Today
Last Saturday, with the greatest of sadness, I said goodbye to my brother David. As the church filled up the organist began to play. "That's Messiaen", I whispered to Paul "La Nativité du Seigneur."
In My Day
Without David's influence there would be a great deal of music that I would never have thought to hear. His enthusiasm and surefootedness made an enticing combination.
During the late '60s he and I were cultural companions in London; going to concerts and the theatre together. One day he told me that he had tickets to hear "La Nativité du Seigneur" played on the organ of Westminster Cathedral.
I don't think that I had ever set foot in the cathedral and was suitably awed by this yawning Byzantine space. The Messiaen music simply swept me away. While I could never really grasp the musical jungle that is Turangalila, this pared-down, ecstatic music had me transfixed. The music is an evocation of the birth of Christ, but never lapses into sentimentality, even the lilting shepherds' melody fits perfectly into the design.
At the time it even inspired me to art: this drawing in pastels which hung on my sister's wall for many years, entitled "Dessins Eternel". At school we were asked to write a poem inspired by a piece of music and I chose "Les Anges" - also from the same work. I can't comment about the quality of either poetry or art, but it's enough that the music haunted me to such an extent.
It's impossible to work out just how many pieces of music entered my head, courtesy of David. It's his eternal gift to me, and I wish him a music-filled eternity.
Today
Yesterday the new term at choir started. One of the pieces we're are performing is Bach's Cantata 68. The first aria after the opening chorus is "My Heart Ever Faithful"
In My Day
When I was a child 4 Beulah Hill was always filled with music. I preferred, even then, to listen to songs and choral music. And I remember this piece so well. It was sung by Isobel Baillie and I couldn't get enough of her delicate high soprano. I think that I was about nine at the time and I wonder whether I saw her at the proms singing this as I also thought that she was so beautiful. She sang it in English with a sprightly sense of joy that was totally unselfconscious and I have longed ever since to have an opportunity to sing it myself, although that has not so far occurred.
Looking at this picture, it's easy to see how very much she was of her time (aren't we all, but just can't see it?), but also how a young, over-imaginative child might adore her.
Last night I listened to three versions of this piece. First Isobel's with its simple unornamented singing with solid, somewhat staid orchestra. Next a recording by the Thomanerchor, a boy's choir in Leipzig, the descendant of the choir that Bach used to direct. Their performance was assured with an awful lot of woodwind, but with an air that this was just the day job. Finally a performance under the baton of Nikolaus Harnoncourt. This one ticks all the boxes in many ways, with crisp playing on period instruments with a nice young-sounding soprano and, of course, sung in German.
Well the jury's out, but I may still find for Isobel's joyous interpretation and forgive the hefty orchestration.
Today
As usual, Beatrice brought heaps of her leftover food when she came and then left without eating it. So I came back from my New Year break to find some very overripe bananas perfuming my kitchen.
"I'd better make banana bread", I said to Paul.
In My Day
Back in 1980 when Mark, Beatrice and Nick lived with us at Rowan Avenue, it could be dull work trying to provide tasty and varied meals on a limited budget.
Thinking to cheer things up, Beatrice and I suggested that everyone choose a different dessert each night. What were we thinking? It was bad enough rustling up spotted dick and other standards after a day's work, but when Mark enthused about the banana bread his mother used to make I had no idea what he was talking about and he certainly knew no more than it contained bananas.
To the rescue came a "World Cookery" book that Mamma had given me. Since this was the book that spelt bhajis "budgies", I was't entirely confident about the quality of the research. But there, in the Canadian section, was a recipe for banana bread. So I made it and it turned out to be a tasty, moist cake. Not really pudding, but add some custard and all was fine. Mark pronounced it a perfect replica.
The picture shown is what I hope mine will be like when it comes out of the oven, Cheers, Mark!
I don't think that I had ever set foot in the cathedral and was suitably awed by this yawning Byzantine space. The Messiaen music simply swept me away. While I could never really grasp the musical jungle that is Turangalila, this pared-down, ecstatic music had me transfixed. The music is an evocation of the birth of Christ, but never lapses into sentimentality, even the lilting shepherds' melody fits perfectly into the design.
