William Dowd (February 28, 1922–November 25, 2008): An Appreciation

The Diapason’s Harpsichord Editor since 1969, Larry Palmer is author of the pioneering book, Harpsichord in America: A Twentieth-Century Revival, published by Indiana University Press in 1989 (paperback second edition, 1993). Of six international advisors for the Berlin commemoration, two were Americans: Teri Noel Towe (New York) and Palmer (Dallas). Poster and postcard images for the exhibition featured an anonymous caricature belonging to Palmer, the gift of Momo Aldrich, first secretary to the iconic Landowska.

The Power of the Press:
“A Living Legend”
Nicholas Slonimsky (1894–1995), writing about harpsichordist Wanda Landowska for the French journal Disques in 1932, introduced his subject with a three-stanza poem. It begins:

Her fingers on the cembalo
Type out the polyphonic lore
Of Bach’s Inventions—and restore
The true original edition
Unobfuscated by tradition.1
Twelve years later, on the opposite side of the Atlantic, habitually cranky New York music critic Virgil Thomson (1896–1989), reviewed the Polish harpsichordist’s Town Hall concert of 20 November 1944 under the adulatory headline “Definitive Renderings”:

Wanda Landowska’s harpsichord recital of last evening . . . was as stimulating as a needle shower. . . . She played everything better than anybody else ever does. One might almost say, were not such a comparison foolish, that she plays the harpsichord better than anybody else ever plays anything . . .
. . . [Her] playing of the harpsichord . . . reminded one all over again that there is nothing else in the world like it. There does not exist in the world today, nor has there existed in my lifetime, another soloist of this or any other instrument whose work is so dependable, so authoritative, and so thoroughly satisfactory. From all the points of view—historical knowledge, style, taste, understanding, and spontaneous musicality—her renderings of harpsichord repertory are, for our epoch, definitive. Criticism is unavailing against them, has been so, indeed, for thirty years.2
It seems that the divine Wanda had accomplished her objective, half a century in the making, of restoring the harpsichord to a recognized place in the cultural consciousness of music lovers, both in Europe and in the western hemisphere. Her personal style, based on an innate rhythmic certainty, a turn-of-the-century impressionistic use of tonal color, and, not incidentally, her careful perusal of historical source materials had made her name virtually synonymous with the word harpsichord, at least in the collective consciousness of the public.

True Believers:
Expatriated European and Native American Disciples
Landowska’s acolytes dominated those American venues where harpsichords were played: Alice Ehlers (1887–1981), Professor Landowska’s first student in 1913 Berlin, immigrated to the United States and taught for 26 years at the University of Southern California in Los Angeles. Among Ehlers’s fascinating oral history recorded vignettes she noted that Landowska did not talk much in those early lessons, but she relied heavily on playing for her students. Later, in Ehlers’s own teaching, at least one anecdote retold by her student Malcolm Hamilton (1932–2003) showed that Ehlers was less than impressed at his derivative details copied from Landowska’s style. When Hamilton added an unwritten trill to the subject of a Bach fugue Ehlers stopped him to ask why. “I heard a recording by Wanda Landowska,” he began. Madame Ehlers interrupted brusquely, “Wanda Landowska was a genius. You and I, Malcolm, we are not geniuses—‘spaacially you!”3
Two more Landowska students holding American academic posts were Marie Zorn (b. 1907?), who promoted the Landowskian style in her harpsichord teaching at Indiana University from 1958 until 1976, and Putnam Aldrich (1904–1975), who married Wanda’s own personal secretary Madeleine Momot in 1931 (with a somewhat-reconciled Landowska as witness for the bride). Eventually “Put” settled his young family in northern California, where he established a prestigious doctoral program in early music at Stanford University.
In concert halls, Madame’s final brilliant students, Rafael Puyana (born 1931), a South American of blazing virtuosity, and Texas-born Paul Wolfe (born 1929), both built solo careers in the decade following their teacher’s death.
In 1961 Puyana played a concert at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York, during my first year there as a doctoral student. Rafael, the scion of a wealthy family, toured the country with a Pleyel harpsichord (the instrument of choice for Landowska’s students) and a personal driver. His Eastman recital was a dashing and colorful evocation of a Landowska program, including kaleidoscopic changes of registration; a repertoire firmly grounded in the major Bach works; but with at least one non-Landowska addition: his own harpsichord transcription of a Canción for piano by the Catalan composer Frederico Mompou.
Paul Wolfe, not from a moneyed family, set out to make his name through recordings. I came to know him when Nick Fritsch of Lyrichord Records decided to reissue a number of their 1950s vinyl issues on compact discs and asked me to write an introductory article explaining harpsichord pedals. Wolfe’s instruments—a 1907 Pleyel of wooden construct and a large concert instrument completed in 1958 by the young northeastern builders Frank Rutkowski and Richard Robinette—as well as programs that featured 17th-century works by Frescobaldi and the English virginalists, Spanish music, and all eight of the 1720 Handel Suites—presented both facile young fingers and an expanding repertory of early keyboard music to the American harpsichord scene.

A Contrarian’s View of Landowska
During the autumnal years of Landowska’s career, critics of her playing style were not legion. But one composer-critic who did not idolize the High Priestess of the Harpsichord was neo-classicist composer Robert Evett (1922–1975). In a 1952 piece for The New Republic, Evett wrote:

Mme. Landowska has seduced the brighter part of the American public into believing that she offers it an authentic reading of Bach and his predecessors. What this lady actually uses is a modern Pleyel harpsichord, an instrument that she employs as a sort of dispose-all. . . .
After fifteen years of incredulous listening, I am finally convinced that this woman kicks all the pedals in sight when she senses danger ahead. When she sits down to play a Bach fugue, I go through all the torments that a passenger experiences when he is being driven over a treacherous mountain road by an erratic driver, and when she finally finishes the thing it is almost a pleasure to relax into nausea.4
A Different Aesthetic:
Ralph Kirkpatrick
Ralph Kirkpatrick (1911–1984), funded by a post-graduate John Knowles Paine Traveling Fellowship from Harvard University, set off for Europe in the fall of 1931 to hone his harpsichord playing skills. As described in his memoirs,5 the pre-eminent American harpsichordist of his generation had a difficult relationship with the priestess of St-Leu, eventually running off to Berlin for coaching and consolation with another Landowska student, the more congenial Eta Harich-Schneider (1897–1986). Kirkpatrick’s public playing, beginning with concerts and recordings during the 1930s, sounded distinctly unlike Landowska’s in its conscious avoidance of excessive registration changes and its near-metronomic regularity. Teri Noel Towe’s description of Kirkpatrick’s style, printed as a “disclaimer” in the compact disc reissue of these early solo recordings for Musicraft Records, puts it this way:

Some listeners confuse Ralph Kirkpatrick’s tenacious and unswerving commitment to the composer’s intentions with dullness and mistake his exquisite attention to detail and technical accuracy for dryness. These detractors would do well to listen again. There is a special beauty and unique warmth to Kirkpatrick’s sometimes austere but always direct, ‘no nonsense’ performances; his interpretations are always superbly conceived, often transcendent, and occasionally hypnotic. . . .6
For a balanced evaluation of Kirkpatrick the harpsichordist, one needs to sample some later examples from his extensive discography. A 1959 Deutsche Grammophon Archiv recording of Bach played on a Neupert instrument presents quite another aural document of a decidedly non-austere artist. And by 1973 when I experienced Kirkpatrick’s deeply-moving playing of Bach’s Goldberg Variations at the Rothko Chapel in Houston (Texas), I reported in The Diapason that “Kirkpatrick played magnificently with a prodigious technical command of the work as well as with spacious feeling for the overall architecture . . .”7
At the very end of a more than five-decade career, and now totally blind, the aged master could allow his innate musical sensitivity to triumph. Despite his end-of-career tongue-in-cheek comments about preferring the piano, the Yale professor was the most highly regarded and recorded native harpsichordist in the United States during the period of Landowska’s American residency.
Other noted American players of Kirkpatrick’s generation included Yella Pessl (1906–1991) and Sylvia Marlowe (1908–1981). Marlowe’s first instrument was a true Landowska Pleyel, by this time painted white, the better to be seen on the revolving stage of New York City’s Rainbow Room, where Sylvia played jazz arrangements of classical favorites under the catchy rubric Lavender and New Lace. Deeply influenced by Landowska’s playing, encountered while the New Yorker was studying with Nadia Boulanger in Paris, Marlowe’s 1959 solo Bach recording for Decca demonstrates how much Madame’s long musical shadow dominated the American harpsichord scene.
Eventually Ms. Marlowe chose to play harpsichords built by the American maker John Challis, moving subsequently to those of Challis’s apprentice William Dowd (with lid-paintings by her own husband, the artist Leonid [Berman]). Non-night-club recital repertoire included 18th-century classics, soon augmented extensively by commissions to prominent living composers. Thus, important works by Ned Rorem and Elliott Carter, to cite only two, came into being through Marlowe’s sponsorship. Together with the impressive catalog of similar commissions from the Swiss harpsichordist Antoinette Vischer (1909–1973), Marlowe’s initiatives helped to provide the harpsichord with an extensive, new twentieth-century musical voice.
Influenced by Kirkpatrick during student days at Yale, Fernando Valenti (1926–1990) switched from piano to harpsichord, and also played important new works by Vincent Persichetti (that composer’s First Harpsichord Sonata composed in 1952) and Mel Powell (Recitative and Toccata Percossa). However, Valenti made his name primarily as the most exciting player of Domenico Scarlatti’s sonatas and specifically as the first harpsichordist to record such a large number of them—359 individual works performed on his Challis harpsichord in a series of albums for Westminster Records. In 1951 he was appointed the first harpsichord professor at New York’s Juilliard School. Several didactic books, published late in Valenti’s career, are as colorful and insightful as his playing. Who could resist a chuckle at words such as these?

Many years ago I promised myself that I would never put in print anything that even vaguely resembled a ‘method’ for harpsichord playing and this is it.8
One of the best-known harpsichordists to study privately with Valenti was Berlin-born Igor Kipnis (1930–2002), son of the prominent bass opera singer Alexander Kipnis. The family moved to the United States in 1938, where both Kipnises became familiar names in the classical music arena. Igor was particularly noted for his comprehensive and innovative repertory, recorded extensively. His playing was thoroughly representative of a more objective style of harpsichord performance.

Winds (or Strings and Quills) of Change?
One of the great services rendered by Kirkpatrick was his fervent advocacy for the historically inclined instruments of Frank Hubbard and William Dowd. As the years went by, these musical machines emulated ever more closely those from earlier centuries, albeit with some decidedly 20th-century materials, such as the plastics used for jacks and plectra. But with keyboards built to various baroque dimensions; sensitive, light actions; and registers deployed in a way that an 18th-century composer might have expected; together with the absence, for the most part, of the sixteen-foot register and pedals, these light and agile instruments gave the new generation of players sensitive tools for performing the music of the past. Emulating Hubbard and Dowd, a number of builders, in Boston and other American venues, and throughout the world, joined the “surge to the past,” and thereby changed both the dynamic and the expected sounds of harpsichord revival instruments.
Among Kirkpatrick’s allies in promoting these new “old” instruments were two Fullers—his student Albert (1926–2007) and the not-related David (born 1927), and harpsichordist/conductors Miles Morgan and William Christie. As the 1960s gave way to the 1970s, nearly every emerging teacher and player in the country seemed to be joining the pedal-less crowd. In 1966 I met Dr. Joseph Stephens and played the Hubbard and Dowd harpsichord in his Baltimore (Maryland) home. Shortly thereafter I ordered my own first Dowd double. It was delivered at the beginning of January 1969. As has happened for so many players in our small musical world, that sensitive instrument taught me as much as had the memorable hours spent studying with two of the finest teachers imaginable: Isolde Ahlgrimm (at the Salzburg Mozarteum), and Gustav Leonhardt (during two memorable July participations in his master classes at the annual Haarlem Summer Organ Academies).

Influential European
Artist-Teachers
Both of these superb artists made significant contributions to harpsichord playing in the United States: Ahlgrimm (1914–1995) through her teaching in Salzburg, Vienna, and during semester-long guest professorships at Oberlin and Southern Methodist University, as well as several American concert tours organized by managers, but aided and attended by her grateful students. Until recently, Ahlgrimm’s place in the story of the 20th-century harpsichord revival has been little celebrated. With the publication of Peter Watchorn’s major study Isolde Ahlgrimm, Vienna and the Early Music Revival,9 that deficiency in our history has been rectified!
Leonhardt (born 1928), surely the most recorded of post-Landowska harpsichordists, has influenced virtually every harpsichordist from the second half of the 20th-century forward. His students seem to be everywhere. Even the most cursory of enumerations would include many of the leading teachers in the U.S: Oberlin’s first full-time professor of harpsichord Lisa Crawford; Michigan’s Edward Parmentier; Boston’s John Gibbons; University of New York at Stony Brook’s Arthur Haas; Florida State’s Karyl Louwenaar; Illinois’ Charlotte Mattax; and, particularly during the 1970s and ’80s, my own large group of harpsichord major students at Southern Methodist University. In the spirit of the early music excitement of those decades, SMU conferred his first doctorate on Leonhardt in 1984, citing the Dutch harpsichordist’s advocacy of “performance on period instruments,” as well as his “commitment to both stylistic authority and artistic sensitivity in recreating music of the past.”
To this day, more than 25 years after the conferral of that honorary degree, Leonhardt still refers to me in communications as his “Doktor-Vater.” Whereas Ahlgrimm referred to herself as a biological phenomenon since she “got more children the older she became,” Leonhardt’s humorous salutation presents me with a similar phenomenon: the “son” as father to the “father.” At any rate, I am pleased to have Dr. Leonhardt as my most distinguished graduate!
Ah yes, students—the new generators of harpsichord playing in America. Too many to list, but perhaps one graced with multiple “A’s” may serve as representative—Andrew Appel, American, who completed his doctoral studies with Juilliard harpsichord professor Albert Fuller in 1983, and now carries on that line from his teacher, who had been a pupil of Ralph Kirkpatrick, who was . . . and here we could circle back to the beginning of this essay. May Andrew Appel represent the achievements of so many of our fine young players: the late Scott Ross, the with-it Skip Sempé, the sensitive Michael Sponseller, the delightful teaching colleague Barbara Baird—Americans, all!
Ultimately all of us are indebted to those European “explorers” who have provided our inspiration and training: French/English Arnold Dolmetsch, Austrian Isolde Ahlgrimm, Dutch Gustav Leonhardt: all contributors to the variety and richness of the harpsichord’s presence in our contemporary musical life. And our Polish mother, Wanda Landowska: that vibrant musician who has brought us together for this celebration of her musical legacy.

Some Information about Added Aural Examples
This paper was presented at the Berlin Musical Instrument Museum on November 14, 2009, during a symposium in conjunction with the exhibition Die Dame mit dem Cembalo [The Lady with the Harpsichord], in commemoration of the 50th anniversary of Wanda Landowska’s death. The topic was suggested by the museum’s curator Martin Elste, who organized the event. To remain within an imposed time limit, I chose to include only seven short recorded examples, each one a performance of the same final 25 measures from the third (Presto) movement of J. S. Bach’s Italian Concerto (BWV 971)—with an individual duration of between 30 and 40 seconds.
The first example demonstrated one of the most unforgettable of all my musical experiences: Landowska’s unexpected slight agogic hesitation between top and bottom notes of the climactic downward octave leap in measure 199, the last return of that wonderfully energetic opening theme. Taken from her 1936 recording for EMI [reissued in Great Recordings of the Century, CDH 7610082], it served as an aural measuring rod with which to compare the following recordings, made “after” Landowska.
Example Two presented the young Ralph Kirkpatrick playing his early 20th-century Dolmetsch-Chickering harpsichord, captured in a 1939 recording for Musicraft, digitized on Pearl [Great Virtuosi of the Harpsichord, volume II, GEMM CD 9245]. Example Three: Kirkpatrick again, 20 years later, recorded in a thrillingly theatrical performance played on a powerhouse Neupert instrument for Archiv [198 032] (LP).
Example Four: Sylvia Marlowe, like Landowska, played on an instrument by Pleyel, recorded in 1959 for Decca [DL 710012] (LP).
Example Five: Leading Bach authority Isolde Ahlgrimm, recorded 1975, playing her 1972 David Rubio harpsichord, recorded by Philips [6580 142] (LP).
Example Six: Gustav Leonhardt utilized the sound of an actual 18th-century historic instrument for his 1976 recording on a 1728 Hamburg harpsichord by Christian Zell. Seon [Pro Arte PAL-1025] (LP).
Example Seven: Andrew Appel played a 1966 harpsichord by Rutkowski and Robinette in his 1987 recording for Bridge Records [BCD 9005), concluding the musical examples in just under four minutes! Fortunately for the word-weary, the next, and final, presentation of the two-day seminar was given by British record collector extraordinaire Peter Adamson, comprising a fascinating sound and image survey of early harpsichord recordings.

Three-score and ten:

Celebrating Richard Kingston

Born June 6, 1947, Richard Kingston reaches his Biblical milestone of 70 years this month. Now he is widely celebrated as one of America’s most distinguished harpsichord makers, but when Richard and I both arrived in Dallas in 1970, the world was younger, and the harpsichord still quite exotic and unfamiliar to many musically inclined listeners. The circumstances of our meeting seem quite humorous in retrospect: Southern Methodist University’s music department secretary left a note in my campus mail box: “Some nut wants to talk to you about a harpsichord.” And yes, the “nut” turned out to be Richard. To celebrate Richard’s multi-faceted life and his many contributions to the visibility and viability of the historic harpsichord during our nearly 50 years of collaboration and friendship, I have solicited some comments from several of our mutual colleagues.

• Jan Worden Lackey was my first Master of Music in harpsichord performance student at Southern Methodist University. Of those bygone years, she writes:

There was much new in the music world in Dallas in the 1970s and much of it revolved around the harpsichord. A young professor had come to SMU to lead its new degree program. Soon after his arrival a young man who, at that time had completed only one instrument, opened a professional harpsichord-building shop. The faculty member was Larry Palmer; the builder, Richard Kingston. We three, together with some others, founded and served on the board of directors of the Dallas Harpsichord Society.

The city was ready for historic keyboards and early music. There was a lot of publicity for our events. The Dallas Morning News printed concert notices, reviews, and feature articles, as did other local publications, for there was considerable interest in these concerts, lectures, instruction possibilities, and instruments.

It soon became apparent that Richard Kingston was an excellent and talented builder of harpsichords who both knew the instrument’s history, and possessed the requisite technical skills and ears to produce beautiful-sounding instruments. As a frequent visitor to his shop I found him friendly, an interesting conversationalist, and one who was ever delighted to show his latest work.

A lasting memory is of an evening spent playing one of Richard’s early instruments: I had been asked to be the solo harpsichordist for the opening of an exhibition at the Dallas Museum of Fine Art. Richard moved and tuned one of his magnificent French double harpsichords for the occasion. Memorable was the enjoyment of being surrounded by beautiful art, music, and the instrument—all together producing something that, individually, would not have made such an impact.

After Richard closed his shop and moved away from Dallas I had no contact with him. A few years ago my husband and I were invited to dinner at the home of a Santa Fe colleague. Included at our table were Dr. Palmer and Richard, who was still the same delightful and interesting person, happily sharing conversation and stories.

After a decade of successful harpsichord building in Dallas, Richard followed some sage advice from George Lucktenberg, founder of the Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society, who suggested that North Carolina had much to offer a harpsichord maker: namely its tradition of fine furniture making. Thus it was that Kingston’s 100th instrument, begun in Dallas, was completed in Marshall, North Carolina. Continuing his investigations into what should comprise a composite “eclectic northern European double harpsichord,” Richard developed a prototype during his first two years in the Carolinas. Important new clients, new craftspeople, and the soundboard painter Pam Gladding became his colleagues. At the apex of his sales, he produced 19 instruments in 1987, 14 in 1989—the final “big years,” as he noted in his shop history notes.

A beloved friend and colleague encountered at many meetings of the Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society (SEHKS) was the late musical and graphic artist Jane Johnson, whose clever drawing celebrating the birth of Richard’s first son combines two of his major achievements of the 1980s: starting a family and continuing to produce instruments of technical brilliance and physical beauty. Jane’s witty announcement card is typical of her warm heart and steady hand.

During Richard’s first decade in the eastern United States I had very little contact with him. However, that changed considerably during the 1990s with our increasing number of collaborations during SMU’s summer harpsichord workshops at Fort Burgwin, the university’s idyllic property near Ranchos de Taos, New Mexico. Richard taught classes in maintenance and tuning and “well-tuned” his elegant instruments. The rustic annual gatherings were succeeded by meetings in Denver and Santa Fe during the first decade of the 21st century. 

• Another of my outstanding harpsichord students from the early years at SMU, Barbara Baird joined us as a workshop faculty member for many of the summer offerings. She writes of her Kingston memories: 

I first met Richard in 1974 when I moved to Fort Worth to teach harpsichord at Texas Christian University. Through the years he and I found ourselves working together in Taos and Denver at SMU summer harpsichord events. I have long admired Richard’s gifts as a builder, his easy-going manner with students and harpsichord enthusiasts, and his willingness to make harpsichords travel. He would load a half dozen instruments worth tens of thousands of dollars into the back of his van and drive across the Southwest to make these harpsichord programs possible. Fearless? Foolish? No: Delightful!

November 1991 found Kingston at Clayton State University (Morrow, Georgia), where their six-day Spivey International Harpsichord Festival included a harpsichord builders’ competition. Twelve American makers each brought an example of their craft. After careful examination, the five-person jury unanimously awarded the Spivey Prize to Richard Kingston. Indeed, the jury chair, the German master craftsman Martin Skowroneck, told his cohorts that Richard’s instrument was so similar to something he himself might have made that Kingston and he must be soul mates! Since I was present to play the opening solo recital and chair a symposium of the builders, I was especially proud of my younger colleague’s great honor, and nearly overcome with emotion, when, for his acceptance of the award, he requested my presence beside him on stage. We had both come a very long way in 21 years!

The Georgia reunion led directly to the acquisition of my own Kingston harpsichord in 1994. A stellar example of Richard’s Franco-Flemish doubles, its keyboards utilize an octave span of 6¼ inches rather than the usual 6½—a small, but vital difference when attempting to negotiate some of the wide stretches found in many of the contemporary pieces that I have championed throughout my career.

A very special example of Kingston’s craft is his “Millennium” Harpsichord, Opus 300, built to celebrate things both old and new for the new century! The instrument received an extensive dedication recital debut on November 3, 2002, in the Washington, D.C., home of Charles and Susan Mize. Basically the well-loved Franco-Flemish Kingston double, this harpsichord is visually striking in its black-matte finish, supported on three stainless-steel pylons. An optional computer screen is also available as an augmentation of the usual music desk, thus allowing digitally scanned scores to be read by scrolling through them by utilizing a foot pedal.

Honored to be the first of a cadre of harpsichordists to “open” the musical feast, I chose a program that began with John Bull’s Coranto Kingston and ended with a commissioned work from composer Glenn Spring, Suite 3-D. This work for two to play at one harpsichord celebrates the hometowns of the composer (Denver) and the players (Dallas for me and D.C. [at that time] for Dr. Mize, who joined me for this first performance).

In the audience was one of Richard’s major mentors, the celebrated Boston harpsichord maker William Dowd. Following consecutive programs by Virginia Pleasants and Brigitte Haudebourg, Dowd’s shop foreman Don Angle brought down the house with his extraordinary keyboard skills in signature pieces by Scott Joplin, John Phillip Sousa, and, of course, the remarkable Angle himself.

When the Mizes moved to New Mexico a few years later, Opus 300 travelled with them. By then it had acquired a stunning lid painting in colorful abstract style by artist June Zinn Hobby. According to the harpsichord’s owners, my compact disc Hommages (recorded in 2007) is the only commercially available recording of this uniquely beautiful instrument.

• A brilliant harpsichordist and recording artist, Elaine Funaro lives in Durham, North Carolina, where her husband Randall Love teaches piano at Duke University. She describes her friendship with Kingston as follows:

Upon graduating from Oberlin College in 1974 I did what many harpsichordists did at the time: I went to Boston. There I started working for the harpsichord historian and decorator Sheridan Germann. For the most part we painted the soundboards of instruments from the shop of William Dowd, at the time the most famous American builder. Sheridan would travel around the country and to Paris [where Dowd had opened a second shop] to decorate soundboards. I recall her returning from a trip to Texas full of praise for the work of a new, young builder, Richard Kingston. That was the first time I heard his name.

Throughout the next decade his instruments, robust and musical, appeared at conferences and concerts. I did not need another instrument since I already had a Dowd, but our paths crossed more often when my husband and I returned from studies in Holland to settle in North Carolina. In 2009 Richard visited me and said that he had the parts for one last instrument and that he would like that instrument to be mine. As I was quite involved in performing contemporary music [as the Director of the Aliénor Competitions] we both wanted to create an instrument that reflected a completely modern aesthetic. Thus Richard’s Opus 333 was conceived. Currently Richard drops by quite often to regulate both the Dowd and his own instruments. We are very fortunate to have him so close by.

From the many archival papers that Kingston has entrusted to me for safekeeping and historical research, I share the following heartfelt words from this month’s honoree himself:

I have had a fascinating life and rewarding career. Often, upon reflection, it seems all that was ever required of me was to get dressed and show up each day. Considering the folk that took time with me, mentored me, gave me direction, I could not be any way other than successful in undertaking a career in harpsichord making.

I was on fire for the subject from the beginning, and that has never ceased. I did not plan it as a lifelong endeavor; I simply went from one harpsichord to the next, each intended to be the best work I could do, each as exciting to me as the very first.

The thrill of getting to the moment when I could begin voicing each instrument, to be reassured by those first sounds, was the same for me from the first to the last!

The sun is happy when it shines, a pen is happy when it writes, and I am happy when I am working on a harpsichord. I would do it all again.

As the fortunate owner of Richard’s harpsichord, the magnificent “Big Blue,” I share his happiness every time I play this triple-transposing instrument with its incredible resonance, even in the uppermost range of a treble that extends to top G.

One of the most memorable of the 101 Limited Editions Dallas house concerts presented during 33 years was the third one in season 28. On Sunday, February 19, 2012, Richard Kingston joined pianist Linton Powell and me as the narrator for a live performance of Said the Piano to the Harpsichord, which he had encountered as a favorite 45-rpm music disc during early childhood. The skit tells a dramatic story, illustrated with musical examples, during which sarcastic rivalry between the two keyboard instruments ends in collaboration, as demonstrated by composer Douglas Moore’s brief but charming Variations on The Old Gray Mare: the very recording that first introduced young Richard to the sounds of the harpsichord, thus beginning his lifelong love affair with the instrument.

It has been a fantastic journey, dear Maestro. Welcome to the “Three-Score-and-Ten” Club! Now, shall we both aim for “Four-Score” status?

An Appreciation

Readers of a report on the third Southeastern Historical Keyboard Society conclave, published in The Diapason for February 1983, were treated to four clever caricatures of harpsichordists featured at the Florida event: Edward Parmentier, Ton Koopman, Robert Conant, and Glen Wilson. These drawings by Jane Johnson introduced her work to this journal, for which she became, de facto, a treasured “house” illustrator during the succeeding decades.

Throughout my entire career as a musician I have been drawn to friendships with graphic artists. These associations began a long time ago during my last two high school years when, playing oboe with the All Ohio Boys’ Band at the State Fair in Columbus, during rare times that were free from performing duties I hung around the Arts Barn and thus came to know the fair’s fine arts director, painter Charlotte [Astar] Daniels. So it was not unusual for me to take note of an interesting-looking, white-haired woman sketching away at various concerts during the Tallahassee conclave. I asked to see her work, requested copies of some drawings, submitted them with my article—and thus began a long-lasting continuing association with Jane Johnson and her immediately recognizable art. (Illustrations 1–4: Harpsichordists Parmentier, Koopman, Conant, Wilson.)

SEHKS Conclave Five was held at Sweet Briar College in Virginia. Julane Rodgers wrote our review of this event (published in September 1985) for which Jane provided two illustrations: highly lauded harpsichordist Lisa Crawford and her fellow soloists performing Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto V and organist Fenner Douglass accompanying soprano Penelope Jensen. (Illustrations 5–6: Brandenburg Ensemble, Douglass and Jensen.) 

Jane’s willingness to contribute several illustrations for my 1989 book Harpsichord in America: a 20th-Century Revival saved two elusive subjects from being un-imaged. Both Frances Pelton-Jones and Claude Jean Chiasson were to be seen in faded newspaper prints and sepia magazine photographs, but portraits of suitable clarity for reproduction could not be found. This first experience of asking Jane to create specific drawings led to a number of subsequent requests. The first one for The Diapason resulted in the evocative image that accompanied “Murder and the Harpsichord” (July 1991), which appeared again when “Murder, Part Two” was published in the August 1992 issue. The artist’s keen eye for period detail resulted not only in a historically accurate harpsichord, but also provided our readers with the image of a historically-correct pistol based on an engraving from Diderot’s 18th-century Encyclopedia. (Illustration 7: Murder and the Harpsichord. ) 

The eminent harpsichord maker William Dowd was honored with a 70th birthday tribute in The Diapason for February 1992. In addition to fourteen short essays by Bill’s friends, co-workers, and players of his instruments, this issue included the first publication of a harpsichord solo, William Dowd: His Bleu by composer Glenn Spring and Jane’s drawing William Dowd Posing as Earl “Fatha” Hines, itself a clever reference to one of the harpsichord builder’s several unexpected musical likes. Another of Jane’s Dowd caricatures graced the honoree’s written response to and clarification of the various celebratory offerings, issued exactly one year later in February 1993. (Illustrations 8–9: Dowd as “Fatha” Hines and William Dowd.)

The Diapason drawings continued with a beautifully bewigged Henry Purcell for “Purcell Postscripts” (April 1996); an irreverent J. S. Bach to accompany the master composer’s “Letter from J S B” (July 2000); and a memorial sketch of Igor Kipnis illustrating “Remembering Igor” (April 2002). (Illustrations 10–12: Purcell, Bach, Kipnis.)

Drawing the twentieth-century harpsichordist’s portrait evoked some memories from Jane: “ . . . I first met Igor Kipnis when he played a concert in Oak Ridge, Tennessee (we had a reception for him at our house after the concert). I arranged to have his instrument stored for a few days at the home of a friend (a fine violinist and violist) who had studied at the American Conservatory as I did.” (Jane, born in Illinois, went on to teach piano in that Chicago conservatory’s Robyn Children’s Department from 1941 to 1945, after which she and her engineer husband David moved south, remaining there in a productive retirement as he indulged his hobby of historical instrument building and restoration.)

“Fast Fingers” was Jane’s 1992 response to my request for a caricature of “ye harpsichord editor.” It soon became a logo for my personal note pads, as well as a frequent cover illustration for recital programs. (Illustration 13: Fast Fingers: Larry Palmer.)

All of the illustrations thus far were included in a tribute to Jane Johnson, the prior Diapason retrospective, offered on pages 18–19 in August 2002. The artist was very pleased with the recognition and display of her contributions; we continued to correspond and I continued to request the occasional illustration, projects always graciously accepted by Jane. For the April 2004 journal article on harpsichord music by Rudy Davenport, Jane halved one that had originally included harpsichordist Peter Marshall, both featured at a joint Texas meeting of SEHKS and its sister organization MHKS (the Midwestern Historical Keyboard Society). 

Mozart, depicted in profile at a harpsichord, was the subject in October 2006 as illustration for my article on an alternative ending for the composer’s incomplete Fantasia in D Minor, K. 397. (Illustrations 14: Rudy Davenport and 15: Mozart at the Harpsichord.) 

For the 25th anniversary conclave of SEHKS I was midway through my four-year term as president of the organization. Founder George Lucktenberg and all of the subsequent SEHKS presidents were alive, and I had the brilliant idea of commissioning Jane to create a composite sketch of all of us. Gracious, as always, she took on this daunting task, producing twelve signed and numbered copies, which we distributed in numerical order to founder (number one), past executives, and incumbent (number twelve). This group portrait was published most recently by The Diapason as part of our tribute to the now-deceased Dr. Lucktenberg, in the issue for February 2015.

Other “re-prints” of Jane’s oeuvre include the sketch of William Dowd (as himself), in the January 2009 appreciation of his life and work, and, yet again, her ever-welcome gun-toting harpsichordist reappeared in August 2014 to anchor the heading for “Joys of Rereading,” a listing of still more mysteries that mention one of our favorite revived instruments. 

If this current retrospective has fomented a desire to view even more of Johnson’s drawings, Harpsichord Playing: Then & Now, another of her 1992 works, is to be found on page 120 of Frances Bedford’s Harpsichord and Clavichord Music of the 20th Century. While holding this book in hand, be sure to check Jane Johnson’s own composer entry (for her solo keyboard work Appalachian Excursion).

Jane had an extensive knowledge of Iberian baroque instruments and the literature composed for them. She travelled multiple times to the Clavichord Symposia in Magnano (Italy) where she contributed both scholarly papers and recitals. I, too, was the grateful recipient of information about Portuguese organs, with her citations and suggestions generously forwarded to me as I prepared in 2000 for a concert trip to play and hear the Oldovini instruments in the Alentejo. I still refer to her handwritten notes about things I simply “had to visit and experience”—papers and citations that were additionally valued (and disseminated) during that segment of the biennial organ literature course offered for decades in the Meadows School of the Arts at Southern Methodist University.

Part of the allure of Tennessee for Mrs. Johnson was the opportunity to study with Judy Glass at Southern College in Collegedale. There, in 1991 Jane gave an all-Iberian concert on the very appropriate meantone organ built by John Brombaugh.

Multi-faceted woman that she was, Jane Louise (Somers) Johnson contributed to the early music community in a widely varied number of ways. She passed away peacefully on May 11, but both art and musical legacies endure. Predeceased by her husband David, she leaves four children, six grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. A memorial service is scheduled for Friday, July 8, 2016 at 11 a.m. in St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church, Oak Ridge, Tennessee.

This revised and expanded version of a feature article published in The Diapason for August 2002 comprises information from Jane Johnson’s correspondence and deeply appreciated e-mail communications from her son Roger Ward Johnson.

Larry Palmer is a contributing editor of The Diapason.

During my entire career as a musician I have been drawn to friendships with graphic artists. (This began a long time ago at the Ohio State Fair in Columbus, where I hung around the Arts Barn and came to know the Fine Arts Director, painter Charlotte [now Astar] Daniels.) Thus it was not unusual for me to take note of an interesting-looking, white-haired woman sketching away at the various events during the Tallahassee conclave. I asked to see her work, requested copies of the drawings, submitted them with my article--and so began a twenty-year continuing association with Jane Johnson and her immediately recognizable art. [Illustrations 1-4: Parmentier, Koopman, Conant, Wilson]

The fifth SEHKS conclave was held at Sweet Briar College, Virginia. Julane Rodgers wrote the review of this event (published in September 1985). Jane provided two illustrations: the ensemble for a Brandenburg Concerto performance and organist Fenner Douglass accompanying soprano Penelope Jensen. [Illustrations 5-6: Brandenburg ensemble, Douglass and Jensen]

Jane's willingness to provide several drawings for my book Harpsichord in America: a 20th-Century Revival (1989) saved two illusive subjects from being un-imaged. Both Frances Pelton-Jones and Claude Jean Chiasson were documented by faded newspaper prints and sepia magazine photographs, but portraits of suitable quality for reproduction could not be found. The experience of requesting Jane to create specific drawings led to a number of subsequent requests. The first one for The Diapason resulted in an evocative image to accompany "Murder and the Harpsichord" (July 1991, repeated for "Murder, Part Two" in August 1992). Here the artist's eye for detail included an historically-correct pistol, copied from an engraving in Diderot's 18th-century Encyclopedia. [Illustration 7: Murder and the Harpsichord]

Harpsichord maker William Dowd was honored with a 70th birthday tribute in The Diapason for February 1992. In addition to fourteen short essays by friends, co-workers, and players of his instruments, the issue included the harpsichord solo William Dowd: His Bleu by Glenn Spring and Jane's drawing William Dowd Posing as Earl "Fatha" Hines. Another Dowd portrait was published with his written response to and clarification of the celebratory offerings (February 1993). [Illustrations 8-9: Dowd as "Fatha" Hines and William Dowd]

The Diapason drawings have continued right up until the present: a wonderfully-bewigged Henry Purcell graced "Purcell Postscripts" (April 1996); an irreverent J. S. Bach accompanied the E-mail "Letter from J S B" (July 2000); and a memorial sketch of Igor Kipnis illustrated "Remembering Igor" (April 2002). [Illustrations 10-12: Purcell, Bach, Kipnis]

Drawing the late harpsichordist's portrait elicited some memories from the artist: " . . . I first met Igor Kipnis when he played a concert in Oak Ridge, Tennessee (we had a reception for him at our house after the concert). I arranged to have his instrument stored for a few days at the home of a friend (a fine violinist and violist who had studied at the American Conservatory as I did. [Jane also taught piano in the Conservatory's Robyn Children's Department from 1941 to 1945.]

"I showed Kipnis an old American Conservatory catalog with his grandfather's picture. (In 1934, at the age of eleven while studying in the Children's Department, I remember looking across the lobby and seeing a gentleman with a big black mustache and a head of thick black hair, actually a toupee. I said to someone ‘Who is that?' The reply: ‘That is Mr. Heniot Levy,' who it turns out was Kipnis' grandfather on his mother's side. Mr. Heniot Levy was an outstanding teacher and pianist on the faculty of the school. Years later in 1945, the year I left, he became head of the piano department. My piano teacher Ethel Lyon was a friend of Mr. Heniot Levy's daughter.)

"Kipnis referred to his grandfather as ‘Mr. Levy.' At first I didn't recognize the name, for we all called him Mr. Heniot Levy. I assumed it was a hyphenated name--but I finally realized to whom he was referring."

In 1945 Jane's husband David moved the family from Chicago to Oak Ridge, Tennessee, where he worked as an engineer until 1982. That year Jane and David retired to Cumberland County, where Dave now builds clavichords and other keyboard instruments. Jane continues her interests in art, family (comprising their four children, six grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren) and performing at the organ, harpsichord, and clavichord, especially at Magnano, Italy during several editions of the International Clavichord Symposium (1995 and 1999). [Illustration 13: Jane Johnson's favorite view of San Secondo, the 12th-century Romanesque Church at Magnano, showing the less familiar apse side]

A request to the artist for some of her favorite works resulted in the submission of several drawings not previously published in this magazine. Two certain to be of interest to harpsichordists are her 1984 picture of a College of William and Mary musicale (Williamsburg, Virginia), led by harpsichordist James Darling, and a whimsical 1985 Handel, Bach, Scarlatti tercentenary birthday party, drawn for the program of a Huntsville, Alabama recital given by students of Peggy Baird (reprinted with her permission). [Illustrations 14-15]

Personally I have been delighted to have "Fast Fingers," Jane's 1992 response to my request for a caricature of "ye harpsichord editor." It is now the logo of my personal note pads, as well as a frequent program cover. [Illustration 16: Larry Palmer]

If this retrospective has left an urge to see more, Harpsichord Playing: Then & Now, another 1992 "drawing by Jane Johnson" may be found on page 120 of Frances Bedford's Harpsichord and Clavichord Music of the 20th Century. While holding this book in hand, be sure to check out Jane's composer entry (for her solo work Appalachian Excursion). Multi-faceted woman that she is, Jane has contributed to the early music community in a variety of ways. Our world continues to be enriched by her talents.

Larry Palmer is a contributing editor of THE DIAPASON.

Edward L. Kottick: A History of the Harpsichord.

"There may be those whose knowledge of the harpsichord encompasses the whole of its six-hundred-year history, but I am not among them." Thus begins Edward Kottick's 557-page magnum opus, now handsomely in print, courtesy of Indiana University Press. Such modesty, both courteous and engaging, brought an immediate reaction, "If not Kottick, who?" With his outstanding career as music historian and university professor, his successful sideline of harpsichord making, and the writing of two earlier books, one an invaluable guide to the instrument's care and maintenance, the other (with George Lucktenberg) a guide to European keyboard instrument collections, who could be better qualified to write such a comprehensive survey?

And comprehensive it certainly is! Kottick divides his book into five large sections, tracing the harpsichord's story, century by century. Part I: The Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries mines the distant past ("From Psaltery and Monochord to Harpsichord and Virginal"), introducing the putative (and colorful) "inventor" of the harpsichord, Hermann Poll, Henri Arnaut's manuscript drawing and description of the instrument, and a comparison of  Arnaut's description with an actual surviving instrument, a Clavicytherium now in the Royal College of Music, London.

Part II: The Sixteenth Century deals with the development of the harpsichord in northern Europe, Antwerp harpsichord building between Karest and Ruckers, and early Italian harpsichords, virginals, and spinets. In Part III: The Seventeenth Century the story progresses via the Ruckers-Couchet dynasty of harpsichord makers to those of the later Italian style, the seventeenth-century international style, and the national "schools" of harpsichord making in France, Germany, Austria, and England.

Part IV: The Eighteenth Century, not surprisingly the lengthiest section of the book, has chapters concerned with the decline of the Italian harpsichord, the increasingly-important instruments of the Iberian Peninsula, harpsichord building in France until the Revolution, instruments of the Low Countries in the post-Ruckers era, and discussions of the harpsichord in Germany, Scandinavia, Austria, Switzerland, Great Britain, and colonial America.

Part V: The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries details the "hibernation of the harpsichord" in the 19th century, its revival from the 1889 Paris Exhibition until  World War II, and the subsequent period of the "modern" harpsichord from historically informed builders such as Gough, Hubbard, and Dowd, through the introduction of electronic instruments and the popularity of harpsichord kits.

A short postscript ("Into the Future") brings the 470 pages of text to a thoughtful conclusion. The remainder of the volume consists of a glossary, nearly fifty pages of end notes, an extensive bibliography, and the index.

Each chapter ends with a helpful "summing up" of the author's main points. The book is illustrated copiously with black and white pictures on nearly half its pages. There are 23 color plates, each one of a beautifully-decorated historic harpsichord, save for a single 17th-century painting: Andrea Sacchi's Apollo Crowning the Singer Pasqualini. Boxed "sidebars" present detailed information about many topics of interest, allowing the reader to sample various short snippets of engaging history, such as "The Guild of St. Luke," "Goosen Karest the Apprentice," "Italian Roses," "A Digression on Nonaligned Keyboards," "Raymundo Truchado's Geigenwerk," "J. S. Bach and Equal Temperament," "Kirkman's Marriage," or "The Delrin Story."

As if all this rich variety were not enough, the book comes with a companion compact disc comprising nineteen aural examples of plucked keyboard sounds from the Flemish Spinett Virginal by Marten van der Biest [1580] heard in Giles Farnaby's Why Ask You? to Landowska's iconographic performance at her Pleyel harpsichord of the first movement from Bach's Italian Concerto, and Kathryn Roberts playing Louis Couperin on a 1987 John Phillips instrument based on a 1707 harpsichord by Nicholas Dumont. All of these choices are apt; all, except for a poorly-recorded (but extremely interesting) example of a 17th-century German harpsichord transferred from a scratchy Hungaroton disc, demonstrate recorded sound ranging from good to superior. Most of the performances are winners, too, such as the arrangement and playing by Kenneth Mobbs of the 25-second Introduction to Handel's Zadok the Priest, demonstrating the Venetian swell of a 1785 Longman and Broderip harpsichord made by Thomas Culliford.

For anyone wishing to know the particulars of the two Scarlatti sonatas played by Ralph Kirkpatrick (listed only as Sonatas 35 and 36), they are K 366 (L 119)--an Allegro in F, and K 367 (L 172)--a Presto, also in F Major.

I did not find many errors in this extensive volume, but I was surprised to read Kottick's assertion that Sylvia Marlowe had used a blue William Dowd harpsichord for her engagements at the Rainbow Room Night Club in New York (note 51, page 522). This is a minor aberration, for the instrument employed was not a Dowd, but Marlowe's white Pleyel (purchased with funds borrowed from composer/critic Virgil Thomson). These well-received appearances were the real life inspiration for the fictional accounts in Francis Steegmuller's mystery novel Blue Harpsichord, published in 1949--the very year in which Frank Hubbard and William Dowd set up their first shop in Boston. Dowd did not build harpsichords under his own name until 1959.  Late in her career Marlowe did play a Dowd instrument, following many years of performing on her Pleyel and subsequent harpsichords built for her by John Challis.

A History of the Harpsichord [ISBN 0-253-34166-3] is printed on alkaline (non-acidic) paper that meets the minimum standards of permanence for printed library materials. Would that these pages could have been offered on thicker stock, for there is a fair amount of unwanted print bleed-through, especially from the illustrations. This book is priced at $75. It offers a compendium of interesting and detailed information, engagingly presented, and eminently readable. Kottick has produced a winner with this one.

Mimi S. Waitzman: Early Keyboard Instruments: The Benton Fletcher Collection at Fenton House.

Major George Henry Benton Fletcher (1866-1944) assembled a small but significant collection of early keyboard instruments in the early years of the 20th century. From the very beginning he held the view that his instruments should be restored, that they should be available to professional musicians and students, and that they should be housed in a suitable setting.

From 1934 until the building's destruction during World War II the instruments were displayed at Old Devonshire House, Boswell Street, in London. Since the collection had been turned over to England's National Trust, Fletcher's death did not result in the dispersal of his instruments. Five did not survive the war, but all the rest of them had been moved to rural England shortly before the bombing of Devonshire House. After the war Fletcher's instruments were reinstalled in a Queen Anne terraced house at 3 Cheyne Walk. From there, in 1952, the Trust moved them (together with an additional instrument --a 1612 Ruckers harpsichord belonging to Her Majesty the Queen) to Fenton House, a stately Georgian building in Hampstead. At present there are nineteen instruments dating from 1540 (the Italian virginals of Marcus Siculus) to 1925 (a clavichord built in Haselmere by Arnold Dolmetsch). Thirteen are by English builders.

Mimi Waitzman, curator of the Benton Fletcher Collection since 1984, is the author of a new, elegantly produced hardbound volume listing all the instruments, comprising virginals, spinets, harpsichords, clavichords, grand and square pianos. Beginning with a short history of the collection, the Introduction continues with descriptions of the various action types utilized in the instruments, illustrated by line drawings. Each of the instruments is given a full description, followed by listings of case materials and dimensions, compass, disposition, and details of stringing and scaling.

A companion compact disc contains appropriate musical examples played by Terence Charleston on fourteen of the instruments; these tracks are listed within the chapter for each instrument. Lavish color illustrations and high-quality duotone photographs add to the value of this publication, and the whole makes for a satisfactory "self-guided tour" or a private study in early keyboard instruments.

Published by The National Trust [ISBN 0-7078-0353-5], 112 pages, £24.99.

Frederick B. Hyde, emeritus professor from the Department of
Music, University of Alabama, died on March 7, 2001. Fred, whom I came to know at
several American Guild of Organists national conventions, was a contributor to
the William Dowd 70th birthday tribute issue of The Diapason (February 1992).

After that issue had gone to press, Dr. Hyde sent me an
additional story, with this note:

"Northport, AL, January 2, 1992: Enclosed is a
contribution to the 'True Stories about William Dowd.' It may not be on the
level of what you want to include in the issue, and it may, of course, be too
late for you to use.  . . . The
reminiscences are true 'to the best of my knowledge.' They stand out in my
memory as pertinent--and interesting, possibly items that might not have come
your way through other avenues."

As a tribute to this gentle and good early advocate (and
purchaser) of historically-informed instruments from a builder of the
mid-20th-century Boston School, here is Fred's previously-unpublished
remembrance.

Frederick Hyde: A patriotic reminiscence

I suppose all who have made the decision to buy a
harpsichord have shared the feelings I had. Buying one from Hubbard and Dowd
led me to visit their workshop as soon as I was in Boston. How could one forget
the mystery of entering what seemed like a holy-of-holies in the original
Tremont Street location, making one's way, as one crossing the Styx and entering
Hades, past the Harpoot restaurant on the ground floor with its enticing
mid-Eastern fragrances almost arresting one's ascent to the shop on an upper
floor. (I learned from Bill [Dowd] later that the proprietor of this restaurant
was a philanthropist in his own right, maintaining a haven of hospitality for
his bewildered countrymen newly arrived in a forbidding land.)

Then there was the place at 26 Church Street, back of the
Unitarian Church in Cambridge and a short distance from Harvard. My Kirkman [-style
harpsichord] was made there by Bill Dowd. (Frank Hubbard was in Europe
preparing to write his epoch-making book.)

The next location where I felt at ease was in East
Cambridge, 25 Thorndike Street, where so many immortal Dowd harpsichords were
built. It was there that Bill had a "showroom," in which a number of
harpsichords--two or more--were displayed at a time, tuned and ready to be
played. It was there that I remember hearing words to the effect that one more
performance of Bach's Italian Concerto would not make the staff rejoice!

Bill Dowd's musical background is extensive. His love of
Beethoven is surely well-known. I remember a conversation with him in which I
was taking the stand that only early Beethoven could be played on a harpsichord
with any success. "Oh, I don't know," said Bill, not to be outdone,
and he set a registration and started the theme of the variations of Opus 111!

One recollection I have of the harpsichord showroom stands
out in my memory. It turns out that in this extensive musical background of
his, Bill had played some instrument in the band at one of his schools. He had
played, along with other things, numerous marches by the March King, John
Phillip Sousa; and he remembered them in their entirety. I know some of them,
too; and I imagine few have shared my experience of sitting at a Dowd
harpsichord, with Bill at another, putting on a fairly convincing rendition of
Sousa marches, extemporized under the inspiration of the moment, on two Dowd
harpsichords!

For the more fastidious aficionados this might seem a
desecration of a hallowed instrument, which should be reserved for 18th-century
claveçin composers at the latest. But I say, who is more qualified to
play Sousa marches on these instruments than the builder himself?