This Sunday morning I was in New York attending the UN General Assembly meetings with our Foreign Minister when my friend Hind Abboud called to convey to me the sad news of the departure of Solhi al-Wadi.

Hind’s voice was choking with tears and sorrow. Immediately after her call I talked to his wife Cynthia, his son Sarmad, and his daughters Hamsa and Diala. Afterwards I talked in length to Rafif about Solhi, the man and the artist. I spent most of the day reminiscing and thinking of the life of Solhi al-Wadi.

Deep in my heart I felt that while I will always miss this friend and teacher, I was consoled by the fact that he led a good and fulfilled life. Successive snapshots of my meetings with him came rapidly to my mind, equally from as far ago as 1978, and as recent as last summer in Damascus when I went with Rafif and Sidra to visit him and Cynthia. Both Hamsa and Diala were there. However the image that will always prevail in my mind is that of the steel-willed, energetic, handsome, deeply intellectual, stubbornly opinionated, and suave bon viveur.

Some would call him tyrannical. I used to strongly contest this unfair description, and insist that he was a man of a vision, who believed that everybody should sweat and sacrifice for the concretion of this vision. Respected he was, feared – may be, but not despotic. However, after his dramatic fall on the podium while conducting Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, the stroke that had incapacitated him and ended his career, before eventually ending his life, has put an abrupt end to such theoretical discussions. The musical life in Syria suffered irreparable damage, and the loss has touched all: individuals and institutions alike.

Back in 1978 I was desperately trying to talk to the enigmatic and haughty Solhi al-Wadi. But how would a very young and unpolished university student studying electronic engineering at Damascus University attract the attention of the Maestro? I approached him claiming that I was writing an article about him, and requested an appointment to interview him. That was one summer evening after a concert at the Azem palace in Damascus.

Two days later I went with my invented questions to his office at the Arab Music Conservatory in Nouri Basha. I was both awe-struck and exhilarated. I started asking him my questions; he looked at me dismissively and asked me: “are you planning to publish this interview in the Readers Digest?” “No”, I replied with hesitation… “why?” “Because”, he said, “the questions have the same silly and naïve style of the Readers Digest”. I was devastated. “Forget about your interview”, he said, “let’s talk about what really matters: music and literature.” And that was the start of a splendid friendship that lasted a bit less than three decades.

After that I witnessed how this relentless fighter achieved his goals slowly but steadily. Great dreams were translated into reality: forming the National Symphony Orchestra, establishing the Higher Institute of Music, presenting the first opera in Damascus ever, and finally the edifice that he was mainly responsible for erecting, but never enjoyed performing in: the National Opera House. All this is a testimony to his remarkable determination and extraordinary resolve in an environment and context that can easily push one into despair.

My admiration for Solhi notwithstanding, I always believed that he could not have achieved what he has achieved had it not been for the great support of his life companion, first love, wife, and musical partner Cynthia al-Wadi. The couple did more than anybody else in Syria to further the cause of serious music in my country. One was half Iraqi half Syrian, the other was ten percent Welsh and ninety percent Syrian. Solhi al-Wadi has left us. But he knew how to live a good life, and how to leave a legacy. I hope many can do the same.

Dr. Imad Mustapha