Gregory Stone
In my later years at El Camino and UCLA, prior to leaving California for New York, I continued a musical relationship with Gregory Stone.

I met Gregory through GallaRini, though I don’t know how they originally met.  Gregory lived out in the San Fernando Valley – a place I tried to avoid as it was usually too hot, too smoggy and the traffic getting in and out was horrible.

Gregory, Inge, and their two daughters, Christina and Tyranna, lived in a tract home in Van Nuys.  The living room was overcome with two grand pianos and music scores piled nearly to the ceiling.  There was hardly room to move.  However, Gregory could quickly locate whatever he wanted. 

Gregory was always willing to share an interesting variety of rare musical treasures – like the score of Mussorgsky’s original orchestration of Boris Gudanov.  At that time, the score was difficult to find outside of Russia.  There were also many letters from his friend, Igor Stravinsky.  He talked of helping Stravinsky get contracts to compose movie scores for the Federal Government for projects done under agencies such as the CCC.

Gregory didn’t concern himself with yard work.  The outside of the house had that wild, overgrown look.  There was also the family dog, Podarak (not sure of the spelling).  Gregory said the dog had been a gift and Podarak was the Russian name for ‘present’.

My visits to Gregory’s home were to rehearse – either for the upcoming recording sessions or for a performance.  I was always amazed at his technical facility on the piano.  He effortlessly played even the most difficult passages with impeccable accuracy.  I doubt he practiced much; I don’t know where he would have found the time.  Gregory was the consummate working musician.  One of his accomplishments was writing Benny Goodman’s theme song, Let’s Dance.  Gregory said this song alone had brought him a good deal of revenue.  Gregory knew how to use his wide range of musical skills to make money.

Gregory’s approach to music and technique was pragmatic.  There were no magic words – no secrets; very similar to Aube’s approach.  Their solution was an absolute facility over the keyboard.  In terms of technique, the keyboard was often approached as a mechanical device – sometimes nearly void of any musical consideration.  Using this approach, exercises could be defined in mathematical terms, combining every possible sequence of finger use, or combination of two fingers, or sustaining any given finger while using the other fingers or combination thereof.  Combine this with mastery of all possible sequential (or non-sequential) intervals – selected irregardless of the musical outcome – and master all possible combinations therein, and you have the first component of technique; an ultimate kinesthetic familiarity.  The next requirement was knowing how to use the body in it’s entirety to produce sound. 

Though this, or at least some parts of the concept, sound logical, they are not a universally accepted solution.  I have had many spirited discussions with friends who do not buy into this concept, but rather are opposed to it as being ridiculously unmusical.  At one time someone rewrote the first two sections of Hanon in an accordion edition so that the exercises were symmetrical.  This would be a step in support of Gregory’s philosophy.  I remember asking Aube about the concept of symmetrical Hanon.  He blew it off saying that it destroyed the musicality intrinsic to Hannon. 

So there are those who say everything should come from the music – the student learns the required technique from the music they play.  There are others who approach technique as an entity unto itself – and the music comes from a technical mastery that is without challenge, or ideally, even a cognizant activity.  Realistically, the answer is somewhere between the two, the student’s capabilities being a determining factor.

Gregory once gave me a copy of his transcription of the Chopin etude in double thirds that had been rewritten to double sixths.  On the cover he wrote, “to Bill Cosby, who can play anything.”  I doubt there was any musical improvement to the Chopin; however I would assure you that Gregory’s transcription was excruciatingly more difficult. 

It was probably through Gregory that I came to understand my concept of diatonic fingering.  If I were to approach technique exclusively as a mathematical problem, I should be able to play a C# Major scale using the same fingering as I would for a C Major scale.  Though this sounds absurd, there are countless examples of music that would demand alternate fingering to achieve a musical result.

Though Gregory had enormous technical facility, he had limits; and I found it fun to challenge those limits.  But I learned early on that turn-about was fair play.  These spontaneous competitions were usually done in performance; they would have not been nearly as fun in rehearsal.  I remember walking off stage after performing the Fantasia Napolitana and Gregory commenting, “Bill, you are a young boy, and I am an old man.  Why are you are trying to kill me!”  However, I remember him pushing me to my technical limits on more than one occasion.  And given the often wild, gypsy characteristic of much of the music, I am sure it was great fun for the audience as well.

We spent some time working on interpretation of the musical nuances, but for the most part, it was intuitive.  Gregory always insisted on crediting GallaRini with phrasing, registration and fingering.  GallaRini and I never discussed fingering, I determined nearly all of the registration and Gregory’s comments helped determine the phrasing, but it was some kind of professional courtesy that I never really understood, nor cared to understand.

The two albums were a mixture of stradella and bassetti.  With the exception of the Brazilian Etude and an Arabesque, the solo works were older, published stradella works.  Many were traditional accordion ethnic fare, but could be quite difficult when you played them at the intended tempi!  But once you understood Gregory’s concept of fingering (the fourth finger was nearly always the lead), they became much more playable.  With the exception of Concerto Breve, the works with piano accompaniment had been written later and were for bassetti.  Unfortunately, only the album with the piano accompaniments was released.  The only solo piece on that album was the Accordion Tzyganne.

Armin Steiner was the engineer for the recordings, but for scheduling reasons, we recorded at Annex Studios.  The recording was direct to two-track.  The piano was a particularly fine Steinway that had been temporarily moved into Annex to accompany in the recordings of a celebrated cellist.  Armin, being a highly recognized and accomplished violinist, had secured its use for our recordings.  He commented several times that the quality of the piano on tape approached the sound that was being touted by Horowitz on his 1960’s Columbia recordings.  In typical Stone fashion, the project was completed with utmost efficiency, most things being completed with a single take.

Shortly after the Sinatra Musical Performance Awards, I did my second Neofonic album for Giulietti.  By this time, Armin had become completely engulfed in with the success of Sound Recorders Studios.  He recommended Alan Emig as the engineer who could capture the essence of the accordion, and fate provided yet another opportunity to work with an extraordinary professional.

Alan had worked for years as a senior engineer at Capitol Records, but when I met him, something had caused his exodus from Capitol and he was working at Kent Records on Slauson Avenue in one of the worst sections of Los Angeles.  Kent Records was a one-stop source for African American blues, rock, and jazz artists.  Clients included B.B. King, Howling Wolf, Ike Turner, and countless others.  The facility included a small recording studio that had to stop recording when a train passed.  It was typical to record an album in a 3-hour session.  From the studio, the tapes went to the mastering room in another part of the building.  This was where Alan spent most of his time.  The mastered lacquers were then processed on site, jackets were printed and the albums were pressed, stuffed, shrink wrapped, and placed in boxes.  Kent Records produced a finished product from a single facility.

There is a talent in those who can record, master, process, press, do artwork or any other part of the recording process.  Doing it to such a high level of success in an environment such as Kent Records was the mark of true genius.  This was not state of the art equipment or facilities – no latest technology – no luxury of basking in unlimited studio time.  This was churning out completed albums.  Alan did the mastering in stride and was critical in keeping the recording and mastering parts of the operation up and running.  He knew how to tweak the RIAA standards, to keep lathes working, all of it.  Another person who worked with him as the engineer for recording studio was Bill Lazerus, who later recorded the Music Emporium Album.  After leaving Kent, Alan worked on the design of Electra’s new ‘state of the art’ studios.  Bill evolved into one of Sunset Sound’s (one of Hollywood’s landmark studios to the present day) most recognized engineers.

For the second accordion album, Alan scheduled sessions at Whitney Studios in the San Fernando Valley.  Whitney’s primary clientele were Christian music artists.  Alan intuitively knew how he wanted to best capture the sound of the accordion.  Rather than use any type of amplification to increase the depth of the bass, he placed a vintage RCA ribbon microphone below and to the rear of the left hand.  He used two Neumann’s on the front of the instrument.  One of my challenges was not hitting the RCA with my left hand or with the accordion, so we had to occasionally do a retake to eliminate a subsonic thump.

Alan was not interested in creating a ‘bigger than life’ sound.  He wanted an accordion to sound like an accordion.  This included leaving in the sound of changing registrations as well as the other mechanical sounds of the instrument.  To Alan, they were all intrinsic to the instrument.  As with Armin, he also had an incredible ear and was also a master at editing. 

Alan was also graphically colorful and an outspoken personality.  In his time at Capitol he had recorded a wide variety of artists.  He was also known for his technical knowledge and hands-on skill with anything electronic.  As an example, he rebuilt an old mono RCA ‘hi fidelity’ counsel in my parent’s home.  He modified the tone arm with fishing weights, put in a stereo cartridge, added a phono pre-amplifier, and modified the amplifier.  The result was remarkable – even though it was still mono.

The album was mastered by one of his old friend’s at Annex studios.  Though the album was ultimately processed, printed and pressed at Kent, Alan said their mastering capability was too noisy for the quiet passages.  The mastering was straight forward, not trying to reguess the sound from the master tapes. 

Alan supervised ever aspect of the album production.  Bill Lazerus, who was also an excellent photographer, joined Alan and I late one evening to shoot the cover photo in front of one of the fountains at the Music Center.  Alan wrote the liner notes.  Julio received his finished product.  I doubt that Julio fully comprehended the qualifications or contributions of the individuals who produced the album or the value of the final product.  Though anyone might have been able to contract their services, their level of interest and commitment were something that couldn’t have been negotiated.

Shortly after recording the second album, Alan began setting up the mastering facility at Sound Recorders for Armin.  I would occasionally spend time with him as he explained the basics of cutting acetate masters and all the subsequent steps to getting the best possible sound on the vinyl.  By this time, Bill Lazerus was at Sunset Sound.

The concept of recording was changing rapidly – at least in Los Angeles.  Beneath the ‘Sound Recorders’ on the marquee for Armin’s studio was ‘8 track’; advertising the new technology.  Though different methods of multi-tracking had been used prior to this time, syncing 8 channels on a single machine was something new.  It was also possible to bounce channels, offering new capabilities in overdubbing.  An example of this is in the multi-tiered vocal tracks on the Yellow Balloon album that was recorded in the earliest days of Sound Recorders. 

Alan was at the epicenter of this technology, especially in designing rooms that would maximize the new capabilities.  He sometimes invited me to accompany him when he visited different studios.  He was contracted by Electra to design their studios in Hollywood, Hawaii, and New York.  He would supervise nearly every detail of the construction and installation of the equipment.  And I am sure he had the reputation as an absolute bastard in getting exactly what he wanted.

Many years later, I was surprised that Alan never received much recognition for his contributions either at Capitol or in later projects.  It seems that only in very recent years is there any mention of him – though old-timers certainly remembered him.  I remember Alan as a heavy drinker, smoker, and also knew that he quickly and thoroughly embraced the drug culture of the 60’s.  Alan owned a house in the Hollywood Hills on Hollyridge Drive that had originally been built by Stan Kenton.  It had a spectacular view of the city and one of the prize possessions was a Boesendorfer Piano – in a time when no one knew what a Boesendorfer was.  Alan had one of the humongous Chrysler Imperials and his room mate had a Chrysler 300G.  The place was exclusively mine to use while he was out of town on the Electra projects.  Local grocery and liquor stores kept an inventory of food and booze.  There was also a regular cleaning staff and gardeners.  However, the major attraction for me and my friends was the Boesendorfer.  Alan had told us that Glen Gould used to hide out at his place when he was in town.  No one would know he was there and he liked the isolation.  I have no idea if that is true or not, but I don’t know of any instances where Alan was not painfully honest.

I still remember the last time I drove by the empty house with the unkempt yard that had always been perfectly manicured and the For Sale sign.  He died at a relatively young age.  I was never able to find out what eventually happened, what happened to his partner, or to the Boesendorfer.

On the other hand, there is quite a bit of information about Bill Lazerus on the internet.

I brought my accordion to the party, but no one asked me to play
I Remember Grandma, Accordion Heroes 2010
Gypsie Shawl Dance - 1969.