Not as funny as HS's stories but again Sir Adrian'a quirky ways,bless him. I was ill equipped for partof my work in publishing -loosely called promotion. I was sent to an office at the side of Broadcasting House to take catalogues etc to AB and his faithful secretary for many years, Gwen Beckett. They were both very nice to a youngster, as I was then and Sir Adrian chatted about the catalogues and put me at ease. There were numerous big brown envelopes and rubber bands and paper clips involved and his eyes lit up as he realised he could keepthem. He seemed more excited by them than the music although he did order a score of the Brahms 2nd Serenade. A gentleman, perhaps rare in conductors. Keep 'em coming HS.....
... couldn't conduct a bus!
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The orchestra was the Royal Philharmonic and the conductor? Sir Thomas Beecham!
I have related this episode for two reasons. First, it explains how I came to be `in the
business' at an early and impressionable age and secondly because it gives me an ideal excuse
for retailing a typical `Beecham Story'.
Nothing was said when I took my place for the start of rehearsal and it seemed that Sir
Thomas was not even aware of my presence. It was during the tea break, when I considered it
advisable to stay in my seat and study the music still to come, that I heard Sir Thomas address
the orchestra manager in a stage whisper that could have been heard back in Baker Street
station.
“Who is the young man playing third horn?” he bellowed.
The orchestra manager, who was facing towards me, was clearly embarrassed on my behalf
and whispered something into the maestro's ear.
“Oh, is that so? Well I hope Mr. Brain knows what he is about!”
Not a situation to inspire confidence, but I managed to get by without undue incident, and to
my utter astonishment and delight, I was immediately engaged for more sessions in the following
week. So, by a stroke of coincidence, I had been in the right place at the right time and was now in the right company.
So many stories about Sir Thomas Beecham have been circulated throughout the years that it
is unnecessary to repeat them here. I am content to relate this one, which I know to be true
because I was present on that particular morning:
Sir Thomas appeared to be preoccupied and not in the best of moods. We kept our heads
down and so did he, not looking up from his score. (Stirring the pudding, as one person described it)
After about fifteen minutes, he suddenly roared, without raising his head, “Second bassoon! Too loud!”
The principal flautist, who rather considered himself to be the spokesman for the woodwind section, immediately jumped to his feet.
“Excuse me, Sir Thomas. The second bassoon hasn't arrived yet. He sent a message that his car has broken down.”
(Was there the suggestion of a smirk on the speaker's face?)
Sir Thomas, quite unabashed, regarded his informant for a few seconds before replying.
“Thank you very much for letting us all know. Perhaps you would be good enough to convey
my comments to the gentleman in question when he does get here?”
HSLast edited by Hornspieler; 12-11-12, 07:09.
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Home to more gems!!! Thank you HS and saly!! Sir Adrian sounds rather Eeyore-like in his delight at hoarding rubber bands &c (reminds me of Eeyore playing with his burst balloon and empty honey jar).
The "74 teas" and "2nd bassoon" stories made me laugh out loud!"...the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices..."
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It's not always the conductors. Apparently the big orchestral controversy at the turn of the 20th Century in Britain was the deputy system. Players would pay other players to stand in for them at rehearsals (or even at concerts) if they themselves had a more lucrative engagement elsewhere. In fact it was Henry Wood's insistence that he wouldn't tolerate deputies that led to many of his players leaving and forming the LSO.
Anyway, Hans Richter noticed several new faces at the second of a series of rehearsals in London - more still at the third and fourth - but there was one stalwart bass player who turned up each time. In a break, Richter thanked him for his conscientiousness.
"Oh, that's all right, Dr Ricther", he replied, "It's just a pity I can't do the concert".
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The Lithuanian conductor, Algar Zuriaitis, who came to Covent Garden with the Bolshoi Ballet in 1963, soon earned himself the nickname `Neuritis' -- and with good reason!
When we played for that Bolshoi Ballet fortnight, far too little rehearsal time was allocated for the numerous works that were to be performed; in spite of the fact that we had a four hour rehearsal every morning and ended up having earned thirty seven hours of overtime in a fortnight . The language barrier did not help and some of the early performances had their dodgy moments.
On the first night that we played the full version of Swan Lake, the conductor (Zuriaitis) sent for the Leader and all the Principals in the interval between the second and third acts. A young violinist from the back desks, who had learnt to speak Russian in the Royal Navy, was sent with us to act as interpreter.
Mostly, it was to comment on points of interpretation and style. Then he addressed himself to the Leader.
There followed a stream of vituperation that must have lasted all of four minutes. He turned to the young fiddler. “Translate!”
The young man, who had only been in the orchestra for a matter of weeks and was still on trial, was placed in an impossible situation. He hesitated for a few moments and then said
“... er ... well, he says you're not quite giving him what he wants.”
Later, a group of us sought out the youngster and asked exactly what had been said. (The Leader of the orchestra at that time had a circle of friends which was insufficient to make a complete circle.)
“Well,” he grinned. “He didn't actually mention the Siberian salt mines ...”
Good morning all.
HS
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Franzl01
Dear Salymap
Love your reminiscences about the great (and not so great) users of your much-missed library. I was reminded by your tale of Sir Adrian and the rubber bands - they were very much an essential part of his technical conducting equipment!
Those of us who had the privilege of his help in our efforts to become the (dreaded) conductor will remember his advice on the baton. He advocated a cylindrical cork bulb to hold, but with his large hands could only use it with the aid of rubber bands wound around the bulb to bulk it out. However, in time the bands became somewhat slimy, so he was forever putting on new ones. And to those of us who complained that we got cramp in the hand with the use of the 'needle-type' baton he would growl - use a different sort and rubber bands, my boy!
But the greatest lesson was: trust the players, most of them know far more than you ever will.
Greetings from sunny (yes, really) Portugal.
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Franz101, thanks for that. I have his Thoughts on Conducting in a rough proof copy with very small print I can't see now but I remember something of what you say. I've also just found Music and Friends, Letters to Adrian Boult, edited by Jerrold Northropp Moore.
Apart fromthe story I told I didn't really know him, apart fromm'Good Morning' if I saw him anywhere. Far more about him on the message boards recently than about his contemporaries Sargent and Beecham though.
An interesting man with vast experience. From a sunny Kent/Greater London, best wishes from salymap
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John Hollingsworth seems to be largely forgotten. Iknow someone spoke ofhis on this thread but I half-remember going to one of those things when JH spoke about the music of, I think, Rutland Boughton. There seemed to be lots of Societies to drum up interest in earlier composers but don't hear much about them on these boards.
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Originally posted by salymap View PostJohn Hollingsworth seems to be largely forgotten. Iknow someone spoke ofhis on this thread but I half-remember going to one of those things when JH spoke about the music of, I think, Rutland Boughton. There seemed to be lots of Societies to drum up interest in earlier composers but don't hear much about them on these boards.
If you look at an orchestral score of a work by a British Composer, you will invariably see that the horn parts are written for horn in F.
Why? Because first, that way the normal compass of the instrument avoids writing on ledger lines or jumping backwards and forwards from treble to bass clef and secondly, because in prewar years, it was customary for British horn players to play on French horns which were pitched in the key of F; whatever key the music was in.
Then the rotary valved instrument started to appear from Europe and Germany in particular. Now, one could buy a “double” horn – two lengths of tubing sharing a common mouthpipe and bell – Still an “F” horn but now by operating a 4th valve with the thumb, a B flat horn, pitched a fifth above and referred to as a B flat Alto.
The reason for this addition was primarily to make the high notes safer.
Dr Clarence Raybould was a British conductor of the old school. He made up his mind that the F horn sounded purer in tone quality than the B flat horn and constantly complained about “… this dreadful innovation.”
However, safety is everything for a horn player and some of those works by JSB or the early symphonies by Joseph Haydn took the players very high indeed – in fact above the normal compass of the instrument.
So it was not long before a new instrument arrived. Still a double horn, but now pitched in B flat Alto and F Alto above!
The late Alan Hyde, principal horn in the LSO, acquired one of those instruments and was using it for an extreme bit of horn writing.
Dr Raybould: “Were you playing that on the F horn or the B flat horn?”
Alan: “The F horn.”
Raybould: “Ah, I thought so. It makes all the difference, you know.”
Alan: “What possible difference can four feet of tubing make?”
Dr Raybould then proceeded to explain that the extra length of tube helped to smooth the sound before it emerged from the instrument and avoided “that brass band raucousness” of the B flat horn.
Alan: “That’s a very interesting theory – but you see it wasn’t four feet more – it was four feet less!”
HS
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... a trip to the Channel Islands to play with the local orchestra.
A friend who played the clarinet arranged that the two of us should go over to play two concerts.
It was a nice engagement. We were to fly over, stay with my colleague's father, who played
the ´cello, and stay on afterwards for a few days to see the sights and maybe give a couple
of lessons. The piano soloist (Ronald Smith) travelled over on the same aircraft.
The conductor was a little Italian music master who was so short that only the top of his head
and his right arm (wielding a baton almost as long as himself) could be seen over the top of
the rostrum. The first oboe `gave the A' and I thought for a moment that someone had trodden
on the cat. Perhaps he sensed that I was staring at his reed, which looked like a worn out
child's paint brush, because he turned round in his seat and said “It's a wonderful reed,
this. Do you know, I've had this reed for eleven years! “
The double bass player (the local policeman) had probably the only three-stringed bass still in
existence. When the conductor told him that a certain note was flat, he replied “It can't be,
Mr. Conductor. It's my open string!”
We started to play the Schumann Piano Concerto. The slow opening went quite well, but
when we reached the Allegretto 2/2 section, where the tune is taken by the clarinet with
the soloist accompanying, they took off at the usual tempo and it soon became obvious that
they were leaving the rest of the orchestra some distance behind, so the soloist stopped and
said, with great diplomacy, “Don't you think, Mr. S______ that we might, with effect, take
this passage a little bit slower?”, to which the conductor replied, “But of course! As a
madder of fact, I usually beat thees in four, but ze clarinet went so fast I 'ad to beat it in two.”
HS
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