Anner Bylsma
Still reeling from the sad news of the death of this beloved figure, I thought I’d set down a few personal recollections. Of course I grew up knowing his name; and of course, like almost everyone else, I assumed for some time that he was a woman. The first time I remember seeing him live was at a recital he gave at the Wigmore Hall with Melvyn Tan; annoyingly, I don’t remember all that much about it (it was a long time ago!), but I know that it was idiosyncratic, thought-provoking and immensely enjoyable. At one point, looking rather worried, he addressed the audience in his wonderfully soft tones. ‘It says on the programme that we play Beethoven’s 4th sonata,’ he said (or words to that effect) – pause, a puzzled shake of the head – ‘but we don’t! (Another pause.) We play the 5th.’ It was a pretty straightforward announcement, but somehow it had everyone in the hall in stitches; Anner could do that.
Not long afterwards (as I remember) we were both invited to dinner by a mutual friend. It was actually, surprisingly, quite awkward. Our friend knew how much I admired Anner, and how sympathetic Anner was to me because of our shared love of gut strings, Boccherini, etc; but somehow there was too much pressure to get on, and it didn’t quite work. (I had a similar beginning with Heinrich Schiff.) But over the years, we saw each other again a few times – at cello festivals, once in New York, occasionally in Amsterdam – and our relations became gradually warmer.
It was only in the last few years, however, on my rather rare visits to Amsterdam, that we really became friends. By this time he had stopped playing, alas – though his wonderful wife, the violinist Vera Beths, told me that he didn’t suffer too much from that, because he had such a vivid inner life that outer circumstances could not disturb it. I dropped in the first time to the enormous house Anner inhabited with his family, really not expecting to stay more than a few minutes; but once we started talking, there was no stopping until he had to go for a rest. We argued about almost everything – of course we agreed on the most important things, but it was more fun to argue! His dismissal of the norms (‘steel strings are so old-fashioned’; ‘Boccherini was so much more original than Mozart’; etc) were so refreshing, if at times startling. As he went off to his room at the end of that first argument-packed visit, he turned around with a twinkle in his eye (actually, he always had a twinkle in both eyes, but this one was particularly pronounced). ‘I like to talk with people who agree with everything I say,’ was his parting shot.
My times with him – unfortunately too few and far between – were highlights of my year. (Sadly, I was just a few days ago planning my travel to Amsterdam in September with a view to allowing enough time for a long visit.) My final encounter with him was last September. I found his health rather alarmingly diminished; but he was still totally himself. He played me an extraordinary live recording of himself and Vera playing the Brahms Double concerto – quite unlike any performance of that work, but utterly convincing. And he continued to expound outrageous theories about music. One that struck me as uniquely Anner-ish was his insistence that the violin solo from Erbarme Dich, in Bach’s St Matthew Passion MUST start with a downbow (according to Anner, Bach was eminently practical when it came to bowings). He showed me the score. ’See?’ he said. ‘It says forte.’ ‘Er – couldn’t that mean just loud; or rather, in this case, singing?’ I asked. ‘No, no – not possible. It can only mean downbow.’ Okay…
Unfortunately, the end of that visit – the last time I was to see him – was rather marred by the visit of his dog who, having entered the room in friendly fashion, suddenly took a (no doubt justified) dislike to me and bit my finger, hard. Anner was mortified. So was I, I have to say, and a bit worried (it healed quickly, in fact); but on the other hand, I found it quite a cool namedrop over the next few weeks to point at my finger and tell people: ‘I was bitten by Anner Bylsma’s dog.’ Not many people could boast that… And of course Anner and I still parted on the warmest of terms.
So now he’s gone. Lovely that he stayed active to the last – Guy Johnston sent me a wonderful picture (below) of himself drinking wine with Anner after a lesson on the 6th suite less than a month ago; but so sad that he’s gone, and that we will never see that gentle, smiling face, hear that lilting voice, and bask in his radiant warmth again. At least we have his marvellously individual and vivid recordings, made by a musician who was so full of music, and of love.
