KRONOS QUARTET ORIGINS In a sense, the origin of Kronos Quartet dates back to when a 12-year-old, Seattle-based violin student named David Harrington first heard the sound of a string quartet—a recording of Beethoven’s Opus 127 in E flat major that arrived in the mail as a record club selection. Transfixed by the opening chords, Harrington was instantly determined to create that sound himself. Before long, he had convinced some fellow members of the Seattle Youth Symphony to join him in learning the work. “The sound of it made a very big impression on me,” Harrington said. “I feel like basically I have been doing the very same thing since that time—if there is something that magnetizes me as a listener then I try to find a way of incorporating it into the work that I am doing.”* Fast-forward to August of 1973 and the true spark of inspiration behind the Kronos Quartet: the now-23-year-old Harrington happened to be listening to the radio one night when he heard the sound that would set him on a musical path of fifty years and counting: George Crumb’s Vietnam War–inspired quartet Black Angels. “It changed my life,” Harrington said. “I knew I had to get a serious group together. Black Angels was unlike any other music for string quartet that I had ever heard. It used electric instruments and all sorts of percussion effects. It merged the worlds of Hendrix, Schubert, Bartók, and early music. It made an impression that no other piece of music had ever made on me. I needed a group that would be serious about rehearsing and making musical events.”** In short order, in an echo of his Beethoven experience, Harrington formed a new group with the goal of performing Black Angels. Brainstorming along with his wife, Regan, Harrington settled upon the name “Kronos” for the ensemble, inspired by the Greek god of time, Chronos—but with a catchier “K” up front. As Harrington recounted the story: “When I was a kid, there was an article in Reader's Digest about how Kodak got its name. They spent thousands of dollars, and it was decided that “K”–– K-O-D-A-K––was more exciting that ‘Chodach,’ I guess. I just remembered that: ‘K.’ There’s a certain strength there, and so I thought, ‘Well let’s just change the ‘Ch’ to a ‘K.’ Several years later, we were playing a concert at U.C. Santa Barbara, and someone from the Ancient History department came up to me and said, ‘Do you know who Kronos was?’ And I said, ‘Oh sure, he was the god of time and timeliness, and the one that chronicled things.’ And then he says, ‘Well, actually, he’s the father of the gods—the one that ate all his children except for Zeus. And then he got castrated. The remains became the fish in the ocean.’ And at that point, I just gave up. It was too late to change the name.” †