Customer Reviews

Michael Rabin: America's Virtuoso Violinist (Amadeus)

5 star:		(7)
4 star:		(3)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

This book does indeed shed light on one of the most misunderstood - and greatest - violinists of the 20th century. As a Rabin fan myself I've waited more than 25 years for this book to come along and the author does a wonderful job of filling in the gaps of misconception that surrounded this tragic artist. Of particular interest was Rabin's relationship to his parents as this is where the seeds of future misery were planted, and most notably the relationship he had with his mother, who shielded the young genius like a hot-house plant and forced him to practice very long hours with minimal contact with others. In short he was literally deprived of his childhood. The result: though he developed to the nth degree as an artist, he never fully developed as a man, which did untold harm as he grew older.

Also fascinating are the anecdotes about Rabin's encounters with other virtuosos of the day. The list in fact reads like a who's who of great violinists: Heifetz, Elman, Stern, and Francescatti just to name a few. It was Francescatti who took a particular liking to the young virtuoso and guided his career.

The book ends by clearing up the real cause behind Rabin's untimely demise, and overall I was left with a feeling of finally having all my questions answered. For Rabin fans this book should definitely be on your bookshelf.

In his all to brief a life Michael Rabin was a star that shined very brightly. He picked up a violin for the first time at age 7. In six months time he had outstripped the ability of his father (first chair violin with the New York Philharmonic) to teach him anything more. By his late teens he was argueablely the best violinist that America has ever produced. His career climbed to a very high peak, then declined. And at 35 he died under somewhat mysterious circumstances.

Dr. Feinstein is a professor of psychiatry. Most of his previous publications have been in medical journals and the like. To this book he brings a love of music, years of admiration of Michael Rabin. I think he also has a better than usual understanding of the pulls, pleasures and pressures that the life of a performer puts on a child that never had a chance to develop normally.

Michael paid a very high price for his violin mastery. Shy and awkward away from his violin, he never really matured into adulthood. His relationships with his recording managers, his agent, with adults in general was difficult. In the thirty years since his death his star has faded further until he is largely forgotten except among a very few.

This is the first authorized biography of Michael Rabin. In its writing the author had the cooperation of family and friends. It is likely to remain the last work on Michael Rabin's life.

Let's start with the positive! The book contains lots of nice photos. While a few are private and previously unpublished, the vast majority were specifically taken for publicity purposes. The cover photo is a very nice publicity shot and the back of the dustjacket sports a lovely reproduction of an oil painting that's a portrait of a young Michael Rabin playing his violin. There are long quotes from Michael's letters to a few selected people. Some of those excerpts are interesting, although unfortunately Feinstein does little to interpret them adequately.

This book is billed as "the first, authorized biography." Well, there is generally only one "authorized biography" for any given individual, so this statement is a bit confusing. At least it is clear that this is indeed the first biography of Michael Rabin to appear in book form.

While I wouldn't be likely to dispute Feinstein's statement of how many pages the violnist's log of his air miles contains, other aspects of the volume do not inspire confidence in the author's command of his facts. Instead, they would make a critical reader doubt the author's research abilities. There's no discography, no log of performances, no bibliography. For a first biography, and one that has some of the scholarly apparatus too, these are glaring omissions.

Even though there are copious footnotes, the inaccuracies elsewhere in the volume make a reader wonder whether all of them are accurate. A check of some of these references reveals that they are often not in proper or consistent format and, in at least one case that I have already been able to identify simply by emailing a couple of official archives, Feinstein has cited a publication that never existed.

The book reads more like a first draft than a final version. Without cheating and checking the photos, it's hard to imagine what most of the players look or sound like. Sometimes the text and the photos seem to disagree. One person interviewed describes Michael, during the last six months of his life, as being "very hairy" (see page 207), yet among the photos bound into the volume between pages 88 and 89, there's a photo of an 18-year-old Michael, already with a receding hairline, and his father (the latter shown without his shirt). Bertine, Michael's sister, stands in the middle, between them. Both men are in shorts. Michael is also wearing a short-sleeved tee-shirt and the photo proves that Michael's arms and legs weren't hairy then. His father's arms, legs and torso weren't especially hairy either. Since men tend to inherit patterns of hair growth from the male parent, you can draw your own conclusions. Either the interviewee was mis-remembering the facts or some medical condition or drug reaction caused the change. In the latter case Feinstein should have explained why it happened, as long as he's taking the trouble to report it.

There's no real sense of place given by the author's text. The violinist's own letters convey far more atmosphere than Feinstein does. The writing style in this volume is decidedly pedestrian. Feinstein goes out of his way to state the obvious. In discussing the prodigy's work as a child and adolescent, for example, he writes on page 68: "The role models Michael were [sic.] encouraged to emulate were all adults who had stellar careers in music." As you can see, the editing isn't wonderful either! Anyone notice that, in this sentence, the subject is singular ("Michael") while the verb is plural ("were")? In any case, why would Michael (or any other aspiring performer, for that matter) emulate anyone other than major mature artists?

Feinstein's volume seems less a true biography than "Michael Rabin as seen through the eyes of four people"--Bertine, Adrienne Rosenbaum (his first love interest), Lewis Kaplan and June LeBell. His longtime accompanist, Mitchell Andrews, has only a few paltry mentions, although he worked with the violinist for a decade, and the same is true of Schuyler Chapin, who worked with Michael for about five years at Columbia Artists Management. Outside of critical reviews of Michael's performances and items quoted selectively to reflect the author's various biases, the perspectives of other individuals who knew the violinist well are rare indeed in these pages.

There are seeming contradictions in the text itself, also. For example, it's extremely difficult for a reader to reconcile the fact that, on page 213, June LeBell, when describing Michael's death, states, "It was as if he had come running out of the kitchen and had slipped..." Yet, on p. 218, Feinstein states, "...the barbiturates Michael took made him drowsy. He lay down to rest. On rising quickly, perhaps to answer the telephone, he slipped..." How many of us who are relatively sane habitually lie down on the kitchen floor to take a nap? Do these stories sound consistent to you? For a book that aims to clarify what happened to this violinist who died young, illogic like this doesn't go very far toward achieving that goal. Might this be another editorial gaffe? How could Feinstein himself not have noticed this inconsistency? Perhaps a description of the layout of the violinist's apartment might have answered this question or perhaps it wouldn't. But Feinstein makes no attempt whatever to deal with this problem and so the reader will never know!

Feinstein quotes one musician's memoirs about Michael's drug use in 1970 because the passage supports his theory. However, he doesn't mention another passage from the same musician's memoirs that describes the violinist's death, from the point of view of someone who claimed to have been present. Undoubtedly this omission happened because it totally contradicts quotes Feinstein uses from Lewis Kaplan and June LeBell as well as his own interpretation of the event. He doesn't reproduce and then debunk this passage; he simply ignores it. Nor does Feinstein examine at all critically the memoir-writer's initial statement, the one he did choose to quote. Yet, when questioned by others, another participant said to have taken part in that little scenario denies that it happened. If the accuracy of one passage has been called into question, might not the other one also be suspect?

Inaccuracies and evidence of lack of care are many and include both misuse of English and mistranslations. For instance, on page 1, Feinstein refers to a career being "hoisted upon him [Michael]." Although at times the violinist considered his career a heavy burden, clearly the word used is incorrect and Feinstein should have said "foisted" rather than "hoisted." The book is filled with such howlers. As an example of mistranslation, I can offer the following: the word "haimish" doesn't mean "homely," as Feinstein translates it on page 200. "Homely" is an English word that is generally used as a synonym for "unattractive" or "ugly" and is almost always applied only to women. The quote here, however, is from a thank-you note in which the violinist was lauding the hospitality he had received. The correct translation, therefore, is "home-like" or "possessing a friendly and warm atmosphere." Or words to that effect. In addition, it's just plain irritating to see "[sic.]" every time the word "Prokofieff" appears in one of the violnist's letters, as if he'd misspelled the composer's name. (There is still a "Prokofieff Foundation," after all!) That's not a misspelling, it's just a variant transliteration, of the Russian composer's name. The period Feinstein is writing about is one when two competing transliterations existed and one has become more popular in recent years than the other. But that doesn't make one spelling "correct" and the other "incorrect."

Feinstein uses the testimony of a neighbor--a busy ballet dancer--to "prove" that Michael had no girlfriends during the period ca. 1960-68. This dancer only lived near him for a couple of years toward the end of that time. How would she know? Was she watching his door 24/7? Was she with him on tour? Was she with him when he wasn't home? No.

Another "proof" Feinstein cites that Michael didn't have any girlfriends during that period is that he didn't introduce any either to Bertine or to Lewis Kaplan. Michael was in his twenties and older at that point. He was living in his own apartment from 1963 on. Did he have to introduce a woman to his sister or to an old friend of his with whom he was no longer quite as close as formerly (and who was no longer his personal confidant)in order to have permission to date her? Please, Mr. Feinstein, let's get real here! I can think of at least three women, known to have spent varying amounts of time with the violnist during those years, whom this book has totally ignored. Their names are not even mentioned. Why? Because they and/or their relationships with Michael, perhaps, don't fit his theories!

Other misapprehensions under which Feinstein labors include the fact that the private school Michael attended for about two years was located at 132 West 60th Street. It wasn't. A quick trip to the Professional Children's School website (sorry but you'll have to look this up yourselves because Amazon doesn't permit urls in book reviews!) will confirm this fact. When Michael was a student there (prior to 1956), it was located in a commercial building at 61st Street and Broadway. On page 22, Feinstein identifies the young Michael's grade of B+ in science as being "below average." Well, that simply isn't so. The "B+" means that Michael's work in that class was decidedly above average. Michael never appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show although Feinstein says he did. Feinstein refers to the "Bronx School of Science" when he means the "Bronx High School of Science." Then, in discussing 1971, he states, "...Arthur Judson had long departed Columbia Artists." Well, I suppose that's at least partially correct. Arthur Judson departed this life (not just Columbia Artists Management) in 1963.

Rather than go on with this already-long recital of errors, half-truths and apparent massaging of the facts to fit the author's theories (or, perhaps, those of the violinist's family and whoever else had to pass on the manuscript since this is an "authorized biography"), I'll stop here and say that, because such sloppiness abounds, the accuracy of this volume is not to be trusted. Save your money! This jumble of misinformation is no bargain. Those interested in violins and violinists, classical music in general, psychology, child prodigies and/or biographies that are interesting to read should await a more perceptive, balanced, responsible and well-realized book before plunking down their hard-earned money.

I am a professional violinist, to whom this book has proven to be more than an excellent account of Michael Rabin's troubled life.

Because Mr. Rabin's life is extraordinarily well documented by way of his own daily letters to family and friends, the reader gets a truly personal view of his life - his practice routines, his recordings, travels, impressions about everything. The book also gives details on how the recording industry and classical music managers "contributed" to Michael's troubles, as well as how his mother ruined his well-being. Most importantly, the book gives the true account of how he died, as opposed to the widely-misinformed rumors about his death. The author was himself a violinist, and writes the book with love and admiration for an amazing life cut short.

I enthusiastlically recommend this book to violinists, violin lovers, or anyone interested in an extraordinary life.

Michael Rabin truly was one of the greatest violinists of the 20th century. No violinist -- not even Heifetz -- surpassed Rabin in technical virtuosity and very few equalled Rabin in artistry and tonal beauty. In his mid-teens and early twenties Rabin was internationally famous and widely regarded as the most talented young violinist to have emerged in decades. Yet now he is largely forgotten except by the fortunate few who still remember his genius and treasure the relatively few recordings he made. This book recounts the early rise of Rabin as a renowned prodigy and also the tragic reasons why a musician of such spectacular talent made no recordings after age 24 and died by age 35. Regrettably the story of Michael Rabin's all too short life and fame is largely a sad one, but it should, nevertheless, be of interest to anyone who treasures the genius of his playing and his outstanding, though fairly small, recorded legacy. I hope that lovers of the violin will read this book but, more importantly, that they will acquire and enjoy the great recordings of this rare genius.

The recent book,Michael Rabin, by anthony Feinstein, answered many questions that I have had concerning the death of the great violinist. Since I am a professional violinist, and he is of my generation, I have always been interested in Rabin's life, and the reasons why the world lost such a wonderful talent so young. He was truly one of the greatest violinists who ever lived, and Mr. Feinstein's acute insight into Rabin's family life offers deep insight into the sad outcome of his life. Very talented young people can gain much wisdom from reading this well documented book.

Ann Rylands

Michael Rabin's life and death have been the subjects of much rumor and speculation. Here, the facts are sensitively revealed in a most readable manner. Finally we have an important book about a very important American violinist.

My only qualm, and it's a big one, is how the author, with all of his exhaustive research, could continually mis-spell the name of that other tragic figure in American musical history, William Kapell. Was this a proof-reader's problem? I hope so. Otherwise, for me at least, this carelessness throws some doubt on the integrity of all of the other details in the text.

When Michael Rabin made his glorious debut in Carnegie Hall, November 24, 1950 (he was just 14), Dmitri Mitropoulos, then conductor of the New York Philharmonic, said of him: "He is really the genius violinist of tomorrow, equipped with all that is necessary to be a great artist and to give great thrills to the musical world."

His technical virtuosity made you gasp. Because among other virtues, he always knew to arrive to what we might say the centre of the sound, the core of the work with winged flair and radiant vitality.

That's why his early departure (just 36 in the most incredible house accident I had noticed, together with Fritz Wunderlich) deprived the world of a majuscule exponent of the art of the instrument. For his ceaseless search of the perfection he could compare himself with Kapell in the piano.

Sometimes, in order to qualify a genius of such level, the words are meaningless. So, don't let this set passes in front of you. Don't say you didn't know it. Get it as soon as you can.

This biography was very enlightening. Michael Rabin's story is a story of great success and great tragedy. Rabin played Paganini Caprices at a high level after just 3 years of training. Part of that was talent and part of that was a relentless work ethic cultivated by his mother and Rabin's own desire to play. It is this same work ethic that perhaps in this case was also the tragedy since it lead to social deficits in his experiences growing up. These are among the toughest decisions parents of talented children must make.

One of the interesting findings of this biography is the clarafication of the circumstances of Rabin's early death. Regardless of the circumstances of his death, the violin world lost a great champion of the violin too early. One can only wonder how his career would have developed had he overcome the significant challenges in his life.

The biographer understands both the musical and psychological conflicts in Rabin's life. His description of the young Rabin at the mercy of Australian music critics helps one understand the pressures on a musician of Rabin's caliber. I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in Michael Rabin or in the world of the classical violinist.