Alfred "Al" Barten Has Passed Away

I learned this week that Alfred Barten has passed, and it’s left a quiet ache in my day. Al was one of those rare musicians who brought gentleness into every room he entered. He was steady, curious, and deeply committed to the simple joy of making music with others. I first met him through Mandolin New England, the orchestra I co-founded with Josh Bell and Will Melton. Al played mandolin with us, and even in a large ensemble you could always feel the calm focus he carried. During a performance in Greenfield back in 2017, I sat near him and we talked between pieces. That was when I really got a sense of who he was. Thoughtful. Warm. A man who listened as closely to people as he did to the music on the stand.

His life in the arts ran deep. Architecture, writing, photography, community music—these weren’t just accomplishments, they were extensions of the way he paid attention to the world around him. He had a quiet reverence for craft, for history, for the shape of things. His love of trains, his years photographing Northampton, his time with Orion Magazine, his work as a technical writer—all of it reflected that same steady curiosity. Nothing rushed. Nothing forced. He simply followed the things he loved and shared them with anyone who wanted to learn.

Music was a constant thread. Over the years he played clarinet and saxophone in the Greenfield Military Band, the Florence Community Band, and the Senior Band in Holyoke. He played mandolin and banjo with the Farley String Band and the Fiddle Orchestra of Western Massachusetts. It was never about spotlight or recognition. He loved the sound of a room full of people breathing and playing together, the kind of community music that keeps this region alive.

I wrote a song about him, I call "Strings for Alfred".  Listen here

We kept in touch on social media after those Mandolin New England days. Every so often he would comment on a performance photo or a new project, always kind, always encouraging. Even from a distance, he carried that same centered presence. You could feel it through a screen.

What stays with me most is how unassuming he was. Al didn’t set out to impress anyone, yet so many people were drawn to him. That’s the mark of a life lived with openness and humility. He paid attention to the world. He cared about it. And he shared what he found.

I’m grateful our paths crossed. I’m grateful for the music we made together, for the conversations, and for the quiet steadiness he brought into every rehearsal and performance. He’ll be missed—by musicians, by friends, by the many communities he touched. But the way he moved through the world, with care and curiosity, leaves its own kind of legacy.

If you'd like to leave a statement about your memories of Al, or make a donation to his family, click here