The unfortunate and untimely passing of Jorge Liderman a few months ago was the latest addition to the list of music mentors of mine that are no longer with us. I guess it's the natural order of things for a teacher to make way for the younger generation, but it seems to me that all of these exceptional people left too soon, and either way, one never quite gets used to it. I want to take a moment and reflect upon each one of these people dear to me, and share a story or two that may give a sense of who they were to those who never met them, and help those close to them remember them with a smile.
I'll start with my first music teacher, Antonis Danas (1930-1987). He was a close friend of my father's and a choral conductor, trained in the military band education program of post WWII Greece. He also played Contrabass, and I remember his bass, which was the largest instrument I ever saw as a kid and wondered how big do one's hands have to be to play that thing! He directed the local amateur adult choir in Crete where I grew up, in which both my parents sang. He was always coming around our house, and when I expressed interest in learning the guitar around age 5, he took it upon himself to teach me music notation, theory and solfege for free, since he was a friend. This was a double-edge sword, because on one hand it saved my father tuition money, but at the same time, it meant that I had to work extra hard, never miss lessons or go under-prepared, and never quit!
And he was a mean one...
In the European music training tradition, teachers used to employ methods that today would border abuse. And his own military musical background only made it worse. He would literary scream at me when I got pitches wrong in solfege, or screw up my homework on intervals or key signatures. At the same time, he deeply cared and gave me the most thorough background I could ever hope for. He would go as far as writing in longhand in my notebook what today would need to be in a book. I still have these notebooks with his exquisite penmanship, describing in detail how to go about finding a relative minor key, with diagrams on how to conduct 7/8 (yes, while singing solfege in fixed Do, I had to conduct the music as well). When I later decided to move away in order to pursue music seriously, he made sure I went to the right conservatory in Athens, and kept up with my progress, always steering my way toward what he thought was best for me. He passed away of a heart attack while hiking in the Cretan countryside, too far from medical help.
My next important teacher was Amarandos Amarantides (1947-1995). I was actually "sent" to him to be his student by Danas. Upon my arrival in Athens I went with my father to meet this man who was to be my next teacher at his beautiful house in Plaka (the district right below the Parthenon), where he kept a studio. He met us with a smile, and made me and (most importantly) my father feel at ease with him right away. I was to study harmony, counterpoint and fugue with him, and, "if I was good enough", composition. At the time he had just published his 3 volumes of educational books on the study of harmony and counterpoint, which I still use in my own teaching, and he seemed to me larger than life, sitting in front of his piano with a pipe permanently fixed in his mouth. After settling our lesson plan, he asked my father if I had found an apartment, and when my father said I hadn't yet, he said he had a place downtown that was furnished and vacant, and that he would be willing to let me stay there for about half of what seemed to be the going rate at the time. I was thrilled, because that meant I wouldn't have to stay with relatives, and I would be independent.
Amarantides was a great musician and a legendary teacher in those days. Having studied in Paris, he brought back and shared with his students a rigorous and very disciplined kind of training. We met once a week, on Tuesday mornings, and I would usually stay up all of Monday nights trying to get my harmony and counterpoint exercises to work. He coached me to take what was at the time the accredited exam for the Music Theory Certificate, which I passed with flying colors. He was also the first one to show me how serial composition worked. He was composing piano pieces in a free, tonally gravitated serial style, and he would play those for me, asking if I heard the tonal centers clearly. I studied with him up until I left for the US in 1989. When I went back to Athens for a visit in 1992, I called his house from a phone booth nearby, expecting to hear his voice inviting me to "come on up". Instead, his wife answered the phone and told me that they were divorced and that he was battling a very mean type of cancer. When he answered the number she gave me to dial, he sounded happy to hear my voice, asked me about what kind of samplers I had in the States to compose for film, and politely declined to see me, without mentioning his illness. I was never to speak with him after that.
Don Brandon Ray (1926-2005) was teaching Film Scoring at UCLA extension when we met in 1992. I had already started composing film scores, and his Composing & Conducting to Picture course seemed like a good way for me to gain some experience and fill in whatever blanks my formal education had left me with. We hit it off right away. As soon as he walked in the first class meeting he came straight to me (a total stranger at the time, but not for long) and said: "don't believe anything these guys tell you", pointing at the rest of the class, who I guess, had taken more classes with him before. Don was an experienced practical musician, and we had many great conversations, since he loved literature and art, and he seemed to face life with such grace. He told me early on that he thought I should be a conductor, and he referred me to conduct several film sessions for composers who could not conduct, which gave me a lot of experience on the podium, conducting extremely skilled musicians. I remember how much he loved his wife Laurel, and how at ease he was with everyone, not to mention his stories about the old days at CBS, and meeting Stravinsky. Don was a true friend, and we kept in touch after I moved to Berkeley, but I was in Paris when he passed away and I didn't find out about it until much later.
Jerry Goldsmith (1929-2004) needs no introduction. His film scores are legendary, and he redefined himself as a composer with every score he wrote. Although I had attended several of his talks, most of them at UCLA, I didn't get to meet him until the very last few years of his life, when he taught regularly at the Music Department. Our first encounter was at a Masterclass, in which I played for him a few of my scores. He had great things to say, and we ended up talking for almost 30 minutes after the class. But we really got close a semester later, in his Film Composition seminar, which met every Thursday. We talked about music mostly, and he kept asking me about odd meters and how I thought of them from the perspective of Greek folk music, since he had always used them in his scores, so after one of many long discussions on the subject, he proclaimed: "I think I have Greek blood in me too!", and in his next score (the 13th Warrior) he used a bouzouki (folk Greek instrument) though it had nothing to do with the theme of that movie. He challenged me to use as many odd meters as possible for the final project of the course (scoring a long action scene from the Mummy), provided I could conduct it. We recorded the score with the UCLA Philharmonia, and I did just fine, which was sort of like passing the final test with Jerry. We met for lunch several times after the course was over until I moved away from L.A. I will miss Jerry, and I'm not the only one.
John Thow (1949-2007) was truly one of the most intelligent people I ever met. He had the most refined sense of humor I've come across, and he could talk about anything. He was on sabbatical the first year I came to Berkeley, so when he came back I hesitantly introduced myself to him, convinced he would not know who I was. Not only did he know me, but he seemed to remember all the music I had submitted in my graduate school application, with astonishing details. We must have spent close to an hour talking in the hallway. I went on to study with him extensively, and he chaired my qualifying doctoral exam, closely following my work and progress. When Theodore Antoniou came to the Bay area in 2004, as my guest to attend the premiere of a work commissioned by the Worn Chamber Ensemble, he came over to our apartment for dinner, during which he made another close friend out of my wife in a matter of minutes. John could talk about anything to anyone in great detail, and his knowledge of poetry, literature and art was almost encyclopedic.
While in Paris, I kept in close touch with him, and he would often call me and talk for hours, never thinking twice about the price of those phone calls.
It was during my visit to Berkeley in March of 2007, towards the end of my stay in Paris that this strange turn of events took place. The purpose of my trip was to attend he premiere of my dissertation piece for orchestra. I , of course, called John as soon as I landed and we spent the entirety of what was to be his last day together. We had a three hour lunch, followed by an equally long conversation over coffee, and then went to the dress rehearsal of my piece together. He wanted to follow the score, so I gave him my only copy to look at. During the orchestra's break, I left momentarily to go to the recording booth to stop the running tape that was recording the rehearsal, and when I came back to the Hall, John was gone. I figured he was tired and left, but still it seemed strange that he never said good bye. As it turns out, he went home, where he collapsed and rushed to the hospital, where he passed away soon after. We didn't think of anything at the time, because he was supposed to be away for the weekend, so the bad news came on Sunday afternoon. The shock was astonishing, as was what followed, which was a proposal to me by the Music Department to take over Thow's classes mid-semester, which I did. The whole thing still feels very strange because during our last meeting, John kept telling me to move back to the bay area, where there would definitely be work for me, a statement that seemed very strange at the time. He was right though.
Jorge Liderman 's (1957-2008) death (an apparent suicide) was probably the biggest shock we've ever had in the Music Department at Berkeley, less than a year after Thow's untimely passing. Jorge never burdened anyone with his personal issues, yet it appears that he was struggling with severe depression, a fact one would have never deducted by interacting with him. Jorge was a very talented composer, very successful in reaching wide audiences and very celebrated with performances and commissions from all over the world. I studied with him composition privately for a year, and also took fugue with him. I had also worked with him in preparing scores and parts for many of his pieces, including his last piece furthermore. A gentle and quiet man, Jorge also had a very interesting way of provoking thoughts and discussions, even controversy without losing his demeanor. Our last interaction was a few days before his passing, when he eagerly filled in teaching my 20th century harmony class, while i was on a business trip. I hope he has found peace where he is now.
Don Brandon Ray (1926-2005) was teaching Film Scoring at UCLA extension when we met in 1992. I had already started composing film scores, and his Composing & Conducting to Picture course seemed like a good way for me to gain some experience and fill in whatever blanks my formal education had left me with. We hit it off right away. As soon as he walked in the first class meeting he came straight to me (a total stranger at the time, but not for long) and said: "don't believe anything these guys tell you", pointing at the rest of the class, who I guess, had taken more classes with him before. Don was an experienced practical musician, and we had many great conversations, since he loved literature and art, and he seemed to face life with such grace. He told me early on that he thought I should be a conductor, and he referred me to conduct several film sessions for composers who could not conduct, which gave me a lot of experience on the podium, conducting extremely skilled musicians. I remember how much he loved his wife Laurel, and how at ease he was with everyone, not to mention his stories about the old days at CBS, and meeting Stravinsky. Don was a true friend, and we kept in touch after I moved to Berkeley, but I was in Paris when he passed away and I didn't find out about it until much later.
Jerry Goldsmith (1929-2004) needs no introduction. His film scores are legendary, and he redefined himself as a composer with every score he wrote. Although I had attended several of his talks, most of them at UCLA, I didn't get to meet him until the very last few years of his life, when he taught regularly at the Music Department. Our first encounter was at a Masterclass, in which I played for him a few of my scores. He had great things to say, and we ended up talking for almost 30 minutes after the class. But we really got close a semester later, in his Film Composition seminar, which met every Thursday. We talked about music mostly, and he kept asking me about odd meters and how I thought of them from the perspective of Greek folk music, since he had always used them in his scores, so after one of many long discussions on the subject, he proclaimed: "I think I have Greek blood in me too!", and in his next score (the 13th Warrior) he used a bouzouki (folk Greek instrument) though it had nothing to do with the theme of that movie. He challenged me to use as many odd meters as possible for the final project of the course (scoring a long action scene from the Mummy), provided I could conduct it. We recorded the score with the UCLA Philharmonia, and I did just fine, which was sort of like passing the final test with Jerry. We met for lunch several times after the course was over until I moved away from L.A. I will miss Jerry, and I'm not the only one.
John Thow (1949-2007) was truly one of the most intelligent people I ever met. He had the most refined sense of humor I've come across, and he could talk about anything. He was on sabbatical the first year I came to Berkeley, so when he came back I hesitantly introduced myself to him, convinced he would not know who I was. Not only did he know me, but he seemed to remember all the music I had submitted in my graduate school application, with astonishing details. We must have spent close to an hour talking in the hallway. I went on to study with him extensively, and he chaired my qualifying doctoral exam, closely following my work and progress. When Theodore Antoniou came to the Bay area in 2004, as my guest to attend the premiere of a work commissioned by the Worn Chamber Ensemble, he came over to our apartment for dinner, during which he made another close friend out of my wife in a matter of minutes. John could talk about anything to anyone in great detail, and his knowledge of poetry, literature and art was almost encyclopedic.
While in Paris, I kept in close touch with him, and he would often call me and talk for hours, never thinking twice about the price of those phone calls.
It was during my visit to Berkeley in March of 2007, towards the end of my stay in Paris that this strange turn of events took place. The purpose of my trip was to attend he premiere of my dissertation piece for orchestra. I , of course, called John as soon as I landed and we spent the entirety of what was to be his last day together. We had a three hour lunch, followed by an equally long conversation over coffee, and then went to the dress rehearsal of my piece together. He wanted to follow the score, so I gave him my only copy to look at. During the orchestra's break, I left momentarily to go to the recording booth to stop the running tape that was recording the rehearsal, and when I came back to the Hall, John was gone. I figured he was tired and left, but still it seemed strange that he never said good bye. As it turns out, he went home, where he collapsed and rushed to the hospital, where he passed away soon after. We didn't think of anything at the time, because he was supposed to be away for the weekend, so the bad news came on Sunday afternoon. The shock was astonishing, as was what followed, which was a proposal to me by the Music Department to take over Thow's classes mid-semester, which I did. The whole thing still feels very strange because during our last meeting, John kept telling me to move back to the bay area, where there would definitely be work for me, a statement that seemed very strange at the time. He was right though.
Jorge Liderman 's (1957-2008) death (an apparent suicide) was probably the biggest shock we've ever had in the Music Department at Berkeley, less than a year after Thow's untimely passing. Jorge never burdened anyone with his personal issues, yet it appears that he was struggling with severe depression, a fact one would have never deducted by interacting with him. Jorge was a very talented composer, very successful in reaching wide audiences and very celebrated with performances and commissions from all over the world. I studied with him composition privately for a year, and also took fugue with him. I had also worked with him in preparing scores and parts for many of his pieces, including his last piece furthermore. A gentle and quiet man, Jorge also had a very interesting way of provoking thoughts and discussions, even controversy without losing his demeanor. Our last interaction was a few days before his passing, when he eagerly filled in teaching my 20th century harmony class, while i was on a business trip. I hope he has found peace where he is now.
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