Of all the solo instruments, the mystical lyricism of the guitar speaks to me most intimately. Almost orchestral in it sonorous possibilities it is capable too of evoking the simplest heart-rending melodies, a magical haunting of its tremolo, and on its purest overtones the soul can soar. When in my teens, living in Manhattan, I made sure to attend every guitar concert in New York City. It mattered not whether the music was classical, flamenco, folk, pop or rock. Singer guitarists such as Richie Havens, lead and back-up wizards for folk singers such as Judy Collins, Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention , all could work miracles on the strings. Yet it has always been the classical guitar which sings most beautifully to me and to which I return.
I remember numerous concerts in Town Hall and Carnegie Hall filling the evenings of my musical life. I was fortunate to be able to attend many of Andres Segovias concerts through the years. Certain images remain forty years later of these concerts and the this giant of the guitar - the hall so packed that chairs would be set up in rows behind the proscenium, the lone chair on center stage, the footstool and the hushed stillness as Segovia walked on stage, humbly and with great dignity.
There were many nights when the applause was so deafening and encore after encore pleaded for and granted until I felt his hands must be raw with pain. I met him once. His encouragement to young guitarists was legendary and he regularly attended their recitals. This particular evening featured Ray de la Torre, I believe, though it might have been Alirio Diaz, as memory fails me here especially since Segovia was in the balcony intently listening. At the end of the concert I went up to him and introduced myself. Two indelible memories rise up recalling this moment - the first was his utter humility and kindness to me. In his gentle way he shook my hand and here, the second memory leaps up - his hands were immense. He swallowed up my hands in his grasp and I recalled the cliché that his hands were like hams. Ever after, I watched his hands on the guitar, barely moving yet bringing forth divinely inspired music. After hearing flamenco greats such as Sabicas and Manitas de Plata, and watching their fingers fly over the frets, it was always wondrous to watch Segovia. Recently seeing Itzhak Perlman in concert reawakened that memory.
Segovia only performed works with which he identified personally. He rejected atonal works, or 'ultra modern' compositions which he found musically distasteful, even if they were dedicated to him.
Segovia was a visionary and a man of great principle though criticized by some guitarists, notably, JohnWilliams, for his autocratic teaching style, forcing students to play only 'his' way and stifling their individual creativity. Yet he remains the gratest of all guitarists in the memory of the world.