In the pantheon of classical guitar greats, John Williams stands as a most imposing figure. For decades he has been the archetype for recitalists of the post-Segovia era. His singular technical abilities and thoroughgoing approach to the music he plays have set very high standards for those seeking to follow him. His copious discography contains enduring renditions of all of the monuments of the core repertoire and forays into musical territory where few other classical guitarists have trod. History views Segovia as the guitar virtuoso spanning the 19th and 20th century traditions. In all likelihood, Williams will be considered the pathfinder leading the classical guitar from the 20th into the 21st century.

I spoke with Williams during his recent trip to the States for some advance promotion of his latest Sony album The Guitarist. The stunning new disc underscores Williams’ passion for finding great new material in out-of-the-way sources. On it Williams combines music from many places and times, putting songs of medieval Italy alongside newer entries shaped by contemporary culture in Australia, Turkey, Greece, and England. William’s absolute mastery of the instrument, big-picture approach to musical interpretation, and familiarity with the far-flung periods and places from which this music sprang make these disparate selections coalesce very naturally.

I met Williams at New York’s Parker Meridian Hotel, a half block from Carnegie Hall. He had just returned from Miami where, the night before, his cameo appearance had wowed the crowd at a convention of Sony Classical staffers. In conversation Williams revealed himself to be a gregarious, unpretentious, and deep-thinking man. Not surprisingly, 40 years in the field have only fanned the flames of his passion for his profession, guitars, and music as a whole.

In 1958 at 17, Williams made his debut in London’s Wigmore hall and subsequently launched an extraordinary performing and recording career. By now, he is not sure himself exactly how many albums he has released, but estimates the number to be between 80 and 90. Most have been on the CBS (now Sony Classical) label.

His recorded output includes a staggering portion of the solo, chamber, concerto, and duo guitar repertoire from the renaissance through the 20th century. He has also moved in circles well outside the classical realm. Notable among these departures were a five-year stint recording and touring with the rock/classical band Sky and a pair of records and several appearances with English saxophonist John Dankworth and jazz vocalist Cleo Laine. Williams’ fretwork has also graced numerous movie soundtracks. From Stanley Myers’ score for the 1978 Vietnam War drama “The Deerhunter,” Williams retained a musical souvenir; the melancholic “Cavatina,” still a mainstay in his repertoire.

Other side trips away from solo recitals have included three albums with fellow classical guitarist Julian Bream and group efforts like John Williams and Friends (exploring world folk music), and the contemporary music ensemble ATTACCA.

On the new record, Williams made a conscious move away from the sounds of Classical- and Romantic-era guitar repertoire choosing pieces leaning toward Eastern Mediterranean and medieval sounds. The disc features “Three Epitafios” by Greek songwriter Mikis Theodorakis, Carlo Domeniconi’s Eastern influenced suite “Koyanbaba,” “Gymnopédie No. 3” and two “Gnossiennes” by French anti-romantic Eric Satie, three anonymous medieval melodies, and a multimovment piece by Australian Phillip Houghton.

The album’s most unexpected treat is “Aeolian Suite,” a work penned by Williams himself for guitar and orchestra. Writing the multimovement work was something of a new venture for Williams. I was surprised to hear of his reservations about approaching his record company with the piece simply because he had written it. “Sony is very serious these days, they are not into indulging people,” Williams said. “I was encouraged by friends who had listened to parts of it without knowing I had written it. I sent off a demo of the whole new record including “Aeolian Suite” with synthesizers to the people at Sony, and the piece seemed to go down very well with them.”

The suite features a main theme, occurring in the first and last movements, that was written by a friend who Williams says prefers to remain anonymous. “When he first played his tune ‘Aeolian Chant’ for me, I thought it sounded haunting and medieval,” Williams said. “I originally had the idea of having strings for this piece. I got carried away with it and the sound of the key of D major. I decided to use three bass players, all with their low E strings tuned to D.”

Williams scored it for a small orchestra [eight first violins, six second violins, four violas, three cellos, three basses, two clarinets, and two flutes]. He composed and orchestrated simultaneously. “When I started, I wondered if I should sketch it out and then have someone else orchestrate it,” he said. “I know how to orchestrate, but not like those who do it all the time. But I figured I had the time and I was really interested in it. Everything came out—for ill or good—just as I wanted it to.”

In our conversation, Williams touched several times upon his strong opinions on the rhythmic basis of music, and his feeling that a steady rhythmic pulse frees rather than restrains a performer’s expressive resources. He took a surprisingly “unclassical” approach to his suite in the studio by opting to prerecord his guitar part to a click track and then overdub the orchestra.

“The orchestra could have played it without the click if they had done what rock groups do,” he said. “Those groups spend months playing their most complex material on tour and they know it inside and out. You can’t hope that any group—especially an orchestra—will get locked in on a piece like this in one day.” To Williams, the click track was invaluable, especially in the last movement that rips by in 7/8 time.

He assured me that the work is not something only John Williams can pull off, and he is hopeful that others will try it. “It is totally playable,” he said. Even the last movement with its rapid-fire lines and arpeggios he says is manageable. “It has a few of my little licks in it, but it is a hoot! It actually sounds more difficult than it is. The other movements are not difficult at all. My favorite is the slow one.”

Williams described the many different factors contributing to his selection of material for the new album. He chose to revisit some works that he had initially encountered years earlier. “I first played the Mikis Theodorakis pieces in the late 1960s,” he said. “More than anyone else, he is responsible for the direction of Greek popular music. I recorded his songs on an album of Greek music, mainly I was accompanying [Greek vocal star] Maria Farandouri. The ‘Epitafios’ were on that album arranged as solos by Stanley Myers. I modified them for this recording.

“‘Stélé’ by Phillip Houghton is something I have played on and off for the past nine years. He was originally a rock and folk guitarist but is becoming very focused as a composer. I love his music. I would like it if the classical guitar world thought and felt more of the affinity and enthusiasm he feels for what is going on in the wider world of music.”

Two of the CD’s three anonymous pieces were culled from an anthology of predominantly single-line melodies of 13th and 14th century Italian songs and dances, the other has English origins. While Williams renders “Lamento di Tristan” with a warm, even romantic feel, his arrangement preserves the stark, medieval quality of the plaintive melody by stating it alone before adding treble counterlines, bass notes, and finally chords.

“Ductia” features a spare melody accompanied throughout with chordal harmonics. For the rollicking “Saltarello,” Williams’ sixth string is tuned to D and his fifth to G for a droning bass accompaniment. “I was playing a lot of medieval music with some friends in England when I first came across these pieces,” Williams said. “The ‘Saltarello’ and ‘Lamento di Tristan’ come from an Italian collection called ‘Estampie,’ but the middle piece, ‘Ductia,’ actually comes from an English collection.”

For his orchestration of Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 3,” Williams took his lead from the composer’s sketch. Satie’s score had no guitar, it was Williams idea to play the melody on one guitar and then the harp accompaniment on a second guitar track. “Satie had started the orchestration but did not finish,” said Williams. “My friend [composer] Patrick Gowers did his post grad thesis on Satie, and he gave me a facsimile of the first page of Satie’s score. When he laid out the score, he wanted voice, strings, harp, two clarinets, and an oboe. I am not pretending for a second that I know what he was going to do with those instruments. But the basis of his accompaniment pattern is clearly laid out. I followed his spacing of the triads in the string pizzicatos. The piece has a certain charm because of the simple texture.”

Williams keeps a very open mind when choosing music for a new album or tour. “I don’t go in search of new music or new masterpieces,” he said. “I don’t have that view of guitar music. My attitude is that interesting music is written as a result of musical activity, communication, and life in general. This applies to all music.

“For the past 20 to 30 years, the influence of jazz, blues, and popular music, and the influence of flamenco, traditional ethnic, and world music has made things different than they were before. So I don’t feel it is a necessity to be looking to extend the guitar’s repertoire by having so called ‘important’ new pieces written for it. I think it is great when they are written, but for me, it is not an obsession. In the guitar world, it has been an obsession.

“I don’t want to be misunderstood on this point. Some great pieces have been commissioned from composers like Benjamin Britten, Peter Sculthorpe, Leo Brower, and others, but I don’t think that is the only thing happening in guitar music. Because of the universality of its sound, the classical guitar links with plucked-string and percussion instruments from Africa, Eastern Europe, and the Far East. There are a great opportunities to be a part of many different kinds of music. I find that as interesting as anything else that has happened.”

From time to time, Williams would take out his guitar to make a musical point for me. His natural, effortless technique and beautiful tone prompted questions about his formative years as a guitarist. He attributes his facility to the excellent tutelage he received at an early age from his father. Few realize that he had only a handful of classes with Segovia. Many people believe that the maestro was pivotal in Williams’ development. He strenuously denies that notion.

“As many may know by now, I am critical of the legacy of Segovia’s teaching. He was fantastic to me and a great inspiration to a whole generation, but he was also a very difficult human being and he behaved, in personal terms, abominably towards me and my father. I have to say, with the benefit of hindsight, that I don’t think he was a good teacher.

“He taught as many of his generation did, by example. That is all right up to a point, but he never elucidated in class or privately what the important things in music were. He didn’t tell us what to aim for in the structure. For example, in a Bach suite, he never spoke about how the movements should contrast to construct a nicely balanced whole. He was always talking about little bits of rubato or fingering, his interpretive mannerisms. He would just say play this faster or slower and perhaps give an example of his beautiful sound on the second string. That was all.

“The general mood in all of his classes was one of great fear. People were frightened because he made such an example of the people who failed and would get angry. Everyone knew that he was happiest when they imitated him. As a result, people were totally constipated musically when they played for him. No one played in their natural style. Of all the people I knew from that period, none of them played their best in his class. It doesn’t really matter whether it is because of his generation or any other reason, I don’t think that is good teaching.

“I think I learned the most about guitar from my father. He was a great teacher. He taught me from when I was four or five to 12 or 13. He wanted me to make that beautiful Segovia sound and spent a lot of time on hand position and being relaxed. He also wanted no unnecessary hand movement. He taught about control of tone color and that technique is not about speed, but is for control of dynamics.

“I continue to learn about music from other musicians; violinists, pianists, and other contemporaries of mine from that period and through the years. That is where I learned music, not from Segovia. My father was very strict with me, perhaps too strict, but I am really happy with the results.”

I told Williams that in comparing his recent recordings to his earlier ones, that I felt his playing had gotten more expressive as the years passed. “I take that as a compliment,” he said. “A number of people have said that to me. There is a change, but it is not deliberate. I think that my playing has widened out in general, but rhythmically, I have become much more emphatic. So my playing has not become more expressive in a sense that it is less rhythmic. I have always felt rhythmic pulse whether the piece is fast or slow. The idea of the rhythm being subservient to a rubato doesn’t appeal to me. I feel rubato, expressive, improvisational playing happens above the beat.

“The Segovia gestures—extra vibrato and dwelling on a note or chord at a cadence—is not musical freedom. There has been a tendency among guitar players to think that doing these things for their own sake quite apart from the context of a piece of music as a whole, is in some way expressive. I view them as simply mannerisms—maybe lovely ones—but just mannerisms. Freedom happens above the pulse.”

Williams added that after he started playing guitars by Australian luthier Greg Smallman, he felt the instrument gave him more expressive resources. This led to a discussion about the unique characteristics of Smallman’s guitars. Williams explained that the tops on these guitars are extremely thin, and told me that an early Smallman prototype guitar had a top made of balsa wood. A unique lattice bracing supports the top. The sides of the body are very thick, permitting little if any absorption of sound energy.

“The reason for the lattice bracing of a very lightweight top and heavy construction elsewhere is to produce a less percussive sound,” Williams said. “The top is less stiff and springy than a traditional Spanish guitar with a spruce top and fan-struts. The Smallman gives a greater variety in tone colors. There is not simply a difference between playing ponticello and dolce, but all of the shades in between are there. There is an instant feel under your fingers and it inspires you to do more. When you play, it is like the feedback you get in a conversation with a person.

“The Smallman is less percussive even when you play loud. That is due to the construction. With a traditional fan-strutted guitar, because the top is stiff and heavy, the stronger you pluck, the more you hear the fundamental percussive attack. Smallman’s tops work more like a drum skin, the entire top is working from the word go. Instead of the stiffer places over the bridge sounding first and then the fan strutting working next, the whole top is working. On a fan-strutted guitar, not much energy gets out to the edges of the top. Smallman’s idea is to get as much energy as possible out to the edges of the top.

“On his guitars, when you pluck loudly, you get less percussive sound and more note than you would with a traditional top. If you play very, very quietly—pianisissimo—you get more response too. The top is actually responding. If you play like that on the fan-strutted guitar, there is barely enough force from the string to get the top to work. You end up hearing only the string vibrating and not the top.”

Our conversation turned from guitars to music in general. Williams sees a fin de siècle lyricism coming into vogue in the waning years of a century which—for better and for worse—has seen much musical innovation. He reflected on his involvement in the late 1960s avant-garde movement and how it ultimately proved to be a blind alley. “The avant-garde existed because of the enthusiasm of performing musicians, me included, who wanted to do new things just for the sake of doing them,” he said. “It is fun to rehearse for a week with a chamber group and then perform a new piece. An enormous amount of money from the BBC, new music committees, and public grants was poured into producing avant-garde concerts. People simply didn’t go to them.

“I think that movement has taken its natural place. Generally, it was a musical vocabulary that was searching for a kind of artificial originality. It is like saying I can’t find the right words to express what I want to say, so I’ll have to invent a whole other language. It is clear, though, that if you can’t find the words, then you’ve got nothing to say. Undeniably, a few great pieces survived from that era and we have forgotten the rubbish. Today, there is a return to lyricism, but it is not a looking back, it’s returning to a timeless, universal thing that was always there. Sort of social and communal culture.”

Williams’ shared his opinions on the continuing evolution of Western music and the guitar’s place in it. “The idea that the best music is European music is having the ground cut away beneath it,” he said. “The influence of blues, jazz, American popular songs, and musicals on the vocabulary of classical music in this century has been enormous. When you look at the mix of blues and rock with traditional and folk elements, you see the development of a sort of worldwide urban culture. Add to that the influence of world music, and you’ve got an enormous sea of interest in music in general today.

“About 150 years ago the guitar was an amateur instrument and, frankly, it wasn’t part of what was going on in [classical] music. You had a Giuliani concerto and some solos, but guitar was only part of the amateur music scene. Today, in the worldwide musical culture, across the board, guitar is right up there in the middle of it—I’m talking about the classical guitar. It is used in films, in traditional African music, folk and Celtic music, and much more. Madagascar has a whole history of classical guitar playing in their traditional music. It’s linked throughout quite apart from steel-string or electric guitar.

“Culture is mixing and there is no thought about where it is going—neither should there be. The people who are doing their stuff know what they are doing. Bob Marley knew what he was doing, he wasn’t concerned with summing it up for history. Jazz musicians, African singers, or thumb piano players know what they are doing.

“Earlier in this century, you could have said that most music was either popular or classical European music. But classical composers today have been influenced by the harmonies of popular and jazz music just as jazz itself was influenced by the harmonies in the music of Ravel and Debussy. The 20th century has seen a total change colored by this mix. In some ways, it is hard to know where we are . . . but I think that is good.”