“Why should anyone write about me?” Rudolf Serkin was known to ask. “All I did was practice, practice, practice.” Although possessed of great charm, playful and quick, he was also a private person and mistrustful of speech, and for much of his life he fended off interviewers, journalists, and would-be biographers. Responding to a request for a radio interview in 1942, he cabled that in front of a microphone he felt like Harpo Marx. In his eighties he wrote to a friend, “To talk about Bach or Mozart or Schubert or any great music, my tongue would freeze in my mouth.” And when the German magazine Stern asked him for an answer of twenty lines or less to the question Aimez-vous Brahms?, he replied, “Unfortunately I do not have the talent to express in words what I feel about Brahms’s music. ‘This music is among the greatest and deepest and . . .’ You see. [download]
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