Raphael Lambacher

My birth was no sweat for me and went swimmingly. Very shortly afterwards, my dear mother discerned deep-seated musical talent in my vociferous bawling, which preordained me as a ‘Domspatz’ (choir boy) before I could even babble. My path was smoothed by attending a musical kindergarten in my home city, Munich. There, Orff’s Schulwerk soon made me cognizant of the deeper levels of musical discourse, though it quickly became clear that I must renounce a career as percussionist - if only because, to my chagrin, I was mostly put on to the stupid wood blocks instead of the tuneful xylophone I so coveted. Until my predestined elevation to Domspatz at Regensburg Cathedral, I mostly warbled harmless ditties, to the delight of my relatives, and noodled around on the family Steinway, more moonily than musically. In Regensburg, my mentors thought it better to entrust me with my grandfather’s violin, which had been lying idle. This led to early violin lessons with one Mr. Kula, who was from Prague (!!!). The lessons went so well that I was packed off, a 9-year-old choir boy, to the Jugend musiziert competitions, which was great and no less of a triumph, as I was let off school for the duration. Maturing both musically and academically, I spent many a Sunday in Regensburg Cathedral, garbed in a red gown and singing chorales from neumes and mensural notation. Our chorale ‘doorstopper’ weighed at least two pounds, good for your static shoulder and arm muscles. Thus fortified, and mentally and physically unscathed, I left the choir boarding school when my voice broke. Back in Munich, now 15, I attended the local Conservatoire as a visiting student. I kept growing length-wise, which led me to switch to the viola once I started full-time studies, on the advice of my former violin teacher. On graduating successfully, I was granted a further year’s stay to attend a so-called ‘advanced class’, during which I passed my Bamberg audition, the high point of my musical career to date. And all this simply because as a babe at the breast I could bawl with the best. What else mightn’t I have become...? Si tacuisses...