The Mannes Opera: Hitting the High Notes - The New School

Edward Aldwell Honored
THE EDWARD ALDWELL PROFESSORSHIP IN
THE TECHNIQUES OF MUSIC
The Mannes community – and the world
of music – suffered a tragic loss on May 28,
2006, when the noted pianist, pedagogue,
and music theorist Edward Aldwell, a
Mannes faculty member since 1969, died of
injuries he had suffered in an accident
earlier that month. (See “In Memoriam” in
Mannes News, winter 2006.)
In an act of extraordinary generosity, his
estate has made a gift of $1.5 million – the
largest single contribution Mannes has ever
received – to establish the Edward Aldwell
Professorship in The Techniques of Music.
Mannes’s very first endowed professorship
will honor the work and art, the intellect and
spirit, and the life and legacy of Edward
Aldwell.
THE EDWARD ALDWELL MEMORIAL CONCERT
On Monday, September 25, 2006, the
Mannes family gathered in The Concert
Hall to mourn the loss and celebrate the life
of Edward Aldwell. Three of his former
students performed music he cherished.
Thomas Sauer, member of the piano faculty
and of The Mannes Trio, performed Ricercar
a 3 and Ricercar a 6 from Bach’s The Musical
Offering. Mei-Ting Sun played Chopin’s
Preludes, op. 28, nos. 9-24. And piano
faculty member Yuri Kim offered
Beethoven’s Sonata in C minor, op. 111.
Carl Schachter, Ed’s teacher, friend,
colleague, and co-author of the groundbreaking
and widely used textbook Harmony
and Voice Leading, offered remarks that with
great eloquence and perception expressed
both his own thoughts and feelings and the
sentiments of those present.
The published program book for the
event includes tributes from many of his
friends, colleagues, students, and admirers.
Four of these by longtime fellow members
of the Techniques of Music faculty are
reprinted below.
10
My first teacher of Schenkerian analysis
was Ed Aldwell. It was my first year at
Mannes, and I was a teenager at the time.
Like many a new student, I simply went to
the class to which I was assigned, without
having any idea that I was about to study
with one of the giants of the music world.
The class was like none other I had thus far
experienced. All the analytic concepts that
Ed taught in the class were bound up with
an approach to performance, and vice versa.
A particular highlight of each class session
was when Ed would sit at the piano and
play the piece that was being analyzed.
For instance, one day Ed and Yakov
Kreizberg (who was about 16 years old then)
played a four-hand arrangement of the first
movement of Beethoven’s String Quartet in
C minor, op. 18 no. 4 for the class. I confess
that I had never heard the piece before. Not
surprisingly, I was overwhelmed by the
performance.
Ever since then, whenever I hear op. 18
no. 4, I think back to that day when I and a
handful of other lucky students were treated
to a very special performance by a very
special person.
—Poundie Burstein
Quem virum aut heroe lyra vel acri/ tibia
sumis celebrare, Clio? – What man or hero
will you celebrate most on your lyre or
bright-toned flute, Clio? Passages from
Horace keep running in my head now when
I think of Edward. Our conversations about
matters having to do with music, music
theory and departmental matters at Mannes
and Curtis where we both taught would
often veer into discussions of recent reading.
Talking about literature was a side of our
relationship that meant a great deal to both
of us. Friend, philosopher – also guide: it was
Edward who gave me invaluable advice about
theory teaching when I first began teaching
theory at Mannes in 1974. Light and playful
in manner as he often was, he was possessed
of true seriousness and dedication, and if ever
a man deserved to be remembered with
words of Horace, it was he.
—Robert Cuckson
Although I met Ed for the first time when
we were both students, I only came to know
him well when we became “double
colleagues,” teaching at both Mannes and
Curtis, especially since commuting by
Amtrak provided many opportunities for
unexpectedly extended conversations. I also
remember that when my future wife first
arrived in the United States speaking
virtually no English, Ed made real efforts to
communicate with her, something which
both of us appreciated. He was never
loquacious, but always communicated
expressively. This must have been especially
true in his teaching, as all of his students
remained fiercely loyal, even many years
after concluding their studies. Among his
many gifts he had a perfect sense of how to
keep a discussion focused on the main
objective, always found effective and brief
remarks, tinged with his uniquely sardonic
humor, which brought the rest of us back
into line. All of us will miss him for what he
brought us, what he taught us, but most of
all for his sense of the highest standards.
—David Loeb
I first met Edward Aldwell in the 1960s
(I don’t remember the year), when he began
studying theory and Schenkerian analysis
with me; at that time he was still a piano
student at Juilliard. Ed worked with me for
several years, mostly on analysis but also on
invertible counterpoint. We became and
remained very close friends, and in the
1970s we collaborated on the book
Harmony and Voice Leading.
Ed joined the faculty of the Mannes
College in 1969, and in 1971 he began
teaching at the Curtis Institute; he remained
on both faculties until his death. In his early