She told me that her brother, Dennis Brain, had been gay.Įven so, I now had the devout passion and commitment I had developed towards music, towards brass instruments in general and especially the beloved French Horn.
I told her the story now chuckling about it, and she dropped the biggest curve ball yet! She informed me, quite enjoying it all I must say, that my plan was doomed from the start. Now who would’ve thunk it? Isn’t life amazing? Existence knew this saga was not yet finished. Years later when I had been living in London just a little over 2 years, I happened one day to bump into Dennis Brain’s sister. In that split second, my entire future disappeared. One day as I was mentioning this to a friend, someone came forward and said to me , “Don’t you know? Dennis Brain is dead. His sports car skidded on some wet leaves.
I practiced and practiced, played along with my records, saved money and planned my trip. I made a decision one day at the age of 15 that I would move to England where Dennis Brain lived, become his student and his mistress, and together we would make the most legendary music, and everything I did was toward that end goal. He became the object of my greatest and most consistent fantasy, combining an unfathomable and unreachable beauty that comes from the depth of the artistic soul, together with my burgeoning sexuality, along with a dab of reason thrown in. Beauty, peace, belonging, bliss.ĭennis Brain, considered to be probably the greatest French Horn virtuoso ever, was a pioneer of making this instrument known to the world through his recordings of the Mozart and Strauss Horn Concerti as well as a hauntingly beautiful recording of Benjamin Britten’s Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings, with the divine tenor voice of Peter Peers. Nowadays I wonder what could possibly have attracted a 7 year old to remain in a garden for so many hours, and upon recollection, it seems to me that I had my first experience of God. Looking back, I think this was another experience of transcendence, the first having come, also unrecognized, at the age of 7 when traveling around on my own, hopping from streetcar to streetcar, and came into a residential area where turning a corner I found the most exquisite garden for the rest of the afternoon I stayed entranced in that magical place. The beauty of the sound, especially when a whole section of French Horns were playing together harmoniously, was totally beyond words.
I had every record (remember this was in the 50’s) with a French Horn on it or in it, be it jazz, classical, blues or pop and the local music store man knew to put aside anything with a French Horn, either on the cover or in the music. As I entered teenage-hood, my awakening hormones, desire, love, passion, idealism and a very active fantasy life all came together, finding their expression through the mouthpiece into 12 feet of vibrating, coiled brass tubing.
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