Arlene was at the center of my entire Brown education. Like many fellow students, I had not planned to be a music concentrator—but Arlene won me over. After surviving Music 55-56 during my first year, I asked Arlene to be my academic advisor, which she remained for the rest of my time at Brown (ably advising me even as I pursued a foolhardy triple major). I remember hours’ worth of meetings in her tiny third floor office, snacking from her candy bowl while we discussed my course selections—or my figured bass deficiencies. After two years of musicianship I couldn’t bear to stop studying with her, so I took up classical piano lessons for the first time in my life (I still don’t know why she accepted me as a student). She was a truly generous teacher, eager to help each of us improve in the ways that we could. When I broke my arm, she guided me through a semester of one-handed piano repertoire. When I suffered a bout of stage fright at my first ever piano recital, she talked me through it (and I made it through the performance). As a junior I talked with her about writing a senior thesis—probably I shouldn’t (I said), as I wasn’t deeply invested in classical music, and after all, it’s not like I could write a thesis on sea chanteys. “Why not? Of course you can!” she replied—and I did. That thesis landed me a spot in an ethnomusicology PhD program. Now I teach ethnomusicology at MIT, and I try every day to balance the warmth, kindness, and rigorous expectations that Arlene embodied. She was my teacher, advisor, mentor, and role model, and I will miss her very much.
