Alec Wilder: Letters I Never Mailed

[fasstrack]

(This is the closest sub-forum I could find for this) I read this a few years back and found an updated and annotated (by David Dempsey) version. I've always enjoyed reading musicians who express themselves in print with artfulness, passion and humor. Wilder is to me one of the best. He's a pretty complex character, a classic wounded Romantic who just cannot adjust to the changing world, a musical Miniver Cheevey. He, like Cheevey, 'kept on drinking', but also chasing the demons by riding trains, (fortunately for us) writing music, and baring his soul and inveighing in print. As with most curmudgeons, probe a bit and you'll find the tenderest of souls. It turned out that many of the unmailed 'letters' were re-creations, a not-uncommon literary conceit. These missives are very candid and touching-and one way to be cathartic w/o starting real-life fires. There are some beautiful notes to children I wish he DID send. My favorite line: (from a largely bitter note to Sinatra) 'Frank, we're growing old'.

[marcello]

I've had this book since it was published, and knowing a bit about Mr. Wilder, find it fascinating, and extremely open and honest. I knew him enough to say hello since one of his oldest and best friends, Louis Ouzer, was my photography mentor. That's Louis' photo of Alec Wilder on the cover and I also have a print of that photo in my collection.

When I was going to school for photography, I also worked the night shift at the hotel where Mr. Wilder lived when he was in Rochester, which was just a few feet from the Eastman School and Lou Ouzier's studio. I'd see and talk to him quite often at Lou's studio ( where he would spend part of some days), in and around the hotel, and at various places around town where there was some musical happenings. Sometimes when he would be quite talkative, it would always surprise a little pip-squeak like me, and at other times he would be sullen and very guarded. At those times I, and everyone else who was smart enough, gave him a wide berth.

One of a kind!

[fasstrack]

I like the fact that he didn't get too attached to his works, once finished. A bit too unattached, it turns out: I had studied with Bill Finegan in the 90s and we stayed in touch almost to his death. He was a great man and, like Wilder, a largely unheralded contributor to American musical history. He and Wilder were friends, as were he and Strayhorn. I attended this ambitious Ken Peplowsy concert at Merkin Hall. Peplowsky commissioned pieces from some reputable writers, who mostly rose to the occasion. But the only piece that really sang and made the sun come out for me was Wilder's Clarinet in Springtime (I was since told written for but rejected by Benny Goodman). I told Bill this when I reported on the concert. He said Wilder had stored a trunk with him. He opened it and found that score. He called Wilder to tell him and ask if he wanted it back. Wilder said 'yes, would you send it?'. So it barely escaped spending eternity in a trunk! And Peplowsky's chops are reportedly still on the floor of Merkin Hall.

[fasstrack]

I've had this book since it was published, and knowing a bit about Mr. Wilder, find it fascinating, and extremely open and honest. I knew him enough to say hello since one of his oldest and best friends, Louis Ouzer, was my photography mentor. That's Louis' photo of Alec Wilder on the cover and I also have a print of that photo in my collection.

When I was going to school for photography, I also worked the night shift at the hotel where Mr. Wilder lived when he was in Rochester, which was just a few feet from the Eastman School and Lou Ouzier's studio. I'd see and talk to him quite often at Lou's studio ( where he would spend part of some days), in and around the hotel, and at various places around town where there was some musical happenings. Sometimes when he would be quite talkative, it would always surprise a little pip-squeak like me, and at other times he would be sullen and very guarded. At those times I, and everyone else who was smart enough, gave him a wide berth.

One of a kind!

Did Ouzer take that picture of Wilder, head in hands, in the shadows like Barrymore contemplating as Hamlet? It's a classic, and as revealing as the letters.