Who was Claude Frank?

Claude Frank (1925–2014) was a celebrated pianist and beloved teacher known for his interpretation of the Austro-German classical repertoire. He served on the faculty of the Yale School of Music for over 30 years, leaving an enduring legacy through generations of students.
 

A Pupil (1925–1946)

Upon hearing 11-year-old Claude Frank perform, the great Austrian pianist Artur Schnabel looked to the nascent musician’s mother and told her: “This is serious. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t pursue this as a life.”

It seemed that Frank was destined to become a pianist, but his path to an illustrious career as performer and pedagogue was anything but easy. Born into a Jewish family in Nuremberg, Germany in 1925, he came of age alongside the rise of Nazism. Fleeing persecution, his family moved through Brussels, Paris, and walked across the Pyrenees to end up in Spain in the early 1940s.

A chance encounter landed him an invitation to perform at a party held by the Brazilian ambassador. The ambassador, Luis Martins de Souza Dantas, would later become known for using his diplomatic position to help Jews and other persecuted groups escape the Holocaust, saving 800 people. The American consul, a guest at Souza Dantas’s party, heard Frank play and offered him and his family visas to the United States.

“Playing the piano saved his life,” said daughter Pamela Frank in a 2019 interview. “It shaped his entire future.”

Upon landing in New York in 1941, Frank reunited with Schnabel, studying with him and his son, Karl Ulrich. His piano studies were briefly interrupted by a tour of military service in Germany and Japan. Coinciding with the end of his service, Frank became an American citizen in 1944. 
 

A Performer (1947–1972)

Frank’s New York City debut came in 1947 at The Town Hall. It showed the world what his family, friends, and mentors already knew: he was something special. His performance was praised for its “thoughtful insight and unpretentiousness” by the New York Times and, almost overnight, he established himself as a rising star.

In 1959, Frank made his New York Philharmonic debut, performing under Leonard Bernstein’s baton. That same year, he married pianist Lilian Kallir — whom he met earlier in 1947 at Tanglewood — and with whom he explored repertoire for two pianos.

Over the decades, Frank’s profile grew as his orchestral engagements multiplied. Stateside, he performed with the top orchestras — Boston, Chicago, Philadelphia, Cleveland. And abroad, he made appearances with the Berlin Philharmonic and the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra. At his peak in the 1970s, Frank gave more than seventy concerts across multiple continents in a single year.

“I play mostly the best music,” Frank said about his repertoire selection in a 1986 interview with John C. Tibbetts of the University of Kansas. “The music of the gods: Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert. Far beyond being favorite composers, they’re gods. They’re untouchable. They do not err.”

In his performances, this reverence and passion translated not into flamboyant showmanship, but to studied fidelity to the score — an approach Frank inherited from his time with Schnabel.

While already well established, Frank’s 1970 recordings of Beethoven’s 32 piano sonatas further cemented his renown. The box set, released by RCA in conjunction with the bicentennial anniversary of Beethoven’s birth, earned rave reviews — even being chosen as one of the top ten records of the year by Time.
 

A Pedagogue (1973–2014)

In 1972, the Yale School of Music established the Samuel Simons Sanford fellowship program to recognize individuals who have made distinguished contributions to the musical arts. As part of the fellowship, YSM invited leading artists to visit campus and teach in master classes, workshops, and lectures.

Frank was in the first Sanford class.

Through that experience, he became better acquainted with Yale’s students and administrators. And by 1973, YSM dean Philip Nelson was able to convince Frank to take on a position at the School — one he would occupy for more than three decades, until his retirement in 2006. Initially, he gave several master classes each semester to piano students, but that later grew to taking on students for individual instruction. In that same stretch of time, Frank expanded his pedagogical portfolio, also teaching at the Curtis Institute of Music, the Marlboro Music School and Festival, Ravinia’s Steans Institute, and more. As a teacher, he emphasized a deep intellectual and emotional connection to music, influencing students such as Richard Goode, Ian Hobson, Benjamin Hochman, and Michael Mizrahi. 

In a 2008 interview at the International Keyboard Institute & Festival, Frank summarized his teaching philosophy like this: “If I had to define in what way my teaching is different from other people: it’s not for a performance or for a career or a series of performances. It’s for the piece — for the relationship of the person who plays to the music.”

He went on to give advice to young musicians at the start of their career: “Don’t think of the career. Let the career happen. If it happens, great. If it doesn’t, great, too. The important thing is to play well...to do everything you think that the music demands (nobody can do everything the music demands, but a good part of it), and if it’s in public, all the better...and if it’s not, then it’s for the people who listen and for yourself.”

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While Frank was indeed all these things — a pupil, a performer, a pedagogue — Boris Berman, the Sylvia and Leonard Marx Professor in the Practice of Piano at YSM, suggests these were not isolated periods in his life.  

“He was constantly performing and teaching and learning,” said Berman. “His performance experiences informed his teaching and vice versa. That was his strength. As for learning, my colleagues and I remember Claude’s frequent refrain — ‘I learned a lot,’ he would say — after attending concerts, reading a book, or taking part in a stimulating conversation. He kept learning throughout his whole life.”  

Peter Frankl, Professor Adjunct Emeritus of Music

The highlight of my 30 years at Yale School of Music was when Claude, Boris, and I were together. It was a unique partnership — all three of us being travelling soloists — and we were always helping each other out.

I remember fondly the many concerts we played together, especially when the three of us played 1-to-6 hand concerts, and the three Brahms piano quartets in the same evening. There was never the slightest bit of jealousy between us. We were always very happy for each other.

And when Claude and I played the Brahms Liebeslieder and Neue Liebeslieder waltzes together, it was also a special experience.

Claude was an exceptional human being and a great artist. His playing of the late piano sonatas by Beethoven and Schubert was particularly inspirational. 

He had a unique sense of humor. We would always be quoting his one-liners and I also remember his one-man show of a parody of a Schumann movie, which I think can be seen on YouTube even now.

He was also so emotional when all the students and faculty had to sing Schubert songs. He was so touched by the music and the text that, while singing, there were tears in his eyes.

His students adored him; he was always constructive, even when he criticized them.

It’s an honor to have known him and call him a friend, and I’m so pleased that we are remembering and celebrating him on what would have been his 100th birthday. 

Hanchien Lee ’05MM ’06AD

I was very lucky to have known Mr. Frank during the formative years of my life. I will never forget our lessons, his laughter, or the quiet peace of simply listening together. He showed me that the greatest gift we can give is to truly listen — to music and to each other. I took the train to New York each week for our long lessons that often ended with a drink, a meal, or even a spontaneous trip to the Met to see The Magic Flute, where he was so moved he quietly wept beside me. My fondest memories are of summers spent at Norfolk, when he would give a one-man reenactment of the film Song of Love, his quintessential humor shining through every moment. I still listen to that recording whenever I need a lift. Mr. Frank touched our hearts through his music, his words, and simply his presence. His spirit and music continue to live deeply within ours.

William Westney ’71MMA ’76DMA

I had just returned to the U.S. after a year of European study with an artist/teacher whose exacting interpretations of pieces were pretty much imposed on me, and I went along with this because I knew he had so much to teach me. We delved into lots of sophisticated details, and it was indeed enlightening. But my own musical self-trust had actually begun to erode from the experience. 

I met with Claude Frank in his NYC apartment. I’d coached with him a number of times before and we got along extremely well; he was known in the profession for his warm personality. The piece was Mozart’s late Rondo in A minor, a subtle work that requires refined command of style and expression. I had performed only about half of the first page when he stopped me (which was surprising, since he would customarily listen to a piece all the way through the first time). 

“Bill,” he said kindly, “What the hell are you doing?” 

Me, somewhat taken aback: “Oh, I had noticed this particular articulation marking in Bar 2 and could see how it related interestingly to this similar one in Bar 12, and . . .” 

Him: “I understand. But why don’t you forget all that stuff for now and just play the piece right to me, the way you feel it inside? Just share the story with me in your own way.” 

He’d never said words quite like that to me before, and his voice was so warm and caring. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and relaxed my shoulders. After a moment, I started again. Playing the music this time felt human and real and good, and I knew I’d been rescued.