Van Trumpetmaster.com door oud-student Manny Laureano:
Citaat:
Dear everyone,
I found out a few moments ago that one of the most important musicians in my life, Mr. William Vacchiano, died today at the hospital where he spent the last few days.
My heart feels a mixture of sadness, pain, relief, gratitude... so many things to which I cannot afix a proper word.
I am glad indeed that I had been able to speak with him several times within the last two months but sad that it never worked out to go see him. Every time I'd call, he'd never fail to ask how I was doing and he even reminisced about the first time he heard me play as a high schooler. "I always talk about you" he said to me. He's getting ready to leave us and he's asking about me. But that's the way he was.
The pain is from the sound I hear when I think of him. No first trumpeter ever had a more human sound than he. He was not a perfectionist. That's why his sound had such a human quality... because he taught us that we were not perfect but with a few scales and arpeggios under our collective belt we coud get away with a lot. You could hear his heart in his sound, in his unique vibrato. I loved the few times he actually played for me at my lessons. I so wanted that heart to be in my sound, too. We all did. You could help but want to imitate his style, those of us who went through the whole four years with him. He needed that amount of time to drive the music into our skulls. He was relentless.
As the tributes and brickbats emerge in the coming days, weeks, and months there will be stories aplenty, I guarantee. There will be the occasional myth and the true story as well. I wonder if he died too late. I wonder if he died before the newer generation really got to know his work or, better still, understand it. What's to understand? Well, he lived his musical life by a set of rules that seem almost inexplicable out of the context of performing. You had to be there. Many quotes of his are completely misunderstood without the benefits of those wonderful four years to accompany them.
Well, this is life, I'm afraid. I've been dreading this day for many years and he kept putting off that final tango for as long as he could. I'm hoping he went quietly, in his sleep. I'm hoping that his passing was as serene as the the many lyrical solos he played for thousands of concertgoers the world over. I want to think that as his soul was lifted from the cheap housing that surrounded it and eventually failed him at his age of 93 that he heard something in his distant ear. I hope he could hear the sweetness in the sound of every trumpeter he ever taught. I hope he could hear the applause, so faint now, that greeted him every time he was acknowledged by the conductor at the helm of the New York Philharmonic. I hope he could hear the voice of his son, Ralph, beckoning him to join him and also the tender Virginia accent of his wife, Jo, both of whom preceded him in death by many years. The voice I often heard answering the phone at his home was that of his daughter, Joann, who survives him.
I will miss you terribly, Mr. V. but to do homage to you, I will never forget the various words you spoke to me designed to make me a better musician. Thank you for not giving up on me when I was such a lazy student my first year. Thank you for the words of encouragement when I finally started to "get it". Thank you for always putting music first and trumpet second. Thank you for saying "I love you" the last time I spoke to you before we said goodbye three weeks ago.
ML
Registreren
Gebruikerspaneel
Leden
Zoeken
Help
Inloggen
