Until the recent passing of violinist Erica Morini (1904-1995),
one could have asked her anything about music, her life, her world.
Now as a result of the mysterious theft of her entire archive,
with nearly all of her recordings out of print and too few published
interviews, it seemed that all efforts to retrieve traces of her
existence might be doomed.
Arbiter's first Morini CD (Arbiter 106: Morini plays 19th- century
concertos) described the tragic plundering of her priceless Davidoff
Stradivarius violin, her scores, letters, and all personal and
professional memorabilia. Soon after its publication I had the
good fortune to meet the violist Lotte Bamberger, who played with
the Busch Quartet in 1943-1944. In Vienna, both Morini and Bamberger
were pupils of Rosa Hochmann, a Joachim pupil who knew Brahms
and had coached with Max Bruch. At one point, she unexpectedly
mentioned having played quartets at Morini's home on Fifth Avenue
in New York. Bamberger admired Morini's art and fondly recalled
her as a deft, remarkable first violinist. Although never performing
in public, the Morini Quartet played works by Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven,
and Schumann. Bamberger recalled that the other quartet members
were Nanette Levy, second violin, and her husband, William Harry,
cello.
Levy and Harry proved to be a vital link: they had interviewed
Morini extensively, recording some four hours of her spoken recollections
on cassettes, along with nearly five hours of their quartet's
readings. Now Morini, who had seemed a lost, enigmatic figure,
suddenly sprang back to life. The following material was compiled
from their recorded interviews of the 88-year-old artist, taped
in 1992.
Although Morini used to berate herself for being forgetful, William
Harry observed that she had always been so. On musical matters
and about friends and colleagues, her mind was quite clear. However
as she developed from a child prodigy into a mature artist, she
shared the destiny of many a wunderkind: The sheltering and protection
by family, mentors, and friends during her more than 70 years
of music-making resulted in a complex admixture of masterful artistry
with a haughty capriciousness and deep-seated innocence.
In her third year, Morini began studying violin. Initially she
was set on becoming a pianist: "I was interested in the piano,
nothing else." But her father, violinist Oscar Morini, decided
otherwise: "You have too much talent for the piano!"
Nevertheless, she became an excellent pianist, capable of playing
Strauss waltzes with elegance and sweep.
Morini's father directed a music school in Vienna which offered
lessons in voice, piano, and violin. Erica was initially reluctant
to read music, though she later insisted that by age five she
could play Sarasate's Zigeunerweisen from the score. Her exceptional
progress allowed for a public appearance before her fifth birthday,
which occurred, according to Morini, either in Karlsbad or Marienbad.
Oscar Morini had studied with Jakob Grun, a Joachim pupil who
taught Carl Flesch and Rosa Hochmann. Erica Morini recalled playing
for Grun when she was six or seven years old. Hochmann became
her teacher, after Sevcik. Morini recalled: "Hochmann married
too soon and stopped her career. She had the most perfect bow
arm and tone quality that I ever heard." It was Hochmann
who furthered her musicianship, while Morini acknowledged Sevcik
as having helped develop her left-hand technique. Yet she claimed
to have learned the most about bowing fromher father: "I
think the left hand is easier to learn than the right hand. Today's
playing is flashy, everyone is relaxed, nobody strains, but there
is no expression, which comes from the right hand. There is no
change; everything is very loud and very fast. They don't know
how to express themselves, probably because there are fewer good
teachers today." Morini believed that pupils could be taught
to develop a beautiful tone.
"Sevcik was great for [teaching] technique but he was not
really musical. He would skip the second movements in concertos,
saying 'You don't need to play that with me. You know it.' I had
to know difficult scales backwards. He gave you fingerings but
was very free: 'Try another fingering', but his was [usually]
right. . . Jan Kubelik gave him his reputation."
Morini spent at least one summer in Pisek, Bohemia, where Sevcik
received pupils from many countries, among whom she recalled the
Polish violinist Paul Kochanski. For the young Morini it was an
idyllic place, where she also delighted in swiping cookies from
a local bakery. She recalled how everyone was "playing for
each other in classes and already flirting. But I was hardly practicing.
Sevcik asked me to learn and memorize Ernst's Erlkonig [transcription]
in two weeks, saying 'it better be good.' He knew I was having
a wonderful time. I got the music and thought, 'I could never
play it in two weeks.' I really practiced, three hours in the
morning and in the afternoon - the others practiced eight hours
a day. I learned it by heart and was very nervous. I did the best
job in my life, for I had to come through because he was very
angry." After the ordeal of playing Erlkonig for Sevcik and
her colleagues, the professor opined: "Now you can study
something else." Morini added: "He was quite proud.
I only played it once." She was then assigned other difficult
works. "Already as a youngster I knew what I liked. With
Sevcik I studied Paganini's Hexameron, the Campanella and Caprices.
When you're young you are afraid of nothing! At my Vienna debut
[age eight] I played a Paganini concerto - and the 24th Caprice
as an encore. It was a sensation."
Sensational it was, as Morini gave four more sold-out concerts
with the conductor Oskar Nedbal. She soon played the Mozart Sinfonia
Concertante with Anton Ruzicka, the Rose Quartet's violist and,
with Arnold Rose, Bach's Double Concerto. Rose impressed her as
"the real professor type." Morini began appearing with
all the leading conductors, such as Arthur Nikisch (in both Leipzig
and Berlin), and her career took her throughout Europe; in 1920
she made her debut in the United States. Morini played with Willem
Mengelberg in Holland and New York, recalling, "We did not
click."
A Russian tour with conductor Erich Kleiber around 1930 was a
sad experience. "We were feted with caviar afterwards; and
they told me that I could not take my fee out of the country but
could buy furs, rugs,... It was a swindle: we could only buy those
things with dollars. After I saw how the people looked, I couldn't
wear my evening dress to the concerts, so I wore afternoon dresses.
Outside the hotel window was a bread line with hundreds of people;
the bread ran out and they gave us such wonderful dinners. I was
very depressed."
Emanuel Feuermann became a close friend, as the two artists met
at the home of Cux, their Viennese patron. "We were always
fighting. When we had to play the Brahms Double Concerto with
[Eugene] Ormandy in Philadelphia, Feuermann said to me 'Listen,
please, let's not fight in front of Ormandy!' He would usually
say to me 'Let's do it quicker.'" At Feuermann's funeral
in 1942, Morini played the Cavatina from Beethoven's Quartet,
op.130.
Occasionally, Morini played chamber music. Once in Budapest she
covered much of the literature with an ensemble organized and
coached by the composer Leo Weiner. In her later years, she played
with her quartet at home, even for three years following her farewell
recital (Hunter College, New York, 1976, with pianist Leon Pommers).
For these evenings, Morini's husband, Felice Siracusano - a tall,
dapper gray-haired diamond trader from Messina, Sicily, who married
Morini in 1932 - served coffee and baked a kuglhoff, which delighted
his sweet-toothed wife. Felice and William Harry often tape-recorded
the quartet. Sometimes Morini would ask them not to do so, and
then would be disappointed if all had gone well.
During these sessions, Morini had her first encounters with Beethoven's
late quartets, which Levy and Harry had persuaded her to try.
The first time they began op. 127 she was cautious: "What
tempo should it be?" At first she played hesitantly, by the
end exclaiming "This is more difficult than his violin concerto!"
But during their second reading, Morini's stylistic instinct gave
the impression that she had at least ten years' experience with
this monumental work.
Morini and Felice would host musical soirees, inviting clarinetist
David Glazer and the pianists Leon Pommers and Nadia Reisenberg
to participate. Morini's informal quartet rarely ventured into
the 20th century, as she seldom programmed this literature at
her recitals. They once read through the first movement of Bartok's
First Quartet; as Morini didn't like it, the piece was dropped.
She considered Ravel's Quartet difficult, yet preferred it to
Debussy's.
In her living room, a signed photo of Stravinsky (Morini had played
his Duo Concertante in recital) hung alongside inscribed pictures
of Casals, Feuermann, Sevcik, Bruno Walter, and Huberman. On her
piano (a gift from Steinway) was a photo from Toscanini, who had
known her since her wunderkind days, and one from Nikisch.
Among these legendary interpreters, Georg Szell remained her favorite.
Morini was also one of Szell's preferred musicians: "I knew
how to take him. I always complimented him when we rehearsed at
the piano and he played with more heart. He never told me 'Go
to Hell!' He had respect for me: We felt music the same way. In
the second movement of the Beethoven Concerto it was like out
of another world - I never had that feeling with anyone else.
I always wanted to record it with him, but the financial offer
was too small and I had my pride. I regret it."
In the earlier part of her career, Morini had been criticized
for a spare vibrato; she later "warmed up" by applying
it more often. At times she continued the old style of portamento
(sliding). This habit of hers nearly ended for good when Szell
once commented: "You sound like a cat today, Erica."
When she played Brahms's Double Concerto with Leonard Rose and
Szell at the Ravinia Festival, Rose begged her to placate Szell:
"To you he listens, but not to me." Morini habitually
closed her eyes while playing, obliging every conductor or pianist
to follow her.
Morini recalled an evening when a fierce snowstorm made it difficult
to reach Carnegie Hall for her concert appearance with Szell conducting.
Unexpectedly, Szell arrived at her apartment via the subway; he
had come to escort her. Upper Fifth Avenue was deserted, but as
they waited, a meat delivery truck was espied; the driver offered
to transport the musicians downtown, braving the blizzard. Szell
tightly held on to Morini's Stradivarius as she sat astride a
cow's carcass, while Szell was placed atop several slaughtered
sheep.
Morini had great respect for Jascha Heifetz, about whom Erica's
brother Frank relates the following anecdote. On one of Heifetz's
visits to the Morini family during the 1920s while they lived
in Vienna, he missed the last stone step to their landing. The
Morinis saw Heifetz stumble on the dark stairway, instantly retracting
his arms to land on his forehead and avoid harming his fingers.
Morini once told a writer that she had coached an unnamed, well-known
colleague's staccato-playing: Her taped interview reveals that
it had been Heifetz.
Erica Morini and Fritz Kreisler admired each other's art. The
aging Kreisler was approached by friends concerned that after
his retirement no one would do justice to his original compositions.
Kreisler assured them that Morini played his music even better
than he had.
Her father's bow, a Nurnberger, was Erica's favorite, and she
used it for important concerts and at recording sessions. (Kreisler
also preferred Nurnberger bows.) Like Morini's Stradivarius (heard
on all her recordings), the Bergonzi violin used at her 1920 American
debut had been procured for her by her father, who was a shrewd
violin expert and trader.
In describing the circumstances of her recording of Tchaikovsky's
violin concerto with Desire Defauw and the Chicago Symphony, Morini
recalled how on the morning after their public appearance, she
had dragged herself, half-asleep, to an 8 a.m. recording session:
"Believe it or not, I played it straight through without
a stop." At sessions, Morini preferred to continue as long
as possible, to avoid editing or retakes which could impede the
musical flow.
Mozart's A major Concerto was Morini's favorite work. The discs
containing it and the D major Concerto, in which Morini performs
with the Musica Aeterna Orchestra, were recorded privately for
Dr. Frederic Waldman, the orchestra's founder and conductor. Another
rarity heard here is derived from a tape which Morini's husband
gave to Levy and Harry of Mozart's D major Concerto, when she
rehearsed the work at home prior to a concert appearance. (It
was once a common occurrence to hear a violinist play concertos
publicly with piano accompaniment.) This invaluable document provides
a close-up of Morini's tone quality, her bowing, phrasing and
shading, qualities which can otherwise blend with an orchestra.
A performance with Rudolf Firkusny of the Sonata in C major, K.296,
originates from a radio broadcast in 1959.
We may now listen to Morini playing Mozart under the best of conditions,
as the presence of an audience, or playing at home reflects her
artistry in a way that no studio atmosphere could have captured.
Had it not been for the foresight and individual efforts of Dr.
Frederic Waldman, William Harry, and Kenneth Cooper in preserving
these unique performances, this essential portrait of Erica Morini
would otherwise have been lost. We thank Frank Morini and Dr.
Rachel Aubrey Waldman for their kind permission to publish these
performances. What were once archival recordings may now be enjoyed
by all. Allan Evans C1997.
The following are the original program notes written by the late
scholar Dr. Joseph Braunstein, for the performances given by Morini.
Concerto for Violin No.4 in D major, K.218 Allegro; Andante cantabile;
Rondeau: Andante grazioso Mozart's great talent for the violin
became evident when he was seven years old and his father, the
author of the famous Violinschule, did not fail to develop it.
Thus the violin became the second medium of Mozart's career as
a virtuoso. It was chiefly in his capacity as a violinist that
he was appointed a member of the musical establishment of the
archbishopric of Salzburg. He served as concertmaster and also
as organist. The Concerto for violin in D major was composed in
October 1775 in Salzburg. The first Allegro discloses the basic
elements of the sonata form with its three-sectional design. Songfulness
and grace are the characteristics of the Andante cantabile in
A major. Mozart entitled the finale Rondeau; using this term the
composer alludes to French models. Here he offers a variety of
pictures: first an Andante grazioso which introduces the rondo
theme, and then an Allegro section (6/8). Alternating constantly,
these two ideas frame an episode which commencing with a simple
gavotte-like melody continues with a Musette passage. Mozart coupled
the bagpipe effect with a melody of folklike quality. After this
episode we hear twice the alternating play of the Andante grazioso
and sparkling Allegro. There is no bright and animated coda- on
the contrary, the movement fades away into a whispering pianissimo.
In a letter to his father written from Augsburg in October 1777,
Mozart referred to this work as the "Strassburger-Concert."
This was explained by the similarity of the Musette theme, with
the Musette designated as "Ballo Strasburghese," in
a symphony by Mozart's successful contemporary Carl von Dittersdorf
(1739-1799). Obviously, Mozart availed himself of a folklike tune
of Alsatian origin in the concerto and also used it in a series
of dances (K. 269b) probably written in January 1777.
Concerto for Violin in A major, K. 219 Allegro aperto; Adagio;
Tempo di Minuetto The violin concerto in A major, dated Salzburg,
December 20, 1775, is the last in a series of five that Mozart
composed in comparatively quick succession during that year. The
autograph of our concerto, once in the possession of Joseph Joachim,
is now preserved in the Library of Congress. The first movement
displays some unusual features. The opening entrance of the solo
violin occurs in a somewhat improvisatory passage which has no
thematic connection with the preceding statement of the orchestra.
Only after this interposed episode does the sonata design with
exposition, development, and recapitulation definitely unfold.
Although the composer offers the soloist a good chance to show
his proficiency in runs and broken chords, he also stresses the
singing element: witness the Adagio in E major, which is akin
to those appealing pieces that Culberth Girdleston in his fine
book on Mozart's clavier concertos characterized as "dream
andantes." The solo part displays no brilliancy, but rather
an enchanting melodic richness and depth of feeling. Although
bearing the heading Tempo di Minuetto, the finale is by no means
a minuet. It shows a clearly defined three-sectional structure
whose opening portion (6/8, A major) is followed by, and markedly
contrasted with, an Allegro in A minor, whereupon the first section
returns. The whole is a mosaic of attractive musical ideas. The
most interesting features of the finale are disclosed in the middle
section, which contrasts with the preceding passage in key (A
minor), tempo (Allegro), meter and rhythm (2/4), dynamics (note
the frequent use of the fp), and chromaticism. It is music alla
turca, anticipating the rondo of the well-known piano sonata in
A major (1778, K.331) and, of course, the Turkish flavor of The
Abduction from the Seraglio. The "Turkish" episode in
the finale of our A major concerto became a problem of Mozart
research. Mozart took the melodic material from sketches of an
intended ballet Le Gelosie del seraglio, supposedly contemplated
for his opera Lucio Silla (Milan, 1772-1773). The sketches (autograph)
are preserved in the Mozarteum in Salzburg and are duly listed
as No. 135a in Kochel's catalogue. Yet most recent researches
established a surprising and at the same time puzzling fact. Some
of the pieces of this ballet were identified as compositions of
the once very popular Viennese ballet composer Josef Starzer (1726-1787),
and Mozart's authorship of others appears questionable. Be that
as it may, the effect Mozart obtained with this "Turkish"
episode is extraordinary. The audiences of the 1770s must have
grown uneasy listening to this "gruesome sounding gypsy music"
but Mozart was gracious enough to provide for a happy end by the
return of the gallant rococo music of the beginning.