More about Berl Senofsky

Werner Stroobants put these segments from The Winners on Youtube. Here Berl talks about meeting Rachmaninoff,


and here he talks about the business of music and listens for the very first time to a recording he made when he was a teenager.



Noel Lester sent me what he wrote about Berl Senofsky for the liner notes of a forthcoming recording:

Berl Senofsky—An Appreciation

When I first arrived at the Peabody Conservatory of Music in 1969 as a very green piano major, I could never have imagined how profoundly Berl Senofsky would influence my life and career. I never expected that a violinist would become my touchstone for musical excellence, even though my high school piano teacher had already spoken of him in reverential tones.

During my first couple of years at Peabody, I was around Mr. Senofsky a good bit and heard him play a number of times, but my first musical interaction came later, when my future wife, RoseAnn Markow, who was studying with Berl at the time, and I were put in a chamber music group together. I learned very quickly that one needed to come to the sessions very well prepared and to be ready to have every musical notion tossed aside, reexamined, and, if lucky, put back together again. But I also glimpsed a vision of what intense and profound music-making could be and I was and continue to be hungry for that kind of experience.

Berl Senofsky was a musician and a man of uncompromising standards. Though he was warm and had a quick wit, he did not suffer fools gladly (especially musical fools) and in his playing and teaching, he strove to reveal the meaning and truth of everything he and his students played. His studio was a mecca for the most gifted students at Peabody—not only violinists, but also pianists, cellists, violists, clarinetists, and anyone else who wanted to become a musician.

The sheer physical presence of Berl Senofsky could be intimidating; he had the build of a football player and a searing, steely gaze that could stop even the boldest person in his tracks. But when he picked up his violin to play, one was immediately transported to another realm--one which only he seemed to inhabit. Whether it was one of his many recitals at Peabody, a concerto performance, or a chamber music concert with colleagues such as cellists Lawrence Lesser or Stephen Kates, pianist Ellen Mack, or violist Karen Tuttle, Senofsky showed us a rare and beautiful vision of music as revealed by only the most gifted of interpreters. His audiences were transported, if only for a few breathtaking minutes, to Mt. Olympus itself.

These concerto performances reveal Senofsky’s playing at its very best. Brilliant, both technically and interpretatively, he is aided and abetted by two of the great conductors and orchestras of the 20th century. Listening to these concertos reveals why those of us who knew him and his playing well have been spoiled forever after and continue to measure other performances by his standard. Quite simply put, the time-stopping magic of a great Senofsky performance is a gift rarely received in this life.

Berl Senofsky Remembered Again

Here's an interview with RoseAnn Markow Lester who studied with Berl Senofsky at the Peabody Conservatory from 1971 through 1975, privately from 1977-1979, and again at Peabody from 1979-1981. She is on the faculty of Hood College in Frederick, Maryland.

1. What was your first impression of Berl Senofsky?

On the one hand, he was a formidable musical force; on the other, he took on the role of surrogate father. Berl was extremely protective of me, and although he was a giant in the world of violin, and I was properly awed by his talent, I also felt totally comfortable with him. I think I got away with saying things to him that others couldn't (being the fresh-mouthed teen that I was!) - challenging things, joking, questioning...I knew he loved me as a daughter.

2. What did Berl teach you about bow technique?

He said that what you do with the bow can make the difference between being a good violinist and a great one. The bow is the mouthpiece; if you have total control of the bow and speak through it the way your heart demands, you can say things in a very special, very personal way that is unique to you.

He also told me to relax. Flexibility is necessary. But controlled flexibility is what you want. He would say that "there's a lot more sound there than you think. Pull it out." The amount of sound Berl got was unbelievable. I think the fact that he was such a big man--and with such massive, muscular arms!--made a difference.

3. What did he teach you about left hand technique?

He would say to vary the speed of your vibrato according to the demands of the music. You should be able to give a sweet, relaxed vibrato as well as a very intense, tight vibrato, depending on what the music calls for. And keep it going! Don't stop vibrato before the note ends.

He taught that shifts should vary in speed. Sometimes you want the shift to be unheard; other times the slide itself enhances the music. Timing the beginning and end of the shift - and having it correspond with the bow direction change - also plays a part in the musical interpretation.

Berl had the most incredible trill! It was the cleanest, fastest trill I've ever heard. He gave a specific exercise for it that was guaranteed to work. Unfortunately, it's something much more easily demonstrated on the violin than explained in words.

4. What did he teach you about phrasing?

Play the music the way you'd sing it. Berl once told me something very simple, while I was working on a Bach solo sonata that made a big difference in how I approached many works: Always either "go to" somewhere or "come from" somewhere. Don't just wander aimlessly around the notes. Always have direction. And listen to the harmonies. Also, Berl took liberties with tempos; timing was so very important. He stretched and pushed in a way no one else had either the imagination or daring to do!

5. What did he teach you about sound production?

It's all in the bow. Have control of the bow. And color, color, color. I have yet to hear another violinist who could color notes - music - the way Berl did. That's one of the things that made his playing so special, I think. He felt things in a way no one else did.

6. What did he teach you about musicianship?

Never compromise musicality for the sake of technique, ever. Be daring. Take risks. I think that that attitude was, in some ways, a detriment to Berl. He was totally uncompromising when it came to musical interpretation. He was passionate about how he felt music, both in the playing of it and in the listening to it. Just a couple of months ago, when I was visiting with Berl and listening to his most recent CD with him (the Brahms and Prokofiev sonatas), I asked him, in awe, "How did you ever play with such incredible color; such amazing musical uniqueness?" His answer (with a little shrug - typical Berl!): "I just play what I 'hear' [in my head]." It was that simple to him. Obviously, he "heard" things differently from most people!


7. What are the three most valuable things you learned from Berl?

I learned to enjoy life. Berl had a difficult time setting limits to any area of his life, whether it be music, food, motorcycles (!), teaching, or anything else. He loved life! Which leads to another thing I learned from Berl: everything comes at a price. Berl's approach of "total immersion" in everything sometimes had less-than-satisfactory consequences. His love of food took its toll on his health, resulting in serious problems which could have been avoided had he been more moderate. But I don't think he ever regretted having indulged--he wanted to enjoy it to its fullest and was willing to suffer the consequences. I think his uncompromising attitude to musical interpretation had, on occasion, negative consequences as well.

Always play as though you are exposing your soul to the world - and don't be afraid to! Be daring. Be brazen. Don't compromise musicality. Don't worry about what the audience thinks. Play for yourself. (That's not to say Berl could always block out his audience!)

8. What is your most poignant memory?

Impossible to say. From the first time I met him as a young 15 year old girl until the day he died, I have stored away special memories. Some of the strongest right now are of social gatherings Berl had; music and food at his house. He loved to play chamber music, and would invite people over to play trios, quartets, and quintets, followed by lots of food. The first time I was included in this musical and gastronomic orgy, I was unaware of the "usual" procession of events. Silly me. I thought dinner was at dinnertime. But no. First, we played chamber music for hours and hours! It was at least 11 p.m. before we took a break for food! But then, the food was as much of a feast as the music was. Berl loved to eat. Needless to say, I was better prepared the next time, and ate before going.

My husband (Noel Lester) and I were visiting Berl earlier this year and were talking about violinists. My husband and I said that he (Berl) was certainly the greatest in our minds--no one else came close to satisfying our musical appetites the way his playing did. He scoffed, saying there were many great violinists. But then we asked him whose playing he liked better than his own, and he thoughtfully scratched his head, gave a little smile, and came up with no one! That's not to say he didn't greatly admire many other violinists--he did, and was quick to say so.

In spite of Berl's greatness as a violinist, it was touching to realize that he always had a lot of self-doubt. He always questioned whether the audience really liked it; whether we really thought it sounded good; good reviews seemed to always come as a surprise to him. Even when he won first prize in the Queen Elisabeth of Belgium competition, he felt undeserving of it, although the judges were unanimous in their decision. He always felt that someone else should have received it. I can't imagine anyone else playing better.

Berl had such tremendous influence on my musical development. I feel he has spoiled me in the sense that I seldom hear violin playing that truly satisfies me. I'm constantly thinking to myself, "Ah, but just think of how Berl would have played that!"

Berl Senofsky Remembered

Shortly after Berl Senofsky died in 2002 I conducted some interviews with some of his former violin students as material for a magazine article. It was very hard to find, at that time, a "home" for these interviews, so I am posting them here.

Here is an interview with Sandra Goldberg, who is the Assistant Concertmaster in the Zurich Chamber Orchestra. She studied with Berl from 1971-1975 at the Peabody Conservatory of Music.

1. What was your first impression of Berl Senofsky?

He was large, intimidating, and important, a fantastic violinist with an incredible sound.

2. What are the three most valuable things you learned from Berl?

Always play with imagination and good taste, always project to the back of the hall.

3. What is your most poignant memory?

I have a lot of memories of Berl. When preparing for my recital, he taught me up to the last minute, together with Ellen Mack, until they were both arguing about if I should do a repeat the same way as the first time I had played it, or do it a different way. I don't remember what they decided, but I think I ended up playing it differently.

One day during a summer in Woodstock Connecticut, where he taught our violin class, he and Ellen took us on an excursion to Boston. We went to a Chinese restaurant where dish after dish was brought out until we were so stuffed we could no longer move. He had Incredible generosity and a love of the fine things in life.

I remember his master classes in the concert hall. He was always standing in the back of the hall listening, a cigar in his fingers. Years later my violin still smelled of his cigar.

I remember Hearing him demonstrate a passage and feeling as if I could never come close to that genius in his playing in a million years. It was both inspiring and depressing at the same time. His playing was always so beautiful and convincing.

4. What did Berl teach you about bow technique?

"Sustain, sustain, sustain," controlling bow changes, articulation, and colle.

5. What did he teach you about left hand technique?

Putting the fingers down so slowly that you could adjust the note before it
was played. He talked about vibrato with "tensil" strength, and had me do vibrato exercises and shifting exercises. He taught me how to make a
beautiful Heifetz shift by coordinating the bow change with the glissando.

6. What did he teach you about phrasing?

He taught me to sing, to "color" the sound, and to time a phrase so that the audience is in the palm of your hand. "Make the audience cry," he would say.

7. What did he teach you about sound production?

He would talk about feeling the resistance of the bow pulling in towards the bridge, sustaining the sound, and projecting to the back of the hall.
The first few weeks of lessons consisted of feeling the arm weight on open
strings, changing the bow at the frog slowly so that the sound was very
dirty. The result came later in a projecting sound, but during those few
weeks I felt sorry for my neighbors in the dormitory listening to my
scratching sound!

8. What did he teach you about musicianship?

"There is no such thing as a bad accompanist. You must learn to lead better
and to listen." He taught me to be a good chamber music player.

Augustin Hadelich, Augustin Hadelich, and Sergei Rachmaninoff

Berl Senofsky told me the story of the time, as a boy, he was having a lesson in New York with Ivan Galamian on the Rachmaninoff Vocalise, and it happened that Rachmaninoff was in the building. Rachmaninoff knocked on the door and asked if he could play it with Berl. Rachmaninoff wanted to play it over and over again, and he told Berl and Galamian that it was his favorite piece.

This absolutely amazing reading reminds me of what it might have been like to have been in that room with Rachmaninoff at that time. Thank you Augustin for letting us into your room, at this time.

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!  

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.