Alan R Pearlman about to blow out candles of the cake at his 90the birthday party.
This is the first of what I hope are many blogposts that will talk about Alan Pearlman the person: father, husband, son, brother as well as the inventor of one of the most influential, pioneering electronic music synthesizers, the likes of which are still influencing musicians and inventors nearly 50 years later.
Happy Birthday Alan R. Pearlman!
My father would have been 94 last week, on June 7. It’s hard to believe that he’s gone—this is cliche, but for anyone who has lost a parent, you know what I’m talking about. I keep thinking, “Oh, I have to ask Dad this,” or “I wonder if Dad remembers that,”
While this was originally the eulogy I delivered in a surrealistic haze, the truth is, it’s a celebration of life; birth and death are the life-cycles and my father sincerely believed that death was equally ‘ok’. He was comfortable with his own mortality, embraced it, and never, ever got morbid even when he became ill.
My Dad was a rock star.
This has nothing to do with rock music, ARP synthesizers or music in general. It has to do with a man who rose to the occasion and overcame so much and persevered after many would have given up. He was a 5’6’’ giant, but without the ego, vanity or posturing that many use to overcompensate. Like many nerds (his own description for himself when we last spoke in person) he knew his capabilities and unapologetically accepted them as fact. But was also humble and willing to learn. He didn’t even particularly care for rock music, though he bought me my first Beatles albums when I was a toddler, and Stevie Wonder and Herbie Hancock graced our music collection alongside Beethoven and Bartok. After finding out he had failed to get George Harrison’s autograph, a prepubescent me chided him soundly and the next trip yielded a Pete Townshend 12” autographed disk. He rose to the occasion.
A Curious Mind
As a little girl, my father’s mother, Ada Pearlman (formerly Jacobs) would visit us regularly. She had her guest bedroom and I’d gleefully wait till the dawn broke to jump into her bed and listen to her tell stories about my father and uncle. The one that comes to mind is the one that is typical Alan Pearlman. Apparently, when Alan was a tot, my grandmother came home to find her radio completely taken apart, and my father missing. This was one of several missing Alan stories, but of course, he was able to put it back together, astonishing everyone.
Grandma Ada loved to brag about her smart boys, who grew up to be two of the three powerful male figures in my life. Alan and Don were smart, curious, mischievous and loving in equal doses, and grew up that way, shedding the mantle of boyhood to be powerful men.
Childhood was filled with long dinner conversations that spanned everything from civil rights to black holes, from Holocaust history to new findings in science, to philosophy and technology. The television was on at the dinner table, so Walter Cronkite and Jaques Cousteau joined us as regular guests. My dad knew something about everything, he was my Google. If I had a question, he would answer it.
Family Life
Alan was an amazing and loving husband. He met my mother, Buena through my beloved Uncle Abety, as he was taking classes and inevitably ended up at his house to fix his television, doing one of those “Hey your sister is cute, can I ask her out?” things. He told me he fell in love with her when they were out on their first date and an outdoor cafe, it started to rain and she grabbed the bottle of wine before they ran inside. They had a romantic, relationship, all through the marriage that I witnessed, setting a near impossible standard for me. My father always had his arm around my mother… for as long as he was alive in my life. He loved to hug people.
They kept a Saturday night date for the entire time they were married until my father’s illness separated them from living together. But that never stopped them sharing nearly every day together. One of the sweetest memories I have of the time during his illness was of my mother shaving my father’s face and combing his hair at Stone Institute. She never stopped being a loving wife to Alan.
d’ARP: A Daughter’s View
I am so very proud of my father’s accomplishments. I was a little girl, remembering wandering about the piles of bolts and circuit boards in the little manufacturing center of Tonus that later became ARP Instruments. Through his business, I saw the world, traveling Europe and visiting the West Coast so often—usually for a NAMM show— I still don’t know how many times we were there. We had guests whose names graced popular music albums, we visited mansions in Beverly Hills and convention halls with long-haired young men played big keyboards.
What I realized later was a never-ending quest for inner peace led to a nearly life-time practice of physical fitness. He met some of his best friends cycling through long vistas in New England, and managed to finish more than one Boston marathon. He was a long-distance runner for the majority of his ARP career, something that I think kept him grounded while many sought fame through the media hype surrounding his accomplishments. One of my greatest memories is running with him on Commonwealth Avenue, right around heart-break hill, during a running phase in my own pursuit of physical fitness. My cousin Michael ran the Boston Marathon earlier this year. My father was tickled pink to hear this, when I told him last December. I know he was encouraging Michael in spirit.
Many of the people from the original ARP days came to his funeral; I consider them part of my extended family. Countless others have reached out to me, or answered my call for stories and support: they are a testimony to the love they feel for this man. We love him not JUST for his accomplishments, but for his passions, from classical music, to solving global warming, to trying new foods or singing loudly off-key in this temple, to his dedication to his wife and daughter. When I sat with David Friend a couple of months back, he credits my father for introducing him to running and fitness. Mary Lock remembers my father’s warmth and affection; Berklee professor Richard Boulanger remembers him as a friend and mentor and my cousin-by-marriage Michael Lorant remembers how my father lent him a 2600 and a bunch of recording equipment.
During this journey— since my father left this planet—I realize the true meaning of love as personified by my father. Love is a verb… it’s action. Understanding, forgiveness, and effort, going the extra mile literally and figuratively.
Rediscovery
Alan was one of the humblest people on the planet. For many, many years, he didn’t know that his synthesizers had moved into near legendary status as an instrument that changed performance in synthesis forever. One of the biggest joys of my life was when I Googled my father’s name for him, long after ARP had stopped being a company, and he had retired. This was around 2005, when he received Lifetime achievement award from Keyboard Magazine. When he looked at pages and pages of ARP and Alan Pearlman tributes, references, accolades and remakes, he looked up at me in wonder. He didn’t know. He really didn’t know.
In the last few years before he became ill, his interest in the remakes of analog and digital synthesizers rekindled as people pursued him for ideas, endorsements and consulting. He started corresponding with some of the old ARPostles, while also researching wind technology for sustainable energy sources, and still maintaining an fairly active daily schedule with my mother, Buena.
All about the Music
My father was ill for the last two years of his life; a fact that saddens me deeply. He was frail, unable to so simple tasks, but maintained his dignity and his inner core. He continued to read avidly, watch his favorite movies, write and draw. He listened to a huge array of his favorite classical discs (thank you Richard) and played the piano at the skilled nursing facility that was his last home away from home.
