With deep sorrow we share the news: Ingeborg von Huene, a fine musician, deeply compassionate human being, and  last surviving member of the original Camerata of the Museum of Fine Arts, has died at the age of 93.

Joel Cohen, who first met Inge when, still a student, he joined Camerata in 1963, offers these thoughts:

“With Ingeborg von Huene’s passing, a beautiful chapter in the history of the early music revival comes to a close. Inge so loved and encouraged music in all its manifestations. She and her husband Friedrich were core members of the original Camerata, and I loved hearing them play their parts, he on all kind of winds, she on recorders and gambas, when the small, pioneering ensemble performed Renaissance music by Isaac, Senfl, Susato, and others. Their enthusiasm for such little-known but precious repertoires inspired me to pursue and persevere in the arena of pre-Baroque performance. She knew that someday many people would come to love early music, and she was absolutely right.

“Inge was also the essential co-head of the world-famous von Huene Workshop, directing business and sales, moving it forward into the international early-instruments market, as Friedrich and his staff turned out their world-class, impeccably crafted recorders and flutes.

“She was also a close observer of the early music movement and people who participated, and was, in my recollection, one of the most generous and encouraging souls in the entire field. She took great interest in the doings of her cohorts and colleagues, and was always ready with words of encouragement to aspiring young performers. She was like a benevolent gardener, helping the new shoots come out of the ground, into fruition.

“May it be remembered that she, along with Friedrich, founded the Boston Early Music Festival.  I remember the joy in her voice as she first announced it to the Camerata board during a meeting.

“But most of all, beyond all her vital achievement in the music world, I remember her smile, recalling Ruben’s portrait of Isabella Brandt,  her delightful accent, her warmth, her love of family-based singing and playing, her words and gestures of welcome and support. What a magnificent person she was, and how we shall miss her.”

We mourn the death of Andrea Wirth (1970-2022), a superb musician and wonderful colleague. Her always-musical, spot-on percussion playing enriched so many of our Americana concerts, tours and recordings, most recently Camerata’s Free America! CD for Harmonia Mundi. Her sunny, life-embracing personality enriched us beyond measure, and as she endured her final illness with a profound philosophy of life, she became our teacher. How we shall miss her, but how we do treasure the enduring memories: those musical experiences, and those moments of fellowship!

The Angel Took Risks

How, then, to say goodbye to a collaborator, colleague and companion of twenty-five years, someone with whom we made music, sharing good times and bad, season after season, adding up to a full third of man’s biblical lifespan? What appropriate, meaningful words can come forth, even as we struggle with our tears and our grief, to evoke for others essence of Donnie’s kind and tender soul?

He was a man of almost angelic purity. Candid and naïve almost to a fault, held back from the start by problems of education and upbringing, he wanted, despite significant inner handicaps, to go forward towards life and to give his existence meaning. And he did indeed forge a path for himself, realizing his ambition to be a performing artist, and giving enormous pleasure and consolation to countless others via the beauty of his voice. To cite a line from the American songbook, a repertoire that Donnie treasured and recorded, he did it his way. There is a nobility to his existence, and I am humbled as I contemplate, insofar as I perceive it, the arc of his life.

You heard that round, warm, tender singing voice, onstage and via recording, and reveled in its author’s solid, confident musicianship, in his authentic and appealing personal presence. Did you know, however, that Don’s training was as an electrical engineer, and that he spent years working in a large corporation before deciding that music was his true calling? He told me once that his family had strongly counseled against his career change. Yet he persisted, leaving secure employment, and braving, at the start of his new professional life, genuine hardship and financial stress. He took a big risk, and he succeeded, becoming a property owner in his personal life, and a reliable and welcome part of the Boston-area musical scene.

And none of us, in a field known for its competitiveness and occasional cruelty, ever saw Don, as he rose to widespread acceptance and appreciation, show anything but good will and respect and frequent affection to his colleagues. “He didn’t have a mean bone in his body” is the refrain I have heard echoed from several corners over these last days. He indeed did it his way, but his way, so remarkably, included remaining a gentle soul, always and forever.

And his utterly extraordinary purity of being was unclouded by any trace of pretentiousness, posturing, self promotion, or self-righteousness.

What you heard from the concert hall stage, as Donnie’s rich baritone rang out, was an affirmation of life and, also, a declaration of love for creation itself. As far as I know, he, though a church musician, was himself unchurched; and so I believe that his singing was the most intense expression of his genuine and authentic spirituality.

We also saw this offering of love, and this search for love, in his other activities and passions. So many of us learned from, and enjoyed, his intense devotion to the world of birds, his forays with binoculars into forests, swamps and marshes – some of us occasionally accompanied him to those places – and, after every tour to every continent, his inevitably long lists, circulated to one and all, of every winged creature he had managed to spot. We were awakened to the world of birds via Don’s enthusiasm, and our sense of awe at the diversity and richness of the universe was increased immeasurably.

He was an enthusiast about the things that were important to him. He also loved nineteen-fifties crooner records, and I Love Lucy memorabilia, and celebrity autographs, and old board games. And Scrabble. And the ocean. And, oh yes, his adored kitties. What an admirable appetite for existence!

I am so sorry for the numerous sorrows he underwent, for his failure to find a lasting, significant other, for the suffering engendered by his final disease. But his existence had meaning; even though it was too short, his was a rich life. He shall continue to live in our hearts for the light, the air, and the beautiful music his time on earth engendered. The angel took risks. He brought goodness into the world. May our friend Donald Wilkinson rest in peace.

Aniane, September 29, 2018

Voice

Our beloved friend and mentor Andrea von Ramm died suddenly in Munich last November. Her disappearance leaves a hole in the center of our very being. The image you see was taken during rehearsals for Andrea’s last appearance with us, the Tristan we gave in Graz, Austria in June, 1999. This is the Andrea we will always remember: gossiping on a cell phone as she cradles a medieval organetto, full of contradiction, full of life and spunk.

What an incredible privilege to have known her, for more than twenty-five years of meals, jokes, speculations, arguments, and musical collaborations. And what a fantastic legacy of song and performance she leaves behind. There is noone like her, she can never be replaced, but she can at least inspire us as we try to measure up to the standards she set.

-Joel Cohen

Nicholas Linfield, a Reader for The Boston Camerata, died peacefully at home in Miami, Florida, on December 23, 2013, with his wife, artist Susanna Caldwell, at his side. He was 73. He reads on our best-selling CD A Medieval Christmas.

MV Times obituary