Guido Lamell: A Remembrance
My Neighbor and Violinist at the LA Philharmonic
I got an email from a neighbor in Santa Monica: “Guido Lamell is dead from a heart attack. I thought you’d want to know.”
Guido is my neighbor across the street and two houses up. I remember when he moved in. He built his house and acted as his own general contractor. He was a terrible general contractor and came by my house to ask advice about resources for his house.
I remember the day he knocked on my front door. The first thing I noticed about him was his bright red hair, light blue eyes, high cheekbones, and pale skin with a few freckles. He looked like a leprechaun.
“I’m Guido Lamell.”
Guido? What the hell? Certainly, no Italian here — or Irish leprechaun for that matter.
While I was distracted by Guido’s ethnic origins, he explained how much he admired my house and how many problems he was having with his.
Yes, his house needed some help. From the street, you could see the cracks in the retaining wall. Guido wanted to contact some of our crew to help him.
“Of course,” I said. “What do you need?” Guido smiled a big smile and again I thought Irish leprechaun. I shared some names and Guido left — and that was that — Guido and Nancy and two daughters, my new neighbors across the street.
Over the next few weeks, we would smile and wave and then one day I got a strange little note in my mailbox. It was from Guido and addressed to all the neighbors around him. The note explained he was in the second violins section in the LA Philharmonic and needed to practice daily. He promised he would do everything he could to reduce any unwanted noise, keeping the windows closed, not playing before 10:00 AM or after 7 pm, and if anyone had a problem with that, please call him.
I phoned immediately. “Guido if you’re in the second violins section at the Los Angeles Philharmonic, then I demand that you keep all the windows open when you practice.”
Guido laughed and it turned out that all his neighbors felt the same way. Over the next few months, I saw Guido and Nancy on walks. We would chat. They were lovely people — Guido, the violinist; Nancy, a lawyer and their two smart, pretty, and talented girls.
About a year into the Lamells living in the ‘hood, I received an email from Guido and Nancy. They were having a potluck chamber music party at their house Sunday starting around 5:00 PM. Bring a dish, dessert, and something to drink. I did and it was amazing. In addition to neighbors and friends, Guido invited world class musicians from the Phil, and around the world as well as up-and-coming ones.
The format of the party was genius. Food and drink were laid out buffet style in the kitchen and dining room. People ate and chatted — laughter filling the rooms. Then Guido would gather the first group of musicians to play. Chairs and sofas lined the giant vaulted living room — a room Guido designed especially for the acoustics. His spiral staircase and upstairs balcony provided more seating.
Once organized the musicians played. No rehearsal. Bach, Beethoven — chamber music live, a full booming sound. Sometimes it would go awry, and Guido would tap his bow on the music stand to call a halt. The musicians would discuss the issue, much to the delight of the audience. Then calling out a measure number they’d pick up again. It was glorious. On and on, different pieces, musicians swapped in and out. About every 45 minutes, there was a break, so folks could chat, fill their wine glasses and grab more food. Then back to playing.
The music continued till about 10pm. Five hours of food, wine, and concert level music. Heaven. For the next 10 years, the parties continued. We’d get the email about the next Chamber music potluck and mark our calendars.
We all got to know each other. And by the way, I found out that Guido was of Austrian heritage and from a line of classical musicians.
Guido was always upbeat. Happy to see you and full of life and laughter. In addition to playing with the Philharmonic, he was the conductor of the Santa Monica Symphony and taking over as conductor helped the local Symphony improve their public footprint. He also had a small group of musicians that he taught and mentored.
Last year, I saw Guido driving down our street in a brand-new red Tesla. He stopped: “What do you think of my new wheels? I’ve always been jealous of you and your red Lexus SUV!” I laughed, “Well, you sure surpassed me now! Congrats and enjoy.” “I love this car”, and he waved and drove away.
This past June, I leased my Santa Monica house to a lovely family, the Hansens, and moved to Hawaii to forge a new chapter in my life. I introduced the Hansens to Nancy and Guido. Nancy promised to add them to the Chamber music potlucks once they got started up again after Covid.
Now, just one month later — just on the verge of parties and live performances, Guido is dead from a heart attack. Gone in a blink. Just gone. The death of Guido Lamell so shocking — so sudden. A cosmic punch to the gut.
At 71 3/4 years old — OK, yeah, I still count age like a child — I’m having thoughts about my own mortality. And now this sudden death of Guido Lamell…
I feel the hole in the universe that Guido has left — his talent and spirit. And the pain his family is experiencing. There aren’t enough flowers or food baskets to make any of that better. Even a teeny tiny bit better. The only consolation is that Guido lived his life fully with passion, love, and laughter. He pursued his musical dreams. He loved his family. He gave more to the world than he took.
Even if he was Austrian, I will always remember him as our local leprechaun and I hope he’s waving and driving a red Tesla in heaven.
For me, newly relocated to Hawaii, I have to trust in Guido’s life example guiding me. Follow your passion. Just keep moving and doing and believing in order in move forward. I have to tolerate being lost. That’s often how I feel, lost — not a part of Santa Monica anymore and yet not really a part of Hawaii.
At night, I add Guido to my prayers, and ask for his guidance. He joins quite a roster of departed souls: my parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles, my high school friend Marsha who died on 9/11, and Howard Thurston, the famous magician whose house my family lived in (but that’s another story). Now all guides. Thank you, Guido. It was an honor and pleasure knowing you. Rest in peace, dear neighbor, with your violin on your shoulder.
