Tito
In Carniege Hall for the AAA International Invitational Competition 1963
The Dallape Super Maestro had more mechanical problems than any of my previous accordions – actually, more than any other accordion I have ever owned. The keys would stick; binding on the pivot rod that secured them to the key bed. It was back to the repair man over-and-over again right from the start. The first couple of times he carefully disassembled the keyboard and individually cleaned the hole on each key with a hand-held drill bit. Later, he resorted to attaching a high speed electric drill to the end of the rod, spinning it vigorously for several minutes. In any event, neither approach had a long term effect.
The shift mechanism was also problematic. The right-hand registers did not fully return to their upright position when another switch was depressed. The result was a set of switches that looked like teeth needing serious orthodontic work. When activated, the wrist master would almost align the switches, but there was still the mechanism itself. Whereas the keyboard would become sticky, the shift mechanism would bind. I am not surprised I didn’t bend something trying to change registers.
The Dallape was my first accordion with a double tone chamber. Despite the mechanical problems, it did have a great set of reeds. The acetone was a dark gray rather than the traditional black. We had purchased the Dallape from Glenn Stead, at the Compton Music Center Studio. Even with the trade in, the cost was substantial. For a family with a limited income this was a large expense, especially when my dad managed all the purchasing for the Torrance School District and knew the wholesale costs of musical instruments.
But when Mr. Stead sold his first Giulietti to Mary B. – one of the rare triple-tiered Super Models, it grabbed my attention. As a side note, all the parents used to remark at the generous size of Mary’s breasts – they were quite large – it was excellent fodder for studio gossip. However, they never did anything for me; I was more interested in the accordion.
But there is another part leading up to studying with Tito. That was George Mandala – the young virtuoso who had just won the Top Amateur category at the Western States Accordion Festival. George had phenomenal and unrelenting technical prowess – and a two-tiered Super. I still remember him making his obligatory ‘champion’s performance’ of “Concertstuck” at the festival’s gala concert. The Giulietti had a razor sharp precision and tone and I could tell it was obviously an instrument void of sticking keys and registers. George’s father taught accordion (as had his grandfather) at their home in Cucamonga. His older brother, Tony, also played. Whereas Mary B. had never captivated my attention, George did – along with the desire for a two-tiered Super. I learned that Tito had become George’s teacher about a year previous to the competition – and this also got my interest. Mr. Stead was a well-educated, conservative teacher. He spent a great deal of time trying to keep me in check – making me fit in with the accordion band – learning to be a team member – making me capable of being a good citizen in the accordion world. I just knew that there was something in Tito that that was going to be the different. I could sense that from listening to George. George sparked the same kind of gut reaction that Johnny LaPadula had.
Sometime around the time I got my Dallape I got my first Magnatone amplifier – influenced by both Johnny LaPadula (1958 World Champion who had been the guest soloist at the Western States Festival) and George Mandala. The 280 Magnatone had stereo vibrato which may have been the best friend the amplified accordion ever had. I eventually had the two external speakers that could be used to spread the sound across the entire stage. They greatly enhanced the impact of the vibrato. Magnatones were the amplifier of choice for accordionists – much as Fenders were the amplifier of choice for guitarists. Originally made in Inglewood, California, the factory later moved to Torrance, my home town. Over time I got to know Don Bonham, the inventor of the stereo vibrato, and continued the relationship until I moved to New York in 1969.
I already had a crazed desire for technique, virtuosic showmanship, and romantic passion. But rather than feeling a need to channel it – to mold me into the respectable musician that could eventually teach accordion to the neighborhood children – Tito acted as a catalyst for that spark inside me and wanted to see just how far I was willing to take it. Ultimately, many years later, I recognize that as the quality of a true artist – someone who is not afraid of challenging the limits of talent – and someone who knows how to accelerate that process. Tito did all that – and a lot more – and the impact lasted a lifetime. But that is to come.
It was a period of change; a change of accordions, and also a change of teachers. I think my Dad saw how once again the two could work together. Mr. Stead had the Giulietti Accordion Corporation ship a Super for me to try. I had it for a week. My Dad thought the tone was tinny compared to the Dallape, his ear being influenced by dollar signs and impact to the wallet. Though I thought the Giulietti was the best thing I had ever played, I sadly returned the accordion to Mr. Stead after the trial period.
I had always stayed in contact with Bettie Thomas. If there was something Bettie liked to do, it was selling; but Bettie also loved to barter. She somehow got the Super from Mr. Stead to ‘show to a customer’ and I had my hands on it again. It didn’t take the Giulietti Accordion Corporation too long to figure out it was the same customer – and Giulietti was very conscientious about protecting their dealers and prices. Bettie was asked how she could be selling me the accordion when Mr. Stead said we couldn’t afford it. She said it was simple – she was taking back a piano she had sold us several years earlier and selling us the accordion and an organ. We traded in a Kimball Spinet and the Dallape for the Super and a clunky old Consonata (a product of Conn musical instruments) http://www.usd.edu/~mbanks/CONN16.html#research that had come from some church. The organ displaced my permanent Lionel Train set-up.
In short time, I was at my first lesson with Tito armed with the Super. I had entered a different world.
Tito taught at his home at 1818 Thurman Ave. in Los Angeles, a hundred feet or so from Venice Blvd. I remember my first lesson and meeting Sylvia Prior, Tito’s wife. Tito taught in what had originally been a bedroom in the front; Sylvia taught in a porch-type room in the back. Tito had a well-worn spinet piano and we sat facing the piano – music on the piano. Sylvia taught at an old white upright piano in a porch-like room at the rear of the house. I had arrived at Tito & Prior Accordion Mart.
NOTE: Sylvia’s father, Syl Prior, had operated one of the original accordion schools in Los Angeles.
Sylvia ran the business. I am sure it was she that explained the price structure for lessons. The student pre-paid a fee for the month. The ‘lesson’ month had four weeks. If there was an extra week in a given month, the fifth lesson was ‘free’. If you missed a lesson in a four-week month, it would be rescheduled – but not if it were a five-week month.
Whereas Mr. Stead smoked a pipe in lessons, Tito chain-smoked cigarettes. The ash tray overflowed. Whereas Mr. Stead was quiet and reserved, Tito always had that spark that came from confidence in his creative capabilities as an artist. There was absolutely no arrogance. He was a member of one of the small percentages of successful accordionists who did not use the title of ‘concert accordionist’. Tito had enjoyed enormous success as a ‘jazz’ accordionist; and he had achieved the well-deserved reputation of taking this genre to artistic heights. I would caution against comparing someone like Tito with a wedding band accordionist – someone who performs music originally done by someone else with a goal of sounding ‘just like the record’. That would be like comparing the main character in the “Wedding Singer” to someone like Mariah Carey or Barbara Streisand. Should someone think that by definition a ‘classically trained’ musician is a greater artist than a jazz musician, they are very mistaken. I always think of my friend Franco Richmond (equally proficient in both classical and jazz piano) who used to tell of the Julliard graduate who, when asked, couldn’t play Happy Birthday in the key of F because he didn’t have the music.
Studying with Tito was as much about life as it was about music. It was with Tito that I started to understand how each one affected the other. It is hard to be a true artist without being willing to embrace both. With Tito, there was passion about the music – how you performed it – how you related to it – how you made the tone – the shape. But Tito didn’t talk about those things. He exposed you to them. You tried something, and then you were provided with corrections and suggestions. Your success as an artist would ultimately come from how well you pulled it all together, and how you found a way to make it all part of the art. It is something you can’t fake. Tito shared his genius. If you haven’t been there, done it, or don’t have it, it is something you cannot share.
For Tito, your technical template needed to include a complete facility in scales, arpeggios, and harmony. In addition to working on some standard stradella repertoire, Tito grilled me on the ability to play the various scales with equal facility in every key. We also went through the chords – with every conceivable alteration – in every key and in every inversion. He wanted your fluency with chords to be second nature – something you didn’t have to think about or figure out – intuitive mastery of every imaginable chord was a crucial part of one’s technical facility.
At that time, Tito was exploring 12-tone ‘harmonization’ in jazz. Not the traditional ‘tone row’ of Schoenberg, Webern or Berg, but building harmonic structures under a melody line that could use any chord (or variation thereof) that worked. This provided nearly limitless ways to add harmonic structure to a melody line. The success in this style was your ability to sequence the chords – build tension – add emphasis – surprise – add humor. But most importantly, this wasn’t an exercise; it was designed to evolve as a craft.
The other thing Tito emphasized was rhythm. I have often heard conductors rant that vocalists are typically the world’s worst musicians, followed in a close second by pianists or other solo instruments. Why? Because they can’t count. The excuse usually tied to this claim is that vocalists and those who predominately play solo instruments do not have the inherent requirement from their musical birth to play in ensemble with other instruments.
Because of the careful teaching of Glenn Stead, I certainly could count. But it wasn’t until Tito that I started to understand rhythm. He used exercises in his book on jazz rhythms to teach it – but I soon realized it applied to all that is music. Basic rhythm wasn’t something one mastered in one or two lessons – it was also something that needed to become intrinsic. We spent hours – weeks – months. With Tito, it wasn’t something you could fake. You had it or you didn’t. The student needed to be able to tell the difference. He balanced enthusiasm with patience.
Rhythm also exists in different ways in various levels of the music. There is the actual beat, but there is also harmonic rhythm, and finally the ‘shape’ of the larger work. Each is important. I began to appreciate how the true artist balances all aspects of rhythm.
Some 20 years later I was in a piano master class with Edith Opens and one of her advanced students was having a difficult time with a transition in the first movement of Schubert’s Wanderer Fantasy. All the notes were there and it was technically perfect, but it just wasn’t working. To me, it seemed a conflict between an indicated ritardando and the harmonic rhythm. I suggested he try building the shape (the largest application of rhythm) of the section from the harmonic rhythm. Edith asked if I could demonstrate. I played the melody adding the harmonic structure just as I would have done from a ‘fake book’ – another skill I learned from Tito. – I certainly didn’t have the sight-reading capability to play that section of the Wanderer. The student said it was the first time it had made sense.
Tito never sat me down and said: I am now going to teach you about tempo and the relationship to harmonic rhythm and shape – and then you can be on your way. Completely the opposite. He demonstrated; sometimes at the piano, rarely with an accordion, and most typically with his own version of scat singing. He helped me explore – let me discover and feel what worked. To him, it was intuitive. For me, it was a door that was opened and a skill that took a long time to master.
During my first year with Tito, I was playing my stradella. He helped me prepare for the summer’s competition and we ultimately were successful with winning the Rocky Mountain Top Open Competition, Top Open Jazz Competition, the Western States Top Open Competition, Top Open Jazz Competition, and the California Festival Top Open Amateur and Jazz Competition.
This was a fun year. With my Giulietti in hand, I was ready to take on the world. My technique had come together and I was finally able to play the big competition pieces with confidence along with a large amount of the standard accordion fare. I listen to some home recordings from that time and am amazed at how I tore into the music with reckless abandon. There was certainly no fear.
Being the son of a super-athlete, competitions were the part of my musical endeavors that my dad understood best. He was extremely competitive and that sparked my competitive side. It also helped that I was winning.
One year earlier when my father inquired about a flyer posted on the Compton Music Center’s bulletin board announcing an accordion competition in the Rocky Mountains, Glenn Stead had replied that, “someone from the West Coast would never have a chance in that competition.” The gauntlet had been cast.
A year later, when my dad mentioned to Tito that he thought we might go to Denver to compete in the upcoming competition, Tito said he thought it was a great idea. The Rocky Mountain Accordion Festival would be my first competition for the summer.
The logistics involved in traveling to the site of the competition were another matter. In today’s world, our experiences would have been an excellent script for a reality show, in some ways alarmingly similar to the road journey in the movie, Little Miss Sunshine. Coming from a family with a relatively modest income and parents who had survived the depression, money was always an important consideration. For years, family vacations were tent-camping trips at Yosemite and later in the Redwoods – but in 1956 or so; my parents had purchased a 15’ Field and Stream travel trailer. Small travel trailers enjoyed popularity about the same time as the accordion boom. For the 1960 Denver trip, I had my own sleeping quarters and practice room under the cap of the 57 ford pickup. We were off. I was convinced I could practice in the back of the truck while my dad drove, but the constant bounce from the highway’s expansion joints and the dual glass packs my brothers had installed on the pickup made this impossible. I had to practice after we stopped for the night, and my parents never hesitated to have me perform for anyone in the trailer park or camp ground who wanted to listen. It was an adventure! The trip home was most enjoyable after my victories. My dad even wrote ‘Champion’ in the dirt that was covering the back window of the Field and Stream, often causing the people in passing cars to stare at us. He would tell me I had ‘moxie’, and explain this was a term used to describe a boxer with spirit.
The Western States Accordion Festival was the second event of the summer. I didn’t realize how much my life would change after the gala concert for the competition in Long Beach, California where I played my winning piece, a transcription of Mendelssohn’s Capriccioso Brilliante. Earlier in the day, Tito had introduced me to Julio Giulietti, President of the Giulietti Accordion Corporation, insisting that he listen to me play in both the open jazz and top open competition. Julio obliged and sat in the room, more like a proud parent than one of the world’s greatest accordion builders. In all the years I knew him; Julio never intimidated a player, but rather had a relaxed presence that made you play your best. And from that standpoint, it didn’t matter what you were playing or what accordion you were playing. It was as if he were savoring ever note, every sound that came from the instrument he truly loved, and a love for the person playing it. It could be a beginning student on a beat-up 12-bass, someone playing polkas, or a virtuoso. You were all equally appreciated.
NOTE: There were a few exceptions – mainly people he thought were more interested in promoting themselves than the instrument. Some of the accordion ‘greats’ came on and off his list. Along with some of the other young ‘Exclusive Giulietti Artist’s, I generally found this part amusing, and it also expanded my knowledge of Italian.
After the gala performance, Julio invited me and my parents up to his room to see a new style accordion. Prior to this time, he hadn’t said anything about it. This instrument was going to represent the future of all serious accordion work. It was called the free bassetti system.
I remember going to his room and getting my first look at one of the original bassettis. He had brought it with him from Giulietti Headquarters in New York and was en route to Northern California where it would be personally delivered to its new owner. He handed it to me to play.
The first bassettis were physically huge and very heavy, but the size gave them a rich, deep tone. They had 5 rows of stradella (the fifth row doubled as both a 7th and diminished row by leaving out one of the notes) plus three rows of individually pitched notes arranged chromatically (the makeup of the stradella is a bass and counter bass row and typically four rows of chords – major, minor, 7th and diminished 7th arranged around the circle of fifths). I can still remember Julio explaining, “With this instrument you can play piano music the way it was originally intended by the great masters”. Julio’s warmth and enthusiasm were infectious and little did I know we would become close personal friends for several decades.
The Giulietti bassetti would evolve technically over the next several years, and from a player’s standpoint, one of the most important improvements was a reduction in size and weight. The original instruments used pedestal buttons for the bassetti section. The standard bass (stradella) and bassetti didn’t share reeds, so there were a lot of reeds in the left hand side of that instrument; thus the size. But as it retained the stradella system, you could still play all the music you already knew.
NOTE: The reduction in size came from using the same reeds for both the bassetti and stradella systems. The Hohner Gola continued to use separate reeds. Julio’s logic was that both systems wouldn’t be used in the same range at the same time. From my experience in concurrent use of both systems, I generally used the bass and counter bass rows as a pedal tone while using the middle range of the bassetti section. Examples can be heard in my recordings of the Liszt 19th Rhapsody, Rhapsody in Blue, Toccata and Fugue in Dm.
However, there were no methods or protocol for the chromatic left hand keyboard (bassetti). Another ‘free bass’ was on the horizon, the ‘converter’, was being sold primarily by Titano. The ‘converter’ also used single tones, but the stradella chord rows changed over to parallel rows of single notes. The argument in favor of the converter was that it didn’t require learning a new keyboard – though you had to shift rows to change octaves. So the free-bass war was on!
NOTE: The Titano-style free bass later became known as the ‘quint’ system.
I remember waiting several months after the festival for my bassetti to arrive. My dad built me a mock left hand keyboard from a piece of wood and dowels. I wrote the names of the notes on the tops of the wood buttons and practiced scales and chords. I took it everywhere and tried to become familiar with the new keyboard. My dad showed the crude practice keyboard to Julio and several months later he produced practice keyboards for both the bassetti and the right hand keyboards.
The call finally came from Sylvia with good news – the accordion had arrived – and bad news – it had been damaged in shipment. The top back corner of the left hand side had a crack close to the rim where it attached to the bellows. Though it is probably justifiable to attribute some of this to UPS freight handling, it also turned out to be a problem with many of the large bassettis; one that went away with the eventual reduction in size. The accordion was playable, but it would eventually need to go back to New York for repair. We picked it up and I couldn’t get enough of it. My Super ended up with Floyd Nightingale (he later changed his name to James) and eventually was refitted with a bassetti left hand.
The concept of the bassetti, something really new and different, scared many accordion teachers and performers alike. It would take time to learn to play it and what were you to do with it once you did? If anything, in the early free bass years there was a greater preference for the converter – at least in concept. With people such as GallaRini, who had already perfected the ability to use registers in the left hand (actually both hands) to change the octave, the converter made more sense.
But Tito’s attitude and approach were different. Many people write music at the piano. You play a single note or chord, depress the damper pedal, and the room is filled with harmonics and overtones that spin and change as the notes decay. It stirs the imagination. People improvise on the accordion, especially jazz or pop, but I have known few people, short of very accomplished musicians, that actually compose at the accordion. Success in realizing the tonal capabilities of the accordion requires an intuitive sense that few people have. Things that work on a piano often sound ridiculous on an accordion. A chord that would bring a chill when played on the piano can sound totally obnoxious on the accordion. The accordion can be less forgiving than a piano as there is a very limited ability to articulate individual notes within a chord. But the accordion has some wonderful orchestral capabilities the piano lacks. (However, I would caution against an intellectual competition on the superior instrument, especially if available repertoire is the ultimate measure. As silly as that sounds, the collective mentality during the accordions hey day – at least on the part of many accordionists promoting the new left hand systems – was bent on comparing the two. This was unfortunate, as attention to the things an accordion did exceptionally well was buried.)
Composition has at least two major parts; both may contribute too, but not necessarily ensure, artistic value. First is structure, the second is the use of the tonal palate. Success will most likely be realized with some level of balance between the two. When you combine questionable structure with a complete lack of understanding of the instrument’s tonal capability, you have defined a large part of what is called classical accordion repertoire. Personally, sometimes it would be much more fun to hear the transcriptions or the Pietro Overtures.
Tito understood the accordion the same way Mozart understood an orchestra. The bassetti merely offered an increased capability. The music was created in his mind (I doubt he ever touched a free bassetti with the intention of playing it), it was up to me to figure out how to technically realize his vision.
Perhaps I was lucky to have Tito at this time of my professional life as he was artistically relentless – but in a positive way. It was like, “if you don’t say you can’t, you can.” Tito didn’t ‘explore’ the possibilities of the bassetti, he immersed himself – and that provided a challenge for me to keep up. There was no ‘testing the water with a big toe’. I was forced to develop fingering systems, relearn the all the chords in the left hand – in other words, keep up. With anyone else, I don’t know if I would have kept the motivation – but with Tito, I didn’t have a choice!
Julio picked up on the synergy of our work and sponsored a trip that included mini-workshops in Seattle, Portland, and San Francisco. Tito would talk about the musical capabilities and I would demonstrate. This gave me a chance to see another side of Tito – in his true element – unbelievable confident – comfortable -- Tito the artist. It is probably the hardest thing about him to describe. There were other small things I remember – like when we walked into the plane for the first part of the trip. There was some music playing quietly from the speakers. I probably wouldn’t have even noticed, but I still vividly remember Tito smiling and pointing to the speakers saying, “isn’t that nice – listen to those strings”. Music truly was the center of his life.
Well, almost. First, you never knew who might be at the house when you arrived – but regardless, it was never boring. The students acted differently than what you might encounter at a typical studio. There was always some type of genuine enthusiasm over something – and whatever it was, it was generally fun. Tito and Sylvia thoroughly enjoyed life and the fun things that were there to be enjoyed. Like George and Tony Mandala helping them select the engine specifications for their ’63 Chevy Super Sport Impala – dual carbs on a high-performance small block (many musicians are motor heads – or at least the ones I always hung with). Even GallaRini; with his Rocket 88 Olds and later his 383, high performance Mopar. I can still see Adrian watching as all this passed by and Sylvana seemingly unaffected by any of it. Adrian and Sylvana were their daughters. Tito also introduced me to Don Loper shirts. Tito didn’t to make any pretense to being hip – he was hip. Another wonderfully amusing memory I have is sitting at an AAA banquet table in one of the big New York Hotels. Dinner was over and they had brought out trays of cookies for dessert. I remember him repeatedly dropping various ones onto the small dessert plate in front of him, cocking his head as he carefully listened to the different sounding ‘clunks’. All this was spontaneous and so much fun!
As far as bassetti, we started with Rhapsody in Blue – an Italian gray-market arrangement by Flavio Flogi (U.S. copyright owners would not permit an accordion arrangement). Though Tito had played for years with Paul Whiteman and thoroughly understood what was necessary musically, it was nearly 23 years before I felt comfortable performing the piece. I performed it in competition and at a couple of concerts in the mid 60’s, but that was it. Maybe Tito had taught me enough to know it didn’t work – yet. It was also a question of mastering the technical requirements. But by 1978 – I finally knew it was right.
The real fun started when Tito wrote Jazz Scherzo – which he later incorporated into Hollywood Fantasia. Jazz Scherzo launched into what was comfortable on the bassetti – it fit – it worked. I used it in the American Accordionist’s Association’s (AAA) National Jazz Category the next year.
We continued on the Rhapsody in Blue and also worked on Mendelssohn’s Rondo Capriccioso in preparation for the upcoming Accordion Teacher’s Guild (ATG) National Competition and a special International Competition that was being hosted by the American Accordionist’s Association (AAA) in Carnegie Hall. It was at this time Tito was working on the Hollywood Fantasia.
The Mendelssohn demonstrated that “playing exactly from the piano score” really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. A composition of moderate technical difficulty on the piano could be very difficult on the accordion – and the musical result didn’t justify the effort. Another such effort was the First Movement of the Prokofiev 7th Sonata. Though I remember preparing it as a competition piece, I don’t remember performing it (though I may have). Playing something by a composer who inculcated the percussiveness and sonority of the piano as a part of his overall effect was even further off mark.
The insanity of this concept was extended even further with the perceived need to play every note of a piano piece exactly in the octave where written. This was made even worse by selecting potential repertoire that was some of the most difficult and pianistic piano repertoire. One of the first recorded examples of bassetti was Christian DiMaggio playing Ravel’s Jeau Deaux. Naturally it needed to become a part of my repertoire. Ravel is extremely challenging for even the most accomplished pianists. He also thoroughly understood the piano’s capabilities. In addition to being challenged with a new left hand system, I was attempting to play every note in the right hand at pitch, which required hundreds of registration changes in the right hand, most in the middle of scale or triad passages. This drove the concept of playing off the original score exactly as intended to total absurdity! Sometimes I wonder how many of us survived.
Transcriptions are one area where accordionists like Galla Rini or Bill Palmer had a better view than Tito. Galla Rini would have written a transcription (which he did for me with the Tchaikovsky Concerto #2). At one of the NAMM shows, Judith Lindner, a student of Bill Palmer, was playing Clair de la Lune on the converter system. I remember Bill explaining the necessity of compensating for the lack of the pedal on the accordion – such a critical part of Debussy’s pianistic style.
On the other hand, Jazz Scherzo and Hollywood Fantasia were on the mark. For me, this was where the bassetti first came alive. Frustration was replaced with accomplishment.
These were very intense years for me given the requirement to learn an entirely new keyboard in the left hand. A standard accordion has two different keyboard systems, one for each hand. A free bass accordion required you to use two unrelated keyboards with just the left hand – sometimes at the same time. Adding to the challenge – it is not practical to use the left hand thumb – so you did everything with the four fingers. On a piano keyboard, the thumb is a pivotal reference that allows one to play smooth melody lines that span more than several notes, given its ability to cross under the fingers. This created an imbalance in my technique capabilities between the hands. Whereas my right hand could literally play almost anything, the left hand required a high level of concentration. The left hand keyboards are also out of ones line of sight – all reference is tactile in relationship to the left hand strap. Finally, the bellowing necessary to produce the accordion’s sound places everything in motion. The free bassetti accordion is a complicated instrument to play.
In contrast, some might say the standard accordion is relatively easy to play – especially at the elementary levels where the primary concentration is on the right hand. The left hand is used mainly to provide mindless accompaniment. As the accordionist advances, there are increased challenges on the left hand, but it is rare that these ever approach the right hand. Accordion arrangements by GallaRini were often considered more difficult than others. The primary reasons were the requirements he placed on the left hand, many being the smooth use of registrations to play the proper octave. So the path for new frontiers, mainly the use and capabilities of the accordion’s left-hand section, had been identified decades before the free bassetti emerged. However, I doubt that Anthony GallaRini, Charles Magnante, or any of the other legacy concert accordionists would have gathered at an accordion summit and come to the agreement that the solution was a new left hand keyboard – or agree on any kind of standardization. Ultimately, right or wrong, good or bad, it was driven by the manufacturers under the guise of making the accordion a legitimate musical instrument; something that could be taught in the schools. (As a note, I do not know of any solo instrument that has ever been part of a school’s music program.)
The accordion took its toll on my secondary education. I was much more interested in practicing accordion than in going to school. Something had to give, and it ended up being school. My parents supported my decision – even though my dad worked for the school district. I would have severe cases of bassetti-itis. As I approached graduation, I was at the minimum number of attendance days required to meet State requirements. I had no interest in high school.
In my opinion, looking back at all this some 40+ years later, I am not sure all the attention on free bass didn’t hurt the accordion more than it helped. With a small group clamoring to the ‘legitimate’ music world (a world that only really existed in the accordionists minds), “we are now legitimate, we are now legitimate”, they succeeded in convincing others that they had been illegitimate. A lack of repertoire and accordion bands didn’t help either.
Tito was the exception. I doubt he ever thought the free bassetti accordion would become the panacea to all endeavors musicale! That it should be a part of every school’s music program. Instead, Tito had already spent years playing the accordion in all kinds of jazz groups. He knew how the instrument could be used to compliment – rather than compete. Now, through a series of students, he saw how he could use the free bassetti accordion as a solo instrument with expanded harmonic and technical capabilities.
Hollywood Fantasia was Tito’s first concert piece for the bassetti. Written for competition, it was evolved from Jazz Scherzo and utilized a number of shorter sections – a structure that might best be described as free style. To be an effective competition piece, it needed to present opportunities to display both expressiveness and virtuosity. The final presto was non-stop section of 16th notes in the right hand, punctuated with percussive sections of counterpoint in the left.
I had planned to perform Hollywood Fantasia in the AAA’s Invitational International Competition and to perform the Mendelssohn several days later at the ATG Nationals. Based on the reaction to the Fantasia at the AAA event (I came in Third to Mario Tacca), I decided to also perform it for the ATG Nationals.
The judges reaction at the ATG competition was mixed. Two of the judges loved it. The third considered it blasphemy that I had switched from the Mendelssohn, and suggest that were I to play jazz, I select someone like “Gershwin, who at least went somewhere with their music.” If memory serves me correctly, Donald Hulme won the ATG that year playing Liszt’s Spanish Rhapsody on a special Hohner converter that didn’t convert – it was always free bass, but with the two-row stradella system. I thought the original bassettis were big, but this thing was huge. It was possibly the largest accordion I have ever seen, and probably even seemed bigger given Donald’s smallish frame. When he finished, it took a couple aides to lift the accordion from his spent body, which by this time had flopped to the back of the chair in a heap of exhaustion. Thank goodness he was able to play the test piece on a standard accordion. Donald played flawlessly. I always wondered if he had ever played anything else on this behemoth, but always forgot to ask him. Donald was an early pioneer of wireless mikes and I remember him using one combined with an amplifier that had a rotating speaker – not like a Leslie with a rotating horn on a speaker and a rotating drum on a bass speaker – the speaker actually rotated. I don’t think the taxi dispatcher was intended to part of the act, but he was certainly far ahead of his time!
Julio loved the enthusiasm of accordionists who embraced the bassetti, so I soon became one of his favorite subjects, to include being named an “Exclusive Giulietti Artist”. That was quite a coveted position for a 15-year old as it meant you got a big box of 8 x 10 black and white photographs and an equal number of wallet sized. You had your picture in the ‘question mark’ poster that was made up of Giulietti artists and was displayed at special concerts; and you occasionally were featured in one of the Accordion World Advertisements.
Given the immense popularity of the accordion (though it was starting to decline by this time), the National Association of Musical Merchants (NAMM) convention was a major event. Many of the manufacturers sponsored concerts featuring their artists – and this was not limited to accordionists. At that time it alternated between Chicago and New York. 40 years later, the big NAMM show is in Los Angeles. I was a fixture in the Giulietti display – demonstrating the bassetti to anyone who would listen. Accordion events were often held at the same time as the conventions and I actually met more of accordion’s greats at the NAMM conventions in Julio’s displays than anywhere else. Many of these meetings developed into friendships. Naturally, everyone cruised by the rooms or displays of the other manufacturers. I remember being allowed to actually play Charles Magnante’s La Tosca – and noting to myself how different it was from their regular line. When we were in Chicago, Leon Sash often visited the display and would play. We also traveled as a group to hear his quartet in Kenosha Wisconsin after the NAMM had shut down for the evening. It was a challenge following directions that had been provided by a blind man – but we got there and Julio somehow talked my way into the club. It was through my association with Julio that allowed me to interact with so many of accordion’s greats.
I had no idea that my association with Julio would also contribute to a falling-out with Tito that still remains a low-point in my musical career. Some time after our trip to the Northeast and the experience at the trade shows, I used my trusty tape recorder to institutionalize my bassetti ‘sales pitch’. I talked about the instrument – talked about the music you could play, and included musical samples. I put it all together (you could hear every splice) and sent Julio a copy. Home recordings (unless you were Charles Magnante) were nothing compared to what they are today.
I don’t think it has ever been a secret that the accordion field had some very strong personalities (both with the players and the manufacturers) and there were some long standing turf wars; but at that time, I didn’t fully understand too much of that. Some of the confrontations could become quite volatile and resentments often lasted for years.
A short time after I sent the tape to Julio, I received a promotional kit that contained an album that had been made from the tape, a transcript of my narration, and other sales information on the bassetti.
Several days after that I received a certified letter from Tito saying that he was terminating me as a student. I had used his materials and those of others without permission; and this was unprofessional and unacceptable. I later came to fully realize how wrong I had been, and how I had placed myself in the middle of Julio’s passion to make the bassetti successful at any cost (which might not always result in a positive outcome) and my teacher.
Many years later I was able to reconcile with Tito, apologizing for what I had done. I also worked with him on performance details for American In Japan and Concerto Di Bravura that he had written for Randy Arase. We spent some time going over errors in the autography and then worked on what he had intended in the compositions. Working again with Tito was one of the most rewarding experiences I have ever had. It was also good to reconnect with Sylvia – who has continued a lifelong dedication to the accordion and what is right.
It was an instrument that could make music, and he began exploring the possibilities.
Rhapsody in Blue
Silver Taps 1978.
I brought my accordion to the party, but no one asked me to play
