Donald Erb did not go gentle into that good night...
I lament the passing of a great American composer, my teacher, mentor and good friend Donald Erb. His music was overwhelmingly successful at shaking the very bones of truth in its uncompromising modes of color and vibration. He will be remembered for the benchmark he laid down for his students that demanded innovation, freshness in sound and, above all, meaning in their music. As a human being, he challenged mediocrity at every turn and level. I am reminded of a concert we attended together in Chicago in the late 80’s. He had a piece on the program as did a handful of other composers. There was a piece that was a truly boring and self indulgent exercise in marathon music making. When it was finally over, he held the hands of those sitting with him to prevent us from applauding. It was a great reminder to me about honoring, as a composer, the sacred space of time and performance and not enabling mediocrity. He had incredible radar for people who were ingenuous and exploitive and was suspicious of composers who wrote music just to look good conducting or performing it.
My early days as a student at the Cleveland Institute of Music (the "tute" as he called it) were full of experiences that demonstrated Don’s unique perspective and his generosity. He always brought fatherly advice along with the musical. He showed us how to write, produce, perform and take our music on the road by doing it with conviction himself. He reminded us that talent was not enough (‘the bars are full of talent") and that you have to take responsibility for your own music in a world that has lost its wonder for the new. And above all, he was always waiting for us at the finish line, letting us know whether what we had composed really had any meaning. You see, he was not impressed with empty intelligence and technique and his lessons were never "heady" or full of pretentious theoretical jargon. When I was stuck in a composition not knowing which direction to take, he often made subtle suggestions like, "what is the opposite of loud, Bill" or "what is the opposite of up." It truly was often as simple as that.
There are so many other stories to share but I will end with this one. There was a large rock outside the Cleveland Institute of Music that he would often sit upon. It was strategically positioned right out side the entrance of the school. It was a place for him to think about his music and greet and chat with the students that passed. Once, a suspicious colleague walked by and remarked that it appeared to him that Don was paid to sit around and do nothing. Don answered, "I’m paid to watch you!". This rock story truly has helped me ward off the need for self justification as an artist and composer. Thank you Don and I will miss you. by William Neil
With Don at the 1999 Merit Music Concert in Chicago. It was a concert of commissioned pieces for young musicians. His Children's Songs for two violins was performed. He dedicated the piece to the children that perished in the Oklahoma City bombing. It was at this performance that I realized how deeply he felt about this human tradegy and now I think about our tradegic legacy of voicing the anguish of the climatic act of inhumanity: 9/11.
With Don at the New Music Chicago performance of The Towers of Silence in 1988. These were the years I was the composer-in-residence at the Lyric Opera of Chicago and Don had a series of pieces performed by the Chicago Symphony: Prismatic Variations, Concerto for Violoncello and Orchestra and the climatic work, Concerto for Brass and Orchestra that was commissioned by the CSO. This is the piece he composed then started all over again! I was inspired. These were great times and I loved being at the rehearsals with him and reading the reviews in the Chicago Tribune at breakfast the next morning. I had heard the premiere of The Towers of Silence at the Cleveland Art Museum when I was a student. He talked to the audience from the stage like a good friend and told the compelling story behind the music. What a thrill it was to perform that piece many years later and have him tell that story again.
