Apologies
to those who have logged on waiting to pick up the second part of The Tale of
Three Cities. You will have to a wait a little longer to find out what happened
to the seventeen year old me thumbing and bumming around Europe
in the summer of 1969. The sad fact of
life of a working blogger is that last week was financial year end which
invariably obliges lawyers to endeavour to meet clients’ needs to close deals
before 5thApril. The powers
that be in the office also require total commitment to certain financial
disciplines. Creative writing had to
remain on the back burner while the demands of my legal practice took first
place.
Nevertheless,
this blog is beginning to live without my continual intervention. Having had
little time to check the stats I was delighted to see that, unceremoniously and
hitherto unremarked, some time last week my blog passed more than a thousand
views. Seemingly, readers are located
around the globe; in addition to the UK ,
folks are regularly checking in from Russia ,
the USA , Germany , Qatar ,
Israel and Australia Mali and Senegal
In
spite of what was happening at work, last week I did find time to indulge in
some culture. The irrepressible Yannick
Nézet-Séguin was billed to conduct the London Philharmonic at the Royal
Festival Hall last Wednesday. At last, I
hear some of you say, he’s finally got round to his Classical collection. Indeed I have, though, as with all of the
other genres of music, and records, that I like, my relationship with Classical
is somewhat different to the rest.
Following
the demise of the North Sea pirate stations in
1967 – yes, yes there will be a blog about that in due course – I set about
exploring the radio dial. I started an
occasional dalliance with Radio 3 which, nowadays, is my first choice station. Not long after discovering the measured
tranquillity that frequently inhabits what is now 91.0 FM, a weekly part work
called ‘The Great Composers’ was launched in the UK. Each week a 10 inch vinyl album was published
in a fancy cover that included a booklet dedicated to the composer, the music
featured and related socio-historical material.
This groundbreaking multi-media package could be bought from newsagents
for about 15 shillings a pop; that is the equivalent of 75p but with the
purchasing power of about £7.50. For my
second biggest constituency of followers in the USA London
The
first part featured Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, Ludwig’s sixth, played by
the Royal Philharmonic conducted by Charles Groves. One of a relatively small number of
symphonies to consist of five movements as opposed to the more usual four, the
Pastoral includes many great melodies. I
played the album endlessly and read the booklet until I could virtually quote
it by heart. The piece is still one of
my favourites. I only managed to buy another
two of the Great Composers packages – both Beethoven. One of the albums features piano sonatas
including the Moonlight and the Pathetique.
It was subsequently employed as romantic/seduction background music on
the all too rare occasions when I managed to persuade girls to come back to my
room at University. I don’t actually
remember it ever ‘working’. My last buy
in the series was Beethoven’s 1st Symphony which, prior to writing
this blog, I hadn’t listened to for donkeys’ years.
Having
acquired three classical records, I reverted to the fervent accumulation of
rock albums. I didn’t buy another
classical record until my second year at University – of which more anon. Nevertheless, having got the bug I wanted to
go and hear a symphony orchestra play live.
Every week, my parents bought The Sunday Times. Included in its then fairly thin review
section were advertisements for what was called ‘the Four Orchestra Series’ at
the Royal Festival Hall. The week’s
upcoming concerts were set out in a rectangular box down the side of a page of
cultural announcements. Just the names
of the orchestras excited me: the Royal Philharmonic, the London Symphony, the
London Philharmonic and the Philharmonia.
I mooted the prospect of heading to the South Bank with the friends I
was making at my then new school. The
responses were along the lines that they were otherwise committed and/or, in
any event, that watching paint dry would be preferable.
One
Sunday, with nothing else planned, I spotted that the Royal Philharmonic was
playing that evening. I think it must
have been around the Spring of 1969. The
programme included Josef Suk’s Asrael Symphony. I didn’t have a clue what it was and I had
never heard of Josef Suk. However, with
a name like that – mysterious and Eastern European sounding - it couldn’t be
anything other than amazing, surely?
I
remember phoning up the ticket office and reserving a seat in the side stalls –
by the stage and under the boxes for about 7 shillings. It was a bright sunny evening as I strolled
along the rows of faux Tudor houses that lined my route to Edgware station. I assumed a somewhat different persona to my
usual gigging self. Leaving the jeans
and t-shirts that I would usually have worn to smoky clubs hosting guitar based
rock or blues, I put on my one and only suit – dark navy. I felt very grown up as I took the tube to Waterloo
Suk’s
Asrael Symphony is a majestic work that runs for about an hour or so. Its orchestration calls for 12 double-basses
and I was sat right over them. There is
a grand bass refrain – riff if you like – that reappears at different points in
the piece and which has resonated in my mental juke box ever since. The Suk is a sombre composition that was
written in memory of the composer’s father-in-law, Antonin Dvorak – who, of
course, turned out many altogether better known works. Asrael is the Islamic angel of death who
leads the souls of the deceased to a state of perpetual bliss. There is nothing quite like hearing a full
symphony orchestra in full flight. The sound of a hundred or so unamplified
instruments playing together is awe-inspiring.
The experience blew me away.
The next day I was at Hendon Library, which in those days loaned out records, from which I ordered its copy of the Suk and in which I immersed myself until I risked a fine for its late return! I finally got around to buying my own copy –on CD – earlier this year on one of my too rare visits to Amoeba, of which, too, more anon.
While
I greatly enjoy listening to Classical music, I don’t have the same depth of appreciation
and breadth of knowledge about it as I do of, say, sixties/seventies rock or
post-1960 Jazz. That being so, I take a
somewhat generic approach to buying Classical records and attending concerts. In recent years, however, I have become
somewhat addicted to the boxes on the Blue Side of the Festival Hall that I
regularly attend, especially when the magnificent London Philharmonic is
playing. About two years ago I
discovered its frequent guest, Yannick Nézet-Séguin, when he was conducting one
of the Brahms symphonies (I think). His performances are extraordinary, totally
immersed in the music and ethereally connected to the sound that he conjures
out of his musicians. I book to see
every Festival Hall Concert he plays with the LPO. The highlight thus far was last Autumn and
Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. During
the last of its many crescendos I thought Yannick was going to literally fly
off the podium into the air. I decided to buy a recording of the piece heading
to HMV the next day and locating a fabulous recording by Daniel Barenboim and
the Berlin Philharmonic. To illustrate the generic approach to much of my
classical record buying, when I got it home I discovered that I already had a
recording of the piece by the Rotterdam Orchestra conducted by … yup … none
other than said Mr Yannick Nézet-Séguin!
The
nugget of fun and culture that was scheduled to break up the hard work of
financial year end didn’t quite work out. The anticipation of watching the youthful
Canadian maestro leading the LPO through its chops on Mahler 9 (I’m still a
jazzer at heart) kept me going through the thick of some heavyweight contract
negotiations until I got the Festival Hall on Wednesday evening. Unfortunately Yannick had come down with a
bad case of gastric something or other and was indisposed. I desist from making comparisons to the
rocking’ pneumonia and the boogie woogie flu.
His place was taken by Matthew Coorey, a young Australian. My one-liner
about missing his principal didgeridoo player uttered in a bad Ozzie accent,
while prompting a suppressed titter from my companion, didn’t go down too well
with those sharing the box. Nevertheless,
the relative unknown gave an assured performance which reached a high spot with
the shimmering effervescence of the final movement.
Apologies
– more apologies you say - for turning what was intended as a short stop-gap
about a concert into a totally different piece.
It’s the way this blog seems to work.
However, year end is now ended, I have a week’s holiday and I will
shortly return to 1969 and the autoroute from Paris
to Antwerp
Beethoven: Symphony No 1 and Symphony
No 6 ‘The Pastoral’ are performed by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted
by Charles Groves; Piano Sonatas: ‘Moonlight’ and ‘Pathetique’ are performed by
Alfred Brendel; all three are 10 inch vinyl albums released in 1969 by Marshall
Cavendish in its Great Composer part work series. Suk: ‘Asrael Symphony’ is
played by the Czech Philharmonic under Charles Mackerras, also an Australian
and was released on CD by Supraphone in 2011.
Brahms Symphonies 1-4 are included with a selection of Brahms other
orchestral works in a 3CD set on EMI Classics released in 2004; the recordings
date back to 1955, 1958 and 1962 and feature the Philharmonia Orchestra and
Chorus conducted by Otto Klemperer. I also
have vinyl albums of Brahms 1st by the Berlin
Philharmonic under Rudolf Kempe released by MFP in 1959; the Berlin Rotterdam Orchestra
released on CD by Bis in 2010; the second is by Daniel Barenboim and the Berlin
I am practising the Moonlight at the moment and used to play the Pathetique but there has never been any noticeable effect on Nicole!
ReplyDeletesp
I'll look forward to hearing you play it in July!
Delete