【古殿唱片音樂故事】一個人，一把琴，一生只做自己想做的事——費利克斯・阿優(Félix Ayo,1933-2023)與1972年東京「大師日本錄音」
古殿殿主
這張唱片的封背，有一篇文章。
作者叫關根俊郎，日本古典音樂評論人，長年撰寫唱片解說，是那個年代與西方演奏大師有深度接觸的少數日本樂界人士之一。他在文章開頭寫道，他曾與費利克斯・阿優有過兩次私下的交談機會。
兩次。親身的。有對話，有現場，有細節。
這種文字，在今天已經不可能再出現了。
一個只屬於那個年代的文化現象
要理解這張唱片為什麼存在，要先理解一件事。
1960年代到1980年代，戰後日本經濟高速成長，古典音樂消費市場隨之爆發。日本成為全球最重要的古典音樂市場之一，卡內基音樂廳的大師們開始把東京、大阪列為必訪城市。演奏大師絡繹訪日，場場爆滿。
這個時候，日本各大唱片公司嗅到了機會。東芝EMI、CBS索尼、Victor、Philips日本——他們趁著大師訪日的空檔，企劃專屬錄音：邀請這些演奏家在日本本土的音樂廳或錄音場地收音，動用當時最頂尖的日本錄音技術，不計成本製作，在日本市場發行。
這批錄音，我們今天稱之為「大師日本錄音」。
它們的特殊之處，不只是「大師在日本錄的音」。而是：這些曲目組合，往往是那位演奏家在全球正式錄音目錄裡找不到的——是訪日期間的特別企劃，是只有在日本才能留下的東西。這批錄音大部分只在日本發行，少數品質特別出色的，後來被世界重新發現，輾轉再版，成為全球樂迷熟知的名錄音。但大多數，就這樣靜靜留在日本。
1990年代，泡沫經濟崩潰，日本唱片市場萎縮，這種不計成本的企劃模式無以為繼。「大師日本錄音」作為一種文化現象，就此終結。它只存在於那三十年。
1972年7月，世田谷區區民會館
1972年7月5日與13日，阿優帶著他那把1744年製造的 Guadagnini 小提琴，走進東京世田谷區區民會館，留下了維塔利《夏康舞曲》、柯賴里《小提琴奏鳴曲》、韓德爾《小提琴奏鳴曲》三首曲目的錄音。東芝EMI製作，Angel 廠牌發行，只在日本。
這些曲目，阿優與同伴在日本的舞台巡迴中從未演出。這張唱片，是聽到這個詮釋的唯一機會。
迄今為止，這個錄音從未CD化。黑膠，是唯一的載體。
它從1972年等到今天，不是因為沒人知道它，而是沒有人去推它——它屬於「大師日本錄音」裡沉默的大多數，靜靜地等待有人把它從書架上取下來，認真放一次。
關根俊郎的兩次相遇
關根俊郎在封背寫下的，不是通常意義上的唱片介紹文。那是一份目擊記錄。
第一次是1972年2月。阿優以「羅馬獨奏家合奏團」成員的身分來日，關根俊郎與他私下交談，同行者還有大提琴家恩佐・阿爾特貝里(Enzo Altobelli,1926-1986)。關根帶著一個很大的問號去見他——因為阿優剛剛做了一件讓整個古典音樂界都困惑的事。
見到本人之後，關根俊郎寫道，阿優是一個言談舉止都散發著知識分子氣息的人，性格沉穩，若說他是數學家或哲學家也不足為奇。然而正是這樣的一個人，在音樂中卻能展現出颯爽、甚至帶有冷冽激情的生命力——這個反差，讓關根深感驚訝。
這樣的人說出那句話，你才真正理解它的重量。那不是衝動，不是不甘心，而是一個像哲學家一樣想清楚了之後，做出的決定。
阿優是「義大利合奏團」（I Musici）巔峰時期的首席小提琴。那是一個引領全球巴洛克音樂熱潮的傳奇樂團，1955年錄製的韋瓦第《四季》榮獲法國唱片大獎，最終累積賣出超過一千萬張。阿爾特貝里是那個黃金陣容裡的大提琴首席。這樣的兩個人，連同中提琴家蓋丁(Alfonso Ghedin,1936-2022)，在樂團聲望如日中天的時候，一起離開了。
關根想知道為什麼？
阿優告訴他：在義大利合奏團的17年裡，他們幾乎只演奏巴洛克音樂，走遍全世界。他們確實登上了那個山頂。但站在山頂上，他意識到這座山之外還有更廣大的世界，而剩下的生命不能只是守著一個已知的頂點。「世上美好的音樂不只有巴洛克。我們內心強烈渴望嘗試浪漫派的作品。」
於是他們離開，成立了「貝多芬四重奏羅馬」（Quartetto Beethoven di Roma），與鋼琴家卡洛・布魯諾共同開始了音樂家的「第二人生」。
阿優最後說了一句話，讓關根俊郎記了很久：
「我知道收入會減少，但我無論如何都想這麼做。」
第二次相遇，就是這張唱片的錄音現場。關根俊郎親眼看見阿優把長長的樂譜黏接起來，橫跨兩個譜架演奏維塔利《夏康舞曲》，只為了不必翻譜——那首曲子，一旦斷開，那根情感的弦就斷了。休息時，他好奇地問鋼琴家布魯諾，這個版本是誰的改編。布魯諾笑著說：是我自己編的。
一位音樂評論人，在錄音現場，記下了這一切。這份文字，就印在這張黑膠的封背上，從1972年保存至今。
卡洛・布魯諾：那個讓鋼琴唱歌的那不勒斯人
關根俊郎對布魯諾(Carlo Bruno,1935-2017)有一段專門的描述，值得在這裡轉述。
布魯諾在日本的知名度，在1972年幾乎是零。他以鋼琴家身分到日本演出時，觀眾稀稀落落。但演奏開始之後，場子就變了。他身形不高，但一旦坐在鋼琴前，全身彷彿化作音樂，歌唱性的旋律線條從指尖傾瀉而出。安可的呼聲一直沒有停止。
在這張唱片裡，布魯諾不只是伴奏的鋼琴家，而是以作曲家的身分，親自為通奏低音（Basso Continuo）聲部重新配置，包括維塔利《夏康舞曲》完整的羽管鍵琴聲部。這是一項需要深厚巴洛克和聲學識的工作，在1972年的錄音現場極為罕見。作曲家演奏的鋼琴，和一般鋼琴家不同，音樂構思更有深度。
一個人，一把琴，51年
我們現在知道那個「第二人生」走了多遠。
阿優在2023年9月24日辭世，享壽90歲。從他39歲離開義大利合奏團，到生命的最後一天，他又走了整整51年。
「貝多芬四重奏羅馬」走遍了全世界——卡內基音樂廳、柏林愛樂廳、米蘭史卡拉歌劇院、阿姆斯特丹音樂廳、雪梨歌劇院。光是1980年代，他們就演出了750場音樂會。晚年，他在羅馬聖切契利亞學院持續開設大師班長達15年，獲頒榮譽教授頭銜，並在日本、美國、加拿大、澳洲等地巡迴教學。2023年，在辭世前幾個月，他完成了自傳的最後一頁，書名叫《帶著一把小提琴環遊世界》。一個90歲的人，用文字整理了自己整個音樂人生，然後放下了琴弓。
他終其一生演奏同一把小提琴：那把1744年製造的 Guadagnini，跟了他超過半世紀。Guadagnini 的音色比 Stradivari 更暗，更溫煦，像深秋午後的光線，與羽管鍵琴的混融，天生就有一種義大利室內樂的氣息。這張1972年的東京錄音，就是那把琴在他生命最成熟時期留下的聲音。
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One Man, One Violin, and a Lifetime of Following His Heart— Felix Ayo (1933–2023) and the 1972 Tokyo "Master Japanese Recordings"
On the back of this record sleeve, there is an essay.
The author is Toshiro Sekine, a Japanese classical music critic who spent years writing liner notes. He was one of the few in the Japanese music scene of that era who had deep, personal contact with the Western masters. He begins his essay by mentioning that he had the chance to speak privately with Felix Ayo twice.
Twice. In person. A real conversation, a physical space, and vivid details.
In today’s world of digital snippets and distant PR, this kind of writing—and the connection it represents—has all but vanished.
A Cultural Phenomenon Unique to Its Era
To understand why this record exists, we first have to understand the world it was born into.
Between the 1960s and 1980s, Japan’s post-war economy was skyrocketing, and the market for classical music exploded along with it. Japan became one of the most vital markets in the world. The masters who graced Carnegie Hall began to see Tokyo and Osaka as "must-visit" stops. Every performance was packed to the rafters.
Major Japanese record labels—Toshiba EMI, CBS Sony, Victor, Philips Japan—sensed a unique opportunity. They began to plan "exclusive recordings" during the gaps in these masters' tour schedules. They invited these virtuosos into Japanese concert halls or studios, utilized the absolute pinnacle of Japanese recording technology of the time, and spared no expense to produce records specifically for the Japanese market.
Today, we call these the "Master Japanese Recordings."
What makes them special isn't just that they were "recorded in Japan." It’s that the repertoire was often something you couldn't find in that artist’s global discography. These were special projects, capturing moments that could only happen in Japan. While most of these remained tucked away in the Japanese market, a few were so exceptional that they were eventually "rediscovered" by the world and reissued as legendary recordings. But most of them simply stayed there, resting quietly on Japanese shelves.
When the bubble economy burst in the 1990s, this "no-expense-spared" model became unsustainable. The "Master Japanese Recording" as a cultural phenomenon came to an end. It belonged strictly to those thirty golden years.
July 1972, Setagaya Public Hall
On July 5th and 13th, 1972, Felix Ayo walked into the Setagaya Public Hall in Tokyo with his 1744
Guadagnini violin. He recorded three pieces: Vitali’s Chaconne, and violin sonatas by Corelli and Handel. It was produced by Toshiba EMI under the Angel label, released only in Japan.
Ayo and his companions never performed these specific pieces during their Japanese tour. This record was—and is—the only chance to hear this particular interpretation.
To this day, this recording has never been released on CD. Vinyl remains its only vessel. It has been waiting since 1972, not because it was forgotten, but because it belonged to the "silent majority" of those Japanese recordings—waiting for someone to finally take it off the shelf and let the needle find its groove.
The Two Encounters of Toshiro Sekine
What Sekine wrote on the back of this sleeve isn't a standard introduction. It is an eyewitness account.
The first meeting was in February 1972. Ayo was visiting Japan as a member of I Musici. Sekine met him privately, accompanied by cellist Enzo Altobelli. Sekine arrived with a giant question mark in his mind—because Ayo had just done something that baffled the entire classical music world.
Upon meeting him, Sekine noted that Ayo exuded the air of an intellectual; he was calm and steady, someone who could easily be mistaken for a mathematician or a philosopher. Yet, this was the same man who, in his music, displayed a crisp, almost "chilly" passion and vitality. This contrast fascinated Sekine.
When a man like that speaks, his words carry weight. It isn't impulse; it’s a decision made after thinking things through like a philosopher.
Ayo was the concertmaster of I Musici during its absolute peak. They were a legendary ensemble that sparked the global Baroque revival. Their 1955 recording of Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons won the Grand Prix du Disque and eventually sold over ten million copies. Altobelli was the principal cellist of that golden lineup. Yet, these two, along with violist Alfonso Ghedin, chose to leave the group just as its fame reached its zenith.
Sekine wanted to know: Why?
Ayo told him: In his 17 years with I Musici, they played almost nothing but Baroque music, traveling the entire globe. They had indeed reached the top of that mountain. But standing there, he realized there was a vast world beyond that peak. He couldn't spend the rest of his life guarding a summit he already knew.
"There is so much beautiful music in this world beyond the Baroque. We have a powerful inner hunger to try Romantic works."
So, they left. They formed the Quartetto Beethoven di Roma and began their "second life" as musicians. Ayo said something then that stayed with Sekine for a long time:
"I know my income will decrease, but I want to do this anyway."
The second meeting was at the recording session for this very record. Sekine watched as Ayo taped long sheets of music together, stretching them across two stands to play Vitali’s Chaconne without having to turn a page. Ayo knew that if the flow was interrupted for even a second, the emotional thread would snap. During a break, Sekine asked the pianist, Carlo Bruno, whose arrangement they were using. Bruno smiled and said: "It’s my own."
A critic, at a recording session, capturing these tiny, human moments. This text has been preserved on the back of this vinyl since 1972.
Carlo Bruno: The Neapolitan Who Made the Piano Sing
Sekine’s description of Carlo Bruno is worth sharing. In 1972, Bruno was virtually unknown in Japan. When he first performed there, the audience was sparse. But the moment he started playing, the atmosphere shifted. He was a small man, but once seated at the piano, his entire body seemed to turn into music. Cantabile melodies poured from his fingertips. The calls for encores wouldn't stop.
On this record, Bruno isn't just an accompanist. He acts as a composer, re-arranging the Basso Continuo parts himself. This required a profound knowledge of Baroque harmony—a rarity in a 1972 recording session. A piano played by a composer has a different depth; the musical architecture is felt more profoundly.
One Man, One Violin, 51 Years
We now know how far that "second life" took him.
Felix Ayo passed away on September 24, 2023, at the age of 90. From the moment he left I Musici at 39 until his final day, he walked that path for 51 years.
The Quartetto Beethoven di Roma toured the world—Carnegie Hall, Berlin Philharmonie, La Scala, the Concertgebouw, the Sydney Opera House. In the 1980s alone, they performed 750 concerts. In his later years, he taught masterclasses in Rome for 15 years and toured Japan, the US, and Canada. In 2023, just months before he passed, he finished the final page of his autobiography, titled Around the World with a Violin. A 90-year-old man, organizing his musical life into words, and then finally laying down the bow.
He played the same violin his entire life: that 1744 Guadagnini. It stayed with him for over half a century. A Guadagnini has a darker, warmer tone than a Stradivarius—like the light of a late autumn afternoon. When blended with the harpsichord, it possesses a natural, innate Italian chamber music "breath."
This 1972 Tokyo recording is the sound of that violin, captured at the most mature stage of a man who dared to start over.