Yes, indeed sad news – his Brahms B flat with Bernstein and Rachmaninoff 3rd with Ozawa were truly admirable in their musical intelligence, technical command and – not leas – the wider revelation that black artists were as worthy as those born of lighter colour. But in the late 60s – early 70s I am afraid it was a different era and Andre – a lovely man – didn’t get the attention he manifestly deserved. A fluent German speaker, and a genuine artist.
I am very sad. He was for a brief while a boyfriend. His mother, incidentally, was I seem to recall, Hungarian – a very beautiful blonde lady, even in her later years. I think Andre was probably born in E. Europe, and spoke German naturally. Incidentally I remember an occasion when I was doing an interview with the wonderful George Shirley, (he was over here singing Pelleas I think). We met in a cafe in the hotel in Piccadilly where he was staying. The Italian waiter was inclined to be very superior and sniffy with him, until George started speaking to him in fluent and (it seemed to me) impeccable Italian. As you might say – collapse of stout party.
This is a sad loss. I remember his commercial issue about 40/50 years ago.
It was a special moment for the embrace of “people of colour”.
Yes, indeed sad news – his Brahms B flat with Bernstein and Rachmaninoff 3rd with Ozawa were truly admirable in their musical intelligence, technical command and – not leas – the wider revelation that black artists were as worthy as those born of lighter colour. But in the late 60s – early 70s I am afraid it was a different era and Andre – a lovely man – didn’t get the attention he manifestly deserved. A fluent German speaker, and a genuine artist.
I am very sad. He was for a brief while a boyfriend. His mother, incidentally, was I seem to recall, Hungarian – a very beautiful blonde lady, even in her later years. I think Andre was probably born in E. Europe, and spoke German naturally. Incidentally I remember an occasion when I was doing an interview with the wonderful George Shirley, (he was over here singing Pelleas I think). We met in a cafe in the hotel in Piccadilly where he was staying. The Italian waiter was inclined to be very superior and sniffy with him, until George started speaking to him in fluent and (it seemed to me) impeccable Italian. As you might say – collapse of stout party.