JAVS Fall 1996

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about signalling entrances. Several times he lifts his viola and is about to make a false entrance. Do I have the nerve to tell him he's about to make a mistake? Should I stop him from making an obvious, audible blunder? Lightly, I touch his bow-arm with my bow. He turns to me and whispers, "How many bars' rest before we start? I've lost count." With my fingers, I indicate the number of bars before our entrance, keeping my viola in my lap. Just before the entrance, I raise my viola as a signal. During the next rehearsal break, Primrose turns to me and says, "It's been a long time since I've played in an orchestra, and I find myself somewhat ill at ease. And what's more, I've lost my wallet with all my credit cards I'm afraid I'm not concentrating as well as I'd like." I feel for this great artist. He's losing his hearing and his face is bright red, which gives the appearance that he is suffering from hypertension. Then I suddenly remember the rumor that he has already suffered a heart attack. How difficult it must be, especially with his British reserve, to confide in me. If he doesn't feel comfortable playing in an orches tra, he must be doubly worried about making an audible mistake as soloist. T he first article I turned to when ]AVS volume 12 number 2 arrived was "The Viola Music of Frank Bridge" by William A. Everett. I found the piece well written and most interesting. It brought up from the lower recesses of my memory the one fragile en counter I had with Frank Bridge almost sixty years ago in London. At that time, I was playing an hour-long program of viola/piano works every Sunday on WOR (Mutual Broadcasting Company in New York). Just before flying to England, I included in my Sunday program Bridge's "Pensiero" and its companion piece, "Allegro appassionato." I had searched in vain for

I take a deep breath. I want to be diplo matic and not insult him. "Mr. Primrose, allow me to count the rest bars, and I'll lift my viola one bar in advance of our entrances. Then you won't have to concern yourself" He leans toward me. "That will he a great help." The concert is a triumph. The audience goes wild with applause. Maestro Steinberg signals the orchestra to take bow after bow. After the concert, Primrose beams as he shakes my hand. "Mr. Schwartz, thank you for your help." A few days later I receive from William Primrose a letter that I cherish to this day. In 1982, a few months before Primrose died, he gave a master class in Los Angeles. As I entered the room where he was teaching, he spied me and cried, "David Schwartz, you saved my life! Remember the Toscanini Memorial concert?" I was so touched, I moved toward him as if to embrace him. A fleeting look of alarm crossed his face and he took a step backward. I also moved a step back. With outstretched arms we shook hands warmly. We then had a pleasant chat before the class began. It was an encounter I'll never forget. further viola music by Bridge. In London I was introduced to him at a social gathering. He was an impressively tall man and, natur ally, spoke with a strong British accent. Excited to meet him, I told him how much I enjoyed playing and conducting his music. Since I had just performed those two short works, I asked him if he was planning, as I hoped, to write a full sonata or a concerto for the viola. He looked down at me from his full height and said disdainfully (I thought), "That's quite enough for that instrument!" Needless to say, I was crushed. -David Schwartz, Studio City, California

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-Milton Katims, Seattle, Washington