Remembering Aaron Rosand

Rarely does a day go by when I don't do some Bach. And when I do it it's never the way I did it the time before.

Aaron Rosand (1927-2019)



I never got to meet Aaron Rosand, but I feel like I have known him for most of my life through his recordings and through stories told to me by his friends and colleagues. The Strad has an excellent collection of video links to performances and interviews, as well as links to articles about him and by him. I'm hoping that my friend Daniel Morganstern, who knew Aaron Rosand very well, will write a blog post about him.

My friend Bernard Zaslav, who died a few years ago, tells a story about a time Aaron Rosand visited him in Milwaukee in his memoir The Viola in My Life. I know that Bernie would want me to share this story here, so I will.

My good friend, the violinist Aaron Rosand, stayed with us when he came to town to play an outdoor concert with the Milwaukee Symphony in one of the city's parks. Nomi [Zaslav] and I attended the afternoon rehearsal, which was conducted by Alfredo Antonini. Aaron (his close friends usually called him Archie) stood holding his famous ex-Kochanski Guarneri del Jesu violin of 1741 in hand (perhaps the finest del Jesu of them all) on a platform with two enormous, eight-foot-high loudspeakers on either side of him. Before Archie played a note, the midwest summer breeze sharpened stiffly, and toppled one of the speakers, striking both Archie and Antonini. I ran to help Archie, and was able to grab the fiddle from him before he fell.

We followed the ambulance that carried the barely-conscious Archie with the slightly-injured Antonini to the hospital. When Archie opened his eyes, the first thing he asked was, "How's my fiddle?" (It was fine.) One the way back to our house, we passed a Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Archie had to stop and order a whole bucket after his ordeal.

Then there's another story that isn't in the book which Bernie, Danny, Berl Senofsky, or another friend who knew him in New York told me. In order to have the resources to have a solo career in Europe, Rosand did a lot of commercial work in New York. He did so much commercial work that he would often arrive at recording sessions at the very last minute. When asked how he could do all this his response was, "I made all the lights."

I'm going over explore the article in The Strad I linked to in the first paragraph now. I hope you will too.

And here's his YouTube channel.

Aaron Rosand, Ruggiero Ricci, Sherry Kloss, and Erick Friedman in Concert on DVD

My friend Sherry Kloss sent me a newly-released 4-DVD-set of concerts from the Jascha Heifetz Society’s 2000 and 2001 concert series at Azusa Pacific University in Azusa, California. The DVDs contain full-length recitals played by Sherry Kloss, Ruggerio Ricci, Erick Friedman, and Aaron Rosand. I thought I’d share a bit about them here.

There are times during Sherry Kloss’ recital, particularly during Heifetz’s transcription of Debussy’s “La Chevelure,” where she sounds remarkably like her teacher. It’s partly because she is playing on the Tononi violin that he willed to her in 1980, and it’s partly because she spent many years as his teaching assistant at USC. It’s the instrument that Heifetz used for the first part of his career. He knew that Sherry would do good things to honor his memory and preserve his legacy, and he was certainly right.

She begins her recital (with pianist Ralph Albertstrom) with a Heifetz transcription of a G-minor Sonata by Christoph Willibald Gluck. I couldn’t find any source for this transcription. Gluck wrote very little in the way of pure instrumental music, and though he did write six triosonatas, none of them happens to be in G minor. It also doesn’t really sound like Gluck. I wonder if Heifetz might have been pulling a “Kreisler” with this transcription (he might just have written the piece himself). Kloss follows the Gluck with a lovely performance of a Beethoven Sonata that she studied with Heifetz.

The rest of her program has Ned Rorem’s 1954 Violin Sonata, a not-necessarily-violinistic piece that takes a second hearing to appreciate. There’s some heartfelt music in it, particularly in the third movement, “A Funeral.” This DVD recording seems to be the only recording of the piece. It shares some spirit with Cyril Scott’s “Tallahasse Suite,” a piece that Heifetz recorded in the 1930s with Emanuel Bay. Nobody has recorded it since, until now.

Kloss incorporates several Heifetz encores (all Heifetz transcriptions) between her longer pieces, and plays an impressive "Sabre Dance," breaking what looks like half a dozen bow hairs in the process, and she ends her recital with Heifetz’s transcription of “The Sea Murmurs” by Castelnuovo-Tedesco, which is the way Heifetz ended his final recital.

This set also offers the last full recital of solo music that Ruggerio Ricci played. At 80, Ricci's hearing is not what it once was, but his memory is still astounding. He is a tiny man--perhaps only five feet tall, but he seems to fill the whole stage, and he commands total attention. He plays the Bach D minor Partita without repeats, and there are times when his intonation is uneven. The movements preceding the Chaconne unfortunately seem rather perfunctory, but he seems to care a great deal about playing the Chaconne, and there is a great deal to learn from his interpretation. The lapses in intonation are terribly sad, but he is still a physical marvel.

Watching Ricci play his transcription of Tarrega’s "Ricuerdos De La Alhambra" is fascinating. Watching (and listening to) his fourth finger do left-hand pizzicato, and watching his bow bounce in the upper half is a rare treat (one of my students said, “You and I put together couldn’t do that”). And then there’s the way he plays Wieniawski staccato etude, which is truly incredible. It just makes me laugh out loud to watch him play it, because there is nothing else I can do: there are no words to describe the supernatural-ness of it. How can anybody play the fiddle like this? Pagainini’s “Nel cor piu” is more of the same, and then some, and then some more, and some more. There is nothing perfunctory when he plays this repertoire (and happily very little that’s out of tune). Ricci is at his best when on the figurative violinistic high wire, doing flips while juggling lit firecrackers and swallowing swords. And he does it with no sign of difficulty. Nobody can touch him when it comes to this virtuoso solo repertoire. Nobody could touch him when he was younger, and nobody could touch him at 82. Not even Heifetz.

The only time I have ever seen Erick Friedman is on the Heifetz masterclass tapes from the 1960s. He was an extremely tall young man in his 20s. In 2000 he was an extremely tall man of 65--quite a shock. He also talks to the audience at some length, and with a great deal of humility.

I like his performance of the Grieg G Major Sonata (with Ralph Albertstrom) very much. After stating that nobody played French music like Heifetz, he plays the Faure Sonata with the same free rhythm and the same feeling of always being ahead of the beat that makes the Heifetz recording of that piece difficult for me to enjoy. His homage is genuine, but perhaps it’s a bit too genuine for me. Friedman plays the rest of the program--the Air from the Goldmark Concerto Paganini’s 20th Caprice (transcribed by Kreisler), Sarasate’s "Scherzo Tarantelle," Heifetz’s transcription of Debussy’s “Beau Soir” (Friedman's only Heifetz transcription), and Saint-Saens’ "Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso"--from memory, so the camera can get great shots of his right hand and his left hand. Watching him play would be a great guide for tall violinists who have a whole different set of angles (at least a different set from the other violinists here) that they have to contend with in order to play the violin well.

I must confess that I have spent the most time watching and listening to Aaron Rosand’s recital, because watching him and listening to him makes me feel so good. He was 73 in 2000 (I have heard that he’s still going great guns in his mid 80s).

Simply watching and listening to Aaron Rosand play the violin has improved the way I play the violin. He is completely comfortable with the instrument, and he’s completely comfortable being expressive. His expression is so true, so natural, and it is so powerful that its impression lasts for hours and hours. Days even.

Yesterday I had a student who was not interested in using his fourth finger. He was also not terribly interested in holding is fiddle properly. I decided to play him Aaron Rosand’s performance of the Vivaldi-Respighi D major Sonata (now I finally know who wrote that piece, because it never sounded much like Vivaldi to me). I played my student a bit of the Bach Chaconne, and pointed out Rosand’s beautiful position, and his million dollar fourth finger (which is worth at least as much as his instrument, the 1741 ex-Kochanski Guarneri del Jesu). You wouldn’t believe the instant difference watching and listening to Rosand made in my student’s playing. My student understood what he needed to do, and he did it immediately. Rosand showed him exactly what is important, and why.

Rosand and his accompanist, Gerald Robbins, include five Heifetz transcriptions on their recital, including the Preludio XV by Vale, “Ao pe’ d fogueira,” which refuses to leave my head. How somebody could appear to be completely comfortable playing Ravel’s Tzigane is beyond the usual limits of my imagination.

The hall Rosand is playing in has more light than the hall used for the other recitals. He plays his entire recital from memory, so the camera can get great close action shots of his left hand and his bow arm.

The Jascha Heifetz Society hasn't yet updated the link for this on their website, but you can get a copy by sending a check to: Jascha Heifetz Society, P.O. Box 11656, Marina Del Rey, CA 90295. It's priced at $54.95 plus $4.00 in postage. It isn't being sold by a commercial entity, so the price basically reflects the cost of making the DVDs.

Aaron Rosand writes about Isaac Stern

I am sometimes dubious about things I read on Norman Lebrecht's blog, but Aaron Rosand simply wanted a highly visible place to share his very honest account of the sabotaging role that Isaac Stern played in his career.

Read Rosand's account here.

Memorizing Music

Mrs. Hansberry, my High School English teacher, told the class that after not playing for years she could play Chopin on the piano because of muscle memory. That was the first time I ever heard the term "muscle memory," and since other forms of memory didn't seem to work for me, I thought I'd give it a go. I set out right away to develop muscle memory. I practiced mindlessly during most of my waking hours that were not taken up by school, and got my fingers to obediently play scales, arpeggios, etudes, and pieces without incorporating much in the way of thought.

I etched these patterns into my reptilian brain so efficiently that I still could, a quarter-century after identifying as a flutist, whip through the whole "Baker warmup," and a handful of orchestral excerpts. My "interpretations" of music that I played from memory were one-dimensional. I didn't realize this one-dimensionality until I sat in on a lesson that Julius Baker was giving to Sandra Church, a fellow Juilliard student a few years older than I. Baker preferred the masterclass format for lessons, so by listening to other people have lessons we were supposed to learn something. Sandra Church played the Mozart G major Concerto in a way that was completely new and fresh. She played the same notes that I played, but she made phrases that I had worn down through endless repetition sound like they had brand-new tires, a full tank of gas, a back seat free of debris, and a spiffy exterior.

I couldn't figure out why her Mozart sounded like, well, Mozart. Sandy played the piece in a far more elegant way than my teacher did. I was hoping that eventually I would learn how to sound like Sandy, but I had no idea where to start, and nothing in the way of help. I eventually found out that changing instruments was an effective way to undo the damage that I had caused by exercising my muscle memory too much.

Nobody could diagnose my problem. Nobody knew that the kinetic and intellectual parts of my musical being were so disconnected. I did develop a kind of musical intuition in order to bridge the mysterious gap myself, which helped me to grow in other ways, I suppose, but it did not help me to become musically connected to the flute music I had simply practiced too much.

I switched to violin at thirty-two and had to build a physical technique from scratch. There was so much to pay attention to physically: so much movement, so much figuring out distances, and so much in the way of intellectual stimulation that I managed to avoid the play-by-rote method that got me into my musical flute prison. As a beginning violinist I consciously used written music as a way to experience the physicality of the music, even when playing scales and arpeggios. As a result of not memorizing on the violin and the viola, I am able to return to a piece of music day after day and have a new experience. I can continue to learn more from the pieces I have been playing for decades. I can concentrate on matters of sound, form, and bow control while I practice scales.

Some people memorize music visually, which I suppose means they are "reading" the music that is imprinted on the visual part of their brain. I have never been able to do this consistently, though I do tend to remember where a passage I am looking for is on the page. Some people memorize music kinetically with a connection to the inner ear. And then there are people who memorize music intellectually, keeping track of the names of the chords, and, I suppose the trajectory of the phrases.

I think that people who can memorize music intellectually have an advantage. I have tried, but I find that it doesn't stay in my memory for very long. And I never feel the freedom that some people speak of when they play from memory.

Aaron Rosand writes about the way he memorizes music. He does it visually:

Be honest with everything on the printed page. When beginning to learn a work, repeat a section many times while keeping your eyes on the page. As soon as you possibly can, close your eyes and play it from memory. Unknowingly, your eyes have already photographed the music. If you lose a note, open your eyes and look again at the page. Repeat the process until you can play it in your sleep.

He writes about memorizing by an aurally stimulated kinetic response (which is different from mechanical muscle memory):

Memorization is a process of hearing each note before you play it followed by motor reflex. You cannot fully express yourself in an interpretation if your eyes are riveted on the music.

He believes that memorization is the key to interpretation.

Memorization is the key to interpretation. The music must become a part of you if you are completely immersed in what you play. Remain focused on expressing what your inner ear wants to hear. Trust your memory and do not become preoccupied with fingerings and technical problems. Repetitive practice will do its part and motor reflex will take over. Concentrate on your bowing. The bow is your paint brush and capable of providing all of the textures and nuances required if sensitively employed. It is also your breathing process and breathes life into every note that you play. Imagine how gratifying it can be when you can control your sound and characterise your music making with the fingers of your right hand. Interpretation and memorization are within your grasp.

Aaron Rosand's friend Berl Senofsky once told me a story about playing the Bach G minor Fugue from memory and ending up in the A minor Fugue (which made his father furious). A friend told me a story about getting a call from his teacher Ruggero Ricci (a friend of both Rosand and Senofsky, bu the way), who was playing the Bach D minor Partita in a concert. He didn't have the music with him, and he couldn't remember the names and order of the movements!

I play the Sonatas and Partitas on both violin and viola, so it is very easy for me, if I try to play from memory, to find myself playing a fifth lower on the violin or a fifth higher on the viola and getting totally confused. Thank goodness I have no need to play from memory!  

Ruggiero Ricci Encores: Bach, Paganini, and Tarrega-Ricci

In preparation for writing a blog post about a Jascha Heifetz Society 4-DVD set of concerts played by Ruggiero Ricci (his last performance of music for unaccompanied violin), Aaron Rosand, Sherry Kloss, and Erick Friedman, I have been gawking at Ruggiero Ricci as a younger man.

He gave three encores when he played in Florence in 1985. Here's the first and the second:



and here's his third:

Sharing the Love: Aaron Rosand

My Daily Bach

"Rarely does a day go by when I don't do some Bach. And when I do it it's never the way I did it the time before." Aaron Rosand

I would say that the person I have the most intimate daily contact with for the longest time has been Johann Sebastian Bach. He always adapts to whatever musical needs I might have at any given time in my life.

When I was a small child, before I played an instrument, I listened to my father practice Bach every day. When I was very little it was the Sonatas and Partitas for violin, and then when I was older (after the age of 6), it was the Cello Suites, and the Sonatas and Partitas played one fifth lower on the viola. My mother practiced Bach Flute Sonatas and transcriptions of non-contrapuntal movements from the Sonatas and Partitas and the Cello Suites, and when I began to play the flute I did the same. I also learned all the flute parts from the Bach Cantatas that my (then future and now former) teacher Julius Baker compiled after his years as the flutist of the Bach Aria Group, and from my mother's books of arias with instrumental obbligato by voice type.

That led me to learn the arias in the context of their cantatas. If it was for flute and by Bach, I knew it. My first Cantata was Number 78. It was, perhaps, the first recording I bought for myself: Karl Richter and the Munich Bach Choir Orchestra with the Magnificat on the other side.



I even bought the parts when I was in high school. My father told me that Cantata 78 was the first Bach Cantata he ever played. He played it at a Unitarian Church in Cleveland when he was there working for what was to become NASA (he was called to sub for a violinist had trouble getting up on Sunday mornings). The conductor was Robert Shaw. Cantata 78 still has its place for me in the pantheon of Bach Cantatas.

I always felt disappointed by the A minor Suite for Solo Flute. It never seemed to be as interesting as the solo string music, or the accompanied Flute Sonatas, but I still played it every day before I became a string player.

My daily Bach took me from age 13 through age 31 or so on the flute, recorder, and baroque flute, and as soon as I had enough technique to believe I could attempt the Sonatas and Partitas on the violin, it became my daily goal to navigate through them. When I found myself with a viola (I bought one for $100 at a neighbor's garage sale), the first pieces I tried to play were the Cello Suites (Watson Forbes' transcription). Once I got enough technique to play movements from the Sonatas and Partitas on the viola (the ones movements I heard my father play when I was growing up), they joined my daily Bach. Now I practice all the movements on the violin, and practice all the Cello Suites on the viola.

I have never been much of a keyboard player, but I still manage to find pleasure in playing the Preludes and Fugues from the Well-Tempered Klavier on the piano (albeit slowly). Bach's keyboard Partitas taught me the joy of completely exhausting all the contrapuntal possibilities presented by a small amount of material, and some movements from his English and French Suites, along with the two-part inventions taught me the limitlessness of writing with only two voices. When I got my viola d'amore, and instrument that I'm sure Bach played, I made a transcription of the Fifth Cello Suite for it. That's the way I learned my way around a new instrument: through Bach.

I learned to play the flute, the baroque flute, the piano, the violin, and the viola from Bach. I discovered the wonders of "baroque interpretation" through Bach, and I discovered the wonders of "romantic interpretation" through Bach. Bach has shared my deepest passions, my deepest sorrows, my flights of musical and intellectual fancy, and my frustrations. Teaching Bach is always the greatest way of communicating with a student, and discovering the ambiguities of Bach--phrases that can work in thousands upon thousands of ways--is a parallel to all of life. It is sturdy music that means as much to me today as it did when I was a very small child. It is music that I can throw my whole self into, and though much of my daily Bach is grooved into my psyche, I never have the same experience playing it. Never.

Very Different Styles from the Same Teacher

How interesting to hear Stephanie Jeong and Anna Tifu in back-to-back recitals. Both are fine violinists, both are students of Aaron Rosand, and their musical personalities are very different from one another. Jeong seems to have a larger sound than Tifu, but Tifu is also an excellent violinist. Her interpretation of the Beethoven Spring is rather convetional to my ears, and her sound in it wasn't as strong as some of the other semi-finalists were in their Beethoven Sonatas. Her Franck was really fine, as was her Tzigane. The last performance of A Night at the Chinese Opera was just great, maybe one of the best of the 16 readings, but so was the penultimate performance by Jeong.

I feel for the judges because the musicians in this semi-final round are so impressive. My "short list" has eight people I would like to hear in the finals: Saeka Matsuyama, Simone Lamsma, Yura Lee, Bella Hristova, Augustin Hadelich, Celeste Golden, Stephanie Jeong, and Anna Tifu.