When Stéphane Grappelli died on December 1, 1997, music lovers lost the figure that best connected the violin to the jazz world. Born in Paris in 1908, Grappelli became entranced by jazz as a teenager and made his career by playing violin, piano, and even saxophone at whatever gigs he could get. He formed the famous Quintet of the Hot Club of France with guitarist Django Reinhardt in the 1930s, and in the decades that followed his fame grew steadily. Both as a soloist and an ensemble player, he was a model of graciousness as well as skill. Countless musicians look upon Grappelli as one of their most beloved influences, and a few shared their memories with Strings in this archived article from 1997, reprinted here to commemorate Grappelli’s 100th anniversary of Grappelli’s birth, the 10th anniversary of his death, and the release of a new String Letter Publishing book, Swing Jazz Violin with Hot Club Rhythm, that honors his tradition.

A Great Communicator
I Remember Steph Grappelli collected other violinists. From Yehudi Menuhin to Stuff Smith and all the way out to us, the marginalia, Steph was an egalitarian. Besides being the inspiration for so many, he’s the central link in our chain. From Eddie South in the 1930s to Mark O’Connor’s 1996 duet recording, Steph graciously and gracefully blended in harmony, commented in counterpoint, made his unmistakeable solo statement.

To perform with Grappelli, even for one tune, was to become a part of an exalted community of fiddlers, and that entrée was offered to many. My experience came through his association with the David Grisman Quintet, of which I was a member in the early ’80s. The most intense moments for me came in a joint tour of southern England, Belgium, and France in 1982. It was the experience of a lifetime. Grappelli was a worldwide legend, and his playing with [guitarist] Django [Reinhardt] had shaped my first concept of jazz violin. This tour would involve rehearsal and long periods of actual playing time onstage with the greatest jazz violinist in the world. Alternately terrified and exalted, I struggled to hold onto my embryonic personal style while trying to approach the technical level necessary to blend with and learn all I could from the great man.

To stand on stage with Grappelli, working with him up close, was a revelation. The lightness and floating quality that characterized the last portion of his career was underlaid by a force not always evident to the audience. The illusion was fed by his grace, his ability to focus his energy to the exact spot needed, wasting nothing. At the point of this focus was tremendous power. The only evidence of this was his incredible sound, making tone and intonation into one indistinguishable quality. His dancing rhythm and varied attack made everything he played seem inevitable, and, up close, one realized how much energy was flowing through him, how cleanly he burned.

As the shows progressed, I started to learn the parts better and become more aware. Grappelli, at that point, was not the sort of player to give advice or instruction, at least not to me. An unpredictable combination of brilliantly funny raconteur, curmudgeon, and free spirit, he could take offense at a grease spot on the music paper, and briefly lectured me more than once about the rosin buildup on my violin top and fingerboard.

But he gave me far more than that advice. In our playing there were trading and ensemble sections, and at first I concentrated on playing these parts as perfectly as I could, focusing on intonation, remembering the notes, improvising something interesting. Grappelli suddenly started to get right in my face as we played and wordlessly demanded eye contact. Still playing, he then transmitted all the feeling, emotion, and humor of the music through his eyes and face, dragging my consciousness out of the mechanics and back into awareness of what we were actually saying on our fiddles, turning the music into a two way conversation. This changed everything for me. I was increasingly able to just play music instead of worrying about being compared to the greatest jazz violinist in history. Every night on stage, Steph reminded me in the most direct way possible that the music and our communication were the reason we were there. It was a gift I’ll always carry with me.
—Darol Anger