to program:

Those of us who toil in the field of music know that we are somehow different from artists of other disciplines. The eye is involved in painting . . . in sculpture . . . in dance, but music depends entirely on the ear. It's an invisible art. That invisible essence of music is nowhere better described than in the poem "Peter Quince and the Clavier" by Wallace Stevens, the 20th-century American Poet.

Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the selfsame sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.

Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music.

It is not then just a coincidence that Galileo, considered the founder of modern science, was himself the son of a musician. Just at the beginning of the 17th century, when the new musical style of opera was created in Italy, the world received Galileo's convincing notion that there are invisible worlds "vital to our being, that cannot be comprehended by our unaided senses"

Since then music has grown into the vast world that we know, that can be viewed as the invisibly expressed art of the imagination. Today at the end of the 20th century, all our new technological tools show us ever newer realities that our other senses cannot perceive. Therefore we are not surprised to learn that music has always been a window into the unconscious mind.

We cannot be surprised as well with the notion that the most important musical instrument of this entire century was invented over a hundred years ago by Thomas Edison. That instrument is, of course, the phonograph.

The invisible power of electricity has allowed us to make the acquaintance of and to experience through recording ever increasing amounts of music of the past. Doing this unveils whole new, thrilling layers of our psychic inheritance.

Many of us musicians have found that by using the instruments and techniques of playing them that the composers of the music had in mind, we musicians can come even closer to the psychic thrill of perceiving something from the composers' unconscious minds. When you add to that the social contexts of the past, that is the art, the politics, the behavior of society, the ways people danced, the architecture and literature that they held dear, when we focus on all that, then we feel enabled to experience our music in a way that makes us feel still closer to the composer.

Aston Magna's Notice in the New York Times

2007-10-09T09:56:00.000-04:00

For Daniel Stepner's tribute to Albert in the New York Times, click here.

Boston premiere of Albert's movie

2007-10-06T18:10:00.000-04:00

Friday, October 12th, 8PM
Marsh Chapel
735 Commonwealth Avenue
Boston

The movie of which Albert was the genesis and remains the heart, soul and star, Apparition of the Eternal Church, will have its Boston premiere this coming Friday, courtesy of the Boston University Messiaen Project (BUMP--an acronym Albert enjoyed) and its international conference "Messiaen the Theologian." After the show, conference organizer Andrew Shenton will perform the Messiaen organ work of the same name, and there will be a round-table discussion and Q&A with Andrew, Boston Globe correspondent David Weininger and me, hosted by BU's Victor Coelho.

When I interviewed Albert for the movie (the first of 115 interviews), I had no idea he'd ever played a note of Messiaen. So it was one of my biggest surprises and the movie's happiest serendipities that he had been the first to perform Messiaen in the National Cathedral back in 1950, when this music was hot off the press.

Albert figures prominently in the trailer: apparitionfilm.com/assets/ApparitionTrailer20070209QTb.mov

This is the schedule for the BUMP conference ("Messiaen the Theologian"):
http://oliviermessiaen.net/bump/conference-2007/program
(The following night, with Messiaen scholar Luke Berryman, I'll be giving the Boston premiere of a newly published Messiaen work for violin and piano, the Fantaisie.)

Here's the link to the movie's official Website: apparitionfilm.com

Here's the poster for the Boston premiere: paulfesta.com/Boston.htm

And here's Albert's bio on the movie site: apparitionfilm.com/cast/fullerbio.htm

Albert Fuller Tribute on WQXR

2007-10-02T14:00:00.000-04:00

Click here for an MP3 of a tribute to Albert Fuller broadcast on WQXR, Thursday, 27 September 2007, just before 1:00 p.m.

Tribute by the tenor, Robert White in The Juilliard Journal

2007-10-02T09:49:00.000-04:00

"The Incomparably Iconoclastic Albert Fuller" by Robert White

For the Juilliard Journal article, click here.

photo: AF with Paul Festa and Pedja Muzijevic

2007-10-02T01:03:00.001-04:00

This was April 1993 after a Helicon symposium. If I ever find Albert's compendium of Helicon programs I'll look up what we played.

BACH RECORDING RATIONALE by Albert Fuller

2007-10-01T08:52:00.000-04:00

In preparation for his 1992 recording of harpsichord music by J. S. Bach, Albert produced the following document as a conceptual guide.

BACH RECORDING RATIONALE

I have long felt that all the music I love is in some way a direct metaphor for the human activities of singing and dancing, the gifts of the Muses!

Bach, a personality whom I adore, was, according to this reasoning, likewise inspired in his human physicality by his own understanding of the human need for singin' and dancin'.

The raison d'être of this present recording is to show my own, personal understanding of how this proposition illuminates the harpsichord works that Bach himself created and in what he loved in the works of others.

The Italians first developed the violin as a surrogate voice, allowing those who could not sing to possess the high c's of the sopranos on the stages of their beloved opera houses. Inspired by this idea of surrogate voices and with Vivaldi as his model, Bach demonstrated that the concerto concept, normally realized by seven to a dozen people, could also be a viable expressive vehicle for one person alone at the harpsichord. This Italian Concerto in the Italian style was the result.

At the same time, the French had long been seized by balletomania, the love of dancing. Louis XIV's passion furieuse influenced every house of noble pretensions throughout Europe for almost three hundred years, permeating the entire diplomatic world with the need to dance. Hence the appropriateness of such a work here as the French Set (Suite) of dance pieces with a prélude.

The desire to play the fugal game of musical interweaving came to Bach from German organ writing, derived and developed from vocal church music styles. Unwilling to present the unprepared listener with such a demanding mental musical chess game as is a fugue, Bach wrote introductions or préludes for each of these fugues. The preludes serve as "stage settings" for the fugal interplay. Often these scenes were inspired by images from Bach's own contemporary world: in the F minor, the operatic stage of the aria; in the D Major, the orchestral music of a great potentate.

Bach, however, was also a homebody, with two wives and twenty children . Think how he must have understood diapers and the joys and griefs of siring and supporting his own children through their many young deaths as well as their lives, some quite ordinary and some others fueled by their own, personal musical genius. Therefore, the private music, beloved by his adored wife, Anna Magdelana, and played by his own children forms the most personal sector of this recording. With two exceptions, all these works are dance pieces loved by his family. Louis XIV's beloved Menuet, the polonaises of the internationally set, a bagpipe piece, an aria, and finally a prayer closes this section and this record.

The order of the final section, Bach at Home, has not been decided. The pieces are arranged here in their numerical order in the book. A more affective, emotional arrangement will be conceived to close the recording.

photo: Soigné gathering, 15 Sept 1957, Oak Room of the Plaza

2007-09-29T12:44:00.000-04:00

The Washington Opera is born.

Of course, Albert is in the center of this lively bunch!

Left to right: Tommy Dunn, Connie Mellen, Peggy Smith, Day Thorpe, Albert Fuller, Margaret Cox, Gregory Smith, Elinor Douglas, Paul Callaway.

Update: See BG Thorpe's comment for details.

"Albert Fuller--an appreciation and goodbye" by the harpsichordist, Andrew Appel

2007-09-28T14:50:00.000-04:00

I first heard Albert Fuller in a recital of French harpsichord music (he was a pioneer in the repertoire) at Hunter College in 1967. A series of concerts by the world’s leading players presented him alongside Gustav Leonhardt and a few other American colleagues. I was 16 and from his first notes I was seduced by vitality and luxury. I thought, “I want to do that!”

When I returned to New York from studies abroad in 1973, my route was to the Juilliard School and to Fuller’s studio. Albert asked me to meet him for tea at his apartment on West 54th street. I arrived with the attitude of a boy who had moved through the disciplined and socially structured world of a European conservatory. I had never addressed a professor by his first name. The boundaries were clear, the education wonderful and focused.

I rang Mr. Fuller’s bell and was dumbstruck when he opened wearing only his white underwear. Just out of the shower he ushered me in to the living room and asked me to wait, to look around, to play his harpsichord.

That evening he invited me to join friends after one of his concerts and introduced me to New York Szechwan Chinese food at Sheila Chang’s, one of the city’s best.

From that moment on, encounters, lessons, voyages with Albert always introduced and challenged. He demanded reaction and he gave catalyst, he required balance but offered constant opportunities for growth. Life was about interaction. MUSIC was about interaction. Albert demanded that life in all its facets and forms found its way into music. Music needed to illicit a reaction from the listener. Short of that, our performances were banal, roughage, waste.

He moved me away from over-sophistication and inaudible subtlety in my playing yet invited me to events where I could drink fine Champagne and look at Rembrandts and Monets. He helped teach me that the experience of golden and precious art must be married to our experience of being animals, natural, primal. He immersed himself, bringing in his pupils, in pre-Freudian art and made it rich in meaning through his modern understanding of the mind and heart.

He showed me how to talk to an audience about the most distant aesthetics and moments in history without ever insulting them with condescension. He taught me that the glass of champagne and the Rembrandt were to be there for everyone and that it was our mission to make this possible, to open hearts and minds and opportunities.

It may be the case that even before I began my work with Albert, I was this type of musician and person. It may be that Albert and I found each other and coincided in a way that will always make me feel filial gratitude and love, and with his loss, a large open space that can never be filled. But ask his other students. Ask the harpsichordists from James Richman and Ray Erikson to Charlotte Mattox. Ask the instrumentalists who worked with him in those early adventures into repertoire and instruments (gut strings and light old bows, wooden flutes and early oboes) like Ryan Brown, Linda Quan, David Miller. Ask the singers who enjoyed the cantatas and arias worked out together.

Albert left a trail of committed, inspired, intelligent, engaged artists and for each of them, Albert Fuller represents a moment or many moments of light.

This week I went to visit Albert on his deathbed, hospice care in place at home, and cared for by two dedicated and loving friends, Patrick Rucker and Jim Roe. It was painful to see a man of his vitality no longer IN life. I held both Albert’s hands and hoped that he could feel that the blood running through him, also ran through me; that I would continue, if not nearly as well, the work he did so beautifully and generously in his life. And then I noticed that he was wearing only his white underwear.

Alex Ross mention and link

2007-09-28T10:31:00.000-04:00

This blog got a very nice mention and link from New Yorker music critic Alex Ross Wednesday on his blog "The Rest Is Noise."

Obituary in the Boston Globe

2007-09-27T23:38:00.000-04:00

The Boston Globe on Wednesday published this abbreviated version of the New York Times obituary.

(update) Hannah Walsh, Gregory Smith's granddaughter

2007-09-27T23:17:00.001-04:00

Anyone who knew Albert knew the late Gregory Smith (a.k.a. Grisha) through Albert' frequent and affectionate Grisha stories. In addition to being a great friend, Gregory was instrumental in launching Helicon and remains, with Alice Tully, a Helicon Muse (it's on the letterhead).

Here are some pictures and correspondence from the Smith family:

Hannah Walsh (fka Hannah Smith) writes: Gregory was a very dear friend of Albert's and I have no doubt they are now reunited in heaven. This has been the one happy thought that has gotten me through today after I stumbled this morning across Albert's obituary in yesterday's Boston Globe.

I have missed Albert deeply since leaving NYC in the summer of 2005. He has been a part of my life since I can remember, as a sort of second grandfather at first, and then a friend and storyteller who could keep my grandfather's memory alive in my mind and heart. I could go on and on about what Albert's stories of my family have provided for me.

I've attached a picture of Albert, me and my firstborn son (Jedidiah). I think this picture was taken in the spring of 2004 in front of Nick & Toni's (where else?).

Mardie Smith (Gregory's daughter-in-law) writes: Hannah was very close to her grandfather and developed a very close relationship with Albert after Gregory’s death. In this photo, she is pregnant with Gregory’s second great-grandson, Owen. It was taken two years ago in front of Shun Lee by Albert’s apartment. Jedidiah is now four years old.

(UPDATE)
Grisha was a certainly a fascinating father-in-law. Our visits with him usually coincided with visits from Albert, Zoltan, Bobby White, C. Ray Smith and a few others. Dana and I have been together for 35 years so I entered the scene at the summer home in Stonington, Ct and went on to those in Maine and East Hampton. You can imagine the settings, the dinners, the stories, and the laughter! But Albert was his best friend; Gregory once told me that he and Albert spoke on the phone every day, no matter where they happened to be in the world.

"Bist du bei mir"

2007-09-27T12:27:00.000-04:00

WQXR 96.3 FM in New York City will play Albert's version of "Bis du bei mir" from his "Bach for Harpsichord" CD today at 12:40 p.m. They will program additional performances by Albert Friday in the late afternoon. (Thank you Hester Furman.)

This is from Albert's program notes:

"The group closes with another prayer, one for companionship at the end. This prayer, Bist du bei mir, was sung by Hughues Cuenod countless times in concerts that he and I gave together. In remembrance of those magical times when I accompanied him, varying my figured-bass realization as we improvised together, I have made a transcription of this vocal work for harpsichord alone. In it are gathered the feelings of melodic and accompanimental spontaneity that Hughie and I enjoyed, along with some of the tender feelings that guided us along our way." --- Albert Fuller

Recorded: 20-22 April 1992, The Presbyterian Church, Rye, NY
Harpsichord: Thomas & Barbara Wolf

photo: Albert Welcomes Guests to Helicon

2007-09-26T01:49:00.000-04:00

For 21 years, The Helicon Foundation presented a series of intimate chamber music concerts performed on period instruments in Albert Fuller's apartment near Lincoln Center. (The series moved across the park in 2006-7 and continues there in our new home, The Kosciuszko Foundation, 15 E. 65th Street.) His generous music room, which has 22 foot ceilings and seats upwards of 80 (70 comfortably, 90 when certain stars performed), took the appellation, The Helicon Studio for these events, becoming "The Rendezvous Lounge" afterwards, as musicians and music lovers mingled in the afterglow. (Cue the conga music, thank you Mr. Kozinn.)

Here is Albert welcoming guests at the second floor entrance probably around 1999. Vivacious Helicon Members Dennis Reiff and Patty Otis Abel took the photo.

photos from 1992 and 1993

2007-09-26T01:22:00.000-04:00

In 1992, Albert led and played this concert by the Helicon Ensemble in Weill Hall.

Playing on gut strings in public scared the daylights out of me, but I was grateful to Albert for the opportunity nonetheless.

After Alice Tully's stroke in 1993, Albert brought his students the Italian pianist Marco Rapetti, the Swedish cellist Johan Stern and me (whom Albert had collectively introduced to his Helicon audiences as the "Testosterone Trio," or "The Testostertones") to Miss Tully's apartment in the Hampshire House to play for her. I'm almost certain we played Brahms, though Albert has it as Schumann on p. 147 of his Alice book, among other elaborate improvisations on the facts of that extraordinary afternoon.

Tribute by the classical guitarist, Eliot Fisk

2007-09-26T01:01:00.000-04:00

The passing of my beloved friend and mentor, our adored Albert, fills me with sadness. He was an indispensable musical model and inspiration, of course, but so much more for all of us . . . He was our guru of love and of the sacredness of human sensuality, of our right to try to be happy in spite of everything. He gave us all so much. He will truly always be "UNFORGETTABLE" (music of Nat King Cole), and his beautiful loving spirit will be with us always.

Article by David Fuller, Professor Emeritus at the State University of New York at Buffalo

2007-09-26T00:47:00.000-04:00

For half a century, I have watched happy faces fall as they tell me how pleased thay are to meet me and how much they have enjoyed my recordings, my concerts, and even my books, and I tell them, I’m sorry, you’ve got the wrong Fuller. It happened easily, since we moved in many of the same circles, he was less than a year older, and I even played the harpsichord, sort of. In fact, that was how we met. It was 1953-4. I had come back from three years abroad and had developed enough curiosity about harpsichords to want to get one. Since I was knocking around Boston and Cambridge, I bought one of Hubbard & Dowd’s first four instruments, already second-hand, and joined the little club of which Thomas Dunn and Albert were the principals. Albert had just come through the hands of Ralph Kirkpatrick at Yale, and was willing to give me lessons (like him, I had begun as an organist). The setting of those lessons, spaced out informally over two or three summers, was one of the great shingle-style “cottages” at Manchester-by-the-Sea on Boston’s north shore, belonging to the brilliant and infinitely cultured Gregory Smith and his family, one of Albert’s very closest friends from his Washington days to Gregory’s death. I never spent more than a night or two there for my lessons, but those visits were non-stop party-time with non-stop music. Albert, who spent summers there, christened it “Nerve-Ending-by-the-Sea,” exactly right for bunches of high-powered people living on the edge. He was the Smiths’ window onto the world of professional music, to which in those days their social position decreed that they must ever remain fascinated outsiders. Albert was then playing on and off with the New York Chamber Soloists, and I remember one party that culminated in a couple of Brandenberg Concertos in the living room with both Albert and Tom at their harpsichords (which normally lived in a sort of conservatory they called the “tile pile”), the orchestra, and invited guests. No matter whom the house-guest list included during my visits, it was clear that that it was from Albert that the fun and the life radiated.

This capacity to illuminate whatever he touched reached its culmination in the enterprise that he called “Aston Magna,” after the Berkshire estate of Lee Elman where it began in 1972. An idea of its pioneering importance in the period-instrument movement in this country can be had from the article in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (2001). I knew it for the interdisciplinary Academy it spawned in 1978, and at which I lectured on aspects of French harpsichord music in 1979, 1980, and 1982. Why French? Because I had been sufficiently ravished by Albert’s playing of this elegant and elusive music in the old days at Nerve-Ending to make it my career and write my dissertation and a great deal more besides on it—and to dedicate an edtion of music by Armand-Louis Couperin to him (A-R Editions. 1975, and still in print!). The original mix of disciplines and outlooks at Aston Magna was enormously stimulating, but what was so peculiarly “Albert” about life there was the cooking. He managed to find chefs who could turn out three meals a day for weeks, each one different and each one sensational, and this for dozens of people in an institutional setting. He was a first-class cook himself, by the way, and developed a particularly violent passion for Chinese food, becoming a close friend of the New York restaurateur Sheila Chang and even learning a bit of restaurant Chinese to use with waiters. I had a lot of this cooking, since for years I used his apartments at 162 W 54th St. and 27 W 67th St. as my New York hotels. In 1968, I stayed with him a few days in a rented house in Fire Island Pines, whither he had brought a clavichord on which to prepare his recording of Bach’s E-minor partita. I shall never again be able to hear that toccata without the remembered sound of the surf almost drowning out the whisper of the clavichord.

The reader who would like to experience something of the rich, enveloping personality of this extraordinary man can find it reflected in a remarkable and engaging way in his memoir of Alice Tully (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1999). For the sake of his memory I hope that it, too, is still in print.

David Fuller (no relation), September 23, 2007.

Blog posting by a Helicon Member. (Thanks!)

2007-09-26T00:40:00.001-04:00

I love music -- many, many different kinds -- and one place I have had the honor to be for a few short years is at the performances of The Helicon Foundation, a chamber music society that usually meets in New York City, always in a small space and always with astounding musicians playing pieces that (frequently) I have never heard.

Albert Fuller was the founder of this society, as he had also been of Aston Magna. Every performance I have been at was magical.

Posted by olympiasepiriot.

Letter from the pianist Graham Johnson to Albert's dear friend, the tenor Robert White

2007-09-26T00:37:00.001-04:00

9/24/2007

Dearest Bobby,

Albert was a great musician and a marvellous man. He had a level of perception and understanding of the "bigger picture" of both life and art that made him an invaluable mentor and an enchanting if exigent friend. His ability to understand the significance of someone like Alice Tully in the history of the arts in New York, and within the history of that great genre, the mécène, is typical of his perspicacity. He sought to draw bigger and more lasting conclusions from the details of life he experienced. He was always the philosopher. There are literally hundreds of young men and women, perhaps like me no longer young, who learned to know themselves and to love themselves a little better through Albert's artistic and philosophical intervention. He believed in the power of intervention and the power of art, and as such was a partaker of the mysteries as well as a creator of them. He could change a life or turn it round over cocktails.

Of course he was an early music specialist and he will go down in history for his work in the fifties and sixties with people like Dowd regarding the great harpsichord revival that fuelled a thousand other developments in all walks of musical life. But he retained voracious interests in ALL aspects of music-making and he greeted those whom he regarded as talented with an openness of heart that will always be unforgettable. I shall never forget him and his sometimes irascible kindness, Like all great artists he was capable of being moody and self-absorbed, but he remained to the end someone who respected talent, when he saw it and found it, as an utterly sacred thing to be nurtured, helped, advised and encouraged. One of the greatest teachers, thus, that I have ever known. After an evening in his company when he was on form, one could be lifted to another place. Whatever our problems we were artists and part of a family that nothing could destroy. He made one feel part of a blessed community of kindred and supportive spirits.

He treasured a signed portrait of Mae West I bought him at the Argosy Bookstore after staying with him in 2000 with Brandon. Couperin and Aretha Franklin, Alice Tully and Mae West, that was our incomparably curious, incomparably iconoclastic Albert. I joked with him that the great art gallery in Vienna must have been named after him .... the Albertina. It should have been. Goodnight dearest friend.

Graham

Albert Fuller, Conductor and Champion of Early Music, Dies at 81, by Allan Kozinn

2007-09-25T00:20:00.000-04:00

Allan Kozinn's sensitive obituary for Albert Fuller in today's New York Times can be read here.

Many of us around the country and around the world stayed up tonight to read it the moment it was published online. We thank Mr. Kozinn for his tribute to our dear friend.

The New York Sun obituary is here.

The Juilliard School's notice in the Times is here.

The Helicon Foundation's notice in the Times is here.

Albert Fuller 7/21/1926 - 9/22/2007

2007-09-22T16:39:00.000-04:00

Albert Fuller died at home this morning around 10:30. His dear friend Patrick Rucker was with him and so his last moments were spent being touched by someone he loved and who loved him.

His flame, which shown so brightly and illuminated so much for so many, became a flicker and then quietly and calmly went out. His light, however, remains radiant.

Article in the New Grove Dictionary of American Music (1986)

2007-09-21T17:42:00.000-04:00

Fuller, Albert (b Washington, DC, 21 July 1926). Harpsichordist. He began his musical education as a chorister in the Cathedral Church of St. Peter and St. Paul, Washington, DC, studying the organ there with Paul Callaway. After attending the Peabody Conservatory and Georgetown and Johns Hopkins universities, he continued his education at Yale, where he began serious harpsichord studies with Ralph Kirkpatrick and also studied theory with Paul Hindemith. He received the MMus degree from Yale in 1954, and was awarded a Ditson Fellowship which enabled him to do research in Paris into French Baroque keyboard music. On his return to the USA he began his performing career, making a New York recital début in 1957, followed by his first European concerts in 1959. Since then, he has made frequent tours in North America and Europe, both as a soloist and as a chamber musician. Fuller’s extensive repertory, much of which has been recorded, encompasses the major styles and national schools of the 18th century with particular emphasis on French music and the sonatas of Scarlatti. His performing style is brilliant, colorful within the limitations of the classical harpsichord, clear, and precise. He is especially admired as an imaginative and tasteful continuo player. He has edited the keyboard music of Gaspard le Roux. In 1972 Fuller set up the Aston Magna Foundation for the study and revival of 17th- and 18th-century music; he remained its president and artistic director until 1983 and was closely involved in its annual festivals and, Latterly, summer academies at Great Barrington, Massachusetts. As a conductor, he presided over performances of Rameau’s Dardanus, Les indes galantes, and Les sauvages, and Handels’ Acis and Galatea and Xerxes. In 1964, he was appointed professor of harpsichord at the Juilliard School, and from 1976 to 1979, he taught at Yale University.

By Howard Schott
The New Grove Dictionary of American Music 1986

Article in the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians

2007-09-20T10:09:00.001-04:00

Fuller, Albert

(b Washington DC, 21 July 1926). American harpsichordist, organist, conductor and educator. He began his musical education as a chorister at Washington National Cathedral, studying the organ there with Paul Callaway. After attending Johns Hopkins University he continued his education at Yale, studying the harpsichord with Ralph Kirkpatrick and theory with Hindemith, receiving the MMus degree in 1954. After research in French Baroque keyboard music in Paris on a Ditson Fellowship, he returned to New York, where he made his début as a harpsichordist in 1957. European concert appearances followed in 1959, since when he has made frequent tours in North America and Europe as soloist and chamber musician. His extensive repertory encompasses the major styles and national schools of the 18th century, with particular emphasis on French music and the sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti, and he has edited the Pièces de clavecin of Gaspard Le Roux. His performing style is clear, precise and colourful within the limitations of the classical harpsichord. In 1964 he was appointed professor of harpsichord at the Juilliard School of Music, later joining the organ faculty and coaching chamber music. He has also taught at the Yale School of Music (1977–80). Fuller has conducted operas by Handel and Rameau, including the first American production of Dardanus (1975), and has made many recordings of 18th-century harpsichord music.

Schott, Howard: 'Albert Fuller', Grove Music Online ed. L. Macy (Accessed [20 September 2007]), http://www.grovemusic.com

photos: HELICON CONCERTS AT CARNEGIE HALL, c. 1990

2007-09-19T00:44:00.001-04:00

press: New York Times Profile

2007-09-19T00:27:00.001-04:00

A Musician Studies the Past's Realities

By ALLAN KOZINN

Published: February 17, 1989

''You know, there's a lot of talk about authenticity these days, and I think it's nonsense,'' said Albert Fuller, the harpsichordist and director of the Helicon Ensemble. Mr. Fuller and his group have been presenting an early-music festival at Weill Recital Hall since Wednesday, with the final concerts scheduled for this weekend. ''The authenticity I'm interested in is our contemporary sense of the reality of the past, and what the music we have inherited has to do with us today. I believe that music is a window into the unconscious, and the miracle of it is that it lets us get close to what Beethoven, Bach and Mozart were thinking.

''This kind of psychic investigation is really a 20th-century phenomenon, something we would not have thought about in pre-Freudian times. And I think it's the whole point of the original-instrument movement. By hearing the music of these great geniuses performed with the timbres and in the styles that they heard, we get a clearer idea of how their mental mechanisms worked, and of what they wanted to share with other people. Of course we can play Beethoven on a modern, steel-strung violin, in a Russian performing style. But if we do that, we're laying on the music a lot of 20th-century associations: pogroms, revolutions, czars and Stalin. Beethoven didn't know anything about that.''

Mr. Fuller may take a more philosophical view of the early-instrument movement than some of his colleagues. But in a practical sense, their goals are the same. By researching the details of performance style (tempos, ways of phrasing and so on), and by returning to the gut-strung violins, natural-valve horns and wooden flutes of earlier times, they hope to make the music of the Baroque through early Romantic eras sound as fresh as it did when it was new.

Fast-Growing Movement

Two decades ago, early-instrument performers were regarded as a bit eccentric by many mainstream concertgoers, and by musicians who saw the abandonment of technically more hardy and reliable modern instruments as a retrograde step. But the movement has grown quickly. Today, early instruments are the norm rather than the exception for Baroque music performances. And in the 1980's, incursions have been made into the Classic and early Romantic eras, with ventures as far into the 19th century as Berlioz and Schumann.

For fanciers of these antique instruments with their robust, gamy sounds, there are several concerts to choose from this weekend. Each of the Helicon Ensemble's remaining Weill Recital Hall programs offers music from the 17th through 19th centuries. Tonight at 8, the group is playing rarities by Bartolomeo Montalbano and Mario Uccellini, and better-known works by Couperin (the Concert Royal No. 4), Boccherini (a quintet) and Mozart (the Clarinet Quintet, with Lawrence McDonald as the soloist). Tomorrow evening at 8:30, the Helicon group will play two of Biber's ''Mystery'' Sonatas, a Handel Trio and the Beethoven Septet (Op. 20). The concerts are sold out but return tickets, at $12, may be available at the box office before the performances. Information: 247-7800.

The ''Schubertiade'' at the 92d Street Y, at Lexington Avenue, is not an early-instrument endeavor as such, but its programmers occasionally glance in that direction. Tomorrow evening's installment, at 8 o'clock, includes some of Schubert's early keyboard music, performed on the fortepiano by Malcolm Bilson. Tickets are $17.50. Information: 996-1100. A Handel Anniversary

John Eliot Gardiner, one of the most highly regarded British early-music conductors, will be in town with his English Baroque Soloists and Monteverdi Choir to mark the 250th anniversary of Handel's ''Israel in Egypt'' with a performance of that oratorio at Avery Fisher Hall on Sunday at 3 P.M. Tickets are $25. Information: 874-6770.

A recorder ensemble from Holland, the Amsterdam Loeki Stardust Quartet, will play Renaissance and Baroque music (the composers include Frescobaldi, Jenkins, Boismortier, Purcell, Bach and Vivaldi) at Corpus Christi Church, 529 West 121st Street, on Sunday at 4 P.M. Tickets are $10. Information: 666-0675. And the Oberlin Baroque Esemble is playing works of Couperin, Forqueray, Rameau and Dornel at the Frick Collection, 1 East 70th Street, on Sunday at 5 P.M. Admission is free. Information: 288-0700.

Of these, Mr. Fuller's Helicon Ensemble is offering the widest-ranging musical overview. ''The point,'' Mr. Fuller said, ''was to offer a grand tour through 200 years of music. Traditionally, a 'grand tour' was a journey through Italy, France and Germany. So my idea was to put something from each of those countries, and from the 17th through the 19th centuries, on each program. That way, if you can only attend one of the concerts, you still get a nice musical banquet.''

Familiar Faces

Depending how you look at it, the Helicon Ensemble is either a newcomer to the early-music scene or a fairly venerable troupe. This week's series marks the group's first public performances, but concertgoers who follow New York's early-instrument world will see many familiar faces in the ensemble. Among the players are the violinists Jaap Schroder, Stanley Ritchie, Linda Quan and Nancy Wilson; the cellists Myron Lutzke and Loretta O'Sullivan; the oboist Marc Schachman; the hornist William Purvis, and the bassist Michael Willens, all regulars in early (and modern) instrument chamber groups and orchestras that perform here often.

Many of these players were Mr. Fuller's students at the Juilliard School or at Aston Magna, the summer institute and touring ensemble he founded in Great Barrington, Mass., in 1972. And Mr. Ritchie and Mr. Schroder were among the Aston Magna faculty from the start. Mr. Fuller directed Aston Magna until 1983. That year, after a dispute about the organization's direction (Mr. Fuller wanted to forge ahead into the 19th century; other members of the board wanted to keep the focus on the Baroque and Classic repertories), the harpsichordist and Aston Magna parted ways.

The Helicon Foundation - named after the mountain where Mnemosyne, the Greek goddess of memory, conceived the Nine Muses - was established in 1984. Until now, the foundation has held private symposiums at which the players in the current ensemble presented their latest findings, with performances open only to the foundation's subscribers. After a few seasons of these, Mr. Fuller decided that it was time to go public again.

A Utopian Goal

''I admire musicology very much,'' Mr. Fuller said, ''but to me, musicology is not the flame. The flame is performance. Buckminster Fuller, who is no relation to me, said that the goal of knowledge is to let everybody on earth know everything there is to know. That's utopian, but you have to face in some direction if you're going to move down the path, and that strikes me as a pretty good goal.

''What we have done, by studying early instruments and early performance practice, is find out as much as we can about where we've come from and who we are. And the knowledge we can share with our audience is that the great composers of the past were human beings, more like us than not. However weird Beethoven might have been, we could have lunch with him, and it would be fun. We have to recognize that the fun, the joie de vivre, is also in the music, and has to be brought out.

''This is the most important thing our original-instrument investigations can make a point of: the brotherhood of human beings across time.

photo: Zoltan Ovary, AF and Hugues Cuenod

2007-09-19T00:03:00.001-04:00

I wish I could remember the story behind this picture. It was in the collection of Hugues Cuenod, who let me borrow and scan it. Pictured to the left of AF and Cuenod is the late eminent Transylvanian-American immunologist Zoltan Ovary.

photo: AF at work on his Alice Tully book

2007-09-18T18:09:00.000-04:00

We were at Fire Island, where Albert had rented a place in the Pines--his very own writer's retreat--to finish his Alice Tully book. As you can see in the picture (click on the image for a larger version), it was then called "Alice Tully: A Period Instrument," which was in fact an improvement over "Alice Tully: Edwardian Supergirl." The third try, "Alice Tully: An Intimate Portrait," was certainly the charm.

AF's Goal Exercise

2007-09-18T18:01:00.000-04:00

Long before the current mania for "life lists," Albert Fuller had his Goal Exercise. He credited it with helping him think up the Helicon Foundation after he parted ways with Aston Magna. He regularly shared it with his students. Here's a copy I've kept for 14 years in a folder with my attempts to complete it. These attempts were all botched and abandoned, but I'm certain that just trying to complete it helped guide me to my more productive creative periods. So thanks Albert!

(click on these images for a larger version)

2007-09-12T16:32:00.000-04:00

The First Mannes/Helicon Historical Performance Weekend Key Note Address by Albert Fuller 13 May 1995

The goals of this weekend were outlined in our brochure, which read: "Musicians of appropriate accomplishment are invited to apply as participants in the First Mannes/Helicon Historical Performance Weekend, joining Albert Fuller and our Artist-Faculty to take 'A Closer Look' at:

1. What music in general has to say about composers, their audiences and about us.

2. What the original-instrument movement has taught us thus far about European musical art.

3. How present-day performances often disregard the expressive content which is the heart and purpose of musical art.

4. Ways by which we can revitalize the often ignored expressive content of great composers' music.

5. The means by which "original-instruments" can guide our search in each of these endeavors and can lead us to richer, more meaningful musical experiences."

And, so I want to address each of these issues here with you now, in order to focus on and clarify what it is that we intend to do, and, we hope, to make more precise just what it is that has brought about our present view of music’s magic.

Point I

Now, the first point invites us to look at what music in general has to say about composers, their audiences and about us today who love music so very much. Before we do that I want to suggest that we think about music in terms of our own responses to it. In that case, “What is music?” is then the very first question.

I propose, for our purposes this weekend, that we think of music as “an externalization of human emotion.” Why? How?

1) Listening to music performed by others elicits responses within ourselves.

2) We conceive these responses as emotional images that more or less represent the original externalized emotion.

3) This takes place whether we are conscious or not of these images.

4) Today we know that the mind and body are one, and, thus the emotional images that we form from listening to music cause physical reactions in us, ones we associate with feeling happy, disappointed, sad, or any other similar psycho-somatic sensations.

Now these musical images that have brought each and every one of us together here are not in their truest nature visible. Yet, especially in America, we say “Oh, I forgot my music,” meaning my notes or my score or my partition. Then, we also say "Oh, last night I saw Alicia de Larrocha. She was wonderful!" But, some of us may ask ourselves what a person who speaks that way wants to experience when hearing such a fine musician. What is it we "see" when the artistic product that has made her so famous all over the world is so quintessentially invisible. Consider: music is not the vibrations in the air (measured now by the latest technology); it is not resultant movements of the tympanic membrane (the ear drum); rather, and insubstantially, it is the feelings that these vibrations work on our souls, transforming our interior imaginations, working changes that are welcome, provoking new associations, ones that remind us of our inherited humanity.

I will add here parenthetically my remembrance of a fine performer’s admonition to me as a youngster: "Never forget” said Virgil Fox to me, “they see you before they hear you!" We all know that when a musician walks on stage scowling, or in dirty clothes, or shuffling his feet, an audience is made nervous and wonders if this person, for whom good ticket money may have been spent, really wants to appear in public as a musician. This is not a good beginning!

Times change and we change with them. People speak somewhat differently in every decade. Principal preoccupations of thought and conversation change as well as slang. All the arts change as does speech, humanity’s powerful communicative tool. Now, in 1995, it has been almost a century since Sigmund Freud began to speak of his own perceptions about emotions. Through his work, and that of those who toiled in similar fields, many aspects of human thought and behavior have now been brought out from the unconscious darkness where they have lain since the beginning of humanity. An elaborate vocabulary about the unconscious has developed, allowing us to speak of previously unspoken emotions. Knowing this, none should be surprised to discover that the emotions of Brahms are not the emotions of Bach or Ravel or Prokofiev. Therefore, when we attempt to externalize the emotions of these very different composers by performing their music, we screw up terribly when we don’t recognize the profound differences between them, and their means of projecting their own emotions.

Not recognizing the direct connection between the composer and his music, and its relationship to the emotional life of every other human on earth, has been one of the causes of the great gulf that has come to exist between what we call popular and classical music today. But that is an inappropriate subject for us here now. What is more to the point, is now, many of us understand that when music is updated to please contemporary tastes it can lose the message of its own time, the sense of its own individualism, and becomes subsumed into the most ordinary emotions of today. (Stoky’s D minor T&F) This is how so much music has become boring to conductors, performers and audience alike. As we look around watching opera directors and orchestral conductors, wondering what they can do to revive a faded piece, the last thing most of them usually think of is trying to re-approach it as if were new, using what Freud and his followers have taught us to let us know about the constant unfolding of the human soul.

Point II

The second point of our historical performance weekend asks us to consider what the original-instrument movement has taught us thus far about European musical art.

For one thing, the original-instrument movement has shown us much further than we had previously understood how to distinguish musics of different times and different places: how Italian music is different from French music, and when these differences occurred. That in turn opens the door for us players to bring the uniqueness of French style to French music, or, more simply, to sing French pieces with a French accent, and Italian works in their Italian accents.

Consider the following social example: we New Yorkers, with so many different nationalities making up the population of our city, and with so many varieties of cuisine distributed through our city, we are able to flit around among restaurants with cuisines of so many different countries, maybe all within a few blocks’ radius, and that seems natural and quite normal for us. But food can be seen and smelt before it is tasted. Music is invisible, and before it is heard, it exists only in the imagination or ever so frailly in the dots of ink on paper.

If we understand "seeing" musicians perform as perceiving the stimulated interior imagination, then we are in another quite different ballpark. J. Bronowsky, the great 20th-century thinker, believed that it is the possession of imagination that distinguishes human beings from all else on this planet. That, at least for now, seems axiomatic. A great performer in any artistic sphere is great because he can activate the imaginations of his audience. They, in turn, leave the performance with a sense of having been engaged in new experiences; they are somehow different, and will most likely return until this stimulation of the imagination is no longer operative. Horowitz, Callas, Landowska, Toscanini, Pinza, Heifetz, Kreisler, Aretha, Madonna, and on and on—these and all great performers have excited the imaginations of their listeners to become followers of the ever-changing imaginations of the best performing artists.

Music's invisible nature has made it a tough nut for human understanding throughout the ages. Whatever records we have of music of the ancients are either so skimpy as to be meaningless, or they are confined in large numbers to visual depiction. Thus, we know that musical performances, treasured as they were in the distant past, were all memorized, not unlike most 20th-century jazz. In the same manner were all the tales of ancient bards passed on. All of what we call Homer had been created before it was written down, being handed from generation to generation by those who memorized it. Finally, I posit, when some poet/singer bards simply gave up on trying to memorize more, but at the same time wanting to go on performing more, what was to be done? They borrowed the system developed by Phoenician commerce to keep track of goods bartered and exchanged, and began to take notes to aid their memory. These notes developed into what we call the alphabetical, written realization of our spoken language. The identical situation overcame the memorization of melody, and ‘notes” began to appear, slowly developing over the centuries into what we call musical notation.

Now, in spite of our feelings about its permanence, our 20th-century musical notation is young, indeed, very young, quite modern, especially when compared to Egyptian hieroglyphs, or even Greek and Roman letters. At the same time, the most ultra-modern contemporary musical notation is scarcely intelligible to many contemporary musicians, unless one knows the music, that is, and has some idea of how it goes. Likewise, only the new, electronically produced, notational, maddeningly detailed version of a 'blues' or 'jazz' performance can indicate what the real tradition of their performance sounds like. The notation of “swing” is, likewise only possible in the fashion of this new technology. Thus, our notation of music, like that of spoken language always lags behind the practice of it. And that relates absolutely directly to the French conventions of, as François Couperin says, not playing as the notation suggests, but rather with notes-inégales, unequal notes. Maybe it’s not coincidental that New Orleans, la Nouvelle Orléans, is the birthplace of American jazz.

The ultimate lesson here is to learn that our present musical notation is not, as we are invariably taught, a precise set of recreative directions. Our notation never means only just what we are taught it says. Teaching on that order is much too narrow in meaning to be strictly obeyed, especially when we intend to achieve the maximum of richest and most satisfying performing results.

You must understand that I am not making a call to renounce modern-day technology. Without it none of us would be in this room together, especially those on the cutting edge of Internet. I speak of all the electronic tools that are the foremost examples of the new communication in our lives. The scores, and original manuscripts of previous composers, some entirely ignored or scarcely known, others of the best known like Beethoven can now be studied in different manners. According to different publications of the same materials, we can see how a composer changed his mind in growing with his idea. On the other hand, we can see how publishers, in the interest of sales, sometime incorporated previous errors, even to distort the composer’s original intent.

Our knowledge today of all this could not remotely have happened without the Xerox machine. And just as the greatest peaks, such as Mt. Everest, cannot exist without their lesser neighbors, so we have had Etienne Nicolas Méhul (1763-1813) and his symphonies reintroduced into our consciousness. So what, you might say? I respond that Beethoven wouldn’t sound the way he does to us if Méhul had not existed. A number of traits that we consider echt-Beethoven were directly inspired by passages in Méhul. Thus we see the influence of French taste in the German giant that is Beethoven. My experience shows endless examples of such cross-fertilization. The investigations of the original-instrument movement has been responsible for producing them to our great joy by the dozens.

Point III

The third point of our weekend together asks us to look at how present-day performances often disregard the expressive content which is the heart and purpose of musical art. Oh, let me count the ways!

I would like to start with an oversimplification but one that does, indeed, describe a general trend. After the heyday of the baroque giants, whose phrase structure were all relatively short, composers of the past began a long experiment in creating longer and longer musical phrases. Originally instrumental phrases were all modeled on the relatively short phrases created for singers who generally used one breath per phrase, as in today’s pop style. As composers increased their phrase length, the attention span of audiences was also increasing, and listeners were able to focus their imaginations, and, as we say today, they were able to dream, while listening to music for longer and longer periods. The musical phrases, even in their smallest parts, became ever longer, taking even more time, while the movement or flow of musical ideas began to be expressed in slower and slower tempi. The short, concise phrasings of Bach, Handel and Couperin, (delineated so aptly by gut strings and baroque bows) were rejected by Bach’s sons and Grétry and their contemporaries, and the new 'classical' style of Mozart and Haydn passed on ever-longer phrases to Beethoven and Berlioz. It wasn't long before audiences were able to admire along with Schumann his description of the 'heavenly lengths' of Schubert’s C Major Symphony.

The works of Bruckner from the second half of the 19th century prepared for the climax of size and lengthiness of the symphonies of Mahler. By 1907 Mahler produced his Symphony No. 8, the so-called “Symphony of a Thousand.” The second part of this symphony can be described as a vast synthesis of forms and media, embodying his setting of the final scene of Goethe’s Faust as an amalgam of 1) dramatic cantata, 2) oratorio, 3) song cycle, 4) Lisztian choral symphony and 5) instrumental symphony.

With this and other similar works, the patience and attention spans of early 20th-century 'avant garde' composers and listeners finally snapped. Their intolerance created new and quite different ways of musical expression, invented as absolutely necessary to convey contemporary thought. The old patterns had ceased to inspire new creativity. The old was not bad; it had simply been carried to its limits. Now Schoenberg and Stravinsky burst upon the scene with their own new languages to express new ideas, just at the time when Einstein, Edison and Freud did the same thing in their worlds. The new thought of the 20th century was now in full swing.

Obsessed, as was the entire world with the concept of progress, there were even many musicians who felt that ever-greater musical art was being created, and that the Edwardian period of the 20th century before WW I, was the glorious apotheosis of the 18th-century Enlightenment. As happened with so much human behavior across the centuries, up-to-date musicians tended to forget all about the music written before Beethoven.

There were, of course, a few outstanding exceptions to that. Mendelssohn, for example, inaugurated the modern appreciation of Bach by performing a much truncated and rearranged version of the Matthew Passion in 1826. The Benedictine monks of Solesmes became the center of the Gregorian chant revival since its abbey’s re-establishment in 1831. The Bach-Gesellschaft was founded in 1850, and produced an edition of the composer’s entire works that served as a model for subsequent editions of it kind. Brahms collaborated as editor of the first modern edition of the harpsichord works of François Couperin, and let us not forget Wanda Landowska, who began to play the harpsichord in public in 1903.

Apart from figures such as these, our early-20th-century musical forebears behaved like the 17th-century Venetians. They gave no thought to blowing up Athens’ Parthenon in 1687, thinking it was old and, therefore, no good any more.

When the music of the past was forgotten, so was what that music told of the human psyches of those who made it. With that psychology forgotten, the precious concept of the continuity of growth of human understanding developed, yet again, a big hole. This period of musical works that were forgotten was precisely the period of musical creativity that brought about what is called The Enlightenment. (To refresh our memories, the Enlightenment was the 18th-century philosophical movement characterized by a reliance on reason and experience rather than dogma, superstition and tradition, while emphasizing humanitarian political goals and social, emotional progress.) Yes, by the end of the 19th century, the glorious, always startling new musical creations of those who participated in the Enlightenment were no longer a matter of public consciousness. With a very few notable exceptions such as Handel’s Messiah and Mozart’s Don Giovanni, most 17th- and 18th-century music was thought to be old, used up and no longer relative to modern, industrialized society.

Meanwhile, another factor, of future world-wide importance entered the picture at the early part of the 19th century. Then, when the French revolution seemed finished and the prosperous middle-class of citizens burgeoned in influence, the idea arose that many more, almost anyone, might possess the artistic abilities that had previously been at the beck and call of only the noble, rich and powerful. The new society was ripe for the idea of a Conservatoire, and its new methods devised to teach “fundamental music appreciation,” along with understanding of the grammar and rhetoric of music.

Ear-training and solfège came into being, in an attempt to show to those who did not have the natural skills of invisible music memory, how to break down and analyze the musical components—how correctly to parse them. This, in turn, brought about a method of how to commit them to memory, and thus, how to be able, through Cartesian methods of logic, to allow those, even of the least talent, to reiterate the outward manifestations of musical performance—to play the correct notes in time.

Many of today's centers of musical learning continue to instruct with these aims in mind. Beneficent as such intentions are, nevertheless, they have focused on the outward signs of performance—the playing of the right notes in the correct time. That is, the focus has almost exclusively been on creating the package, the outward, visible sign of music, without regard for the contents of the package, what we might call the inward, spiritual grace. In doing this, the understanding of the emotional feelings or affects that music contains, was shoved to the side. These feelings, or affeti as the Italians say, are the raison d’être, at the very center of the entire world of musical expressivity. It is by forgetting this that the common complaint has arisen that so many performances sound 'alike,' that they are devoid of the spontaneity of lively emotional interchange. It was just this situation that provided the rich, fertile soil for the emergence of the original-instrument movement and the possibility that it can do much to restore music’s messages to the coin of the soul.

This descriptive phrase, the original-instrument movement, seems to focus on the instruments used, as does the other common phrase “period-instruments.” Meanwhile, those of us who have undergone the experiences of learning to make meaningful musical performances with the instruments for which the music was written have come to understand that it is not so much the instruments themselves that are important. Rather, and much more important, it is the world of musical affects that they reveal to us. The ENRICHMENT OF OUR AFFECTIVE PERCEPTIONS is the golden benefit of the original-instrument inquiry.

The treasure of this newly revealed world, is, of course, not new at all. This treasure consists of a world of emotional affects that have been ignored or set aside in the race to invent the new, especially in America, where “new and improved” and “bigger is better” have been such common guiding principals. Present-day large crowds of people are unthinkable without the presence of electrical amplification. Meanwhile, young musicians have been goaded to project, project to larger and larger audiences, with messages that are strong enough to be heard in vast spaces by crowds. Larger and larger halls for larger and larger audiences for our concerts have been the result of such thinking. No wonder we are evermore on quicksand when we bring into the immense halls music that was intended to express intimate thoughts to audiences gathered in intimate spaces.

The scale of human musical communication has grown beyond human capacity and the newest instruments are all dependent on amplified electrical current to make their statements. Thinking thus, electrical amplification is the next logical step for our own instruments. Think of the immense rock concerts with their immense TV screens, set up with the sole purpose of allowing the performers, who look like a flee circus to the naked eye, to be visible by visual amplification to the thousands who are their immediate audience. I think of this as an ironic fantasy precisely because, even in the world of international Olympics, we cannot do very much if anything (outside of using steroids) to alter the size of our bodies. Therefore our world’s understanding of the words “human scale,” is related to everything we produce, conceiving every chair, every automobile, every street and the rooms of every building in terms of the size of the human body. We forgot human scale. The original-instrument has helped restore that.

Point IV

Point four of our weekend five-point program addresses ways by which we can revitalize the often ignored expressive content of great composers' music.

The problems encountered here are more complex than they seem to be at first glance. Consider: only a few years have passed since many well-intentioned performing musicians developed what we think of today as attitudes of personal superiority to our great creative geniuses. Many of them often followed such astonishingly arrogant dictates as: “we know better about some of these things than did their creators (sic!).” “Well,” you might say, “who on earth would want to act that way?” I give you here three examples:

By any who ever came in contact with them, it was always admitted that Bach's works for solo violin were excellent examples of the composer's art. Nevertheless, the general thinking went that many of Bach’s directions for bowing were poorly considered by the genius who brought these very works into being. Yes, many performers and teachers meant to say that Bach’s own bowings were inadequate to express the music that he conceived. Consequently, many teachers and performers alike have changed the composer's bowings to conform to the way they liked them.

Alas, doing this often altered important parts of Bach's musical message. Those that did this said something like “After all, he didn't know of our 'new and improved' understanding of the modern bow!” Such “improved” understanding could alter and distort a dance movement so as to make it unrecognizable to those, like Bach himself, who knew how to do all the dance steps of the world in which he lived. Yes, Virginia, old Bach understood and loved dancing, and the simplest way to draw closer to what old Bach had in mind is to use the kind of bow for which he wrote his glorious, albeit difficult, solo violin works! The concept of “new and improved” has been a false goal here, leading many who loved the works ultimately to abandon them as being hopelessly irrelevant to us and our world. What a pity that is!

A second example shows how it became a general habit to believe that Beethoven, being somewhat crazy and certainly deaf, couldn't know what sixty seconds in a minute were in human experience, and therefore he couldn't possibly have understood what his metronome marks meant. (And don’t forget: Beethoven also was personally acquainted with J. N. Maelzel who refined and patented the metronome in 1815.) Consequently, Beethoven's unique tempo markings were not only completely ignored as irrelevant, but rather they weren't even noticed. (In fact, in many editions, new editors have even substituted new metronome indications for the original ones, new ones they felt were more appropriate for the composer's own creations!). Behaving thus, much of Beethoven's expressivity was quite altered, along with traits that tell so much of how his music related to human movement, both then and now. Efforts to learn from his metronome marks are laughed at by musicians and critics alike. The vast majority of them can play no instrument whatsoever, and can’t artfully perform anything for an audience gathered to listen.

A third example of this kind of misrepresentation comes to mind, this time with the erosion of meaning in the works of Brahms. Brahms, one thinks, is so close to our own time we couldn't possibly not know what his intentions were. Wrong, again, at least in my experience! Today, the general tempo of performances of the first movement of the B major piano quintet (Op. 8) is approximately ? When I produced a recent performance of this work, one of my own previous pupils, a successful musician who should have known better, asked me why the tempo of this first movement was “so fast.” I responded that it seemed just right to me, the complainer asked me how I arrived at that conclusion. I pointed out that Brahms, without a metronome marking, had written this piece with an alla breve time signature, that is, C with a vertical line through it, and wrote the movement direction Allegro con brio! Now, Allegro is taken generally today as meaning fast, although its literal translation from Italian is simply merry. Alla breve indicates two half notes in a bar, and thus a quickish tempo, its time signature being 2/2 and not 4/4. And finally, con brio , literally translated as “with vivacity or energy or fire” indicates a playing style of brilliance and dash. Therefore, Brahms’ directions cannot be construed as “leisurely” in any body’s language. Familiarity has indeed bred contempt.

The situation I have just described comes as a great shock to those to whom I am forced to point it out. Even my former successful pupil was amazed, once again, to discover what he had seen before his eyes and had so completely ignored. When those whom I coach behave similarly I often say “Now, without turning the pages of your scores, can you tell me what are the original time signature and tempo markings?” Almost always, those who make such complaints are forced to admit that their understanding of the piece in question had fallen in a slump and they didn’t know the time signature or the written descriptions of the character. This example shows to what extent we must rethink so much of what we think we already know. It can sometimes be dangerous, or at least arrogant, to assume we know what it’s all about. As Daniel Boorstin has pointed out, “ the history of Western science confirms the aphorism that the great menace to progress is not ignorance but the illusion of knowledge.”

Point V

The final point asks us to understand how the world of "original-instruments" can guide our search in answering the questions prompted by the previous points, leading us to richer, more meaningful musical experiences. After all, none of us wants thinner, weaker musical performances. We all want to be touched and spiritually moved. We all want music, and all artistic human communication in its richest, most colorful and most memorable form. Learning more about the various messages that are in our music for communication to others, takes nothing away from us. Rather, it enriches our reception and transmission of the messages themselves.

It is unlikely that the three “misconceptions” I demonstrated under “Point IV” would have been righted without the kind of reappraisal that the original-instrument movement has forced us to undergo. It can be seen how such simple changes, ones that certainly draw us closer to the composers, can produce performance results little short of “astounding,” especially to those who were sure they knew the three Bs: Bach, Beethoven and Brahms, and knew them well enough so that little else of importance was needed for their own recreations of the composers’ musical messages.

I will finish up here by offering to you a very personal recipe, one I have used to help students create for themselves an historically informed performance, a "HIP" performance we can now say.

In the end, outside our own absolutely essential and supremely important contemporary music, and I mean all of it, including the world of Earl "Fatha" Hines, Satchmo and the Duke, Aretha and Madonna, the musical messages from our dead composers remain there for us performers to quicken once again with our imagination. What a glorious task to see the immense variety of character and expression from across time and space, from what we call then, and to see how that variety of then corresponds to the different and to the same variety that we see around us now. If we learn everything humanly possible about the expressed genius of Bach, Beethoven and Brahms who dwelt in the then, and, if we add to that everything that we can learn about our own needs and our own personal style in the now—at that point, we will be prepared to become a bridge to anyone who has ears to hear.

Our bridge will cross time, plugging the 17th-, 18th- or 19th-century messages into our contemporary experience. Our bridge will cross space, plugging even more French, or German or Italian sensibility into our American consciousness. Our bridge will also be able to go far toward healing the wounds of ignorance and lack of self-awareness that disfigure so much of the musical psyche of our civilization, and even those psyches that lie outside the world of music.

Remember, it is true that music hath charms! The bridge itself of which I have been speaking is imaginative persuasion, and our motto as we build it in our own now might very well be the advice of the Latin author Horace from 16 B.C., his own then:

If you want me to cry, than you yourself must grieve.

Here we are talking about human feelings, not the physical realities of the universe, which we have come to learn so much about during the past few centuries. In the end, as we sow, so shall we reap. We cannot give to others what we ourselves do not possess. Alice Tully said publicly that the object of our efforts is continuous emotional growth and study, which never ends, and should not end. I agree with her, and, therefore, wish to say in closing that for us musicians the now of then is inescapably us to us!

Daniel Boorstin has pointed out that “the history of Western science confirms the aphorism that the great menace to progress is not ignorance but the illusion of knowledge. . . Perhaps we could call ours an age of negative discovery. Marc Davis, Professor of Astronomy and Physics at the University of California, Berkeley, has provided us with a convenient summary of the progress of cosmology over the last four hundred years:

The Earth is not the center of the Universe.
The Sun is not the center of the Universe.
Our galaxy is not the center of the Universe.
Our type of matter is not the dominant constituent of the Universe (dark matter predominates instead).
Our Universe (seen and unseen) is not the only Universe.
Our physics is not the only physics. There might exist separate universes with completely different physics.

You are always entitled to be nervous the first time you approach the creations of great geniuses. You may find that this nervousness continues in some form always. This is where one feels the risk factor. But feeling such risk is always necessary in order to move forward.

In the beginning it may seem like fear and, in this case, it can lessen one’s ability. However, the struggle to join the great geniuses and to perform their music in spite of it ultimately lessens its threat. We must all remember that everyone has experienced nervousness, and we are not alone when we are conscious of it. It should be used as the great emotional drive which carries us all—the life-giving connection.

The object of your efforts is continuous emotional growth and study, which never ends, and should not end.

INTRODUCTION (Feb. 06)

2007-08-10T11:52:00.000-04:00

After I made my New York recital debut in November of 1957 I got swept up into the local music scene as I had hoped. I had known for a long while there were virtually no local harpsichord players, with the exception of the international giant artist, Wanda Landowska. Thus, I came to be involved in a great deal of important musical works I had never previously had a chance to become acquainted with. Among them was Handel’s Julius Caesar in Carnegie with no costumes or scenery, but it was Montserrat Caballé’s debut alongside the already well-established Elisabeth Schwarzkopf. It was in this performance that I had my first experience with personal competition among performers of such glorious music.

Because, as harpsichordist, I was required to accompany all the recitatives in the Handel work, my position in the orchestra was at the very front. This allowed me to observe before my very eyes the audience’s wild reception of Caballé’s first New York performance and the unusually large number of curtain calls she was demanded to make. Before each of these Schwarzkopf stood aside, stamping her foot, and shouting at the conductor, Ich bin die nexte, i.e., “I’m the next one (to take the bow).” This ever-smiling fury between the two sopranos continued for 20 minutes at the least. This was my introduction to the fact that glorious singing didn’t require glorious personalities to bring a musical work to life.

Through the many performances of such splendid compositions I met and befriended many musicians at a rapid rate. At that time (1950s-1960s) most harpsichordists, or pianists who were pretending to be harpsichordists, performed from scores written out by 19th-century editors, while the original practice was that the harpsichordists improvised all of what they played. They were said to “realize the figured bass” i.e., create what they played by reading the bass lines of the scores. These were only sometimes accompanied by numerals or other signs to indicate what the composer expected the harmonies were to be. Having had no experience in playing thus, this became a challenge that I took on with great delight. It wasn’t long before it was clear that I was very gifted in this enterprise and had no competition among the “free-lance” musicians in the New York area.

Soon I was playing more chamber music requiring a facile harpsichordist than I could have hoped. Much of this was music that I came to love, even adore; this set me up in our music world as having taste and special understanding of the styles of performance, often of music many people had never heard a note of. And many happy concerts were the result of all of this.

But that does not mean that all was happy; my harpsichords were made in the authentic 18th-century French style. Over the years I have owned twenty-two harpsichords. “Why on earth?” some would ask. The answer was that builders (most of my instruments were made by William Dowd of Boston) were coming more and more to understand that the fine 18th-century instruments were a result of several hundred years of continuous experimentation until the superb results that were expected were almost always achieved. Naturally there were differences in the instruments of different countries but I stuck almost entirely with the French models.

The unhappiness came from the fact that all my colleagues played modern versions of all their instruments; these had all grown much louder in order to sound well in the ever-enlarging 19th-century halls. Musicians complained that I was too soft and I complained that they were too loud, creating an artistic confrontation something like a Picasso not being entirely appropriate in the Galérie des Glaces at Versailles. What to do? One of my colleagues, Stanley Ritchie, was not at all reluctant to try gut strings on one of his violins. (Gut strings had been used on all string instruments —violins, violas, cellos and double basses—from their very beginning.)

But halls had been getting larger and larger, so that by the time of WWI players and makers alike began to be drawn to steel strings because they were louder and stayed more easily in tune. Hence the sharp discrepancy between my sounds and that of my colleagues. Note also, that the bows of all Western string instruments have always been made of horsehair. When horsehair meets gut it recognizes a material that it knew from birth; but with steel it encounters something like a piece of avant-garde modernistic architecture. Thus, rubbing horsehair on slippery steel required all string players to make vast changes in the manner of using their bow arms.

When my ‘cello friend, Freddie Arico, had no objections to trying out gut strings, Stanley and I could play 17th- and 18-century sonatas on instruments close in sound and techniques to that expected by the composers of the music that we all had come more and more to love.

But then an idea straight out of the blue hit me: if we could find another violinist not only could we more than double our repertory but we could have the basics to begin to form an orchestra. I mentioned this to one of my students, Helen Katz, and she said she had met a Dutch guy at Aspen who was dying to play on gut strings; his name was Jaap Schröder. When I wrote to him in Amsterdam to invite him to join us he responded with instantaneous enthusiasm.

But, having only dreams and no money and no place to situate such a new organization, my old Yale friend, C. Ray Smith introduced me to one Lee Elman. Over lunch at the Great Shanghai restaurant of my dear friend Sheila Chang, Lee told me he had purchased the former residence of Albert Spalding, of tennis ball fame, and he wanted to have a concert in Spalding’s former studio in order to introduce himself to the music lovers of Western Massachusetts’s Berkshire region where he wanted to be accepted by the often powerful locals, Mme. Koussevitzky, etc.

I organized a concert, Lee invited the “swells” he had wanted to impress and it was all a big success, especially the viol da gamba piece of Marin Marais describing the operation for removing a gallstone (c.1690). Lee’s home was called “Aston Magna,” after an ancient Roman town in England where the original builder of the house had lived. In 1972 Lee and I decided that we would start a foundation in honor of his dead sister and simply call it The Aston Magna Foundation for Music. We would raise money to invite students who wished to learn how modern music performance differed from that of the 17th- and 18-centuries, and hence meant something different to the hearts of the performers and listeners that we 20th-c. music lovers had never known or completely forgotten about. The results were regularly new and often stunning to all concerned.

This Aston Magna venture grew very successful not only as a school, but also as a performing group in Great Barrington, Mass. By 1977 we had enough players to do the famous Brandenburg Concerti, with the exception of someone who could play the trumpet of Bach’s time. After much inquiry I found a guy named Friedemann Immer in Germany who said he could do it and we hired him immediately. Bach’s beloved works became the centerpiece of Aston Magna’s festival of 1977, and places in Great Barrington’s St. James’ church, which had become our concert hall, were all sold out weeks before the performances. These were the first complete public performances on Bach’s instruments in the world, ever, and naturally they brought a certain unique prominence to the name, Aston Magna. The National Endowment for the Humanities supported us to the extent that we were able to invite scholars in all fields relating to 17th- and 18th-century musical performance intentions. Thus the invisible art of music drew many, often surprising relationships into sharp alignments where most of us had never known them to exist.

Later we were invited to open the Tanglewood Festivals for two years in a row and the future looked more exciting than we could ever have imagined. But—the board of directors and I had some serious disagreements: they thought I was spending too much money. I thought that was a really stupid concept because it was I and my closest colleague, Raymond Erickson (who had been at my side from the very beginning, first as a student and then crowned “Dean of Students”) who had raised all the money while the board had supplied almost none. Finally, at a board meeting in November of 1983 at a meeting I kissed the hands of the ladies, shook those of the men, and told them all good-by, and to “shove it”—and forever.

Oh, oh! I had just left the precious garden that I had planted and didn’t know what to do next. I asked Alice Tully’s lawyer, Jim McGarry, if I should start another foundation; he responded, “If you want to raise money you’ll have to.” And thus, with the help of dear Alice, and blessed Gregory Smith, and McGarry’s legal associate, William (Bill) Simon, the Helicon Foundation became an honest-to-God 501 (c) 3 organization in the state of New York in the spring of 1985. And, although a few of our cherished companions have gone to what Alice called “My next act,” we’re still here and that alone in my life is the single, happiest and unexpected gratification.