Klarinet Archive - Posting 000928.txt from 1998/11

From: Tony@-----.uk (Tony Pay)
Subj: [kl] A little story
Date: Wed, 25 Nov 1998 07:05:18 -0500

When I was young, much younger than today, la la la, I encountered an
Israeli clarinet player called Yona Ettlinger.

I first heard his records, which were excellent. Then I heard that he
was Professor of Clarinet at the Guildhall School of Music.

I gave lessons to some of his students at Summer Courses. They were
good players, but seemed a little stiff, and certainly in awe of him.
They had a particular story to tell, that when you started to have
lessons with him, he made you play long notes in the lower register for
6 months, before you were allowed to play anything else. All of them,
consequently, had good and resonant sounds, if not much else, I thought.

I invited Yona to play in the London Sinfonietta, of which I was
principal clarinet, and a director. I thought we might play the
Schoenberg Chamber Symphony together. It seemed ridiculous that there
was such an excellent player in London who never played with us. He
demurred, saying that he didn't like to play in unusual circumstances.

Then I gave a masterclass on the South Bank, in the South Bank Summer
Festival, to which he came, and which included one of his best students.
Afterwards, backstage, he said, "You are very free." I didn't know
quite what he meant, but thought of it as a compliment.

Then, suddenly, he died, of a heart attack.

His students at the Guildhall were stricken. The Principal phoned me,
and asked whether I would take on the teaching of his students, a week
or two before their final examinations. Of course, I agreed.

One young girl came and played to me. Yona had made an arrangement of
some Rameau, and this was what she brought.

At the end, she said, "How should I play the last two bars?"

"Well," I said, "you could do it quite a few different ways. You could
do a bit of a ritardando, as you did. Or, you could go almost in tempo,
and place the last chord. Or, you could do more of a diminuendo, and
end it quietly, because the harmony lets you do that. Or,.."

But at that point, she burst into tears.

I didn't know really what to do, but I put my arm a bit awkwardly round
her shoulders. (You'd be living dangerously doing that nowadays.)

"What's the matter?" I said.

"Well, he's dead, and now I'll *never know* how I should play it!"

Subsequently, I took over Yona's job at the Guildhall for a few years.
During this time, I had a couple of dozen students. Many of them became
professional players, one or two famous in the jazz field (nothing to
do with me, I hasten to add). One of them gave up the clarinet, and
became a successful film composer. A few of the others still write to
me, telling me what they are doing, but there wasn't a particularly
outstanding soloist.

Anyway, because of my workload at the time, I found it difficult to give
them the lessons they were entitled to, and suggested that we might find
someone else to make up the quota. It struck me that Yona's widow, who
had been his assistant, and had done the same for him, might be
interested. She was still living in London, and his students had liked
her.

I invited her to tea, to put the proposition to her. "After all, even
if we have different ideas, it could be very good for them," I said.

She looked at me.

"You are very naive," she said.

Tony
--
_________ Tony Pay
|ony:-) 79 Southmoor Rd Tony@-----.uk
| |ay Oxford OX2 6RE
tel/fax 01865 553339

"...his playing soars so freely, one is aware of witchcraft without
noticing a single magical gesture."
(C.D.F.Schubart on the harpsichord playing of C.P.E.Bach)

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