Late in 2003 Jerzy “George” Pakulski heard that he had contracted bone cancer. Early in 2004 he got together with two close friends to work on recording for posterity some of his original compositions.

In deciding what to record, George’s view was that much of his material was too simple, too irrelevant to bother with. Despite encouragements from his two friends, George felt strongly that no-one was ever going to be interested enough to listen to much of what he’d written.

Fortunately, what started out as a two evening job stretched over four months as more and more music surfaced from forgotten manuscripts, hidden books and even one fifty year old newspaper clipping. These solo piano recordings were made on a borrowed Roland digital piano into a Pro Tools recording set-up, mostly at night in a warm, dark, small but intimate project studio in the north of Johannesburg as a very relaxed musician spoke of the pieces and the memories they represented for him. He shared when, why, for who and sometimes even how the pieces he’d written were conceived and performed. The project resulted in several hundred recordings … here are just a few for you to remember and enjoy.

Be sure to check out the "info" tab next to each piece for more information on particular tracks.


The December 2004 eulogy to my friend George ...

This proud and private man, this perfectionist, this sensitive musician, this giant talent, this morally-centred man of balance and strength, this faithful Catholic believer, this good, trusted and well-loved friend and father is gone to meet our Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ.

As many of you know George rarely showed his whole self to any one person. We all only managed to catch glimpses of the man and his personality. For my part, although I knew him the way we all did, just a little, George has been a significant influence to me, mentoring me in my music and in my life. He helped me understand a little about jazz modes, a little more about playing music with feel and sensitivity, and he even tried hard to teach me to swing. He showed me how important it was to listen properly to musicians and to what was behind and within the music … but George also helped me survive the death of my father and a difficult divorce that followed. Many years later, again when he had suffered a similar loss, he also helped me cope with the death of my mother. George taught me much about the importance of recognising who we are as human beings rather that paying too much attention to what possessions we might have or what we might try to represent to others. His rich life experience from his young, rebellious, high-achiever student days, through an experience of a Europe broken by war and ideological confrontations, through his extensive global travels – the ones he chose and those thrust upon him, through his passionate personal relationships broken at times by other confrontations, and finally through his almost anonymous journey into and stay in Africa – all these left George with much worldly and spiritual wisdom that he quietly shared only when he felt you really wanted to hear it.

I learned more than I deserved from his quiet humility and his deep spiritual faith.

I first knew George late in the 80’s as a cantankerous but quite remarkable jazz pianist who strangely had taken the decision to play with a few amateur enthusiasts who were desperately trying to learn some jazz on their chosen instruments … and I was one of these hopefuls. I couldn’t understand how a man who had played around the world as a professional musician virtually all his life and who had taught music at levels we could never hope to reach would stoop to play with such incompetent beginners. His reasoning says a lot about his character – he felt more at home with the raw enthusiasm of an amateur who really wanted to grow and learn than with a conceited professional. Heart was always more important than cold technique for George, passion more important than pretence, honesty more important than ability, humility always more important than fame or recognition, integrity demanded, and arrogance simply not tolerated … in music and in life. George would become irritated to the point of being rude when he came across anyone who was shallow, anyone whose own sense of self-importance was out of proportion to the value they contributed to the world.

Often George could come across as a really difficult person. He did not easily or readily communicate – other than through his music – and I know many people who assumed his abrasiveness was a result of his vaguely quaint Polish-ness, but the truth is he was an intensely shy and humble man. A quiet, unassuming music teacher in South Africa who played the organ at church for the choir faithfully every Sunday for years … who just happened to be one of the most respected musicians ever to come from that cradle of musical creativity: Poland.

Just one example of his humility was his reaction to the recordings he finally made of his own compositions earlier this year. He was amazed that anyone would find his own music more than a curiosity. Everyone who heard the one disc that was made has been deeply moved and completely captivated by the depth and expression of his music, and this genuinely surprised George. This despite the fact that he played his whole life to live audiences who consistently gushed their enthusiastic appreciation for his talent and his sensitive interpretation and delivery; this despite the fact that music halls and clubs filled up and radio stations interviewed him whenever he returned to his homeland; this despite the fact that locally some of the best musicians in our country counted themselves lucky to have a chance to play with the man.

George spoke often of balance. Whether in the piano lessons he patiently and professionally delivered, or in his quiet hours of Tai Chi exercising, the hours of rehearsal and performance with some of the best and some of the worst musicians around, or even in the way he prepared his modest diet, George always came across as balanced. Ironically he was one of the most fit and healthy seventy year olds I ever knew!

Cancer was the cruellest way to go for a man so privately dignified, so careful about his health. George was scared of becoming dependent through this illness – he wanted to remain self sufficient to the end – but the last time I saw him he said that although he was completely ready for death, God was keeping him here to teach him this last lesson of surrender. We can’t know if he learned this lesson, but I believe that in the end George was a man true to himself and to his God, in the end entirely comfortable with his sense of self and his character … his “humanity” as he would put it.

Selfishly, it is with some real sadness that I contemplate a series of tomorrows without him, music sessions played without him, and a life somehow smaller for not having such a man with whom I can share it.

Finally – to help us all share a little of his faith at this tough time, I’d like to use some of George’s own words. He said this about a song he wrote for me when my father passed away, a song he called “Infinity”: “There are no breaks, no stops, there is nothing that can stop the spirit. It is just going from one place to another one. Things are not over, they are not finished, they are always moving – it is a journey. Just to show it is not the end, don’t be sad, don’t hurt – look for the other side …”

I believe greatness is a characteristic that is often misinterpreted and more often incorrectly applied. To me, George was quietly great, and the world was a richer place with him here.

Dobranoc my good friend.

Duncan Todd
Johannesburg
December 2004