JAVS Fall 1989

23

next lesson. It became a weekly exercise: three of us carrying the behemoth to the kitchen table, where he worked and groaned, while I taught his son, thus trading our services. His timing was perfect. On their ninth visit, the day of his son's last lesson of the semester, he installed a home made cluster of colored globules vaguely resembling a model of the endocrine system. He assured me that all systems were now "go," leaving with a musically advanced son and my profuse thanks. I rushed from the door, eagerly plugged in the machine, and began to play. However the regenerated evil spirit within waited gleefully for my first notes. From its bowels came a loud pop, a lightning blue flash, and a puff of acrid smoke. Instead of a genie appearing, I heard the laconic announcement, "Okay, Pan Am 235, you're cleared for takeoff." The new components had picked up the control tower at Laguardia Airport! Recording the Suites My wife, Frieda (we met as violinists at Juilliard), performed a gigantic research project and bought for me a state-of-the art tape deck and microphones. In our stolid building we set up a recording studio, and after three months of experimentation, I began to record. Early in the process we were delighted to have as an overnight guest our dear friend, Josef Gingold. He wondered why we had the recording equipment, and insisted upon hearing some of the tape. Joe, with his sweet disposition, paid me an embarrassing number of com pliments. The true effect of any perfor mance being the length of time it lingers in the memory, I was particularly pleased when, before leaving the following morning, he asked if I would mind playing some of it for him again, later insisting, by mail, that I record the complete Suites and make them available to the public. With this major incentive, and a broader view of what I had originally intended in recording these works, I set out with new vigor upon the project I would devote most of my free time to for the next five years. My lone companion was our blond cocker spaniel, who slept blissfully on my foot. Early on, I created a game to be played out, the goal being to record a movement in one complete take. It meant da Capo if there was any flaw, resulting, for example, in one

hundred and twenty eight takes of the Sixth Prelude. Intensive sessions sometimes started after a Philharmonic concert and ended at daylight. I constantly felt a compulsion to continue. Frieda was the final judge of the playbacks, patiently listening, to hours of tape. The Suites were released as cassettes, making them affordable, portable and consequently a bit less formal than other formats. International published the printed edition. With the completion of this project has come the end of my narrative. I have resisted the temptation to make it scholarly or educational. It is anecdotal, nothing more. As one who has been enriched by traveling that road, I take the liberty to suggest that the violist spend hours in isolation with the clear and uncluttered music of these beautiful Suites, concen trating not so much on the instrument or upon one's own abilities, but delving earnestly and objectively into the notes themselves in order to appreciate fully their remarkable use as constructive and expressive media. The violist may find, as did I, that at some magical point a door opens, which leads to the very mind and heart of Johann Sebastian Bach. Leonard Davis studied at Juilliard under Milton Katims. Mr. Davis is on the viola and orchestral studies faculty 0/ the Manhattan School 0/ Music. He is principal violist 0/ the New York Philharmonic and has enjoyed an international career as a soloist, chamber musician, and teacher 0/ master classes .•

Graphics from Die Kunst des Geigenbaues by Otto Mackel; Bernhard Friedrich Voigt, Verlag Handwerk und Technik, Hamburg.