Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1957-06-02

elO1Ai S6uulO. Iuerc, the orLlSt
comes in. sits down, plays his
music, picks up hat and check.
and is gone.
''You like my records?" he
will say later, rather
iauntily. We'll. I wouldn't
know. Of course. I never
listened to them myself"
But in private recording
sessions. the artist may listen
to q play-back. and then the
situation is in the gods lap.
The sound is unfamiliar to
him. and he doesn't like it.
When he gets used to it, he
begins to find fault with the
performance. and finally moth
ing will do but that he re-
study. re-interpret and re-
perform the music. Then the
cycle begins again. 1t is end
less.
R0utines and GesticulatiOns
Each Of US had something
better to do than to make
records. Wayne and I wanted
to get back to Washington,
and Ralph had engagements
in Europe. We played, lis
tened. spliced. tuned the
harpsichord. mented
with various microphones
and other equipment, and.
in short. went through all the
routines and gesticulations Of
the true hi-fi fan.
At the end Of a fortnight,
during which we had wound
out q hundred miles Of tape,
listened to Bach ID or 20
hours q day wayne and I
worked in shifts. but Ralph
appeared to be tireless). and
existed on Gorgonzola and
milk. we had everything but
the Goldberg Variations-45
minutes Of the most demand
ing and exacting music Q
harpsichord player knows.
Ralph had played the work
at least q thousand times in
recital over a period Of 20
years. but on tape the vari-
atoms didn't seem quite right
to him.
We recorded them again
and again. and at last the
weary artist exploded.
I'm going to shoot myself"
etc.. as related at the outset
Of this article.
The Search for Food
. 1t was about $40 on q
hot August afternoon. Wayne
and I got in the car and de-
cided to flnd ourselves q good
dinner. return to the Hogans',
notify the police and strike out
for Washington. We drove
aimlessly for a quarter OF an
hour without finding q likely
spot. but with our gastric
juices. dormant for a fort
night. coming quietly to life.
We both saw it at the same
time-a handsome restaurant
set in the fork OF a suburban
road. The neat parking lot
was vacant. but there was a
honey and comfortable st.
Bernard dog. the size of a
pony. ambling in proprietary
mien in the yard. AS we walked
in the front door. followed by
the dog. we both had the eerie
sensation that the place was
deserted. 1t was not clear why
we felt so. for the tables
were set with white linen, silver
and glass. and everything was
clean and in order. The build
ing, nevertheless, was quite
empty Of inhabitants.
"HostI" we shouted, or
Hello, there" or something
like that. but we knew what
investigation proved. We were
alone with the dog. All three
Of us were hungry. solitary or
not. The ice boxes and larders
were locked. but the 30
foot bar was stocked with
everything. not only with the
juice Of grape and grain. but
with freshly-made sandwiches,
peanuts, celery. pretzels and
potato chips.
First we fed the dog. crush
ing up for him a peck OF
pretzels. and moistening them
with ginger ale. TO which /
added a dash Of brandy in con-
sideration Of his breed. The
beast was appreciative. Then
we examined carefully the
labels on the bottles, Of which
there we're at least q hundred.
We selected with care, tasted,
poured, enjoyed.
Please Reserve . Table
The phone rang:
vHello."
us Philip there?"
mo, not now"
"Will you tell him Marty
called?"
why. certainly"
We hung up. but the phone
became more insistent. Will
you reserve a table for four
for six2 Please see that there
are two bottles Of Niersteiner
well iced by $3.50. We were in
all cases accommodating.
Our own dinner, coming as
1t did from the well-stocked
but limited bar, was in some
respects not typical Of the best
OF lie grand cuisine, but 1t was
delicious. We ended up with
mint frappe and truly excel
lent cigars. and after writing
our absent host a courteous