Professor Makoto Ueno, Kyoto City Unversity of Arts Your inquiry made me look back again and think about the Curtis days in the 1980s. At one time, I felt some doubt about the way JB taught. My former teacher in Japan criticised me a lot after listening to me at the end of 1984. (I had gone back to Japan for the first time in two and a half years) At one stage, I obtained permission from JB to study with Mieczysław Horszowski, for several lessons. Bolet was away a lot, of course, concertizing, and once back in town he gave lessons every day, and students had to offer new pieces for every lesson. And no systematic pedagogy. I think he was capable of teaching in a methodical way, but he didn’t. Recalling his instruction, the phrases most often heard were: Sing! Never hit the key. Press the keys! Keep the tempo! Actually “singing beautifully in time” is the most important and essential part of piano playing. Also, he was quite precise about the length of the notes. Nowadays, especially with younger generation playing brilliant Steinways, people tend to cut notes short more often, releasing notes early and let the notes last with the pedal, so that one gets a sharper and edgier (but not a warm, lasting) sound. Of course this is just a generalisation. That kind of technique can be used when we need some orchestral effects in wide registers and in hyper-polyphonic pieces, especially in case of bell effects…but not very often with many classical and early romantic works, and seldom with Bolet. Always, he was well dressed in the lessons , often with brownish suede leather sport jacket with a tie. But I once saw him dressed very casually (of course tidy enough) in the streets. He was walking to a 7-Eleven store, between his apartment and Curtis, wearing jeans and flannel shirt. Also, he was always wearing a Rolex Oyster Perpetual Submariner, which looked very good with him in the lessons. He played a lot in the lessons instead of talking. In other words, he was an old type of pianist/teacher. He smoked while playing, so that we students often became worried…that the ash would fall down onto the keys or drop onto his trousers. At the beginning of my four years' training with him, I had to expend so much energy on learning English. Further, getting used to the new environment and everything else was not easy, so my piano lessons suffered and did not go so well for months. I think he was very disappointed at the beginning. But toward the end of the year, when I brought the Chopin fourth Ballade, he was starting to look at me in rather a better way. In addition to the pieces that I mentioned in the last email, I remember that I took lessons with him on Schubert's Wanderer Fantasy, Chopin's Concerto No. 2, and Polonaise-Fantaisie Op. 61, Grieg's Ballade, Beethoven's Sonatas Op. 2/3 in C, Op. 7 in E flat, Op. 31/1 in G major, Op.31/3 in A flat, Op.90 in E minor, Op.109 in E major. Bartók's Suite, Brahms Op. 117, etc. Only in the last year did I dare bring Rachmaninoff's 3rd Concerto. I remember Bolet was present and listening to the lecture which [Romanian conductor Sergiu] Celibidache gave during his visit to Curtis in 1984. I also remember when I brought a quintet (it was either Schumann or Dvořák), JB was very happy to listen to all the string players and was telling us that all (the) string players are better than (the) pianist(s), implying that my playing was bad compared to their playing! I understand it now. After the lesson, my friends among the string players were sorry for me... I would like it very much to be known that I am forever grateful and thankful that I could receive lessons from him during the early very important adolescent years of my life. When I listen to his recordings now, I am quite overwhelmed by the richness of his music making and his musical expression. But when I was studying with him, I was so young. And it was almost as if I were a baby absorbing his sound, his touch, and his phrasing, without any conscious knowledge, and without theoretical perception. It was only later that I could sum up what he had given me in those years. Perhaps especially from 1960s to 80s, he was truly unique and stood alone, when almost all other pianists, with the exception of Arrau, Horowitz, Richter, Gilels, and Michelangeli, and a few others, played in a rather post-war realism and Sachlichkeit. Also, if you can, please mention that he was extremely happy to listen to the complete Debussy études in the lessons (though the level of my playing was not very high). He loved the pieces. Bolet had profound respect for the pianism of Emil Gilels. In the younger generation, he marvelled at the playing of Vladimir Ashkenazy and Martha Argerich. About Gilels: “He has completely different musical ideas and plays differently from me, but I am awed by his playing and have great respect for him.” In the regular lessons at Curtis, he was rather approximate but he could be very meticulous. Here is one example: When I was selected to perform at Carnegie Recital Hall in February 1985, he kindly came to my student recital at Curtis a few days before the Carnegie concert. And at the lesson after the recital, he pointed out many small but important things about Schumann's Kreisleriana. He was not listening with the score, but his memory was impeccable and he could remember many details about the playing. As I have said before, he was very good at giving some finishing touches, if the pianist is already well-prepared in his/her playing. With that help, I think the performance in N. Y. C. went quite well. (Alas, there is no proof of this. No recording. Of course, it was the best piano I had ever played on up until then…the best American Steinway ever…it helped me play naturally as well.)

I sent David a link to the video of his performance with Jorge on 9 November 1988 (see previous post, link below) and he has sent me this appreciation. As with other contributions from students and friends of Jorge, I feel privileged to be able to add David's to this website, not least because he worked - albeit for a brief moment in time - with the pianist. ‘Thanks, Douglas, for sending this. I didn’t even know it existed until you mentioned it. So, it was a live performance - the only one as NHK used to rehearse Sun-Wed for just one concert a week (occasionally two if they also played Suntory Hall). ’I must admit to enjoying the video immensely. As so often with YouTube, the lack of synchronisation between video and audio is particularly distressing, but, that aside, it’s one of the most lyrical interpretations I’ve ever heard. The nuances in Jorge’s playing are quite remarkable, and he makes his extremely contemplative tempos really work. It all came back to me as if it were yesterday (I wish!). Like many virtuosos that I worked with during that time period (Shura Cherkassky comes to mind), communication between soloist and conductor was totally aural, not visual. He never once looked in my direction, even when awkward tempo changes were about to happen; not a flicker in the eyes, nor movement of the head or body, nothing. His musicality communicated everything, hair-raising as it was.’

Jorge performed Rachmaninoff's third concerto in Tokyo on 9 (or 10) November 1988 with the NHK Symphony under David Atherton. David Atherton (July 2026) has told me that his files show NHK Symphony rehearsals for Rach PC3 with Jorge on Nov 8, 1988 with a final General Rehearsal on the morning of Nov 9 followed by one concert on Nov 10. 'Including the rehearsals, I probably spent less than five hours in his presence and have no recollection of any social interaction. Normally artists go out for a celebratory dinner or something after the event, but I don’t believe this happened on this occasion. My memories of him are therefore pretty muted: quiet and reflective, not very outgoing whilst being unfailingly polite and courteous. However he was clearly not in the best of health. He appeared much older than his years and not the powerhouse I’d expected for such a monumental piece as Rach PC3. 'The French first half comprised Berlioz’ Francs-juges and Messiaen’s Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum for wind and percussion. Necessarily the limited rehearsal time was focused more on these tricky pieces - the Berlioz is one of his longest overtures and rarely played - ditto the Messiaen. ​ 'Yoshiro Kambara who formed the Kambara Music Office was my agent/manager as well as Jorge’s. He was extremely involved in all aspects of our tours of Japan. He was one of the doyens of Japanese cultural exchanges and highly respected throughout the business. ​ 'After the concert there was the customary autograph signing reception. I don’t think Jorge went to it - his health was probably being protected. 'Line upon line of audience members queue up bringing copies of your own recordings asking for signatures - one guy brought 41 dust covers asking for each to be signed. I remember the occasion vividly as it was the first of my many three week tours with the NHK; each week the signings would take over an hour immediately after the concert when all you really wanted to do is get out of your wet clothes and take a shower! At least the audience was passionate about their music...'

It's odd how I suddenly get "a bee in my bonnet" about issues I hadn't really considered before. One of them is Jorge's relationship with Abram Chasins (1903-1987), to which I have turned again after reading something by Jonathan Summers in his notes for the recent First Hand Records CD release of Bolet's Ambassador Auditorium recitals. (I also hadn't fully appreciated AC's Curtis connections before.) 'After Bolet gave a Carnegie Hall recital in 1951 [3 April] critic Howard Taubman felt the Bolet did not provide musical satisfaction, with deficiencies in imagination and sensitivity. "It may be that Mr Bolet, if he could turn to the proper sources for advice and inspiration, could put his brilliant technique to equally brilliant use". In those days of constructive criticism, Bolet took Taubman's advice, and asked for help from Abram Chasins, who himself had been a pupil of Josef Hofmann.' Bolet himself told Elyse Mach in the later 1980s that 'I had previously done quite a bit of work with Abram Chasins. He sort of took me in a time when he thought something had to be done about my playing. And indeed he really sort of turned my playing around, so to speak, but that’s another story.' So far, so teasing. There is this interesting observation - something I hadn't considered - by in an Audite CD booklet for Jorge's RIAS recordings: "Strictly speaking, Bolet (born in Cuba in 1914) was already too old for an audience who, after the Second World War, were at the feet of a generation of “Outstanding Young American Pianists” (OYAP) including John Browning, Leon Fleisher, William Kapell, Julius Katchen and Van Cliburn, who were all born in the 1920s and 30s." (Wolfgang Rathert. Translation: Viola Scheffel) In 1971, Chasins wrote a letter to Jorge: "Apart from your today unrivalled virtuosity, there is the rarest of poetic elegance in the true Romantic style... [The playing of my teacher Hofmann] lives again in your unique combination of demonic daring, elfin delicacy and soaring lyricism." Earlier, in his book Speaking about pianists (1958) he said: "Prokofiev's second cocnerto found an indeal interpreter in Jorge Bolet. He plays it with a relentless continuity that never becomes brutal, with loving care and wily understanding of its expressive content. He completely owns it." I wonder if anyone knows how exactly Chasins helped Bolet - it was apparently over a period of four years, I had thought in the late 1940s, but it seems to have been early 1950s according to Jonathan Summers. Drop a comment below or use the CONTACTS page. I recall going backstage to shake hands with Jorge in London in 1987, and overhearing him telling a friend that Chasins had just died, and that was why he chose to play some of his compositions as encores in that afternoon recital. (In earlier years Bolet had also had Chasins' raucous arrangement of Weinberger's lively polka form his opera "Schwanda the Bagpiper" in his repertoire.) Mattheus Smits has written to me with the following: 'The piano concerto which Chasins played on 1 January 1929 under Ossip Gabrilowitsch (see below) was I believe his own first concerto in F minor written in 1928. Chasins wrote a second piano concerto in F sharp minor. When talking to Jorge about Chasins' influence on his development, Jorge told me that he never had the idea that Chasins was teaching him in usual sense of the word. Working with him simply allowed musical thoughts to develop and grow. Chasins acted - so to speak - as a 'listening mirror' from which Jorge, whose playing was loved by Chasins, could mature. Jorge also mentioned that working with Chasins greatly contributed to his feeling that the style of his playing was correct and part of his (Jorge's) personality. Jorge always admitted that working with Chasins had an important influence on his development. 'That Jorge performed compositions by Chasins was not only because of gratitude; Jorge simply thought Chasins' music was good enough to be heard!' Abram Chasins (1903-1987) wore many musical hats. His gifts as both pianist and composer met with critical acclaim in the late 1920s and early 1930s, while counting luminaries like Josef Hofmann, Sergei Rachmaninov, Leopold Godowsky, George Gershwin, Vladimir Horowitz, Arturo Toscanini, and Donald Francis Tovey among his mentors and associates. From the mid-’30s onward, Chasins gradually retreated from performing in favour of broadcasting [WQXR, New York radio station], teaching, and writing about music. (Jed Distler, writing in 2023) Born in Manhattan, New York, he attended the Ethical Culture schools and undertook additional studies through the Columbia University Extension School. He studied piano with Ernest Hutcheson and composition with Rubin Goldmark at the Juilliard School of Music before proceeding to the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia. There, he undertook further piano studies with Józef Hofmann. He became a protegé of Hofmann, then dean of the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, who made him a member of the Curtis faculty when Chasins was only 23. In 1931, he studied music analysis with Sir Donald Tovey in London. Chasins' career as a pianist lasted from 1927 until 1947. He gave many solo recitals and performed with major orchestras in the United States, Canada, South America and Europe. On January 1, 1929, he made his debut playing his Piano Concerto No 1 [by whom?] with the Philadelphia Orchestra conducted by Ossip Gabrilowitsch. From 1926 to 1935, Chasins taught piano as a member of the faculty of the Curtis Institute. He was associated with the radio station WQXR from 1941 to 1965, becoming the music director in 1946. (Steinway website)

Makoto Ueno has generously sent me some memories of his time studying with Jorge Bolet at Curtis. See also here for part 2. Professor Makoto Ueno [b.1966, Muroran, Hokkaido, Japan] left his home town at the age of 16, to study in the West, first at Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia, where he became one of the last six students of Jorge Bolet, then continued at Mozarteum Salzburg with Hans Leygraf. In addition to being a performing and recording artist, since 1996 he has also taught as a professor of piano at Kyoto University of Arts. A link to his website In April 1982, I went to Philadelphia for the first time, for the audition at the Curtis Institute. After the audition, several days later, I received a piece of paper from the Admissions Office. It was a paper from Bolet, a list of repertoire which I should study during the summer months, before the commencement of the school year. Ignorant as I was, and rather rebellious about everything, unfortunately I only partly followed his suggestions. Of the repertoire, I studied Chopin's Preludes, Études, the Barcarolle, the Nocturne, Beethoven, Bach. But I brought also pieces which interested me at the time and especially Schumann Op. 11, 16, 18 [Piano Sonata No. 1 in F♯ minor, Kreisleriana, Arabeske] and Debussy Études, Chopin Ballades, 3rd Sonata, Liszt. He did not mind, or at least he did not stop students from playing those pieces. Now that I am old enough, I know that I should have followed his suggestion (or an order) better, and should have had lessons with him on all these pieces. I studied all of them much later in my life. I think it was around 1984 or 85 that JB suggested Thomas Sauer (who had enrolled in the same year, and I think he received the same repertoire paper) and I study Ginastera's Concerto (No.1), even inviting us to listen to a recording of it at his apartment in Philadelphia. He thought this piece wonderful and recommended that we both study and accompany/work together to get to know the piece. He told us that it is important to have concerti in one's repertoire that not everyone plays. That is so correct. However again we did not do it… Tom did not like the piece, and I did not understand the piece. At least I bought the score and examined it. Bolet was right again. Working on concerti with a friend is the best way to get acquainted with the score. (The Ginastera is a great concerto, too.) In general he was not a teacher to teach uneducated young students (as I was). I think he was better at giving a final touch to already fully-developed students/artists. [With reference to lesson on Chopin's Ballade No. 3]: As you may have noticed, in his memory some of the Chopin scores and notes are based on the old Breitkopf complete edition from the late 19th Century. Paderewski's edition was fine, but he did not like an Urtext such as that of G.Henle, though he said he discussed and exchanged opinions with Dr. Ewald Zimmermann (1910–1998), the editor of Henle Chopin series back then. Mattheus Smits has written: Whenever Jorge played in the "Ruhrgebiet" in Germany [Ruhr area, a polycentric urban area in North Rhine-Westphalia], Ewald Zimmermann showed up with his partner. After the concert we were often invited in their home. I still remember the address, Rektor-Horn-Straße, Rheinberg. There we all enjoyed talking about Ewald's work on the Chopin Urtext edition for Henle. In his house he kept copies of manuscripts and several old editions which were sent to him from institutions all over the world. Ewald always gave us free copies of the volumes which were recently published, and Jorge and I always were happy to get them. I know that Jorge always studied them carefully so that he was able to tell Ewald his opinion during the next visit to Rheinberg.

Professor Makoto Ueno has send me a copy of the programme booklet for Jorge's Japan tour in November 1989. A new piece of information is that JB played also in Kobe. On 4 November 1988, in Kobe International House (Kokusai Kaikan), Kobe, Japan Liszt: Six Consolations, S.172, Bénédiction de Dieu dans la solitude, S.173 No.3 (from Harmonies Poétiques et Religieuses), Funérailles; Chopin, 4 Ballades. [Kobe is located in the Kansai region just 35 km west of Osaka. It's an attractive city which I've in fact visited a couple of time. Last December 2025, I had coffee and cake in Juchheim's, a German bakery, a place I noted down after finding a mention in Jun'ichirō Tanizaki's novel The Makioka Sisters, which I read during Covid-19 lockdown when we couldn't travel. 細雪, Sasameyuki; "light snow" is the Japanese title; it was was serialised from 1943 to 1948. I've only glanced at the Japanese text at the moment - more to follow - (I can only read with a translation app), but it looks like the final section (pages 14-15) contains material from an interview.

John Gruen interviewed Jorge Bolet for a long article which appeared in The New York Times on 28 January 1973. I've referred to it often (I love the Poe/Hawthorne bit) but here's the text. To sit in a desperately cheerful New York hotel room with Jorge Bolet is to know the meaning of absolute contradiction. The Cuban‐born pianist is simply too imposing and disquieting a figure to meld easily with screaming red‐and‐orange curtains, and wildly patterned bedspreads. He demands a far more austere setting—possibly a somber Buñuel set, with dark, musty wall‐hangings, shadowy chandeliers, ornate furnishings, sinister rugs. Bolet, heavy‐set, and a towering six‐foot‐two, exudes the enigmatic, if not the menacing. In a way, he recalls mysterious characters out of Poe and Hawthorne. The head is large, with blackbrown fiery eyes; the eyebrows are heavy—startlingly so. A mustache, thick, squarish, and carefully clipped, suggests the aggressively military, as does the graying black hair, slicked down and sharply parted to the side. This morning, he is impeccably groomed in a black suit (its buttons are scarlet red), and a striped, icily starched shirt. The knot of his silk tie its almost cruel. The voice is deep, resonant, decisive. But as he lights a cigarette, Bolet's long, quite delicate hands tremble. It is clear that his fierce exterior masks a certain fragility. “I am a very even‐tempered person,” he tells me at point. “I have my mother's temperament and character. My mother was completely even‐tempered—an unruffled woman. Her sufferings, her frustrations, her sorrow were always held in. I am very much like her.” At 58, Jorge (he pronounces it George) Bolet (the “t” is sounded) has only of late received major recognition. While he has been a pianist for 52 of his 58 years, his ascent has been painfully slow, and fraught with missed opportunities and frustrations. Were he a lesser man, or, indeed,. a lesser artist, he might still be relegated to that demi‐world of pianists whose names elicit a faint nod, or a blank response. Today, Jorge Bolet is reaping the rewards of those who firmly believe that all good things come to those who wait. While his repertory vast, he has recently become known as a Liszt specialist. Critics the world over have called his forays into the known and lesser known forests of the Liszt literature nothing if not staggering. The Times's music critic, Harold C. Schonberg, has written, “Mr. Bolet is one of the great Liszt pianists of the century, with the fingers of Horowitz and the tone of a Lhévinne.” During the 1971–72 season, Bolet made no less than ten appearances with the New York Philharmonic, opening the season under Pierre Boulez with Liszt's rarely heard “Totentanz,” followed by four performances of the composer's Fantasy on Beethoven's “Ruins of Athens,” and Chopin's “Andante Spianato and Grande Polonaise,” under Michael Tilson Thomas. Bolet also opened the 1971–72 season of the American Symphony Orchestra, playing Prokofiev's Concerto No. 2, under Stokowski. A solo recital at Tully Hall followed, where, with his Liszt group, Bolet again, “could do no wrong.” Last year, the pianist signed an exclusive, long‐term contract with RCA Records. The recently released “Franz Liszt's Greatest Hits of the 1850s” has become a best‐seller, and has just been given a “Record of the Year” award by Stereo Review. RCA will soon issue Bolet's second Liszt recording, featuring the twelve “Transcendental Etudes” and “Consolations.” Bolet will offer more Liszt at his recital this afternoon at Hunter College. Following Chopin's four Scherzos, which open his program, he will play Liszt's three “Sonetti del Petrarca” and the composer's transcription of Wagner's Overture to “Tannhäuser” Success sits well on Bolet. He has been expecting it all his life. “I will not deny it,” he says in a slight Cuban accent. “I had some terrible years. There was great struggle. There was starvation. That all came in the late forties and fifties. I would not be here if it weren't for the kindness of my friends. They saw me through those ghastly, lean years. But you know, the human mind has the capacity of forgetting disagreeable things. It wants to remember only the good things.” And so Bolet begins to remember the good things—as well as the bad. “The earliest recollections I have of life is hearing my sister Maria practice the piano. That was in Havana, where was born. My mother tells me that as a baby of two or three months I was quite unruly, but that whenever I heard Maria play, I would immediately quiet down, and lie for hours almost as if mesmerized. Naturally, as I grew older, my dream was to become a pianist. “When I was five years old, my sister took me to hear a piano recital given by Rudolf Ganz at the National Theater in Havana. Well, that was my moment of decision. I vowed I'd be that man up there on that stage. By the age of six, I began my formal piano studies with my sister Maria, who was an exceptional pianist, but who had no desire to make a career of it. I also came under the influence of an older brother—Alberto —who later became a conductor. He is now the conductor of the Long Beach Symphony California. “At any rate, I studied with my sister until I was 12, and then an extraordinary thing happened. But I should first tell you that we were six children in our family, and that we were not at all well‐off. My father had only minor post with the Cuban army and we were, in fact, quite poor. Well, there was a woman in Havana, a certain Mrs. Amelia [Solberg] Hoskinson, Cuban woman married to an American, who became my benefactress. She had a real old-fashioned salon in Havana, where all the leading poets, writers, artists and musicians would gather, and where everyone would read their latest poems, play their latest compositions, or perform on the piano. “Although I was a mere child of 9 or 10, I would be invited to these soirées, and, invariably, would be asked to play. I had by then made strides in my studies, and could play Chopin études with considerable ease. Well, this Mrs. Hoskinson once had a house‐guest—a woman from Erie, Pennsylvania. When this woman heard me play, she decided that upon her return to the States, she would contact the Curtis Institute of Music, which had just opened, and ask for an application on my behalf. It duly arrived, and on it was the date when I was appear in Philadelphia for an audition. “As we had very little money for a trip America, Mrs. Hoskinson went into high gear and organized a benefit concert at which many of the leading performers in Havana sang, and danced and played, and where I closed the program with a selection of piano pieces. With the money raised, my sister Maria and I traveled Philadelphia, and on the appointed day, I appeared at Curtis, played, and was accepted. “I was 12 years old. My teacher was David Saperton, and he was fantastic. He would assign me things like Beethoven's ‘Appassionata,’ Chopin's F minor Fantasy and the A flat Ballade. I had always been held back by my sister. She just couldn't believe that a youngster my age could tackle such difficult pieces. But Saperton let me fly. And I memorized everything within a week, and then he would ask me to play for Josef Hofmann, who was then the head of Curtis. I studied at Curtis for seven years on a scholarship and graduated In 1934. Those were the happy years!” As Bolet speaks, his fierce demeanor seems imperceptibly to alter. The stern face, breaking into frequent smiles, assumes enormous charm; the voice, with its initially curt, stacéato timbre, relaxes into good‐humored cordiality. A man‐ofthe‐world ambience makes itself felt. “After Curtis,” he continues, “I decided to go to Paris. By this time, I was so sick of schools, and teachers and piano lessons, that I decided to simply live practice on my own, and listen to a lot of music. I did all this for nine months, then went to London for another month of just living. Finally, the little money I had ran out, and this time, another member of my family came to the rescue. My eldest brother, Nico, who was a military man, very kindly gave me enough money, to make it possible for me to give a number of recitals in Europe. That's how my concert career began. I played recitals in Amsterdam, the Hague, Paris, London, Berlin, Vienna, Milan. I was well received. “You see, I've always been well received. I can honestly say that wherever I played, both the public and the press received me very well. Unfortunately, I've never had the kind of overnight success that so many young pianists of today enjoy. I've arrived through a very, very slow process of constantly maturing and growing. Actually, don't regret this. I think there is something quite lethal in quick success. I've watched dozens of young pianists receiving early success, and four or five years later they are finished. One doesn't hear about them again. “As for me ... well, I should most probably have stayed in Europe. Instead, I chose to return to Curtis. I got it in my head to study conducting. And so I did—with Boris Goldovsky, from whom I learned a great deal, and with Fritz Reiner, from whom I learned nothing. All that Reiner taught me was to memorize a score. Finally, one day, Reiner told me, ‘Bolet, you're a wonderful pianist, but you'll never be a conductor.’ And that was that. The next thing I did at Curtis was to assist Rudolf Serkin. In those years, Serkin concertized a great deal, and I would take over his classes during his absence. I taught most of his pupils, including Eugene Istomin and Seymour Lipkin. “And then, World War II came along. I was to be drafted in this country. I passed my physical, and a date of induction was set. In the meantime, my brother Nico, who had by then become the head of the engineer corps in the Cuban army, and who was close to Cuba's President Batista, happened to mention to the President that I was about to be inducted in the U. S. Army. Well, when Batista heard that, he called an aide, and the next thing I knew, I received a cable which read ‘President Batista orders you return Cuba immediately.’ So, I was released from American induction, went to Cuba, trained for a few months, then was sent back to Washington, D.C., and was made Assistant Military Attaché tothe Cuban Embassy. “Right in the middle of the war, in 1944, Batista lost the election in Cuba, and suddenly, I was out of my job in Washington. Well, I headed straight for Philadelphia, presented myself to the draft board, and was immediately inducted in the American army as a private. I qualified for infantry OCS, was made an infantry second lieutenant, and was sent to Japan, The war ended, and I remained in Tokyo—in the Special Service, which was the entertainment unit. I organized endless shows, and I managed to squeeze in some playing myself. My crowning achievement was a full‐scale production of The Mikado, with full orchestra, which I conducted. Life Magazine printed five pages of photographs of that production, and with that, my army career came to an end. In 1946, I returned to civilian life—hard times. “Talk about disappointments and frustrations! What kept me going during that period was simply playing. I played for everybody—and everywhere—and for no money. And people kept hearing me play, and they would say, ‘My God! Where have you been? Why aren't you at the top?’ And I played for some pretty important people, such as Mitropoulos and Rodzinski, and Koussevitsky, and they, too, kept exclaiming, ‘My God! Where have you been, Bolet?’ You see, it was a question of not having had the good fortune to be heard at the right time by the right people in the right place. “Finally, a few breaks came my way. Rodzinski heard me play in Havana in 1949, and he gave me letters of introduction to people at the New York Philharmonic. Mitropoulos was the conductor then, and, after an audi tion, I was engaged to play the Prokofiev Second Concerto with him. Later, in 1951, Koussevitsky invited me to play at Tanglewood, which I did, but not with him—he, died just then. So, the career was slow and difficult .. . and the years kept rolling by. “Look, my whole life can be summed up in a nutshell. Everything I have ever done has been geared to promoting and advancing and furthering my career. That is one of the reasons I have never married. For me, it was either marriage and a family, or a career. I chose a career, and all my life has been in the pursuit of one goal: to mature as a pianist, as a musician, as an artist. It has taken me a very long time. I think I have achieved that goal. “Don't forget that during my lifetime, I have had the opportunity of hearing 90 per cent of the greatest pianists of the day. I heard Backhaus, Cortot, Rachmaninoff, Paderewski, Gabrilowitch, Bauer, and, of course, HofMinn. These are legendary names! Among them, I always had two idols: Hoffmann and Rachmaninoff. Although I have never consciously tried to imitate them, their brand of piano playing has been my ideal. These are the pianists I identify with.” Jorge Bolet pauses. He reflects. Then ... “As a pianist, I am not a purist. I mean, don't consider a composer's score as sacrosanct. To me, all that is so much hogwash. And Liszt is a perfect case in point. Liszt must be played with great freedom, great abandon. When I play Liszt, I take a great many liberties. I alter the text ad libitum. Because I'm sure that Liszt was, himself, the kind of pianist who would never hesitate to take liberties, not only with his own music, but also With the music of others. You see, Liszt was not the kind of Romantic that Chopin was—or Schubert or Schumann or Mendelssohn. In Liszt the romantic style is carried to its extreme—and that is how I play him. The point is, the moment you take a composer's score as gospel, that's the moment the music comes out sounding sterile. To me, music is something that lives—that is alive. When you play, you must bring a composition to life. For the past five years, have been professor of piano at the University of Indiana, in Bloomington, and I instil this in all pupils. I tell them that a score is merely a negative. It is a piece of paper with signs and symbols on it, conveying only a poor approximation of what composer really had in mind. I mean, a written piece of music is the deadest thing in the world! “And so, the trick is to turn those dead scribbles and squiggles into a living experience. Pianists who consider the score as being the Bible, turn out to be excellent craftsmen. They wiggle their fingers very well, and they play all the notes, and follow all the markings and play all the fortes and pianos. They consider these things as absolutes. But I can tell you only this: From the vantage point of my 58 years—from learning and growing and investigating and searching—I have found only one absolute in music, and that is that there is no absolute. Everything in music is relative. Everything in music must be sifted through one's musical mind and personality. That's what music‐making is all about.” I ask Bolet, now an American citizen, whether he still has any contact with his native Havana—whether Castro's Cuba considers him a hero. At this, his eyes blaze, and that earlier dark mien envelops him. “I am a hero to the Cubans in exile,” he says quietly. “And I am a hero to my former good friends who are still living in Cuba. I know that the name Bolet is very, very much on the blacklist. I always felt that if I ever got on a plane that was hijacked to Cuba, I would be separated at once, and would probably be grilled and put through a third degree.” With that, Bolet falls silent on the subject. Given the years of hardship and set‐backs, I ask Bolet whether it was all worth it. Would he go through it all over again? “I think I can safely say that at no time have I ever become bitter or resentful during the years of my struggles. I've never been envious or jealous of other people's success. I always delighted in my colleagues' good and great fortune. As for going through it all over again, I can only say that I'm a very pragmatic man. I never, but never encourage anyone to take up a concert career. I always try to paint the darkest picture possible, because I feel that the darkest picture is the real picture. My advice is more inclined to be, If there is anything at all in this world that you can do, and whereby you could be happy, by all means, do that. Don't take up, a concert career! It is one of, the most heartbreaking, impossible, and difficult things that anyone could wish for. Believe me, I know!”

I have visited the exquisite city of Bath a number of times over the last 30 years, but only this time (July 2026) did I happen to know about Jorge's connection, which I uncovered not so long ago. On Monday 5 June 1989, The Gloucestershire Echo announced 'Today. Jorge Bolet: a piano recital at the Theatre Royal Bath, Somerset; part of Bath International Festival.' This was his final performance in Britain, and it took place in the famous city of honey-coloured stone, a spa town founded and named Aquae Sulis ("the waters of Sulis") in AD c.60 by the Romans, who built baths and a temple in the valley of the River Avon. (Bath became popular as a spa town in the Georgian era, 1714 to c. 1830. Jane Austen spent several years living and writing in Bath; two of her novels are set in the city - Northanger Abbey and Persuasion.) See panel for review in the Bristol Evening News. Bath is the primary filming location for Regency London in Bridgerton, a television series which I have not seen. JB's final performance was on 8 June in Berlin.

Jorge Bolet Ambassador Auditorium Recitals The 3 CD set is now available for purchase from First Hand Records or your usual source. Exciting times!

In February 1960, Jorge, in response to a question during an interview with Ruth Lafranz in New Orleans, Louisiana, USA - "What does it take to be a concert pianist?" - replied: 'It takes talent - you must have that. But it also takes the patience of Job, the strength of an elephant, the cunning of a fox and the tenacity of an ant.' Well, his patience and tenacity paid off, and he finally made his début in Belgium in 1988. He told a newspaper (De Standaard, 25 May 1988) that he had never performed in Belgium ['because I have never been invited'] but in the autumn 'he will embark upon an extensive European tour with the BBC Symphony, which will include a date in Brussels/ Bruxelles.'​ In fact he had just played in Antwerp, Belgium’s stylish second city. ​​ 10 May 1988 deSingel, Antwerp, Belgium ​Mendelssohn, Beethoven, Franck & Bellini-Liszt 17 October 1988 Paleis voor Schone Kunsten, Brussels, Belgium [Festival van Vlaanderen] Liszt 1 [+Dvořak, Symphony No.7 in D minor Op.70 (1885)] BBC Philharmonic/ Bernhard Klee Jacques van Deun in De Standaard (19.10.1988) noted that JB 'believes in this type of music and succeeds in elevating the concerto to a higher artist level, thereby making the work musically compelling. The elderly pianist's almost inevitable minor slips were of no consequence, as he still commands a powerful clear touch on his Baldwin piano, from which he is inseparable. There were, however, some minor issues with synchronisation between soloist and orchestra.' Antwerp connections? 13 March 1988 (Sunday), Royal Festival Hall, London inc. Beethoven Sonata No.31 Op. 110 in A flat and Bellini/Liszt, Réminiscences de Norma. The programme says that Bolet plays a Baldwin piano supplied by Pianomobil Antwerp. (I attended this recital.)

"I've been a long time arriving everywhere" Gaël is generated by A.I. The more I research his life, the more I am now convinced that there was no one big moment for Jorge Bolet, but a series of building blocks (as he himself said, if not in those actual words). Near the end of his life, he told someone that he felt as if he'd finally 'done it'. One of the most poignant things he said was in 1975 when asked why he was so late getting up to Toronto for the first time (he had already played in other Canadian cities), he replied: "I've been a long time arriving everywhere". Yes, I know I'm British, but I would actually say the biggest moment was those 1983 Rachmaninoff masterclasses for the BBC: the 'coping stone' on his career.

On 8 June 1989, JB gave his last public recital (in Berlin, Germany) Mattheus Smits has sent me a photo of the last page of the schedule with a note: "As you can see on this itinerary the last performance of Jorge with an orchestra was Rachmaninoff's third concerto in Herford and Paderborn. The conductor was Alun Francis. The performance was recorded and broadcasted by WDR. "I was not able to attend but my good friend Hans did. Jorge told him that he had just come from Canada where he recorded the Chopin concertos. That means that the recording dates on the recording (25 +26 May ) are not correct. It was funny to Jorge and Alun Francis (Wales, UK, b.1943, currently Principal Conductor of the Orquesta Filarmonica de la UNAM, Mexico City) when they found out that they had worked together before, and that both of them did not remember that indeed they did. If I am not mistaken, they performed Brahms 2. "When my friend Hans found out that the performance would be recorded (not digitally - which is rather strange, given the period) the recording team provided him with a copy immediately after the performance. After these two performances, Jorge made his way to Berlin for what was going to be his final public performance. "I have always felt happy to know that Jorge was able to finish his "orchestral" career with a piece most dear to him."