【古殿唱片音樂故事】那個曾經跟藍儂一起即興演奏的小提琴家，把安可小品拉成了一整張歷史告白：吉特里斯(Ivry Gitlis,1922–2020)的小品日本錄音
古殿殿主
先別管小提琴，1968年他在倫敦幹了一件更瘋狂的事
1968年12月，倫敦一個臨時搭起的馬戲團帳篷裡，滾石樂團正在拍攝一部叫《Rock and Roll Circus(搖滾馬戲團)》的電視特別節目。台上一支臨時拼湊的超級樂團——約翰・藍儂（John Lennon，1940–1980）、艾力克・克萊普頓（Eric Clapton,1945-）、滾石的基斯・理查茲（Keith Richards,1943-）、吉米・罕醉克斯（Jimi Hendrix，1942–1970）的鼓手米契・米契爾（Mitch Mitchell，1946–2008）——正在即興演奏一段藍調。
台上還有一個人，手裡拿的不是吉他，是小提琴。
小野洋子（Yoko Ono,1933-）從一個黑色布袋裡爬出來，開始尖聲吟唱，那把小提琴就在她身邊拉出電音感十足、幾乎像在鋸木頭般狂野的即興旋律。這一幕直到1996年才正式曝光，被搖滾樂迷封為「Whole Lotta Yoko」——樂史上最古怪的跨界瞬間之一。
拉那把小提琴的人，叫伊夫・吉特里斯（Ivry Gitlis，1922–2020）。
如果你只知道這一面的他，可能很難想像：這同一雙手，師承的是喬治・安奈斯可（George Enescu，1881–1955）、雅克・蒂博（Jacques Thibaud，1880–1953）、卡爾・弗萊什（Carl Flesch，1873–1944）——二十世紀初「老巨匠時代」最後一批傳奇教師；這同一個人，17年前才因為貝爾格小提琴協奏曲的錄音拿下法國「Grand Prix du Disque」大獎。
今天要介紹的這套黑膠，就是這位遊走在古典殿堂與搖滾即興之間的怪才，在1985年為東芝EMI錄下的一整套小提琴小品集——《Violin Melodies》Vol.1（EWC-60242）與 Vol.2（EWC-60243）。
一個十一歲男孩的募款音樂會
要理解吉特里斯為什麼能在古典與搖滾之間自由來去，得先回到1922年的海法。
他生於當時英屬巴勒斯坦託管地，父母是從烏克蘭移民而來的猶太人。五歲習琴，八歲那年，一位啟蒙老師把他引薦給小提琴巨匠布羅尼斯瓦夫・胡伯曼（Bronisław Huberman，1882–1947）試琴——胡伯曼聽完，立刻發起一場募款，讓這個男孩得以前往巴黎深造。1933年，年僅十一歲的他，以第一名成績考入巴黎音樂院；十三歲，以第一獎畢業。
也正是在這段時期，他把自己原本的名字 Isaac，改成了「Ivry」——一個十來歲的孩子，已經懂得為自己選一個名字，某種意義上，這是他第一次「自己決定自己是誰」。
1938到1940年間，他先後師事喬治・安奈斯可、雅克・蒂博、卡爾・弗萊什——這幾個名字，串起了整個十九世紀末到二十世紀初的小提琴宗師系譜。二戰爆發後，他輾轉抵達倫敦，先在軍需工廠做了兩年工，後被編入英軍藝術兵種，在盟軍部隊和工廠之間巡演鼓舞士氣。
戰後，他在倫敦愛樂管弦樂團完成了漂亮的復出。1954到1955年間，他為 Vox 廠牌錄的貝爾格小提琴協奏曲拿下 Grand Prix du Disque；隔年，他的巴爾托克第二號協奏曲錄音又被《紐約先驅論壇報》選為年度最佳唱片。
一位真正意義上的「黃金時代」傳人，就此確立地位。而這，才只是他傳奇人生的開場。
六十二歲那年，他跟一位從沒合作過的鋼琴家，四天錄完一整套小品
時間快轉到1985年5月，吉特里斯已經62歲，這是他第三度造訪日本。
5月8日到11日，連續四天，他和一位鋼琴家在東京的錄音室裡，錄下了本文這套唱片的全部23首曲子。這位鋼琴家，是練木繁夫（Shigeo Neriki,1951-）。
練木繁夫，1951年生於東京，桐朋學園高等部音樂科畢業後赴美就讀印第安納大學。1974年他參加莫斯科柴可夫斯基國際鋼琴大賽拿下最優秀演奏獎，1976年在美國圖森鋼琴大賽奪冠，同年起與大提琴巨匠亞諾什・史塔克（János Starker，1924–2013）結為二重奏搭檔，往後三十餘年攜手巡演世界，直到史塔克引退——這是一位在國際舞台上站穩了三十年的專業室內樂鋼琴家。
這裡有一個唱片解說頁裡才找得到、外面資料完全查不到的關鍵細節：吉特里斯和練木繁夫，在錄這張唱片之前，從來沒有合作過。
這趟1985年的訪日，是他們兩人真正意義上的「初次見面」。
換句話說，你現在聽到的這整張唱片——那種聽起來彷彿合作了十年的默契——其實是兩位素未同台的音樂家，在短短數天的排練與錄音室時光裡，臨場建立起來的。唱片解說頁的樂評特別稱許練木「以磨練有素的音色與精湛的合奏，將吉特里斯看似奔放不羈的演奏融為一體」；而練木本人事後半開玩笑地說，經過這次合作，往後「無論任何小提琴家都能與之搭配演出」。
一場初識搭檔的化學反應，就這樣被完整封存進了四天的錄音室時光裡。
為什麼一整張唱片，都是別人拿來「充場面」的安可小品？
如果你翻開曲目表，這23首曲子，波爾迪尼〈跳舞娃娃〉、德布西〈棕髮少女〉、薩拉沙泰〈流浪者之歌〉……清一色是小提琴家平常留給安可、返場用的沙龍小品。沒有一首協奏曲，沒有一首奏鳴曲。
唱片解說頁的樂評志鳥榮八郎，把這件事講得很直白：多數演奏家會把全副心力灌注在協奏曲、奏鳴曲這類「大曲目」上，安可小品往往只是意思意思——但吉特里斯恰恰相反。他在正式曲目上一絲不苟地忠於樂譜，唯獨面對這些小品時，才展現出真正屬於他自己、旁人無法模仿的即興妙趣。
另一位撰稿人藤田由之的評論更犀利：他直言1980年代的年輕小提琴家，為了在國際大賽裡入圍，演奏風格日趨「同質化」——反倒是像吉特里斯這種、直接傳承自胡伯曼、安奈斯可、蒂博、弗萊什這批「老巨匠時代」師承、未經現代競賽體制規訓的老將，還保有真正的個性。這段文字寫於整整四十年前，卻精準預言了此後數十年古典樂壇「技術完美、個性稀薄」的普遍焦慮。
也就是說，這張唱片表面上是一張「小品合輯」，骨子裡其實是吉特里斯用一整張唱片的篇幅，向樂壇說：真正的音樂，不在於彈對每一個音符，而在於你敢不敢在最不起眼的地方，留下屬於自己的痕跡。
解說頁裡，那個怕記者、卻隨身帶著一把史特拉底瓦里的老人
這套唱片的解說頁，遠比一般唱片豐厚——收錄了三篇文章，其中富永壯彥那篇訪談紀錄，讀起來幾乎像一篇人物側寫。
據記載，吉特里斯向來以「討厭記者會和採訪」聞名，這位採訪人形容自己是頂著極度緊張且發熱的身體、已做好被放鴿子的心理準備。結果吉特里斯本人穿著輕鬆的襯衫出現，態度溫和，卻異常謹慎地開始被訪問——他向記者形容自己「誰都能聊上兩句，但真正熟到能第二次見面的人不多」；聊到他在巴黎近郊小島上的家，他半開玩笑地說自己會透過望遠鏡觀察有沒有人划船靠近，「有人來，我可能就躲起來了」。
而志鳥榮八郎的文章裡則提到一個更迷人的細節：無論被多少歌迷團團圍住要簽名，吉特里斯永遠有一件事絕不會忘——把那把1713年的史特拉底瓦里，穩穩護在身邊，片刻不離手。他終身持有的那把叫「Sancy」的史特拉底瓦里歷史名琴，1985年這四天錄音室時光裡，發出這些聲音的就是那把琴。
一個怕生、警惕陌生人的老人，和一把跟了他一輩子、比大多數人的婚姻都還要長久的名琴——這種反差，或許正是這套安可小品聽起來如此私密、如此不設防的原因。
這套唱片的「身分證」：兩張唱片，其實是同一次刻片
從版本考證的角度，這套唱片還藏著一個只有仔細比對母盤資料才看得出來的線索。
Vol.1 的兩面矩陣號是 2DJ-3148 與 2DJ-3149，Vol.2 的兩面矩陣號則是 2DJ-3150 與 2DJ-3151——四個號碼完全連號。這證明了這絕非兩次各自獨立的錄音企劃，是同一份企劃，事後才被拆成上下兩卷發行的「一套雙聯作」。這也是為什麼在二手黑膠市場上，識貨的藏家向來把這兩張唱片當成不可拆散的一組來看待、交易。但這兩張單行版，要一次收齊是非常不容易的。
這套唱片於1985年同步發行黑膠與卡帶，隔年（1986年）再轉製為CD——正好落在日本古典樂壇黑膠末期、CD初期並行流通的過渡年代。後來，市面上甚至出現以〈流浪者之歌〉為名、橫跨這兩卷曲目重新編選的國際版精選CD，顯示這批錄音在原始黑膠之後，依然持續以各種形式再版流通。
什麼樣的音樂，才算真正屬於一個人自己的聲音？
回到本文開頭那個畫面：一位受教於安奈斯可的古典大師，在滾石的攝影棚裡跟約翰・藍儂即興拉琴；十七年後，同一個人在東京的錄音室裡，跟一位從未合作過的日本鋼琴家，用四天時間，把一整疊被同行視為「湊數用」的小提琴小品，拉成了一份毫不設防的個人告白。
這兩件事，表面上風馬牛不相及，內裡卻是同一種堅持——吉特里斯終其一生，似乎都在用行動回答一個問題：音樂如果只是把音符拉對，那和機器有什麼分別？
放上這套《Violin Melodies》的時候，不妨留意一下：哪一段旋律的速度，明明「不合規矩」卻讓你心頭一動？哪一個轉折，明明可以更工整，他卻選擇了更任性的處理？
那些地方，就是他留下的音樂「個人簽名」。而你我，或許也可以想一想：在自己的日常裡，有沒有那麼一個角落——一個「不重要」、可以隨便應付過去的小地方——我們是否也願意像吉特里斯對待安可小品那樣，認真地、任性地，留下屬於自己的痕跡？
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【Gudian Music Stories】The Violinist Who Jammed with John Lennon Turned Encore Miniatures into a Historical Confession: Ivry Gitlis (1922–2020) and His Japanese Recordings
Forget the Violin for a Second: In 1968, He Did Something Far Wilder in London
In December 1968, inside a makeshift circus tent in London, The Rolling Stones were filming a television special titled The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus. On stage stood an impromptu supergroup—John Lennon (1940–1980), Eric Clapton (1945– ), Keith Richards (1943– ), and Jimi Hendrix's drummer Mitch Mitchell (1946–2008)—jamming through a dirty blues groove.
Yet standing alongside them was another figure holding not an electric guitar, but an acoustic violin.
As Yoko Ono (1933– ) emerged from a black cloth bag and began her primal, screeching vocalizations, that violin tore right into the air beside her—delivering an electrifying, almost abrasive, raw-edged improvisation. The footage remained unreleased until 1996, eventually christened by rock fans as "Whole Lotta Yoko"—one of the most bizarre and iconic crossover moments in music history.
The man wielding that bow was Ivry Gitlis (1922–2020).
If you only know this subversive side of him, it might be hard to fathom: these very same hands were shaped by George Enescu (1881–1955), Jacques Thibaud (1880–1953), and Carl Flesch (1873–1944)—the last titans of the early 20th-century Golden Age. And just seventeen years before that circus tent, this same man had captured France's prestigious Grand Prix du Disque for his recording of the Alban Berg Violin Concerto.
The vinyl set I want to share today captures this maverick wandering between the hallowed halls of classical tradition and the untamed spirit of rock: Violin Melodies Vol. 1 (EWC-60242) and Vol. 2 (EWC-60243), recorded for Toshiba EMI in 1985.
A Fundraiser for an Eleven-Year-Old Boy
To understand how Gitlis moved so freely between classical rigor and uninhibited improvisation, we must journey back to Haifa in 1922.
Born in Mandatory Palestine to Jewish parents who had immigrated from Ukraine, Gitlis picked up the violin at age five. At eight, his early teacher arranged an audition with the legendary master Bronisław Huberman (1882–1947). Overwhelmed by the boy's innate talent, Huberman immediately launched a fundraising campaign so young Isaac could study in Paris. In 1933, at just eleven years old, he entered the Conservatoire de Paris at the top of his class; by thirteen, he graduated with the Premier Prix.
Around this time, he traded his birth name, Isaac, for "Ivry." For a young boy to choose his own moniker was, in a sense, his first declaration of self-determination.
Between 1938 and 1940, he studied consecutively under Enescu, Thibaud, and Flesch—names that trace the direct lineage of violin mastery from the late 19th through the 20th century. When World War II erupted, he made his way to London, working two years in a munitions factory before joining the British Army's entertainment corps, touring factories and military camps to lift Allied morale.
After the war, he made a triumphant comeback with the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Between 1954 and 1955, his recording of Berg's Violin Concerto for the Vox label won the Grand Prix du Disque; the following year, his Bartók Second Concerto was named Best Record of the Year by the New York Herald Tribune.
A true heir to the Golden Age had arrived. Yet that was merely the prologue to his singular life.
At Sixty-Two: Recording a Complete Encore Anthology in Four Days with a Stranger
Fast-forward to May 1985. Gitlis, now 62, arrived in Japan for his third visit.
Over four consecutive days, from May 8 to 11, he joined a pianist in a Tokyo studio to record all 23 tracks across these two albums. That pianist was Shigeo Neriki (1951– ).
Born in Tokyo, Neriki graduated from Toho Gakuen School of Music before heading to Indiana University. In 1974, he won the prize for best accompanist at the International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow, took first prize at the Tucson Piano Competition in 1976, and became the long-standing duo partner of the legendary cellist János Starker (1924–2013). For over three decades, they toured the world until Starker's retirement—establishing Neriki as one of the world's most accomplished chamber musicians.
Yet here lies a crucial detail preserved only within the album's liner notes: Gitlis and Neriki had never played together before this project.
This 1985 session was literally their first encounter.
The profound chemistry you hear on these records—sounding as though they had played together for a decade—was forged entirely in real-time over four days of rehearsal and recording. Liner critic Eihachirō Shitori praised Neriki for "seamlessly grounding Gitlis’s wild, untamed playing with his polished tone and impeccable ensemble sensibility." Neriki later joked that after surviving this spontaneous trial by fire, he felt ready to accompany "any violinist on the planet."
A pristine, unrepeatable spark between two strangers was forever etched into those four days of tape.
Why Fill a Double Album with Mere "Encore Miniatures"?
Look through the tracklist: Poldini’s Dancing Doll, Debussy’s The Girl with the Flaxen Hair, Sarasate’s Zigeunerweisen… They are all salon showpieces and encore miniatures that violinists typically toss off at the end of a concert. Not a single concerto, not a single sonata.
Music critic Eihachirō Shitori observed this phenomenon directly: most virtuosos pour their entire soul into grand concertos and monumental sonatas, treating encore miniatures as pleasant afterthoughts. Gitlis was the exact opposite. While scrupulously faithful to the score in larger works, it was precisely within these modest pieces that his idiosyncratic, uncopyable improvisatory soul truly broke free.
Another commentator, Yoshiyuki Fujita, offered a sharper critique: in the 1980s, young violinists increasingly smoothed over their musical personalities in pursuit of competition awards, resulting in widespread stylistic homogenization. By contrast, a veteran like Gitlis—trained directly under Huberman, Enescu, Thibaud, and Flesch, untouched by the modern contest circuit—retained an authentic, unapologetic individuality. Written forty years ago, Fujita’s words presciently diagnosed the anxiety that plagues classical music today: flawless technique paired with a sterile soul.
On the surface, this set looks like a casual collection of parlor pieces. In reality, it was Gitlis's manifesto to the musical world: true artistry is not about playing every note safely; it is about having the courage to leave your distinct human imprint in the most unassuming corners.
The Liner Notes: A Stradivari-Wielding Hermit Who Feared Journalists
The liner notes included with this release are unusually substantial, featuring three full essays. Takehiko Tominaga’s interview, in particular, reads like an intimate character study.
Gitlis was notorious for disliking press conferences and interviews. Tominaga recalled showing up with a racing heart and sweaty palms, fully braced to be stood down. Instead, Gitlis arrived in a casual shirt, gentle yet intensely guarded. He candidly remarked to the interviewer, "I can make small talk with almost anyone, but there are very few people I feel close enough to meet a second time." Describing his secluded home on a river island near Paris, he quipped that he kept binoculars by the window to watch for approaching boats: "If someone rows over, I might just go hide."
Shitori noted an even more touching detail: no matter how many adoring fans swarmed him for autographs, Gitlis never let his guard down regarding one thing—his 1713 Stradivarius. He kept it tucked firmly against his side, never letting it out of his physical reach for a single second. Known as the "Sancy," this instrument accompanied him throughout his life, and its voice is the very one singing across these four Tokyo recording days.
A reclusive man wary of strangers, anchored to an instrument that stayed with him longer than most human marriages—this striking contrast explains why these encore pieces sound so vulnerable, intimate, and undefended.
The Album’s Fingerprint: Two LPs from a Single Master Cut
From a discographical standpoint, these records carry a hidden clue etched into their runout grooves.
The matrix numbers for Vol. 1 are 2DJ-3148 and 2DJ-3149; Vol. 2 continues seamlessly with 2DJ-3150 and 2DJ-3151. The four sequential matrix codes prove this was never two distinct recording projects, but a single, unified double-album session divided across two volumes at release. That is why seasoned vinyl collectors always seek them out as an inseparable pair—though tracking down both original Japanese pressings together remains quite a challenge today.
Released simultaneously on vinyl and cassette in 1985, the set was transferred to CD the following year (1986)—right during the historic transition from vinyl to digital in Japan. Later, international compilation CDs under titles like Zigeunerweisen reshuffled these tracks, proving how these Tokyo recordings continued to find new listeners across formats.
What Does It Mean for Music to Truly Belong to a Person?
Recall the opening scene: an Enescu-trained classical master jamming with John Lennon under a London circus tent. Seventeen years later, that same man sat in a Tokyo studio with a Japanese pianist he had just met, spending four days turning an armful of light encore miniatures into a raw personal testament.
These two moments might seem worlds apart, yet they flow from the exact same conviction. Throughout his life, Gitlis answered a fundamental question: if making music is merely about executing notes correctly, how does a human differ from a machine?
When you drop the needle on Violin Melodies, listen closely: where does a tempo fluctuate "improperly" yet pierce your heart? Where does a phrasing turn intentionally erratic rather than polite and neat?
Those fractures are his personal signature. And perhaps they offer a quiet reflection for our own everyday lives: in those small, seemingly insignificant moments we are tempted to rush through—are we willing, like Gitlis with his encores, to deliberately, unapologetically leave behind our own human trace?