Remembering BSR writer Margaret Darby

“Generous” is not an adjective one usually affixes to the critical profession. Our subjects often cast us as miserly scribblers itching to find fault with their artistic genius. And as opportunities for cultural writing become vanishingly scarce, arts journalists sometimes have an understandable but unsavory inclination to view fellow travelers as competition rather than colleagues. Margaret, however, had no patience for such petty business.

Unparalleled knowledge

Her depth of understanding and thoughtful engagement were evident in anything she wrote. She approached music criticism with the same rigor that earned her a degree in piano performance from Davidson College. Take, for example, this appraisal of Stravinsky’s Piano Sonata, as performed by Ursula Oppens in a 2017 concert: “Oppens proved that carrying a legato melody above a percussively modern texture can be done mostly with the fingers. She used only the lightest pedal to carry the long phrases she teased out of the composer’s heavy texture.” The reader feels, through her writing, as if she were preparing an interpretation of the piece herself. The breadth of her knowledge and specificity of her assessment were nonpareil.

From lobbies to libraries

Although Margaret wasn’t self-effacing about her own gifts, she was always quick to praise others. We first met when she sent me an email complimenting a review I’d written, shortly after I began working as a critic in Philadelphia. Up to that point, engagement with my writing was rare, except for the odd comment from someone eager to tell me I had no idea what I was talking about. Hearing directly from a writer I respected served as invaluable encouragement. Throughout the years, she was always quick to point out a new writer she appreciated, and her warm personality enlivened several BSR events that we both attended.

Margaret and I formed a friendship in theater lobbies and concert halls, whether casually bumping into each other or serving as the other’s plus-one. Occasionally, she would invite me for a pre-performance dinner at the apartment in Chinatown that she shared with Chuck Holdeman, her life partner, and a talented, Curtis-trained musician in his own right. There was hardly a question I could ask one or the other that wouldn’t be met with a thoughtful answer.

Over the years, I learned the details of Margaret’s fascinating life. A Virginia native, she was preternaturally gifted as a linguist: she spoke German, Italian, and French fluently, and she could get around in Spanish too. She lived in Europe for a decade and supported herself as a translator. She earned a library science degree in her 40s, later working as a public and school librarian in Delaware and Maryland. Upon her retirement, she and Chuck decided to ditch the suburbs and move to Philadelphia—an adventurous choice that I deeply admired. Her last chapter was one of art, friendship, and a quest to take advantage of all the city had to offer.

An abundant soul

Margaret’s final byline for BSR appeared in January 2023: a typically thoughtful piece on Penn’s acquisition of the Philadelphia Orchestra’s archives. Although an aggressive form of lung cancer cut her life short, her boundless curiosity, questing spirit, and abundant soul testify to a time on Earth well spent. And in the writing she contributed to BSR and the relationships she forged with her colleagues here, she left behind a record of her brilliance and humanity, both on the page and in our memories. Ave atque vale.

At top: Margaret Darby. (Photo courtesy of Chuck Holdeman.)