Editorial

James Stamp went into hospital in Los Angeles in mid-December 1985. There, weary of its 81 years, his heart beat out its final diminuendo. And so fell silent the voice of one of the few (and too few) wise men the brass world has had the privilege of knowing in recent years.

What kind of wisdom was this? What was it like?

Jimmy Stamp could devote his complete attention to any musician who asked for it. He saw at once those elements which enabled him to make a profound diagnosis, essential for starting or continuing the education or reeducation of the player before him. He had the art of being able to establish a direct, true and constructive relationship, beyond time and beyond all selective appreciation.

Jimmy had that exceptional power to free a human being, whatever his age, education, social or professional position, and to enable him to bare himself so that the hope of improvement might be fruitfully reborn.

What more can we say about this profoundly good, honest, strong and tender man?

His main preoccupation was to help (in a way he viewed with the greatest modesty) to bring relief to those who brought their problems to him, or to develop the still hidden potential of a talented musician.

He disliked the negative and disturbing undercurrents which constantly upset human relations. He avoided them like the plague. The faceless crowd, the competitive spirit did not inspire him. He knew that basic values are transmitted only in an atmosphere of quiet intimacy through the emanations of love and respect which arise between those who share each other's confidence.

He had attained that degree of wisdom where every detail reveals the universal, where modesty (regained) makes it possible to avoid errors rooted in habit.

Jimmy was a bringer of internal peace. Unfortunately what he brought us brass players is not measurable in concrete terms. The thread of his message will continue, albeit unrecognized, to run through the fabric of our musical and instrumental culture.

Jean-Pierre Mathez