Notes by Erick Friedman So much has been written, thought and just plain guessed about the legendary Heifetz (including the "fact" that a congenital extra joint at the fingernail resulted in his unique sound) that my close association with him sometimes gets confused in my own mind in the wake of those self-styled opinions. Heifetz sometimes reveled in the amusing myth of godlike perfection attached to him. But, I believe, like a beautiful woman denied a graceful aging, he ultimately suffered from it. Nevertheless, he perpetuated this myth by insisting contractually on the use of only his last name, and on playing last at any concert. Also, he was very sparing with his personal appearances, interviews, and smiles (though some thought his less than perfect teeth might have been the reason). In reality, the truly wondrous fact of Heifetz was not all this surface p.r., but his lineage from the renowned Viotti and Viotti's pupil Kreutzer (known today through Beethoven's monumental sonata), to the legendary Wieniawski and his successor at the St. Petersburg Conservatory, Heifetz's teacher, Leopold Auer. Auer was probably the most influential teacher of modern times, Nathan Milstein (with whom I studied) and Mischa Elman being among his other pupils. These great violinists shared a common bond: absolute insistence on accurate intonation and clear rhythm, and avoiding excess vibrato or lack of left-hand articulation. Aside from the smoldering passion of his musicality, this was the true genius of Heifetz. I always repeat to my students two tongue-in-cheek Heifetz aphorisms said to me: "You know, Erick, when I think I'm playing out of tune, I usually am" and, the most telling, "Nobody will ever fault you for playing out of tune, only for staying there. " The "staying there" quip was probably the most revealing aspect of Heifetz's purely physical mastery of the violin (as well as of Ping-Pong): absolute ease and flexibility to adjust under all performance conditions. Today, when I see many students advised to "round the fingers" rigidly or "place the elbow" some directed way, I think of Heifetz responding to my question about the "correct" way of holding the bow: "I haven't the slightest idea though you hold it very differently from me—but you do all right." This was vintage Heifetz. He knew absolutely what to do, but how one physically did it was entirely up to the player— providing it worked under, what was to him, "battle conditions": the concert stage. Astonishingly, he was very flexible regarding other approaches be they musical or technical. Far from what one might expect from such a strongly etched musical personality, his absolute intransigence only touched the realm of intonation and his inviolate sense of rhythm. This CD collection of pieces aptly suits the "etched" musicianship of Heifetz. Interestingly, it has always been difficult for the general public to reconcile Heifetz's stone-face stage deportment with the white heat of embered romanticism seemingly and effortlessly emanating from his violin. In fact, however, this was no coincidence. At one of my occasions with him he suddenly produced a folded and frayed vodka ad from his wallet. It pictured a bored fashion model next to a gypsy violinist grimacing with emotion; his hand-written caption to this read, "If he were a little less moved by his own playing, she might be more. " The Australian composer Arthur Benjamin was an example of the Heifetz tradition of identifying himself with "modern" composers contemporary to himself. Heifetz loved to joke about the three copies of the Bartók Violin Concerto he bought and then tore up before filing another "somewhere" in his library (out of respect for the composer). His musical taste was in the tradition of the great violinists of the past, the violin as a tonal link to the heart. Almost an exact contemporary of Benjamin, Castelnuovo-Tedesco was an extraordinarily prolific composer of extreme sensitivity. At Heifetz's insistence, I studied composition with him during my years in California. His music, while exploring little new ground, was beautiful and full of life. (I was fortunate to have him write a piece for me, Op. 170, No.24, the theme of which was structured on the spelling of my name.) Even the Suite italienne from the eclectic Stravinsky, based on his ballet Pulcinella after Pergolesi, is an example of violin sound from the heart. Like the Hubble telescope, Heifetz revealed a universe of violinistic meaning heretofore unknown. Yale University, 1994