The Early Galla-Rini Years
Julio was not happy about me studying with Oakley. Oakley was probably one of the few accordionists who had not been a Giulietti artist during his career, but I doubt if that had anything to do with it. What Julio saw was a lack of direction, or more accurately, he saw the possibility of Oakley interfering with his influence.
Julio called my folks. It was no secret that Julio was not a fan of GallaRini – the baggage between the two of them had deep roots, extending through decades. Julio said on more than one occasion that GallaRini should stop playing – that his performances were pompous – and he should turn it over to the younger players.
Julio was probably sincere in expressing his lack of love for GallaRini – even though he would always preface his remarks with some reference to a connection with his wife, Anita, through marriage (though I don’t remember the exact connection). But I think Julio was being sincere with my folks when said he had respect for GallaRini. “GallaRini is one of the best teachers there is. He [Bill] needs to stop futzing around with Oakley Yale. GallaRini is who he should be studying with. I want to call him and ask that he take him as a student.” And Julio assisted in setting up our initial meeting.
Since his introduction of the instrument, Julio had continued to improve the bassettis. By the time I was preparing to meet GallaRini he had replaced the bass side of my accordion with a mechanism that was cut back from the bellows to a normal depth. This meant the left hand did not need to extend as far to reach the buttons – giving better bellows control and making the instrument much less cumbersome. The bassetti pedestal buttons, which had an inconsistent action and a tendency to bind, were replaced with a more traditional button. This resulted in a greatly improved feel. The stradella section was restored to the traditional four rows of chords. Also, the lowest note was extended from G to E. However, because the bellows and the overall size of the instrument were still large, the accordion retained its rich sound. The large bellows also permitted extended phrases.
GallaRini had played the three-tiered-switch Supers for a while – at least long enough to have one of the “Giulietti Artist” pictures taken. But soon after, he opted for his own accordion, the Gian Scala, which was imported into the country by Petosa. Petosa was located in Seattle, and interestingly enough, was made in Castel Fidardo by the same factory that made Giulietti.
The GallaRini model Gian Scala had 45 keys in the right hand – but rather than the usually 45 key range of E to C, it extended from F to C#. Though I thought this strange, GallaRini had remarked that you never knew when that C# would come in handy. Not only that, you get the extra note without the extra length of a white note. Julio would mutter under his breath from time to time about the absurdity of GallaRini needing his own ‘brand’ and the extra C#. This makes it even more interesting that the Giulietti Steven Dominko is holding on his album cover picture has the high C# right hand configuration. But I digress.
Based on years of listening to Julio’s ranting, I expected GallaRini to be a pedagogical tyrant. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I found him to be a warm, gentle, sincere, and very talented musician who rarely said anything unkind about anyone. He had remained faithful and attentive to his first wife, Dina, who had finally become institutionalized in her battle with cancer. The only time I ever saw her was several years prior at the Western States Accordion Festival in the Long Beach Civic Center, where I had seen GallaRini carefully escorting her through the crowd. Now, he visited her regularly. There was a single 8 x 10 picture of her on a small table in his living room. It was signed, “to my loving darling”. He rarely spoke of her. But he used to take bananas when he went to visit. Later on, she no longer recognized him. He also had a son, Ronnie, but he rarely spoke about him until some years later, after we had developed a very close personal relationship. He kept his personal life separate from his professional activities.
GallaRini lived in Glendale. His house was located on Colorado Ave., a busy street that had developed into one of the cities commercial areas. There were few remaining private homes on Colorado. Once again, the studio, which had originally been a garage, was located in the back of his house. Colorado was a four-lane street with heavy city traffic. You drove down a narrow driveway to a parking area in the rear. The property was surrounded by a tall privacy fence, as the widening of the street had all but removed what had once been a front yard. The area between the studio and the house formed a small patio.
The studio had originally been a 4-car garage. It was now painted blue with white enamel window and door trim. There were several old tympani (without foot pedals) and other percussion instruments in the back. GallaRini also occasionally indulged in the accordion orchestra. There were also several pictures from various parts of his career. The ones I remember most were from his vaudeville youth – a profile where he is surrounded by numerous band instruments, and another one with family members and accordions. His bio stated that he had been a musical prodigy, performing at an early age on a variety of instruments. From some stories he occasionally told, I suspected his father, who orchestrated the family act, was the real tyrant. As a youth, he spent a large amount of time ‘on the road’ and eating in restaurants. He once related a story from his youth about eloquently requesting ‘furr furr poe’ from a menu. His father grabbed the menu to see what he was talking about. When he saw it was fr. fr. pot. (an abbreviation for French friend potatoes), he popped him one.
GallaRini was always impeccably groomed and well dressed. He took good care of himself. He remained a good looking man as he aged. He wore very thick glasses that distorted the size of his eyes – but when he performed, these were replaced with contact lenses. Contact lenses in those days were often problematic, nothing like they are today. I am sure this is why he didn’t wear them all the time. I don’t know if I ever heard him swear, and he was articulate in his conversation. It wasn’t a put-on or arrogance; it was just the way he was.
GallaRini wasn’t the person I expected, and I today I wonder if I was the person he expected. I was pretty full of myself in those days, certainly ready to take on the accordion world! But it ended up being a great relationship.
Around the same time I started working with GallaRini, I was accepted to both USC and UCLA. USC had the reputation as the performance school. UCLA had the reputation for musicology and ethnomusicology. USC was in a bad part of Los Angeles. UCLA was in Westwood, adjacent to Bel Air and Beverly Hills. I had musical ties to both schools, but the ultimate decision was cost. USC charged per semester hour and was very expensive. As a State University, UCLA was affordable with a modest flat rate per quarter. Both Dr. Haag and one of my early accordion teachers, Tom Owens, were UCLA Ph.D.’s and spoke highly of the school. That also helped me with the decision, and those were some of the best years of my life.
At the time, I was also becoming increasingly interested in piano. Piano didn’t replace accordion as my instrument of choice at that time, but through piano I rapidly expanded my understanding of technique. Though piano technique is not related to accordion technique, philosophies and methods of achieving technique and ways to quantify it are universal to any discipline that requires movement. I started to learn ‘how to learn’ and how to accelerate the learning process. To some people it is intuitive, but to most it is a skill that can be improved.
I never formally worked on technique with GallaRini. By the time I started to study with him I had considerable technical facility on the accordion. I was applying much of what I had learned about learning-to-learn in my ongoing quest to master the left hand.
However, I also knew where I wanted to go; and knew it was going to take time to get there. When I now listen to home recordings that were made shortly before I started the bassetti, I recognize that I could just ‘go for it’. I didn’t worry about getting through a difficult section or getting into something too fast. I could push the physical limitations of the accordion or my own technical abilities right to the threshold of insanity or just questionable taste. That was my goal with the bassetti left hand. I have always been analytical in my approach to almost everything and accordion was no exception. I tried different fingering systems as I already knew that one critical key in learning to learn quickly and efficiently involves using consistent fingering. One needs to use the same fingering every time, and use a fingering solution that balances technical necessity and musical intent.
One of the early selling points for migration to the 5-row bassetti (where the first two rows are repeated after the third row) was the ability to play something in any key with the exact same fingering. While this may be a possibility, the thought is somewhat absurd. However, the absurdity of this highlights an elemental problem, though not a show-stopper, with the chromatic keyboard used in the left hand: physical reference points. The combination of white and black keys on a piano keyboard provides excellent physical and visual reference points. You can easily see and feel where you are on the keyboard. With the chromatic keyboard, the only references are indentations on certain keys. One the first bassettis, only the C’s are marked. On later models, both the C’s and F’s are marked. Something that makes this situation even more challenging is the similar size, shape and position of each button. The ‘strike’ zone allows a very small margin for error, making the keyboard very unforgiving. In contrast, the piano keyboard allows considerable latitude in finger movement where the fingers are less capable of being precise. In fact, the entire hand position can be adjusted. The tradeoff for bassetti technique is using the back of the palm and wrist against the left hand side of the accordion, combined with a strap, to provide a reference point.
Another problem stated earlier is inability to use the thumb. However, there are useful characteristics of the chromatic left-hand keyboard. One is the ability to play large intervals without using the thumb – typically two octaves between the 2nd and 5th finger.
I am sure I considered the advantages of going to a chromatic keyboard on both hands on more than one occasion. I had also heard (though I have never confirmed the source) that Chopin had proposed a chromatic keyboard for the piano. Probably the first person I ever asked about switching was Leon Sash. Leon did some absolutely outrageous things with his piano-chromatic (a chromatic keyboard made to look like a piano keyboard) accordion. Leon was against the idea. Likewise, Julio was adamantly against the idea. Julio said it was nearly impossible to play a smooth melody line – Leon just said it was not a musical keyboard. But with the impracticality of a piano keyboard in the left hand (which has been tried with no success), the bassetti is one workable option for a single note system in the left hand.
I eventually came to describe the right hand piano keyboard as diatonic and the left hand bassetti keyboard as chromatic. Something that I started to understand at this point was the value to apply the concept of diatonic fingering to a chromatic keyboard. This, combined with a basic logic for fingering hierarchies regarding crossing the fingers over or under each other, helped me develop a musical/technical understanding of the keyboard that fit with what I wanted to do musically.
I often discussed these things with GallaRini, especially diatonic fingering. There is also the application of diatonic fingering on a diatonic keyboard. A good illustration of this is to compare fingering and phrasing from different editions of the same Chopin opus. In this case, the best editions are Schirmer as there are multiple versions and they are generally cheap! Look at the phrasing (the editor’s interpretation of the musical shapes) and compare it with the fingering. For this illustration it doesn’t matter what is right or wrong, it merely shows how phrasing can [should] influence the fingering. The third factor that must also be included is the physical make-up of the performer’s hand.
A good illustration can be seen in the works of Debussy. Here the diatonic aspects of the piano keyboard are taken to their ultimate end. Or for a practical demonstration, practice the first 30 Hannon exercises in all the keys (with the same fingering) – which one should do anyway.
Some years later in a late night discussion with Steve Dominko, we discovered that we had independently come to nearly identical solutions regarding basic rules of fingering and how we applied them to the bassetti keyboard; not bad considering we had progressed independently on opposite sides of the country.
In retrospect, I am glad that technique was not a priority with GallaRini, as it didn’t distract from the two things where he excelled – musical nuance and tone production. The single word that comes to mind when I think of GallaRini and tone production is ‘ping’. His primary solution to tone production on an accordion was a percussive attack at the start of notes, imitating the initial attack and decay of a piano. Naturally, there were countless nuances behind the basic concept. A chord or note played on a piano will continue to decay. The piano is a percussive instrument. However, the accordion has tonal control throughout the duration of the note. The note can be initiated percussively (hence the ping), but in terms of tone production, an accordion more closely aligns with wind instruments. Given the bellowing, it also shares something in common with the phrasing of bowed stringed instruments.
Anyone who has survived the early stages of someone learning to play a band instrument has an appreciation for the grating obnoxiousness that can be achieved with wind instruments in the hands of beginner. With the exception of intonation and the occasional squawk, the accordion can hold its own in creating unpleasant tones. GallaRini’s solution for avoiding unattractive sound, applicable at nearly every level of technical competency, was the ping concept. But whereas the concept is simple, the artistic application can take a lifetime.
At this time, GallaRini was teaching a good number of outstanding students. He also had some notable colleagues. One who had major influence on me was Gregory Stone, composer, conductor, and pianist. Over the course of a year, I recorded Gregory’s entire works for accordion, though only the first album was released. The first album had works composed for accordion and orchestra including Concerto Breve, Fantasia Napolitana, and Blues for Nat King Cole. The only solo work was Accordion Tzaigane. Gregory played the orchestra part on piano. Later albums were to complete his oeuvre with the solo repertoire that included a many ethnic Russian pieces that were ridiculously technical and difficult. These were probably the most fun to play, and the ones written for stradella were the last things I did before switching to an all-bassetti instrument. Given Gregory’s writing abilities in this style, many of these sounded even more difficult than they actually were – which is always an advantage for the performer! It is unfortunate these were never released, and I have no idea of the whereabouts of the master tapes. But more on Gregory later. The reason I mention this now is that in the process of learning the ping, it took a while before I really understood it. On the Stone recordings, it was sometimes overdone during the loud passages; to the point of exceeding the instrument’s capabilities and coming close to distorting the musical shape. I finally came to realize the ultimate ping was not necessarily a counterpart to Arthur Rubenstein’s airborne lunge at the piano in loud sections.
One of the most valuable things about GallaRini’s teaching was his attention to detail. On my own, I sometimes learned a wrong note or rhythm. GallaRini never missed anything. He became intimately familiar with the smallest detail of a score. Something that paralleled this was his sense of performance consistency; not that variations in interpretation were eliminated or discouraged, but that a student had a total mastery of every detail of the music. This was accomplished with thoroughness in the preparation process that is the mark of a true pedagogue and artist. It was a trademark of GallaRini’s students. It was also reflected in his arrangements – he was known as an arranger without compromise. This resulted in arrangements that were predicatively more difficult than those of Magnante or others. He didn’t do it for the sake of being difficult; he did it because he felt the music demanded it.
All this adds credence to his background as a musical prodigy. He understood musical instruments – how they worked together to produce sound – the balance required for good orchestration – the accuracy needed in a score. He understood how all this worked in consort and what he demanded from the accordion was a combination of all this knowledge.
Aligned with this is what I will call ‘posture’. From my Russian pedagogical piano experiences, I learned that how you sit at the piano affects the sound. If you hover over the keyboard you create a very small musical world that is shared with no one. If you sit upright, like you are at seated at the world’s banquet table eating a gourmet meal, you fill the room with sound – and likewise you share every aspect of the music and yourself in the process. This can provide both a power and intimacy beyond description. GallaRini’s approach to the accordion was from this school. There was never anything tentative or indecisive about anything you did. Though some might mistake this as being pompous, in reality it is the ultimate humility. You can’t hide anything when you are open about your vulnerability, because you are inviting your audience to share in who you are. When you are this brave, you can play at your birthday celebration of 100 years and people will want to hear you because you have something to say – both about music and life.
I worked with GallaRini in preparation for three National Competitions and three attempts at the Coupe Mondiale, UCLA’s Frank Sinatra Musical Performance Competition, several recording sessions, and a continuing venue of solo recitals and performances. But partnership was not exclusive. At the same time I was studying piano with Aube Tzerko, working with Gregory Stone on recording his complete accordion works, participating in several choral groups at UCLA, and was starting to explore underground rock music. Later, at GallaRini’s suggestion, I was also studying baroque repertoire with Don Balestrieri. But rather than distract, these all contributed to my experience with GallaRini, and in some cases allowed him to venture into new areas.
Working with a variety of music, some original accordion music, some transcriptions, and some ‘direct from the score’ provided the opportunity to more fully grasp GallaRini’s understanding of the accordion. He treated each one differently, but was consistent in the thoroughness of his preparation. With me, GallaRini was more of a mentor or coach than a typical teacher. We explored things together. Each piece required a different approach – first on understanding the intrinsic musical intent, and then in knowing how to apply it to the accordion’s capabilities.
At this point in my musical journey, I was interested in a larger variety of styles. My repertoire included contemporary original works, such as the Ole Schmidt Toccata #2 and the Trojan Cathedral in Ruins. Rather than playing the romantic repertoire “exactly from the score”, I had come to realize that transcribing for the instrument was often more necessary with solo piano literature than with orchestral transcriptions. But at this time, transcriptions were again becoming acceptable. Horowitz, who had a life-long fondness for transcriptions – much in the spirit of Franz Liszt – had began to include them in his performances and recordings.
There also was repertoire that was played directly from the score, most typically baroque material. But achieving artistry in this genre required an entirely new approach to articulation, and this was the reason GallaRini referred me to Don Balestrieri. A comparison of the Bach inventions from my very first album and the Handel Harmonious Blacksmith on the 1967 album or works from the Well Tempered Clavier from the 1978 albums hopefully illustrates an increasing understanding of the applying the style to the accordion.
Within each of these areas, GallaRini’s insight was invaluable. An example can be seen by comparing the Ole Schmidt with the Trojan. The notation and registration on the Schmidt was very specific, whereas the Trojan was not. The Schmidt required close attention to the details on the printed page. The Trojan had few details and required studying the tonal structure, almost as if it were a reduction from a full orchestral score, and determining registration and phrasing.
I had already started working on the 1st movement of the Beethoven Waldstein Sonata for the National competition prior to starting to study with GallaRini. In retrospect, it was not a good choice. A totally new transcription might have worked better, but that would have been a question of taste. Thank goodness I didn’t attempt the transition or second movement. I have always been particularly fond of the Waldstein. I must have had blinders to think I could improve on Beethoven’s intent by playing the notes exactly as written. I would not think it unfair for an aficionado of the piano to think it blasphemous, which some did. After the competition, I don’t think I ever played the Waldstein in performance and didn’t record it. Years later I learned it on piano.
Interestingly, I think Steve Dominko made a similar mistake with the Schubert Wanderer Fantasia. Whereas the demonstration of his technical and musical nuance are nothing short of pure brilliance, it suffers the same fate as the Waldstein. The contrasting slow section which can be thick and muddy when played on a modern piano is even worse on accordion.
In contrast, the following year when I performed the Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody #19 the musical results were much improved. GallaRini was instrumental in preparation of the Liszt and the approach was more a transcription than an “exactly off the printed score”. It was inspired from Horowitz performance. I would say the same thing for Steve’s performance of the 2nd Hungarian Rhapsody. It was brilliant and certainly worked. Both were better choices of musical material. It is interesting that Liszt is considered one of the greatest performers and composers for piano of all time. And some may come to the conclusion that maybe Liszt is who we should have been playing. However, I would offer another thought. In earlier, pre-GallaRini times I had attempted other Liszt works – to include Valse Obliee and several of the Transcendental and Paganini Etudes. They were a total disaster. I don’t think I ever got to the point of performing them. The Hungarian Rhapsodies were, by nature, more ethnic and were better suited to orchestration or an accordion transcription. Other successful Liszt transcriptions I can remember include the Spanish Rhapsody (Donald Hulme) and the Rhapsody # (George Mandala). I always loved the Liszt Sonata and eventually learned it – but on piano.
Probably one of the ultimate tests came when I was performing for the UCLA Atwater Kent Scholarship Awards. I included the Liszt in my program. One of the judges was Aube Tzerko, the renowned piano pedagogue, who had never heard me play accordion. After I finished, he approached me in the hall and asked why I was studying the piano. He said that 100’s of people in this country alone played as well or better than Van Cliburn – but how many could play the accordion at my level? I don’t think he would have felt the same way had I played the Beethoven. Years later, a friend who was one of the judges of the Frank Sinatra Musical Performance Competition confessed that one thing that had not helped me was including a Chopin Etude on my performance list. During the last round of finals, the judges had called me back and asked me to perform it. It was a tie-breaker, but the deciding factor was not that performance, it was that it had been included in the performance list.
So another challenge in proving the accordion was a legitimate instrument, worthy of a place alongside other legitimate solo instruments, was to know what to play and what not to play. GallaRini helped in these decisions, and I had great respect for his advice.
I think another lesson to be learned at this time was not selecting things that were either too well known or were tied with a certain expectation. As we searched for yet another competition piece, the Tchaikovsky Bb Concerto would certainly be out, but the less-known G Major Concerto might be more acceptable. By now I was in my third year with GallaRini and he started on a transcription that was built from the ground up. Whereas the Beethoven and Liszt had been a combination of printed piano score with sections of manuscript, GallaRini penned every note of the transcription for G Major’s first movement.
GallaRini was meticulous in preparation of the piece. Once written, no changes were necessary. He was accurate in both musical content and in what was possible technically. The Tchaikovsky included some pianistic techniques where chords were played with alternating hands in rhythmic patterns (rather than a straight alternation of right, left). I had used an alternating hand technique in both the Liszt and de Falla’s Ritual Fire Dance, but the section in the Tchaikovsky was much longer and rather complex. Without the use of a pedal, the musical result was different on accordion than on piano, but it worked. By now I was becoming more comfortable with the instrument and felt satisfied with the performance. The G Major did not remain in my long-term repertoire, but had I continued to perform, I might have eventually returned to it, as with Rhapsody in Blue.
I was also building a more varied repertoire and was playing quite frequently. In addition to performing regularly at various venues at UCLA, I was guest soloist at numerous studio recitals and local festivals. It was not unusual for GallaRini and I to both perform at the same location and that was a treat.
We spent a good deal of time on repertoire. By now it was a mixture of styles; with transcriptions, original works, and some free bass arrangements by Don Balestrieri. Don was one of the pioneers of the Titano converter free bass and was a former student of GallaRini. Over time he gained a high level of respect from the music community, especially in baroque and contemporary.
GallaRini also had the obligatory accordion orchestra. It was a combination of his students and some former students. My good friend, Dora Wahl (also the drummer for my rock band) played percussion instruments. Playing in his orchestra was not quite as painful as my experience in some of the others, but it was still an accordion orchestra. However, the arrangements were very well done and he had a good idea of what he wanted.
The main performance I remember was in the Shrine Auditorium, which at the time was the largest venue in Los Angeles, in fact, one of the largest theatres in the country. In addition to the traditional accordion band schlock, featured guest artists were Christina Carol, an accomplished operatic soprano, and Gregory Stone, composer and pianist. This was where I really got to know Gregory, starting a partnership that culminated in recording his entire works for accordion. The Shrine program included the von Weber piano concerto with Gregory playing the piano part, Visa d’arte with Christina, the Mouldau (another favorite of accordion bands), Wagner’s Reinzi Overture, and the theme from Swan Lake.
I still could not tell you why Shrine was selected for the concert. Even with 2,000 people in the audience, it would look empty. By the mid 1960’s, the instrument’s popularity had started to decline. I can’t see how the performance could have been a financial success.
At one time I learned GallaRini’s first Accordion Concerto. It was easily adaptable to bassetti and was quite fun to play. GallaRini seemed pleased that I was learning it, and surprisingly we didn’t need to spend a lot of time on it. By that time I had a good idea of what he was about musically. It was fun performing the accordion part with him playing the orchestra part on his accordion. I never did perform it. My friends, accordion or otherwise, were never enthusiastic about the idea – something I never really understood. To me, it was like the Brahms Bb. Sort of – in that it used the instrument well and was totally playable. Something you could have fun with. Years later I played a movement (the Gigue) from the Concerto with an accordion band at one of the competitions. GallaRini was guest conducting an ensemble of accordionists attending the event.
A requirement of the national competitions and the Couple Mondiale was a test piece – something each contestant was required to play. The test piece was released on a date at a prescribed time before the competition so everyone had equal opportunity to learn it. As time progressed and with more free bass and/or bassetti instruments in the competitions, it was expected the test pieces would be playable on both stradella and free bass instruments. At best, the test pieces were tolerable. More typically, they were somewhere between forgettable and hideous. In all the years I competed, I never remember having any desire to play any of them after the competition. Sometimes ‘famous’ (at least in relationship to accordionists) composers would be commissioned to write them. A few were written by accordionists.
The only one I can actually remember was written by Charles Camaleri. Though he was Maltese by birth, he had ended up in Canada. Danza Latina. However, many of the contestants coined another name for the work, Danza Latrina. The Coupe Mondiale was in Toronto that year and the organizers certainly raised the bar when they had an ensemble of strings play an accompanied version of the Danza by one of the composer’s students. A year later at the Coupe Mondiale in Malta, I remember Charles saying that he had really challenged the competitors because of the structure of Danza. With the bursts of quick rhythms, what was not played was as critical as what was played, and many had difficulty handling that. I still find it interesting that a person from Malta who had ended up in Canada would write a Latin piece. Were I still playing today, it might actually be one of the pieces I would play, but I think the sheet music eventually was lost in a fire (in my fireplace).
On a more serious note, the Canadians were doing some really good things during the late 60’s. There were some excellent musicians and the original compositions represented a more musical presentation of the accordion. When the obligatory accordion bands are replaced with string ensembles, something is going on.
To give another picture of the quality of the test pieces in general, one was released with two pages printed out of sequence. Other than the fact that there was an unexplained 2 ½ octave jump in the right hand, I don’t know if it really made any difference. I found out the morning of the competition as did most of the other competitors.
I found it a challenge to engage the discipline required to learn the test pieces. GallaRini was an asset as he would ensure I was playing the right notes and following the dynamics and phrasing. I would have taken a much broader license in trying to make them more musical; but that would not have set well with the judges. But at least at the national competitions, it was unlikely that a judge would have a counter in his hand clicking off each mistake. By that time, they would be expected to do it in their heads!
Many of the performances I did in partnership with GallaRini were sold out. However, there were others that were almost empty. In either event, it didn’t matter to GallaRini. He performed every concert as if it were standing room only – and never showed any signs of discomfort when he collected his fee.
Whereas my parents were survivors of the depression, GallaRini had himself survived the great depression. For my family, money was always a factor. We were careful when we selected restaurants – and when we ordered. It was always a matter of what something would cost. That entire mindset was thoroughly implanted in me.
GallaRini was the opposite. Whereas we would look for the best value on a menu, he would always order the most expensive thing, or things regardless of where we were. It didn’t matter if he was paying, or if someone else was (though typically it was someone else). Perhaps it was what was expected from an artist when being hosted by his fans. I have heard it said that musicians did very well during the great depression. People still spent money on entertainment and musicians and entertainers thrived. Julio (and others) said that Charles Magnante made enormous amounts of money during the depression with his daily New York radio show.
Now from my parents perspective, when you went to a place such as Denny’s, you were better off with things they sold a lot of – like the hamburgers or patty melts. They didn’t sell a lot of steak or lobster. So that might explain why GallaRini’s meal was less than he expected at places like that. I still can’t say because I have still never ordered anything expensive at a place like Denny’s.
On the other hand, he was more in his element when we went to a good restaurant. Then the ‘special of the house’ was typically outstanding. But above everything, he was a good sport. I am sure I was responsible for his first experience at a MacDonald’s. I can still remember him taking his food back to the table and arranging it in front of him.
On several occasions, I stayed with GallaRini while I was preparing for something special. It was a better option than dealing with the drive from Torrance to Glendale. We would spend hours working together. I would also spend a great deal of time in his studio practicing. These were rewarding times and I don’t think many students had this opportunity. He was a very private person.
I don’t know if GallaRini cooked much, as we ate out every night at different restaurants in the Glendale area. He was well known in each of them. Though I offered to help with the cost, he never accepted. I stayed in what had been Ronnie’s room when I was there.
At the same time I was studying piano with Aube Tzerko at UCLA. Whereas I never worked on technique with GallaRini, Aube spent weeks on how to sit at the piano and some very basic exercises designed to strengthen the fingers and build finger dexterity. I suggested to GallaRini that he might get a piano to use to maintain finger strength, and soon after, the studio was graced with an old upright. I showed him some of the exercises, and I know he did them at least for a short while.
GallaRini was the perfect person for me at the time. However, unlike Steve Dominko who studied with a single teacher from the age of ten, I was destined to work with a variety of people. GallaRini was supportive of this.
Hungarian Rhapsody #19, Franz Liszt
Galla-Rini / Cosby (1965) recorded 1978
Konzertstuck, von Weber
Galla-Rini (1959) recorded 2010
I brought my accordion to the party, but no one asked me to play
