Just heard this sad news. Only yesterday, without being aware he had died, I thought of Barry while cutting some fresh yellow and green zucchini. Back in Berlin, Barry asked me if I knew how to cook it, so I taught him a couple of simple recipes. My Dad always had a wonderful garden, and this was a staple item for us in the 60s and 70s.
Barry McDaniel was a magnificent artist, and a fine, extremely fun-loving person. While I was a Fellow at Tanglewood in 1976, he was a guest soloist with the Festival, and I heard him sing Bach. The next day I asked to sing for him, since I was preparing the difficult Cantata 56 “The Kreuzstab.” We sang and talked a bit, and although he usually never gave lessons, he offered to work privately with me in Berlin, free of charge. I finished my last semester in Boston that year, including my Masters graduate recital at NEC, and started serious fundraising. Because of Barry, a dream was set out before me, a dream which I followed, and consequently had my personal Christopher Isherwood Experience under his benevolent guidance. He met me as promised at Tegel airport, allowed me to board at his sumptuous house (he had already been Kammersänger for years with the Deutsche Oper in Berlin), and I began daily lessons and discovering life in that legendary capital, the city where my Great-Aunt Carrie lived and endured the War.
And this was an exhilarating time to be in West Germany. In the daytime after singing, I explored the backyard rose garden which was in bloom, the charm of the nearby lake, and from my local subway stop I had the opportunity to discover, by day and also by steamy night, downtown Berlin and some of its heady secrets. I met incredible, lovely people, young and old, colleagues and friends of Barry. Gaby, and elderly lady who was his closest friend, made me rich coffee with her Melitta system, taught me to make Apfelstrudel, and gifted me the beautiful score of Fidelio which I still cherish. That summer I guess I learned quite simply that I still had a lot to learn. An outstanding memory is that late one afternoon he sang — for me alone — the entire ‘Dichterliebe’ by Schumann, accompanying himself on his Bechstein. Never since that day has ‘Ich grolle nicht’ had such an impact upon me.
He invited me to several evenings at the Deutsche Oper, where that season he was the marvelous Dandini in ‘La Cenerentola’ — and to hear ‘Fidelio,’ where he was unforgettable “in a rather small role” of the Second Prisoner. Since that night I know the power of Beethoven’s genius in that remarkable scene where the prisoners are liberated into the blinding daylight. Just like his comic timing, Barry’s artistic insight was impeccable: he told me to pay special attention to the last scene. And that was the night I heard Josef Greindl sing onstage, in the role of Don Fernando! Eventually, Rocco became one of my favorite roles to perform, and Fidelio is rooted for me in that first, heady evening ‘Unter den Linden.’
This was also the troubling summer my father died after his last, long combat, and so suddenly I had to leave Berlin. Barry, typical of his generosity, bought me the Lufthansa ticket to Boston that afternoon. Fortunately my patroness in the US felt it was worth rapidly picking up and my returning for the rest of the summer, so one week later I was back in Berlin, more enthusiastic than before! This return to music was perfect therapy really for my mourning, and soon I threw myself into many new adventures, absolutely secure that my Father would have approved! Barry told me about working with his teacher at Juilliard, Mack Harrell, whom I believe studied with Giuseppe De Luca. Years later, our correspondence included letters with advice and encouragement, and his priceless observances on how to interpret Lieder, for he was an absolute master.
Later of course, other teachers became for me other beacons of wisdom or encouragement, but this man, who had never taught before, offered to me a thousand things in his unique way, for which my deepest gratitude is only enhanced by my nostalgia for those precious days of discovery: of living for the first time in Germany, of the art of music-making and singing, and also the precious gift of learning a tiny bit more about myself.
The next year, I came to France “for a few weeks…”