Twentieth Century Music's Greatest Tragedies

For me, the most unremitting losses dealt the world of music in the twentieth century were the tragically early deaths of three performers who, at the time of their passings, were already legendary in attainment and promise.
I have already written about the American pianist, William Kapell, who was killed in a plane crash at the age of thirty one. The few recordings left to us are vivid descriptions of a massive pianistic and intellectual entity, rivaled by only a few great pianists many years his senior.
Guido Cantelli was also killed in a crash, he at age thirty six, and at the time of his death was already considered a conductor on the very edge of a meteoric career. Arturo Toscanini, the legendary conductor, described Cantelli as the most impressively gifted young musician he had ever met (do be reminded that Toscanini's son-in-law was Vladimir Horowitz), and he was never told of Cantelli's tragic end, which he survived by only a few months.
The Rumanian pianist Dinu Lipatti died in his thirty third year of a blood cancer, and had already achieved a status essentially equal in musical probity and eclectic powers to his world -renown contemporaries, a truly amazing status to have arrived at so early in a career.
Where would these three giants have taken us, had they lived on?

The Department Store Salesman and His Gift to History

America has thus far produced two great pianists; namely, Murray Perahia and William Kapell.
Perahia has emerged as one of the world's premier artists, with defining performances of Mozart, Bach and Chopin, to mention but a few of the composers he represents. He is now in his middle age, and has produced many recordings which, of course, are readily available.
The other pianist (and they both grew up in New York), is William Kapell.
If his name is less familiar to you, it is simply because he lived only 31 years, and has been gone for over a half century.
Kapell left only a handful of recordings in a tragically brief career.
Recently, some recordings he made just weeks before his death, have emerged, and tell us of a talent with gigantic power and even greater promise.
The story of these recordings will fascinate you:
Kapell journeyed to Australia in the spring of 1953, and gave almost forty concerts in just a few weeks, with most performances in Melbourne and Sidney and others in little hamlets sprinkled along the way. Some of these recitals took place in large rooms, rather than the usual large hall.
A department store salesman, Roy Preston, decided to record a number of these concerts from his radio, as a small number of Kapell's performances were broadcast throughout Australia. Obviously, not being an audio engineer, Preston produced recordings of poor quality; however, these recordings are documents that represent the immense gift that this young pianist possessed.
These recordings are noisy and scratchy , and the listener must find ways to "cut through" this detriment in order to allow the fantastic reality of Kapell to emerge.
The most provocative aspect of Kapell's playing is the nature of intensity which ultimately turns out to be his trademark, outside of the unequaled pianism already in place.
There is no question in my mind that, had he lived on, Kapell would today be considered one of the two or three greats of his generation.
The cruel irony:
After some 8,000 miles of flying, and only about three miles short of the San Francisco airport, a wing on Kapell's plane brushed a mountain top and crashed, snuffing out a promise which can be given us only a handful of times in any century.