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George & Ira...," the clarinetist intoned reverently with a wide grin. "Ever'body knows that one..." They played a seething rendition that soon had Mabel on her feet, improvising alongside Jurgen. She stood facing him, doubling over to peer into his eyes, undulating while they ran on in imitative counterpoint, two fish in a creek spilling down a mountainside.
We want singing actors as well as great singers. Mr. Martinelli is the possessor of a beautiful voice and, moreover, is a fine actor and an excellent musician. He was, first of all, a clarinetist before he became a singer, and so well did he play his chosen instrument that his services were in great demand in his home town in Italy.
She slid past his table and strode under the center spotlight the clarinetist moved to one side without missing a note, nodding at her. She whirled around, snapped her fingers to pick up the slow beat and launched into song, so softly at first, he was not sure she was singing. Her voice soon rose in a solo, weaving in and out of the clarinet's melody.
The gipsy musicians, hot and perspiring, have blown and scraped and banged for fifteen solid hours; no one would ever think of suggesting that a gipsy needed rest; the clarinetist, it is true, rolled off his seat at one time, and had to be well shaken ere he could blow again, but the leader as good a leader, mind you, as could be found in the kingdom had only paused when the dancers were exhausted, or when bite and sup were placed before him.
A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Al." Al chuckled. "Nah, jes Plain Al. Come on over here..." When the other musicians returned, the young woman Al introduced her as Mabel sat at the table Jurgen had vacated. He took one chair and joined the clarinetist under the spotlight. "Do you know uh..." Jurgen paused. "How about 'Nice Work if You Can Get It'?" "Mmm.
Another who has already embraced all his comrades in turn, breaks in among the gypsies and kisses them one after the other, swearing brotherhood to the bass fiddler and the clarinetist.
Ferruccio Benvenuto Busoni was born at Empoli, near Florence, Italy, April 1, 1866. His father was a clarinetist and his mother whose maiden name was Weiss, indicating her German ancestry was an excellent pianist. His first teachers were his parents. So pronounced was his talent that he made his début at the age of eight in Vienna, Austria.
It was seldom that he could see the print on account of the mist that lay in his tired, forlorn grey eyes. Far below in the street outside, a half-frozen clarinetist was sending up a mournful carol from the mouth of his reed. Somewhere in the distance a high-voiced child was singing. And the wind played a dirge as it marched past the windows of the candle-lighted flat. At last he came to the end.
At the back the double-bass, lean and dark, with jet-black eyes that stare stolidly at his leader. There is a second fiddle, and the fat clarinetist and, of course, the leader he whose match could not be found in the kingdom.
Knowing that in the regimental band he was, quite appropriately, a clarinetist, "the clarinet in the military band being the equivalent of the violin in the orchestra" and a scholarship pupil of the Vienna Meisterschule, it seemed natural to ask him concerning his teachers.
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