Bruno Nettl - Obituary

 

Bruno Nettl passed away in the early hours of January 15, 2020, he was born in Prague in 1930. The news went viral among ethnomusicologists and music scholars. Obituaries are already appearing on the web and will soon appear in many scholarly publications—in fact, it will be interesting to see which journals will not devote a page to this remarkable scholar! That is why, rather than offering yet another obituary highlighting Nettl’s merits as an ethnomusicologist and the impact of his numerous publications, I would rather like to tell about the kind of man he was, about his wit and his endearing attitude towards his students. 

 

I was one of his students at the University of Illinois in the 1970s. I met Bruno on my very first day on campus, first in his office and later that day at his home, where a party had been organized to welcome the new doctoral students. He came in his car to pick me up and take me to the party. At the time, I used an Italian passport, and thanks to his suspicion that Italians were not particularly strong on punctuality, he made it clear that I should be at the main door of my student-dormitory at 6 pm sharp. That was the beginning. 

 

In the weeks, months, and years to come I got to know him better and better. In fact, my office as a teaching assistant was on the same floor of the music building, next to his own. Bruno was an early riser. He would get up at nighttime (from my point of view); go to the swimming pool; and from there immediately to work. By the time “normal” people like me made it to the office to begin their work, he had already pretty much accomplished his day’s tasks, with the sole exception of teaching. Satisfied with what he had already produced, he moved leisurely around the department, visiting us in the office, eager to discuss the news of the day that we had not yet read in the newspaper. Painfully conscious as we were of how much there still was to be done, we felt uncomfortable interrupting him to tactfully let him know that we would prefer to postpone the discussion about politics until later in the day. 

 

Bruno Nettl, whose enormous output cannot fail to impress, wrote all his books and articles with—literally—two fingers. He never learned touch-typing. He had a favorite typewriter, though (actually two of them, just in case one were to collapse). But before either of them collapsed, came the computer. In order to use a computer, obviously, one had to learn a few things about it, and for that purpose, a manual was provided. Bruno absolutely refused to read or study such booklets. He said that he was willing to learn all that was necessary, but only through “oral tradition.” That meant that his colleagues and assistants, like me, had to be on call, in case he got stuck with software problems. 

 

Coming from Europe, I found his teaching style remarkably friendly and informal. American professors usually are like that, but Bruno was more informal than others: one day, early in the morning, he even showed up in slippers! When, during seminars, discussions developed among students and someone said something incorrect, he used to correct us in such a gentle manner, it was almost flattering to be found wrong. He would never make us feel humble or humiliated. What I did not know at the time is that in these discussions, in the casual cup of coffee, etc., a very personal relationship developed that was meant to last a lifetime. In fact, Bruno could make friends out of his students; he always cared for our careers, helped whenever possible, and kept in touch with us throughout his life.

 

Bruno’s friendliness and casual manner do not mean that he was not demanding. He was very much so, precisely because he wanted his students to have a career. It is amazing, in fact, how many of them succeeded in becoming noticeable in the field of ethnomusicology. Among all the others, those with whose work I am more familiar are: Gerard Béhague, Ali Jihad Racy, Christopher Waterman, Virginia Danielson, Stephen Slawek, Margaret Sarkissian, Melinda Russell, Victoria Lindsay-Levine, Carol Babiracki, Ted Solis, Samuel Araujo and, of course, Steven Blum and Philip Bohlman. Last and, indeed, least, there was I. I probably did not meet all the expectations of such a great teacher. He never knew, because at the time I kept it a secret, that I invested a good part of my time arranging popular music. A few years ago, while chatting with Margaret Kartomi (Professor of Ethnomusicology at Monash University, Melbourne), she asked me with a smile: “How does Bruno do it: does he simply attract the best people, or does he know how to make people grow to a level of excellence?” All I can say is that Bruno really knew how to trigger enthusiasm and curiosity. Like when, at the beginning of a course devoted to Carnatic music, he started by saying that we were about to begin appreciating the most beautiful music in the world! On another occasion, Bruno gave a lecture in the presence of the then-President of the United States, Bill Clinton. Shortly afterwards, he commented, “Now we finally have a President aware of ethnomusicology!”

 

The life story of this very unusual and brilliant man had a dramatic beginning, like that of many Jewish people who fled Europe to escape the Nazis. He hardly ever spoke about that, but on one occasion, he did mention that once, as a nine-year-old boy, he had to crawl under the benches in a train station to hide from the police. While that was happening, the music playing through the station loudspeakers was Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto. He added that he could never hear that piece again without recalling that terrifying moment. He eventually arrived safely in America with his parents. 

 

His father, Paul Nettl (1889-1972), was himself a distinguished musicologist who became a professor at Indiana University. It is there that Bruno studied and, as a student of George Herzog (1911-1983), eventually decided to write a doctoral dissertation on the music of Native Americans. His father, Paul, keenly interested in the Viennese classics, was not exactly enthusiastic about the choice, but he eventually accepted it and wished his son good luck in making a living by teaching and researching “that kind of music.”

 

These are a few recollections that come to mind. More will surely surface in time. After all, I am quite conscious of one thing: no one, except my parents, ever influenced my life as much and as positively as Bruno Nettl did. Everything I have written in the area of ethnomusicology bears traces of Bruno’s ideas and attitudes. This, of course, does not mean that he would have always approved of how I elaborated upon his input (although when he did not, I had to do a lot of thinking!).

 

Here I will stop. I just wanted to share some memories with my friends in the Swiss Society for Ethnomusicology about what it was like to be a student of Bruno Nettl. I do not doubt that all the other former students remember him with equal affection and gratitude. 

 

Marcello Sorce Keller