The Incredible Gift I Received from the Late Larry Rachleff

I am deeply saddened to learn of the passing of Larry Rachleff.

I only had the privilege of working him once but that experience had a profound impact on me as a musician and a human and I'd like to share the story.

30 years ago today marked the first day of the final rehearsal cycle for the Boston University Tanglewood Institute's Young Artists Orchestra and it was our first day under the baton of Larry Rachleff.

This was my third summer at Tanglewood but my first in the orchestra (the first two being a part of the Empire Brass Seminar.) The first six weeks had gone really well with rep that included Bruckner 4 and some other heavy hitters. I was full of confidence.

On the final concert was Petrushka and let's just say the rehearsals did not go very well for me. I'm specifically talking about the bear solo. The first crack at it in rehearsal did not go well and it went downhill from there.

This was uncharted territory for me as a tuba player. I had not really faced any adversity in public as a musician and I expected things to go well when there was a tuba in my lap. But the harder I wanted this solo to go well, the worse I did. It was fine in the practice room and then in rehearsal it kept getting worse.

The second to last rehearsal went so poorly that I ate lunch alone afterwards and didn't talk to anyone for like an hour. I was visibly upset and was very much not teachable in that moment. Larry didn't even say a word to me about it. He just kept going.

The dress rehearsal went a little better but still really badly and Larry waited a few bars before stopping for some other reason (I'm sure intentionally to give me and my 17-year-old fear-based ego a wide berth) and then in an almost understated way simply said "Tuba, it's going to be great tomorrow" and then immediately started working on fine-tuning the clarinets.

I sat there in disbelief and thought to myself "What the $@#% have I shown this guy for him to think it's going to be great??!"

Fast forward to the concert with Sam and Chester Schmitz and all of the Empire Brass Seminar tuba students there and you can already see where this is going.

I absolutely *nailed* it. Best I had ever played it - even in the practice room.

The second the solo ended, as my heart was racing at close to 200 bpm, Larry gave me the most subtle nod from the podium that was accompanied with a loving look like "I told you, kid." I will never forget that look.

I give him *100%* of the credit for my success that day. In spite of two weeks worth of evidence to the contrary, I suddenly believed in myself the moment before that solo hit. And it was all because his belief in me, a 17-year-old kid he had just met, was unwavering. He was a magician.

I didn't think about it this way at the time, but after analyzing it, the entire two weeks were a music education master class in my direction:

What to say and what not to say. When to say it and when not to say it. The words. The tone. The empathy. Inspiring the musicians around you to believe in themselves. Giving all of the credit afterwards, even when you played a huge role in what transpired.

He taught me a lesson 30 years ago that you can't buy. That even when you face extreme adversity (which is not a question of if, but when) that if you believe in yourself, you can accomplish anything. And he also taught me that it is possible to help inspire that feeling in others as a music educator.

Larry, you were a gem and you changed my life and affected my career as a musician profoundly.

Thank you. 🙏

The Most Validating Day of My Life

25 years ago today was possibly the most validating day of my life.

I took Sam Pilafian to his first ever Phish show and he completely lost his mind.

It was maybe during the third song of my first ever Phish show (the previous New Year's Eve) when I thought "Sam has to see this band." It became my mission to get those five humans in the same room.

I flew from Chicago down to Phoenix with the sole purpose of taking him to the 12/9/94 Phish show at the Mesa Amphitheater, even though it was under the guise of "staying in touch with him and checking out ASU for graduate school." I was only a sophomore LMAO (Thanks for the plane ticket Mom + Dad!)

Mesa Amphitheatre

The band came out and launched into a tune called Llama which was at about 180 bpm. Sam's eyes were on the band and I my eyes were glued to him. He was staring without any expression whatsoever. He was giving me nothing. He seemed to be into it but just standing there like a statue.

Trey Anastasio's guitar solo on this version was crazy. Lots of noise and effects. Angular and almost violent while slowly building like a giant angry roar. Just before it peaked, the drummer, Jon Fishman, played a measure of quarter-note triplets on the kick drum underneath the madness.

That drum fill was the precise moment when Sam, who was still standing completely still, suddenly unleashed a double fist pump and at the top of his lungs screamed "%&@$ YEAH!!!" He didn't yell this towards me. He yelled it AT THE BAND. He got "IT" instantly. What they were capable of individually. How cohesive of a chamber group they were. The whole thing. Like, all of it.

After the first tune he said to me something to the effect of "Okay Hitz I get it!" That was already obvious but still filled my heart with pride. Can't put into words how validating the first five minutes of that show were for me as a musician and a human.

The rest of the first set could not have been drawn up any better to show off everything the band could do to a musician like Sam. During the second song's guitar solo, the entire band diminuended until they all completely dropped out except for Trey. He is playing unaccompanied at pp and eventually the rest of the band rejoins him as softly as they can. They then execute one big crescendo to ff together until it all peaks. A band playing pp at an outdoor rock concert literally moments after the the violent, tweaked wall of sound opener. Sam was floored.

The third tune was a song called Guyute, which is one of the most intricate and complex compositions in their entire repertoire. And they nailed the shit out of it. Like walk off the stage positive you advanced to the next round nailed the shit out of it. Again, he was floored.

I could speak at length tune by tune on Sam's reactions but I won't. The perfectly executed accelerando in Sparkle. A barbershop quartet tune. A couple of acoustic bluegrass tunes. Sam commenting on the stage presence of the drummer for his two humorous solo numbers "What a showman. He had that crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. That's how you do it." The versatility they displayed took his breath away.

He saw all-time versions of three Phish tunes that might all be on their Mount Rushmore: Antelope, You Enjoy Myself and Tweezer. The Tweezer is a 26-minute monster jam that featured the jam of another one of their tunes embedded in the middle of it. That jam featured one giant, Mahler-esque build that when it peaked had Sam smiling from ear to ear.

Sam went to a number of other Phish shows in his life. Some with me and some on his own. He got it. He really did. And he bent over backwards while I was his Graduate TA to help cover my studio responsibilities so I could continue to get to shows (which was hard while living in Arizona!) He knew how much they meant to my musical development and my soul.

Sam was one of the first people I called when I found out I was going to be sharing the stage with Trey Anastasio and the National Symphony Orchestra back in 2013. He was almost happier than me! Almost...

So if you see me smiling extra wide tonight from the podium at the Kennedy Center, yes I'm happy as hell to be conducting another Tuba Christmas. But I also might be thinking about Sam's involuntary double fist pump during Llama 25 years ago tonight which holds a very special place in my heart.

Thank you, Sam

What are the odds that in a time long before everyone always had a camera with them that my mother would snap this shot mere moments before my life was literally changed forever.

This is a photo of me waiting to speak to Sam Pilafian for the first time ever. It was taken after an Empire Brass concert at Tanglewood in July of 1988. I was still a few weeks shy of becoming a teenager and had just had my mind blown by this guy. He then spoke to me in a way I'll never forget. Like we already knew each other. Like I, some random gobsmacked kid, was destined for greatness just like him. Like he was an ordinary guy just like me. He didn't have to do that. But he did.

Little did I know that our paths would not just cross again but that he would become like a second father to me. In 1990, he helped to get me into Tanglewood even though I was still 14 and the minimum age was 15. He didn't know me by anything other than my audition tape but he helped get me off the waiting list and into the Empire Brass Seminar.

I was terrified when I got there. Everyone was older than me. I cried in my room the first day. The second day, Warren Deck visited us. I was already petrified and now Warren Deck was there too?! I think Sam saw how nervous I was. He was introducing Warren to everyone and got to me and said to Warren "This is Andrew Hitz. I put this kid on the wait list initially. You know why? Because I thought it was his %$*&ing teacher on the recording." That was the last time I ever even began to question whether I belonged with any group of musicians. What a gift to receive at age 14. He didn't have to do that. But he did.

The next summer at Tanglewood my parents asked Sam about whether I needed a new tuba. He told them that my horn at the time was holding me back and then said that if I had the right equipment that he could promise them that I would never have trouble putting food on the table as a professional tuba player. He didn't have to do that. But he did.

My senior year of high school I auditioned at Boston University. Sam told me very candidly that he almost certainly only had one year left there. He told me that if I came to school at BU that he would only accept his next position, wherever that was, on the condition that I could come with him. He instead suggested that I audition at other schools and in particular that I would really hit it off with Rex Martin. He then said that I was already accepted for graduate school at wherever he ended up. He didn't have to do that. But he did.

The next summer I had to get a job. It was on a farm for minimum wage. I got poison ivy all over my body the first day. After the second day, the phone rings and it was Sam. He wanted me to come work for him for the summer. It involved babysitting his son, Alex, and helping his incredible wife, Diann, with their move to Arizona. He paid me way too much. I felt like I was a member of their family. I got to run the recording gear for a Travelin' Light recording session. Got to hang out at Tanglewood all summer. Got to be surrounded by music and musicians all while getting paid way too much. He didn't have to do that. But he did.

Three years later during my senior year at Northwestern my phone rang and Sam asked how I was paying for grad school. I said I didn't have a plan. He asked if I wanted to come for free and get paid to be his Graduate Teaching Assistant. I laughed and said that sounded like a pretty good deal. He then thrust me into teaching and playing situations that got me out of my comfort zone regularly. What an incredible education I got there.

He told me I was in a band called the Dixie Devils. I asked him how to play Dixie music. He said "You'll figure it out." During my first ever Dixieland gig I was again pretty damn nervous and Sam could tell. Sam was playing trombone on that gig. As he snapped off the first tune, he turned around and said to me (loudly!) "If you tell anyone I was playing this thing in public I will $#*&ing kill you!" and then counted off Sunny Side of the Street. I laughed and wasn't nervous any more. He didn't have to do that. But he did.

When Mike Levine of Dallas Brass called Sam while I was in grad school looking for some recommendations for their next tuba player, Sam told him that not only was I the guy for the job but that Mike didn't even need to have me fly out to audition because he would vouch for me. I was hired on the spot. Mike later told me that Sam was literally the only human on any instrument who he would have let talk him into hiring a player he had never even heard a note of on just a recommendation. Sam really didn't have to do that. But he did.

A few months later Boston Brass called looking for an emergency sub. Luckily for me, Sam was busy. But he again recommended me so passionately that they bought a plane ticket for some 24-year-old kid they'd never heard of to play a big gig at CMEA for 1200 music educators. That gig led to 14 years of traveling the world with friends getting paid to play the tuba on four continents. He didn't have to do that. But he did.

This post is already way too long and I could include literally 20 more major things like this that he has done for me when he didn't have to. He has supported me as a player, a teacher and a father. He has been there for some pretty low lows. And he's been there for all of the highs. He's been like a second father, a crazy uncle, a friend and eventually a colleague all wrapped into one.

The craziest thing about him though is that you could spend just one master class with him and still feel like you had this lifelong connection to him. You know why? Because you did and still do. That's a special human.

I will always cherish this photo of the first time we ever met. I really can't believe it exists.

I love you, Sam. I could never pay you back for everything you've done for me. Thank you. 🙏