Just in case one of the innumerable CDs of music sent to me by composers and publishers should turn out to include a masterpiece, I listen to each and every one. I round them up, prise them from their plastic receptacles and squeeze them into my pocket CD carrier (which holds 36 CDs together with their booklets). Then, the next time I embark on a long-haul flight, I indulge in an epic aural binge sustained by copious quantities of in-flight refreshments. Pretty neat. Or at least that’s what I thought, until my twelve year-old son started bleating about his iPod, his iTunes, and his iDon’tKnowWhat. “Dad” he opined, gesticulating towards my pile of CDs “you are just not together. Don’t you realise you can download everything onto this “ – at which point the sleeky, silvery device is extracted from his school bag. “ It takes 10,000 tracks!” my son exclaimed excitedly. “But I don’t want 10,000 tracks – these are quite enough” I said, gesturing at the huge heap of CDs. “No, Dad, you’re not getting it, you don’t need CDs anymore. You download them onto the computer, transfer the information onto the iPod and – with the iTunes site online – you can find any music you want. They’ve got 750,000 titles. Pop. Classical. Everything.” “Right!” I barked, striding towards the computer, “Show me!” (iTunes was duly installed). “Let’s see if we can find some cello recordings. Try Jacqueline du Pre.” Nothing. “Try Paul Tortelier.” Nothing, although Mr iTunes (who I had re-named Mr One Tune) helpfully asked if I meant Paul Thiollier . Next I tried Elgar’s Cello Concerto. Bullseye! They had the Naxos version , which – if you downloaded the CDs eleven tracks – would cost you far more than buying it in-store. I turned my attention to pop. Now, although I realise that my penchant for early 60s crooners is not universally shared, any music library that consigns Brian Hyland (do you mean Brian Island) Del Shannon (do you mean Del Shelton and Chris Montez (do you mean Chris Money) to the dustbin along with several classic Elvis hits hardly renders the CD obsolete.
From an unsound sound library to the finest in the world. The British Library Sound Archive was founded in ‘True British Eccentric’ style by the late Patrick Saul. Saul was so miffed to discover that a disc of music by Dohnanyi had been deleted he made it his lifetime’s work to establish an archive of every kind of recorded sound – his own personal favourite out of literally millions of recordings being the mating call of the haddock. As a student I remember Saul crawling about the floor of his library trying to locate a reel-to-reel tape of some obscure cello broadcast I had challenged him to find. Nowadays a fully computerised catalogue can be viewed online. We owe Saul a massive debt for his foresight. He taped numerous broadcasts ‘lost’ by the BBC and – alongside the mating call of the haddock – the BLSA even has five hundred and ninety nine Del Shannon recordings!
Last month I gave three performances in Kevin Mayhew’s new ‘Concerts in Churches’ series. For a simple, heart-warming idea it is hard to beat. Simple, because it is a logical progression of Mayhew’s twenty-five years experience in publishing church, choral and organ music; heart-warming, because its success gives the lie to the notion that classical music can only survive when supported by grants or sponsorship. By cannily programming artists like guitarist John Williams and clarinettist Emma Johnson and carefully selecting user-friendly churches which are neither freezing cold nor bereft of loos, the series is drawing large audiences in areas where classical music is in short supply. ‘Concerts in Churches’ is a quietly revolutionary idea with an ethos as warmly resonant as its venues.
In response to London Fire Brigade’s plan to put 999 callers on hold, its union’s President complained: “People trapped in fires do not want to be stuck on hold listening to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons!”. Do you know anyone who does?
