Lorber the Hungarian

My Cantorial studies began at age eighteen. The Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion, School of Sacred Music was an undergraduate program, and I started right after high school. Part of the deal was that every student had to study with a private voice teacher of their choice. The method of choosing was to follow the crowd and study with the “hot” teacher.

Alex Lorber was a hysterical, eccentric, mad Hungarian. He had a connection to the great tenor Jan Peerce, to whom he had been a vocal coach. Invariably, during a typical lesson, the phone would ring and Lorber would look at you, and loudly exclaim: “Hello JAAAAAAN! How are you JAAAAAN! I’M TEACHING JECKIE. HE BE GRRREAT HELDENTENOR SOMEDAY!’ Being part of the masquerade, it was my duty to look duly impressed, and being a born schmeichler (I’d had a lifetime worth of experience keeping my mother happy, or getting the shit beaten out of me), it was easy for me to do. Lorber had a facial tick. His right eye would involuntarily close whenever he would put emphasis on a particular word, just like in the movie Young Frankenstein. Humor was a big part of his technique as the lesson would unfold. Anything to eat into the meager half-hour you were allotted. “HEY JECKIE; DID YOU SEE GUNSCHMUUUCK ON TV? HOW ABOUT STAAAR DRECK?” He would refer to women as “poopsicles.” HOW IS YOUR POOPSICLE JECKIE? DID YOU EEENJECT HER WITH YOUR NEEEEDEL?” He had a tendency to degrade the other students, as I’m sure he did to me when the next one would arrive. “SO-AND-SO IS A BEEEEG SCHMUUUUCK! HE CHASES DEE HOOOOOWERS ON BRAUDVAY!” Just when you were ready to resume the lesson, “Jan Peerce ” would call again…

As a teacher, he was horrific. Everyone did the same exercises. It made no difference what your personal vocal issues were—he just put you on a grid. Everyone was taught the same way with the same shtick. After each lesson, I was so hoarse it took me the next six days to recover—just in time for the next lesson. You might ask why I didn’t leave him? I was just a kid, and I figured if it was good enough for all the other schmucks to do, then it was good enough for me. Besides, he was more “my funny uncle” than “my teacher.” How do you leave your uncle? Well, vocally, things got so bad that I was called into the Dean’s office. I was told I had to go visit Dr. Freidrich S. Brodnitz, the renowned ENT man, and “voice doctor to the stars.” My visit to the Viennese physician became a farce worthy of a Marx brothers movie. This was my first throat doctor experience. Initially, I was very impressed with the star-studded picture gallery on his wall—even more so when the patient before me, the great tenor Franco Corelli (one of my vocal idols), walked out of his office. It was my turn. After sitting on the chair, Brodnitz approached me with a piece of gauze in one hand, a dentist mirror in the other, and said: “Stick out yooah tongue.” I hesitantly did so, and he grabbed the end of my tongue with the gauze and tried to insert the mirror into my mouth. Immediately, I began to gag, and with an air of annoyance, he pulled the mirror out. I said: “I can’t do this!” He replied: “Do not vorrrry, I am fffery experienced.” “But I’m gagging!” I said. “You vil NOT geg,” said Brodnitz. He tried again, and I vomited my lunch on his white coat. Screaming curses in German, he walked out of the room, came back a few moments later with a new coat and a nebulizer, and proceeded to anesthetize my throat, after which everything went swimmingly. After finally removing the mirror, he said, “It looks like a herd of elephants have trrrampled ssroo your fffocal chords!” adding:”Whoeffer you are studying viss, you must leave him!”

My next teacher was a Brit by the name of Raymond J.D. Buckingham. I came to Ray because the best singer in the school, Robert Bloch, studied with him. His method was unconventional, incorporating wild, strident sounds done in a very athletic way. It turned out that he was a highly skilled “throat builder” whose technique suited me perfectly. After 6 months, I went back to Brodnitz, who remembered to anesthetize my throat before the exam. He proclaimed that my vocal chords were perfect! But, I digress…

Getting back to Alex Lorber, the question was: how do I terminate my relationship with this guy? Being the guilt-ridden chicken that I was, I did the obvious thing. I had my first wife (yes, I got married when I was nineteen) call him and say: “Jackie can’t come to his lesson. He has bronchitis.” After that, I simply never called him again! Years passed, I continued on my way, and Lorber became a distant memory. In 1969, my buddy Eddie Fogel and I attended a recital by Jan Peerce in Carnegie hall. Peerce was magnificent, and I remember Fogel commenting on the virility of his sound, saying: “Jackie, his balls are coming out of his cuffs!” After the concert, when the people filed out of the great hall, Fogel and I remained, and we each took turns jumping on the stage and singing to see if our voices carried in the giant space. After that we went outside to 57th street, and who do I bump into? Alex Lorber! He said to me: “JECKIE, I HEAR YOU ARE STUDYING WITH SHMUUUUUUCKINGHAM!” I stammered, and he said: “DON’T VORRY, I AM A MAN OF THE VOOOORLD. BUT TELL ME; YOU STILL HAVE BRONCHITIS?”