Led Zeppelin formed when I was an undergraduate student in 1968, and were probably at their height of fame during the 1970s when I was away in South and Central America. The band just didn’t figure on my musical radar. And by the time I returned to the UK in 1981, Led Zeppelin were no longer active. Of course I knew about them, but their music, (whatever genre it was, heavy metal or not) never found favor with me.
I knew all about lead singer Robert Plant, long mane of blond hair, bare chest and the like. I never paid much attention to his ability as a vocalist. Until October 2007 that is.
In an extraordinary collaboration, Plant teamed up with multi-Grammy Award winner bluegrass singer and musician Alison Krauss, releasing Raising Sand to wide acclaim.
I’d first encountered the music of Alison Krauss around 2008 when I was on home leave that year, and later wrote about her and Union Station in 2012 (one of the first posts I wrote). But I’d not come across Raising Sand then. It wasn’t until I retired and returned to the UK that I first came across that album. And in the intervening years, it has become a firm favorite. The second track, Killing the Blues, is my favorite track, and here are Plant and Krauss performing on the BBC show, Later . . . with Jools Holland.
Now, fourteen years later, they have renewed their distinctive collaboration with the release of Raising the Roof in November 2021. Both albums were produced by T Bone Burnett.
This album was a present from my wife last Christmas. I’m still working through it, and not certain yet which is my favorite track. Nevertheless, Raising the Roof is as good as Raising Sand, and has also been widely praised. The fifth track, Searching for my Love, is a perfect vehicle for Plant’s vocals.
The ninth track, Last Kind Words Blues is a good example of how Krauss and Plant cross genres. It was written and originally recorded by country blues singer Geeshie Wiley in 1930.
Yesterday, I’d come across an iPod Nano that I had misplaced for more than a year. I normally use that iPod in the car, so decided to copy Raising the Roof on to it (and another iPod Classic).
It was mid-afternoon, almost 15:30. I was sitting in the living room, reading one of Ann Cleeves’ Shetland series novels, and listening to Raising the Roof. My cellphone was on charge across the room, but I did hear the distinctive ping of a WhatsApp message but didn’t immediately bother to check it out.
It was from my elder daughter Hannah who lives in St Paul, Minnesota. It would have been almost 09:30 over there. Sitting at her desk (working from home for the past two years during the Covid pandemic) she had been listening to public radio, and heard an item about Raising the Roof.
As you can see from my reply, it was quite a coincidence that I should be listening to that album (probably the eleventh track Going Where the Lonely Go) at the very moment she sent me the message.
Do you remember the first 45 single or album (LP or CD) that you bought? I bought the single Keep on Running by The Spencer Davis Group in late 1965.
I also remember precisely when and where I bought these albums: Rubber Soul, Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and the White Album by The Beatles. My first CD (in 1991 just before I headed to the Philippines) was Fleetwood Mac’s Greatest Hits, and I’ve been a massive Mac fan ever since. And in the intervening years, I went on to expand my CD collection, although with streaming now available I’ve not added to it for at least a decade.
In my CD collection, several artists or groups are represented by multiple discs: The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Dire Straits/Mark Knopfler, R.E.M., Eric Clapton,Crowded House, and Alison Krauss & Union Station, to name just a few.
For others, I have maybe a couple of CDs or just a single one. Among these is one artist whose work I have come to relish over the decades, but it wasn’t until just a few weeks ago (through Spotify) did I finally appreciate just what an incredible singer/songwriter he was. I have only two of his ten albums. I don’t know why it took me so long to find out.
I’m referring to Gerry Rafferty (1947-2011). So, how and when did I first encounter this brilliant musician?
It was late 1978. I was living in Costa Rica, and had just returned from home leave in the UK. During that leave, my brother-in-law Derek recorded a tape for me, Rafferty’s City to City (his second solo album) released earlier that year. However, I didn’t have a tape deck because we’d had a burglary during our home leave, and my hi-fi had been stolen.
Discovering City to City had to wait until a few weeks later when I was in San José (the capital city) to take delivery of a new car, and have a stereo system installed, including a tape deck.
Ready for the return journey to Turrialba where we lived (about 70 km east of San José, and at least a couple of hours on the road) I eagerly anticipated listening to City to City, and was instantly enthralled by the first track, The Ark, enjoying the blend throughout the album of folk and soft rock. The Ark has remained a favorite of mine all these years.
But ask anyone to name any Gerry Rafferty song, and I’m pretty sure that Baker Street (with its iconic saxophone riff  by Raphael Ravenscroft) would be top of their list. It quickly rose in the charts. Rafferty always surrounded himself with so many accomplished musicians.
The title track from the album is pretty damn good as well, inspired by Rafferty’s long-distance commuting apparently.
The fifth track on City to City is particularly poignant. My late elder brother Ed (who lived in Canada) was also a Gerry Rafferty fan. When his wife Linda passed away after a battle with cancer in 2007, Ed chose Stealin’ Time as one of the pieces of music played at her funeral. A poignant tribute to a lovely lady.
A year after City to City, Rafferty released Night Owl in 1979. The title track is my favorite with Already Gone coming a close second.
So, what about all the other wonderful music that I’d not been exposed to? Well, working through that first Spotify playlist of so many great songs, two in particular caught my ear. The first, Don’t Give Up On Me was the seventh track on his seventh studio album, On a Wing & a Prayer released in 1992.
And the other, which I believe is one of Rafferty’s finest (and ‘undiscovered’) songs is Tired of Talking, released as the third track on his sixth studio album, North and South, in 1988.
This track, Don’t Speak of My Heart, is the third track from Rafferty’s tenth and final album, Life Goes On, released in November 2009. An alcoholic for much of his life, Rafferty died of liver failure in January 2011. Taken too soon, at just 63.
For an even greater appreciation of the genius of Gerry Rafferty, watch this hour long documentary broadcast by BBC Scotland in 2011. Maybe even shed a tear . . .
 The saxophone break on “Baker Street” has been described as “the most famous saxophone solo of all time”, “the most recognizable sax riff in pop music history”, and “one of the most recognisable saxophone solos of all time”. (Source: Wikipedia)
Just recently I’ve been thinking about different musical partnerships or collaborations, for reasons that will become apparent towards the end of this blog post.
When it comes to much of the music of the 18th and 19th centuries, it seems that collaborations between composer and librettist weren’t celebrated as such.
Have you ever heard of Lorenzo Da Ponte? You haven’t? I didn’t think so. Neither had I until I searched for information about librettists who collaborated with well-known composers. Da Ponte (left, below) was the librettist for three of Mozart’s most famous operas: Don Giovanni, The Marriage of Figaro, and Così fan tutte.
Or Francesco Maria Piave (right, above) who wrote ten of the librettos for Giuseppe Verdi, including La traviata and Rigoletto.
Funny how we don’t talk about Mozart and Da Ponte as such, an 18th century ‘Rogers and Hammerstein’. I jest.
Some composers like Richard Wagner were masters of music and words. He wrote both the libretto and score for Der Ring des Nibelungen, commonly known as The Ring Cycle.
I’ve been a fan of G&S operettas since my early teens, and Ruddigore is a particular favorite. Here’s Vincent Price as Sir Despard Murgatroyd in a 1983 TV production of Ruddigore, opposite ‘Mad Margaret’ played by British actress Ann Howard.
Surely the most successful musical collaboration of the second half of the 20th century must be John Lennon and Paul McCartney that led to a plethora of Beatles hits and top-selling albums. Even though it seems that each wrote songs more or less individually, these were published under their joint names.
Being a child of the 60s, I was a big fan of Simon and Garfunkel. Still am. While Paul Simon wrote most of the songs during their active years as a duo, Art Garfunkel crafted how the songs were actually performed, the harmonies achieved and the like. They had their rifts, break-ups, yet came together periodically to wow their fans. Just listen to this performance of Sounds of Silence at Madison Square Garden in 2009, forty five years after it was first released. Makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
What an unlikely coming together of artists from wildly different genres. Yet, it was a match made in heaven. In 2007, Plant and Krauss released an album, Raising Sand, featuring thirteen tracks, and produced by T Bone Burnett (who plays guitar on the video below).
During the pandemic lockdown I’ve continued to take my daily walk, anywhere between 1.5 and almost 4 miles. And increasingly I have been listening to music on my iPod. I have more than 3500 tracks stored, and usually play them in shuffle mode so I never know quite what to expect next.
Just last week, within a minute or so of leaving home, I had the second track on Raising Sand streaming through my head phones. I’ve heard several versions of Killing the Blues (written by Rowland Jon Salley in 1977), but this live version by Plant and Krauss is just perfect, performed on the BBC’s Later with Jools Holland in 2008.
I have also just watched all six episodes that some kind soul uploaded to YouTube, which I have shared below. They really are worth six hours of your time.
At a time when we can call up any genre of music, composer, or even specific composition via the Internet, on our phones, or even ask Alexa, it’s quite an eye-opener (or should that be ‘ear-opener’) to realise that hasn’t always been the case. In the introduction to each episode of the TV series. and early on in his book, Goodall makes two assertions (that I have no reason to challenge whatsoever) that had never crossed my mind before.
First, he states that many people in centuries past might go weeks, months even (or perhaps longer) without hearing any music whatsoever. Music had really only been accessible to a narrow stratum of society, commissioned by and composed for the aristocracy.
And second, until the age of recording began in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, someone might hear their favorite piece of music maybe four or five times only in their entire life.
Now with the likes of Classic FM or Scala Radio here in the UK, a wide range of music is instantly available to millions upon millions of listeners.
I have extremely broad tastes in music, catholic tastes even, as I blogged about in the context of being cast away on a desert island. There’s much so-called ‘classical music’ that I’m fond of, the piano works of Chopin in particular. But I also regularly listen to ragtime, some jazz, and rock and pop. In fact, a day isn’t a day unless I’ve been listening to music for a minimum of six hours or more. Access to music is something that’s keeping me going under Covid-19 lockdown.
And even though I learnt to (passably) play the cello when I was in high school in the 1960s, I never did develop any musicological ability. In fact, looking back on it, I wonder how I managed to read music at all. It’s all squiggles on a page to me now. I wouldn’t recognise a diminished chord or a triad if they hit me in the face. So why this ‘sudden’ interest in music?
Well, about five or six weeks ago as I was enjoying my early morning cup of tea in bed, I was listening to a lovely composition by Mozart on Classic FM. That got to thinking about the complexity of his music, and other eighteenth century composers like JS Bach, Handel, Vivaldi, Haydn and others, and why music almost overnight changed from what had gone before.
I decided to ask my friend Kevin Painting, who pointed me in the direction of The Story of Music. And then he sent me a YouTube link to Episode 2 about composition in the eighteenth century, The Age of Invention. That’s when I found all six episodes, and realised that I had, in fact, watched the series seven years ago, but it had completely slipped my mind.
Spanning 30,000 years or more (from cave dwellers in France) to modern times, Howard Goodall states that there are many ways to tell the story of music. This is his way. It’s unpretentious, clear, and excellent in demonstrating how techniques developed in earlier centuries still influence composition today, even the music of The Beatles, Stevie Wonder, Lady Gaga and thousands more.
And this is a particular point that Goodall emphasises time and again. Musical progression didn’t happen by chance. Someone sat down and ‘invented’ them.
Although some of the musicology left me flummoxed, I turned to the videos to hear what Goodall was explaining in the book. Taken together, these are an excellent—and uplifting—resource for anyone interested in music.
I’ll never take music for granted again. Enjoy the videos.
Episode 1: The Age of Discovery – traces the development of music from the religious ‘Gregorian’ chant to the growth of instrumental and folk music between 1000 and 1600.
Episode 2: The Age of Invention – looks at the fertile musical period between 1650 and 1750, in which many of the musical innovations we take for granted today were invented.
Episode 3: The Age of Elegance & Sensibility – looks at the age in which composers went from being the paid servants of princes and archbishops to working as freelancers.
Episode 4: The Age of Tragedy – examines the music of the middle to late 19th century, in which a craze for operas and music that dealt with death and destiny swept Europe.
Episode 5: The Age of Rebellion – looks at the period when modernism in music arrived, and when the birth of recorded sound changed the way music was heard forever.
Episode 6: The Popular Age – looks at the popular age – the last hundred years in music. A period when classical music seemed to many to be in retreat.
I’ve been a fan of ELO – Electric Light Orchestra – for several decades, and also followed ELO lead Jeff Lynne after he made his solo album Armchair Theatre in the 1980s. There’s an interesting story about how I acquired a CD version of Armchair Theatre that I blogged about some time ago.
Then there was Lynne’s collaboration with George Harrison, Roy Orbison, Tom Petty, and Bob Dylan as Otis/Clayton Wilbury in the Traveling Wilburys.
While I knew that Lynne spent most of his time producing hit albums for other musicians, and writing new material, I hadn’t realized how unpopular ELO had become since their heyday in the 70s. Apparently they just weren’t cool. That didn’t diminish my enthusiasm for the music and the intricate arrangements of guitars and strings that were ELO’s signature.
So it was a surprise to read last week that BBC4 would be broadcasting a live concert of Jeff Lynne’s ELO that was recorded in Hyde Park, London in mid-September. Now that one passed me by. I finally got round to watching the concert on catch-up TV last weekend – and what pure joy it was. I walked around afterwards with a big smile on my face for at least a couple of hours.
This was the first time that Jeff Lynne had performed live for almost 30 years. You wouldn’t think that from seeing him and his backing band (with original ELO keyboard player Richard Tandy, and other musicians who normally tour and back Take That!), and supported by the BBC Concert Orchestra, playing to an audience of 50,000. It’s reported that when tickets went on sale they sold out in 90 minutes.
During a 17 song set* Jeff Lynne’s ELO treated us to some of the more magical tracks that had been written and first recorded several decades ago. And they sounded as fresh now – perhaps better even – than all those years ago. Having been persuaded by Radio 2 DJ Chris Evans to play live, I guess Jeff Lynne wanted to produce the sound on stage that he had only been able to achieve in the studio. And with the impressive light show as well, he not only achieved his goal but surpassed it. It was simply wonderful, and I could sit down and watch it all over again. There was just one song from his Wilbury days – Handle With Care – as a tribute to deceased members Roy Orbison and George Harrison.
Reviews of the concert on social media sites and in the press were overwhelming in praise for Lynne and his musicians. The old dog can certainly show the pups of the pop world a trick or two! There’s even talk now of some more concerts in the UK and maybe even a world tour. Now that would be something to look forward to.
*All Over The World
Ma Ma Ma Belle
Can’t Get It Out Of My Head
Sweet Talkin Woman
Turn To Stone
Handle With Care
Don’t Bring Me Down
Rock n Roll Is King
Mr Blue Sky
Roll Over Beethoven
A young man, Jimmy Rabbitte by name, walks through a street market, a horse fair, across a desolate 1960s housing estate, trying to sell merchandise – mainly videos – that he carries in a bag on his shoulder.
He’s on his way to a wedding reception, although he’s not one of the guests. No. He just wants to meet the members of a band who, as he arrives at the reception, are performing a dreadful interpretation of The Searchers’ 1964 hit Needles and Pins. Just as he enters the room, a group of children are running about, and in the melee, one little girl collides with the outstretched leg of an elderly gentleman dozing at one of the tables, no doubt having had one pint too many.
Woken from his slumber, ‘Fuck off’ he snarls at the child, almost the first dialogue in Alan Parker‘s classic 1991 film The Commitments – probably one of the best movies of the 90s.
Well what an interesting way to start a film. And so it went on. If you have ever read any of Roddy Doyle’s brilliant tales of Dublin life, you know that ‘effing and blinding’ is just part of the Dublin vernacular.
Well, I was reminded this past week of when and where I first watched The Commitments because it has just translated to the London stage, to quite favorable reviews.
It must have been about 1992, I guess. Saturday night in Los Baños (in the Philippines). Having finished dinner, we (Steph, Hannah, Philippa and me) sat down to watch a video we’d rented that afternoon from the local store on Lopez Avenue, Dis ‘n’ Dat.
The Commitments?Roddy Doyle? I’d never heard of either, so had no idea what the film was all about. Not a wise move, in some respects, since Hannah was only about 14, Phillipa 10. There was strong language from the outset, as I described earlier. What to do? Switch off or continue as though there was nothing untoward? We carried on. And we all enjoyed the movie.
So what is Alan Parker’s film (co-written by Dick Clement, Ian La Frenais and Roddy Doyle) all about? Young Jimmy Rabbitte wants to form ‘The World’s Hardest Working Band’ and bring soul music – black soul music – to the masses. As one of the prospective band members reacts to this revelation: ‘Well like, maybe we’re a little white?’
Here they are singing Mustang Sally.
Alan Parker’s genius was in casting a group of youngsters who had never acted before, but who could really sing. Take Andrew Strong, cast as lead singer Deco, for instance. Only sixteen when The Commitments was made, he had an acting and singing maturity way beyond his age. And what a romp the film turns out to be. Needless to say, without spoiling the plot for anyone who has not yet seen the film – but I urge you to do so – it’s all about the formation and trials and tribulations of the band, and its ultimate break-up. It’s too successful.
Don’t worry about the strong language; that goes with the territory. A few years later, when a student in St Paul, Minnesota, Hannah attended a reading by Roddy Doyle of some of his works. It was held in one of the local Lutheran churches, but true to form, Roddy pulled no punches, ‘effing and blinding’ his way through the various excerpts. Even though it was a church venue, the audience loved it. There’s a time and place for everything – I wish some of today’s so-called stand-up comedians understood the power of the appropriately chosen ‘eff and blind’ rather than sprinkling their acts with gratuitous profanities. I should add, I’m no prude when it comes to strong language on the TV. It can be used impressively to enhance a drama, as the recent series set in Birmingham, Peaky Blinders, has demonstrated. Also, I’m a great fan of Billy Connolly, whose language, for some, leaves a great deal to be desired. But it’s all part of his Glaswegian vernacular, just as Roddy Doyle’s use of this language reflects the reality of life in Dublin.
Life has been pretty good to me – most of the time. I’ve achieved many of the things I wanted. There are more places to visit, of course, and hopefully I can begin to knock some of these off my list year by year.
But as I reflect on things, there aren’t many that I wish I had done. Except one.
I wish I’d learnt to play the guitar.
Well, I can almost hear you screaming at the screen ‘Go on, there’s still time’. And being retired I guess I do have (in theory) time on my hands. But frankly, I don’t really have the aptitude – nor the patience.
The guitar was – and continues to be – such a democratic instrument. How many thousands of young men got hold of a guitar in the 50s and 60s, learnt a few chords, and escaped from their quite humble backgrounds? And that continues today, although I have to confess that my music appreciation somewhat atrophied in the 1980s and earlier. My elder brother Ed was given a guitar in the late 1950s, and although he did master sufficient chords for us to play skiffle, I’m not sure how proficient he really did become.
But I love listening to guitar music. So here are some of my ‘guitar heroes’ (who seem to be about my age!) and some favourite tracks (sorry about the adverts on the YouTube clips).
Mark Knopfler Here’s a young Mark playing Sultans of Swing, that Dire Straits classic, in a 1978 Old Grey Whistle Test appearance on the BBC.
I saw him in concert at Birmingham’s LG Arena in May 2010, just after I’d returned to the UK after retiring from IRRI. What a concert! Mark has moved away from a purely rock focus, evoking a broader folk and country base to much of his current music-making. But whenever you listen to a Mark Knopfler song/tune, there’s no mistaking it. He has a way of introducing refrains into the melody that are just so typical. Listen to this track (just click the title) Cleaning My Gun – you’ll hear what I mean. But Whoop de Doo is perhaps an even better example.
Lyndsey Buckingham What more can I say? One fifth (one quarter now) of Fleetwood Mac, his guitar playing is truly inspirational. And his song writing is not bad either. Taken from the 1977 classic album Rumours, this has to be my favourite track: Go Your Own Way, filmed during their 1997 The Dance reunion concert:
I saw Fleetwood Mac in concert in St Paul, MN in 2003. Pity that Christine McVie had already left the band by then, but a night to remember. Read an earlier post about Fleetwood Mac.
Eric Clapton When has Eric Clapton not been around. It’s said that Clapton became a superstar when he found his voice, when he had the confidence to believe in his own abilities as a musician and singer. Hard to choose a favourite track, but this comes pretty high up – Cocaine:
David Gilmour I’m a big Pink Floyd fan, and it never ceases to amaze me how Gilmour’s musicianship added so much depth to PF songs. The track Comfortably Numb demonstrates just what I mean; sadly no longer available on YouTube from the Live 8 concert.
On the other hand, the outstanding folk/blues duo of the late Bert Jansch and John Renbourn (both of Pentangle fame) have to be on my list, somewhere. Ed had the vinyl LP Bert and John, released in 1966, which unfortunately was stolen from me when I lived in Costa Rica in the 1970s. I now have it as the CD After the Dance, released in 1992. But which of the great 15 tracks to single out? I think it has to be Goodbye Pork Pie Hat.
On the classical side, I very much admire John Williams. You would enjoy this CD (Sony SK 53 359), The Seville Concert, recorded in the Royal Alcázar Palace. And it includes Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez. There’s quite a lot of music out there, originally composed for the lute, and now transcribed for the guitar.
In 1990, Jeff Lynne released his first solo album – Armchair Theatre. I’ve been a fan of Jeff Lynne and the Electric Light Orchestra (ELO) for many years. During the 70s I used to listen to cassette tapes of ELO’s Greatest Hits that my brother-in-law Derek had recorded for me from his vinyl LPs. So many great tracks: Mr Blue Sky, Wild WestHero, Confusion, I’m Alive, and Calling America, among many.
I didn’t have a CD player in those days, so my first copy of Armchair Theatre was a cassette tape version, and I almost wore it out in the first few months. Seven songs were Jeff Lynne originals, including the excellent Lift Me Up.
One, Blown Away, was a collaboration with Tom Petty (with whom he’d later form the great Traveling Wilburys, with George Harrison, Bob Dylan, and Roy Orbison), another was written by Jesse Stone (Don’t Let Go), and two others were iconic compositions: Stormy Weather (by Ted Koehler and Harold Arlen) and September Song (by Maxwell Anderson and Kurt Weill).
When I moved to the Philippines in July 1991 I treated myself to a new Pioneer mini-audio system, with tuner, cassette deck and CD player. Before I left the UK, I purchased my first two CDs: Greatest Hits by Fleetwood Mac, and another of the same name by the Eurythmics (I’m a great Annie Lennox fan). I shipped my LPs (and deck) and all my cassette tapes, including Armchair Theatre.
Everything was fine for a few months, but quite soon I began to detect a deterioration in sound quality, and discovered that the dreaded mould was beginning to grow all over the tapes. In fact, in the very humid Los Baños environment, many things were attacked by mould, and we eventually lost quite a number of audio tapes, and VHS tapes.
One of these was Armchair Theatre, so around December 1996 or 1997 I decided to replace it with a CD version (7599-26184-2). But to my disappointment, I discovered that it was no longer listed for sale by Reprise Records.
Where to find a copy? Surely someone, somewhere would have a CD for sale? I did a thorough Internet search (pre-Google) and located just one CD – in Hobart, Tasmania! And this story came back to me earlier this morning because Tasmania was mentioned twice on the BBC news, with reports of the devastating bush fires there, and the defeat of British tennis player Laura Robson in the first round of the Hobart International.
I’m not entirely sure of the name of the CD store in Hobart – I think it was Aeroplane Records on Victoria Street. I may be wrong. Anyway, I contacted the proprietor by email, and ‘did the deal’. But I still wasn’t sure how to have it delivered to the Philippines. I was slightly concerned that it might disappear in a ‘customs black hole’ in Manila, and wondered if it might be better to have it sent to the UK instead.
But then I had a huge stroke of luck. By coincidence, one of my colleagues in IRRI’s Genetic Resources Center, Dr Jean-Louis Pham, was taking his family to Australia for the Christmas break that year, and would be spending more than in week in Tasmania – in Hobart. And it transpired that their hotel was just around the corner from the CD store! My CD was left at the hotel reception for the Phams, and Jean-Louis duly carried it back to the Philippines for me in early January.
And I’ve been enjoying the music ever since. As I said earlier, Jeff Lynne went on to form the Traveling Wilburys with others, has produced records for his fellow Wilburys, and obtained full rights to the ELO name and brand. He released Zoom under the ELO name in 2001, and did all vocals, backing vocals, electric guitars, bass, keyboards, cello, and drums himself (even though there were some guest musicians).
Funny how a news sound bite can bring such memories flooding back.
When it comes to classical music, I like what I like. And that usually means Haydn, Bach, Vivaldi, Boccherini among others, Mozart of course, Beethoven, and my favourite composer – Chopin. I’ve never been much of an opera buff, but gradually, over many years of travelling, did come to appreciate quite a spectrum of this genre.
Travelling and classical music?
Well, during the 1990s (when I was working at IRRI as head of the Genetic Resources Center), I often had to travel from Manila to Europe, mostly to Rome. And at that time – initially for convenience sake, but later by choice – I travelled with Lufthansa. I was fortunate to be able to travel on Business Class for these long flights, and soon picked up a huge number of air miles, enabling me from time-to-time to upgrade to First Class. I quickly achieved Senator status with Lufthansa/Star Alliance. Alas, I have virtually no miles left. I either used them for upgrades or they expired (quite a devaluation) when the rules were changed.
It was on one of these flights back to Manila, after an intermediate stop in Bangkok, that I and a colleague from a sister center ICLARM (now the WorldFish Center) were the only passengers on the upper deck of a 747-400 in First Class. It was before 9/11 and I was given the opportunity of sitting on the flight deck for the landing in Manila – a fantastic experience. And one I was to experience a couple of years later on an Emirates 777 flight from Dubai when, after having visited the flight deck for a chat with the captain and first officer, I was invited back for the landing!
But I digress. I haven’t flown Lufthansa for many years now, because I moved to Emirates as my preferred airline, since it also flew the route MLA-DXB-BHX (Birmingham) and that’s what we took on home leave. It was more convenient to build up an air miles association with Emirates – it began expanding its routes into Europe in the late 90s and into the new decade. In any case, Lufthansa stopped flying to Manila.
The in-flight entertainment on Lufthansa was rather good, especially the classical music channel. And this is what I used to listen to religiously and, as a consequence, began to build up my classical CD collection based on what I’d heard on these long intercontinental journeys.
Among the ‘highlights’ that I heard, and invested in, are:
Rossini’s La Cenerentola, featuring Italian mezzo-soprano Cecilia Bartoli, released by Decca in 1993 (436 902-2), with the Teatro Comunale di Bologna. I was absolutely (and I use this description advisedly) blown away by her voice and this particular aria Non piu mesta. The video of the aria is not the recording, however.
Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice, written in 1762, and recorded on Philips (434 093-2) in 1991. The part of Orfeo is played by a counter tenor. In the recording I heard, Orfeo was sung by Derek Lee Ragin, with the Monteverde Choir and English Baroque Soloists, conducted by John Eliot Gardiner. The link below is from this recording, and features Ragin singing the famous aria Che faro senza Euridice.
Kiri Te Kanawa singing the music of Georg Frideric Handel (1685-1759) in the soundtrack to the film The Sorceress. This was recorded in 1992 with the Academy of Ancient Music under the direction of Christopher Hogwood. It was released on Philips (434 992-2). I discovered a complete video of The Sorceress on YouTube.
Swedish virtuoso trumpeter Håkan Hardenberger playing the Trumpet Concerto in E flat by Joseph Haydn (1732-1809). This was released on Philips (420 203-2) and was recorded in 1986, with the Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields, under the direction of Sir Neville Marriner. The CD also has trumpet concerti by Hertel, Stamitz, and Hummel. This video is not, however, the same as the CD recording.
I have just finished reading a very entertaining book, The Restless Generation by Pete Frame (see my 5 April post). The sub-title is How rock music changed the face of 1950s Britain. It’s definitely worth a read if you get chance – I left the important book information in the other post, at the end.
Pete Frame discusses the roots of rock music in Britain during the mid- to late-1950s, the personalities involved, and the development of the various music genres – and the opposition to and lack of understanding of this music by the powers that be in the BBC and the music recording industry. It’s also interesting to know how few (of the thousands) of young men (and just a handful of women) who took up the guitar actually ever made a success in show business. And to a certain extent the book relates how they were exploited by the industry.
The traditional jazz revival, spear-headed by Ken Colyer and Chris Barber really lies at the roots of skiffle music in Britain, and its further evolution into rock ‘n’ roll. Barber in particular has to be credited with bringing over to the UK many American black musicians who had a rhythm and blues background, especially from delta blues as they developed into southern Chicago blues. Rock music (and the recording of music) was way ahead in the USA. Early rock musicians in the USA had access to recording studios and instruments (such as the Fender Stratocaster, for example) which were just not available in the UK. And, more importantly, record producers who understood the music.
Skiffle (headed by Lonnie Donegan) led to rock ‘n’ roll, to folk, to the blues, alongside the continuation of jazz of course. In the USA the evolution moved towards bluegrass as well.
Famous rock singers in the UK were Tommy Steele (featured on the book cover), Marty Wilde, Cliff Richard and Billy Fury.
But what’s also interesting is how the various musicians moved back and forth between groups, constantly falling out, making up, moving on – and sometimes achieving fame. And another thing – how young many of them were when they started, only 15 or 16 in some cases.
But don’t take my word for it. Go and find a copy of The Restless Generation, and have yourself a good read. You won’t be disappointed.
If you visit The Beatles Story in Liverpool, you will see this photo (taken in about 1958) in one of the exhibits. Two small boys – one playing guitar, the other (literally) on tea chest bass – entertaining their Mum and Dad and two friends, Geoff and Susan Sharratt. That’s my elder brother Ed and me on guitar and bass. The reason why will become apparent as you work your way through this post. Incidentally, through this post, I’ve reconnected with Geoff and Susan after more than 50 years!
Fast forward three years to November 1961. I became a teenager. Time to rebel, join the throng.
Trouble was, the infamous rebel years of early rock ‘n’ roll in the UK had come and gone, and passed me by. The rock ‘n’ roll phenomenon first hit the UK around 1956 with Bill Haley & His Comets (he of the kiss curl) with Rock Around The Clock, that had teenagers all around country dancing in the aisles – and elsewhere. The Establishment (and the musical press) was outraged. Elvis was still big of course; Tommy Steele had made a name for himself, and others like Marty Wilde, Cliff Richard, and Billy Fury would take up the cause.
It was just 15 months before The Beatles would have their first No. 1 with Please Please Me in early 1963, and followed by She Loves You in August that same year (I was 14 by then and vividly remember the electrifying moment when it was debuted live on black and white TV), one of the fastest selling singles of all time, and immediately cementing the reputation the the band.
But in the mid- to late-fifties there was another genre that influenced hundreds of musicians and, for a few brief years, was one of the biggest musical crazes in the country.
That craze was skiffle, a fusion of rythm and blues, folk, and country that originated among African Americans in the southern states of the USA, but which was given an upbeat treatment over here. The term ‘skiffle’ was apparently coined by Bill Colyer, elder brother of jazz cornet/trumpet player Ken Colyer, who had led the traditional jazz revival at the end of the 1940s. After a spell in New Orleans immersing himself in jazz, Colyer managed to get himself deported from the USA (for breaking Louisiana segregation laws), and on returning to the UK became a member of a ready-made band that had been formed by jazz trombonist Chris Barber. To attract Colyer to join they agreed to call the band Ken Colyer’s Jazzmen. But rather than spend time writing about this, let’s hear Ken Colyer himself talk about those early days in an interview with George Melly in 1980.
In the rhythm section was a young banjo player, Anthony Donegan, who was to become one of the most influential musicians of the 1950s, and change his name to Lonnie (as a salute to black blues and jazz guitarist, Alonzo ‘Lonnie’ Johnson). Well, for whatever reason, Colyer fell out with the entire rhythm section of the band, especially Lonnie Donegan, and wanted to fire them. Instead, he ‘left’ the band, and was replaced by trumpeter Pat Halcox who would remain with Chris Barber’s Jazz Band (in its many guises) for many decades*.
During the interval at jazz gigs, The Lonnie Donegan Skiffle Group would play, with Lonnie on guitar and vocals, Barber on double bass, and Beryl Bryden on washboard (watch the videos at the end of this post, taken from a 1991 TV program This Is Your Life, and has Lonnie with Beryl Bryden and Chris Barber reunited in Part 2). Released on Decca in 1956, Rock Island Line (first recorded in 1937 and popularized by black blues artist Lead Belly) was a major hit, and the first of many for Lonnie Donegan.
Skiffle took off in a big way, and was soon being emulated by young boys (and some girls) all over the country. Skiffle was accessible. All you needed was a cheap guitar (and learn some rudimentary chords), a tea chest bass or washboard for rhythm, and you were in business. Apparently at one time there were 700 skiffle groups in Liverpool alone, among them The Quarrymen fronted by John Lennon.
And that’s how my elder brother Ed and I got into skiffle. We had fun, and on occasion we’d be rolled out to sing in public. I hate to think what we sounded like, but we were always politely received.
We sang Lonnie’s songs: John Henry, It Takes A Worried Man, Cumberland Gap, Digging My Potatoes (all about infidelity and oral sex – I wonder if we or our parents had understood the lyrics we would have been allowed to sing them), Putting On The Style, and my favorite, I Shall Not Be Moved.
Now, back to The Beatles Story. In developing the exhibits the curators wanted to tell the story of skiffle and how that had been a major influence on budding musicians in the 1950s, including The Beatles. And trawling the Internet, they came across the photo of Ed and me on his personal web site, and asked permission to use it. Below is the first version of the exhibit display they shared with us, but it has changed in some of the text and captions subsequently.
My nephew Alec took the next two photos on a recent visit to The Beatles Story. That’s my great-nephew Sammy standing in front of the display; he’s 10, and 1.40 m tall.
And here is Ed’s guitar, more than 50 years later, minus a couple of strings.
It was made by Alfredo Albertini of Catania (Italy), although on the metal saddle it does say Made in West Germany.
Ed developed a real passion for jazz, particularly for the music of Chris Barber and Duke Ellington. He’s one of the webmasters for the Official Chris Barber site. I moved towards traditional folk music for many years, and particular folk dance. Now my tastes are quite eclectic, as I have discussed in recent posts (on being a castaway; Fleetwood Mac; AKUS). But it’s interesting to know how many musicians today owe their roots to Lonnie Donegan and skiffle (such as Mark Knopfler, for example).
Lonnie in later years
In 1991, Lonnie was the guest on the popular TV series This Is Your Life. Here are two videos (Part 1 and Part 2) from YouTube, with Lonnie reunited with Rock Island Line colleagues Chris Barber and Beryl Bryden (at the end of Part 2). Chris Barber talks about Lonnie and the band at the end of Part 1.
Click to watch Lonnie being interviewed by the late great John Peel at Glastonbury in 1999. Lonnie died of a heart attack in 2002.
And if you want to read more about the music of the fifties – and the influence that Lonnie Donegan had on a whole raft of musicians – I thoroughly recommend The Restless Generation, by Pete Frame, published in 2007 (ISBN 978-0-95295-407-1). It’s available through Amazon for about £12.50, and in the USA for $22-30 (also on Kindle). It’s a highly entertaining, amusing, and an ever-so-irreverent account of the rise and social influence of jazz, skiffle and rock ‘n’ roll.
*Chris Barber turned 80 in 2010, and is still playing after more than 60 years. He has probably had more influence on jazz and popular music than any other musician in the UK in the 20th century.
The weather has made a turn for the worse here in the UK. After summer-like temperatures just last week, we now have gales, rain or sleet, and temperatures hovering around 4°C; some parts of the country are covered in snow. So I’m sitting here enjoying the wonderful music of Fleetwood Mac.
Before I moved to the Philippines to join IRRI in 1991, I bought a new hi-fi system including, for the first time, a CD player. The first CD I purchased was Fleetwood Mac: Greatest Hits. I’m not sure now why I decided to buy this. I was, of course, familiar with the name, but actually had no real knowledge of their music. I knew the track Albatross, but had never followed their career as I had other bands. And I’d never heard of Peter Green.
Greatest Hits was a revelation, and I became an instant fan. In fact I developed a passion (some would say an obsession) for their music, and acquired several of their CDs. I was living in Costa Rica when their seminal Rumours album was released in 1977 – one of the highest selling albums ever – and I was totally unaware of it at that time. I’ve caught up since!
I guess it was the release of the reunion concert The Dance on CD and DVD in 1997 that cemented my attachment to their music. Just watch the virtuosity of Lindsey Buckingham on Go Your Own Way.
In June 2003, on our way home to the UK from the Philippines for our annual leave, my wife and I visited old friends from CIP Jim and Jeanne Bryan in Seattle, as they celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. Then we travelled on to St Paul to stay with our daughter Hannah and husband Michael. And they had a very big surprise for me. Michael had been able to get three tickets for Fleetwood Mac’s Say You Will tour concert on the 19th, and held at the Xcel Energy Center in downtown St Paul. Joining more than 18,000 fans we were treated to a fantastic concert, the only disappointment being the absence of Christine McVie who had left the band and retired to the UK.
I’d never been to a rock concert before so didn’t know quite what to expect. As an undergraduate at Southampton University in the late 1960s I’d attended some small live concerts, but nothing on the scale of this Say You Will one. We had seats in Section 102 of the arena, just left of the stage and had a great view.
The concert began with The Chain – the thump, thump, thump of drums and bass. And as the music built up, I marvelled at being able not only hear the music, but also feel it! My viscera were dancing to the beat as well. But the thing that I most remember were the tears streaming down my cheeks – I just couldn’t hold back the emotion of the occasion. The music just took me over. Well, I recovered by the second or third song, and by then everyone was grooving. And I don’t think we sat down again for almost two hours.
And there’s one interesting snippet – an IRRI connection. Christine McVie’s brother, John Perfect, an entomologist, and his wife Anthea spent some time at IRRI in the late 1980s; I met them there some time in 1991 on one of their visits.
AKUS – Alison Krauss and Union Station. Just one of the best bluegrass bands around today. And of course, Alison Krauss has won more Grammys than any other singer.
I first heard her singing only three or four years ago – one of her tracks had been selected by a guest on a radio program I was listening to in the car. And I was smitten. She has one of the most remarkable voices in the recording industry today – and she’s also a very accomplished fiddle player.
The group that she plays with, Union Station, are all talented musicians, especially Jerry Douglas – the greatest dobro player. Dan Timinski (guitar) sang I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow in the film Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? starring George Clooney.
I was watching last night’s Transatlantic Sessions on the BBC iPlayer this morning, and watched Alison Krauss singing Dimming of the Day, a song I’d never heard before. After a little research I discovered that it was written as a love song by English singer-songwriter Richard Thompson for his wife Linda (from whom he is now divorced), released in 1975 on the album Pour Down Like Silver. Thompson had also supported Gerry Rafferty as a session musician on Night Owl. There have been many covers of Dimming of the Day, including David Gilmour (Pink Floyd) and Bonnie Raitt.
Here are the lyrics:
This old house is falling down around my ears I’m drowning in a river of my tears When all my will is gone you hold me sway I need you at the dimming of the day
You pulled me like the moon pulls on the tide You know just where I keep my better side
What days have come to keep us far apart A broken promise or a broken heart Now all the bonny birds have wheeled away I need you at the dimming of the day
Come the night you’re only what I want Come the night you could be my confidant
I see you on the street and in company Why don’t you come and ease your mind with me I’m living for the night we steal away I need you at the dimming of the day
I need you at the dimming of the day
This is the original version by Linda and Richard Thompson:
Now listen to the magic of Alison Krauss and Union Station on their most recent CD, Paper Airplane:
Alison Krauss talks about this song in an interview published in the Telegraph in April 2011. It’s a very emotional song. And I’d missed it all these years.
I’m not really a movie buff. In fact I can’t remember the last time I went to the cinema. It might even have been 1977 when I saw Star Wars in San José, Costa Rica. But I do catch the odd movie from time-to-time on the TV, and I particularly like westerns and musicals (although I still haven’t seen The Sound of Music.) The musicals of the thirties were something special and surrealistic – especially those directed by Busby Berkeley, which featured hundreds of showgirls in fantasy routines that would be almost impossible to mount in a real theatre.
But it’s also the music – that silky combination of wind instruments (banks of saxophones and clarinets) and muted brass, overlain with strings, typified by the Glenn Miller sound.
And the dancing of course. Now I’m a huge fan of Fred Astaire and could watch any of his movies over and over again. This solo sequence of Puttin’ On The Ritz from the movie Blue Skies (actually made in 1946, and co-starring Bing Crosby), exemplifies what a perfectionist Astaire was.
I learned recently that Astaire always added the tap sounds to the soundtrack after a sequence had been filmed.
But when Fred partnered with Ginger Rogers, what more can one say? Choreographic perfection! These next clips show what a magnificent duo they were – just click on the image below.
The sequence of Never Gonna Dance is pure theatre. I read that there were more than 40 takes before Astaire was satisfied with the sequence, and Ginger Rogers’ feet were bleeding in her shoes.
Gene Kelly was wonderful dancer as well, and the Good Morning routine (made in 1952) with a young Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor is a classic.
So is Kelly’s solo Singin’ in the Rain (which he apparently performed while suffering from ‘flu and with a temperature of 103F!).
I can’t say that I am an aficionado of ballet (although I do appreciate its artistic qualities and the skills of the dancers), and much of what purports to be modern dance – more like gymnastics – on the TV ‘dance’ shows leaves me quite cold. Michael Jackson apparently devised the dance routine to Smooth Criminal as a tribute to Fred Astaire and who himself acknowledged Jackson’s talent and that he was the greatest dancer of his generation.
Nevertheless, the magic of Astaire and Rogers lives on, and long may it do so.
I’ve been feeling under the weather for the past few days – not my usual self at all. So by early evening most days I haven’t felt much like watching TV. Rather I’ve headed to bed early, and listened to the radio instead. Usually it’s BBC Radio 4, but last night there wasn’t much on that interested me, so I changed stations to Classic FM.
Well, just after I started listening, one piece of music was played that took me right back to my childhood. I don’t know why, and I couldn’t think of any connection whatsoever. So what was this piece of music, I hear you cry, and why had it opened up the memory banks? It was the Humoresque in G-Flat Major, Op. 101, No. 7 by Antonin Dvořák. I’ve since gone to Wikipedia to see if the music was used as a theme to a radio or TV program, or whatever. Not that I could find, but I came across a reference to “Passengers will please refrain . . . “
Anyway, I got to thinking – about other songs that I remembered from my childhood in the 50s. There were two radio programmes in particular. First was Listen With Mother, which was first broadcast on the Light Programme (essentially now BBC Radio 2) in 1950, and began with the lines “Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.” The theme music was from Gabriel Fauré’s Dolly Suite, Op. 56. The voice of Listen with Mother was Daphne Oxenford, who died on 21 December 2012.
Among the ‘iconic’ songs I remember in particular from the 50s are:
Buttons and bows (actually the best selling record on the day I was born – 18 November 1948) by Dinah Shore, but played often throughout the early fifties.
A couple of songs by Max Bygraves (who moved to Australia in 2005 and died on 1 September 2012 aged 89) – Gilly gilly ossenfeffer katzenellen bogen by the sea (1954), and You’re a pink toothbrush (1959).
Danny Kaye, Thumberlina (1952) from the film Hans Christian Andersen.
In a recent post I talked about the music I’d take away on my desert island. None of the music above would find its way on to any of my lists. But, just tracking these down through You Tube and other sites, has taken me on a magical tour of some very early childhood memories.
After I’d posted this story yesterday, I began thinking a little more about the music of the 50s, and whether, in some ways, this had been an ‘age of innocence’. After all, our music sources were the radio, and 78 rpm records (if we could afford them). Music today is so much more accessible – a plethora of radio and TV stations (and on the Internet) blaring out music of every genre you can imagine (and even don’t want to imagine), personal mp3 players (having replaced the cassette Walkman and CD Discman), and increasingly on smart phones. So today’s youth has access to music 24 hours a day.
Thinking back on the songs I listed in my post yesterday, and the types of programme on which they were played, it all seems so gentle and genteel somehow. But as the 50s progressed, changes were happening. Skiffle music had taken off. The rock ‘n roll craze hit the UK from the USA. I was aware of Bill Haley and His Comets and their 1956 hit Rock Around the Clock (I remember seeing a movie of that name at the Grand Cinema in Leek). I don’t remember much about Elvis Presley, however. And in the UK, we had our own Elvis: Cliff Richard, who caused much consternation among the straight-laced members of society for his ‘deplorable’ antics on stage (too much hip movement – tame compared to what today’s artists get up to). And of course, with the coming of the 60s, so much changed in any case, much of it under the influence of The Beatles, and particularly following the release of their fourth single, She Love You, in 1963.
Ask a youngster today about music and it’s all Lady Gaga, boy bands, girl bands, Justin (fill in the surname to whichever), etc. I don’t think there is time now for an ‘age of innocence’.
P.S. There’s one song from the 50s I forgot to mention: The Runaway Train by Michael Holliday (1956) – from his accent you wouldn’t credit he came from Liverpool!
I came across this video (click on the image below) on You Tube when I was looking for other information about counter tenors. I’d never heard of him before. What a voice – but not everyone’s cup of tea, I guess.
I came across another video, of better quality, on You Tube, where the comments are disabled. I’m afraid I found the comments posted on You Tube on the earlier link I used gratuitously offensive.
Just enjoy listening to this magnificent voice – click on the photo below.
I need music around me almost all day long. Much of the time it’s the music I have stored on my iPod linked up to my stereo system; so am able to enjoy CD quality as I listen. But I do have some CDs that I’ve never ripped, especially my collection of classical music.
They say that looking at someone’s CD collection says a lot about them. And before you ask, yes, I do have my collection sorted alphabetically – it’s the taxonomist in me. My tastes are broad and varied: rock, pop, folk (especially Irish and Northumbrian pipe music), country, and classical. So I often wonder which eight records I would choose to take on an imaginary desert island.
Desert island? Have I completely lost the plot? Not at all. I’m referring to a BBC radio program first broadcast in 1942, and which celebrated its 70th anniversary recently (the guest was Sir David Attenborough). The format of Desert Island Discs is simple. Each week a guest is invited to choose the eight pieces of music, a book (in addition to the Complete Works of Shakespeare and the Bible), and one luxury that they would take with them as an imaginary castaway on a desert island. Discussion of this music then permits a broader appreciation of the guest’s life, career and other ideas. The current presenter is Kirsty Young, but the original presenter (who actually devised the program), Roy Plomley, was in charge until his death in 1985.
So when you think about it, the choices have to be ones that you’ll never (well, hardly ever) tire of listening to. For what it’s worth, and in no particular order, here are my eight pieces of music – but the list could change tomorrow (and through the wonders of Google and YouTube, I’ve been able to find a great link to each piece for your enjoyment):
I’m not really a Roberta Flack fan – but this song has special memories for me, and these come flooding back whenever I hear it played (not so frequently these days). When I joined the International Potato Center (CIP) in January 1973 this song had just been released and was played all the time on radio stations in Lima. So this song takes me back to the beginning of my career in international agricultural research.
The Beatles: We Can Work It Out
Released in December 1965, as a double A side with Day Tripper. As a teenager in the 60s, I grew up with The Beatles – I was 14 when She Loves You was released and the group became an overnight sensation. I was hooked, and bought nearly all their LPs on vinyl (which were stolen during a burglary in Turrialba, Costa Rica in 1978 – but that’s another story).
When I moved to CDs (in 1991) I replaced all my Beatles albums. I could have chosen any one of many of their phenomenal output, but We Can Work It Out has always been a favorite, and the title reflects, to a certain extent, my philosophy in life. At one of the IRRI 50th anniversary events held in Manila in December 2009, a group called Area One performed a set of Beatles numbers, and played We Can Work It Out just for me! Click here to watch.
Fleetwood Mac: Don’t Stop The first CD I ever purchased (in 1991) was Fleetwood Mac Greatest Hits, just prior to my move to the Philippines to join IRRI. I’d never really been a fan of the group, although they were familiar to me, in a distant sort of way. Since then, I have become slightly obsessive with their music, and certainly Rumours (released in 1977, and which went on to become one of the best selling albums ever) is a classic. Don’t Stop can be taken as a song of great optimism – even though Rumours was recorded when Fleetwood Mac and their tangled personal relationships were in meltdown. Don’t Stop was adopted by the Clinton campaign for the presidency in 1992, and Fleetwood Mac re-formed specially to play at the Clinton Inauguration Ball on 20 January 1993.
The video shows the group performing at that event (not the best performance, however – watch Michael Jackson and other celebrities join FM on stage towards the end of the video). In 2006 I went to a Fleetwood Mac concert (along with 60,000 + fans) in St Paul, Minnesota. What an event – you could feel the music vibrating every organ in your body. And I’m not ashamed to say that I just couldn’t hold back the tears; what an emotional event. Pity that Christine McVee (née Perfect, and brother to entomologist John Perfect who worked at IRRI for a while in the 1980s) had decided no longer to tour with the group. A great concert, nevertheless.
Pink Floyd: Comfortably Numb (The Wall)
I’ve become an avid fan of Pink Floyd only in recent years, and really taken with the guitar mastery of Dave Gilmour. His solos in this song makes the hairs on the back of my head stand up. The version in the video link is from a Roger Waters concert of The Wall at the O2 Arena in London in 2011, with a special appearance of Dave Gilmour. I was never really aware of the group in the 60s, and was abroad during the 70s when they really made a name for themselves. We didn’t hear much Pink Floyd on the radio in Peru or Costa Rica. However, I do remember, on one trip to Guatemala in late 1979-early 1980, switching on the TV in my hotel room and seeing a video of Another Brick in The Wall. I was fascinated by ‘the marching hammers’.
Dire Straits: Sultans of Swing Dire Straits – what more can I say.
I have been a consistent fan since the early 1980s, and have followed Mark Knopfler ever since Dire Straits broke up. Mark is probably the greatest guitarist performing today. Sultans of Swing is a vehicle for Mark’s virtuosity, and although included on the album Dire Straits, it was the group’s first release as a single in 1978, but didn’t become a hit until the following year when it was re-released. Even today, Mark cannot play a concert without a rendition of Sultans of Swing. I was fortunate to go to one of his concerts at the LG Arena in Birmingham in May 2010 (tickets were a Christmas present from my daughters), and the live performance was stupendous.
I’ve always appreciated the music of Fryderyk Chopin. So I felt privileged during a visit to Poland in 1989 (I gave a series of lectures on crop evolution and genetic resources at a couple of research institutes) to visit Chopin’s birthplace. Some of his music was being played in the house that is now a museum. And as I strolled around the garden, I could hear this particular mazurka. Although it’s a favorite, it’s also a proxy for all his other wonderful music. The version played here is by Turkish concert pianist, Idil Biret.
Gluck: Che farò senza Euridice(and the whole opera, of course) I’ve known this particular aria from Gluck’s opera Orfeo ed Euridice since I was a small boy. But the version I knew then was by the famous English contralto, Kathleen Ferrier, who died of cancer in 1953. But her version was sung in English as What is Life (this recording is from 1946). In the 1990s I used to travel quite often from the Philippines to Europe (especially Rome) in my capacity as Head of the CGIAR Inter-Center Working on Genetic Resources, and mostly flew with Lufthansa then. Lufthansa had (and I assume they still do) a terrific classical music audio stream, and on one journey I came across the version of Che farò senza Euridice listed here. In many productions the part of Orfeo is sung by a contralto (there’s a video of Dame Janet Baker on YouTube), but in fact it was originally written for a counter tenor. In this recording, counter tenor Derek Lee Ragin gives a stunning performance of the aria – you will be amazed that you are listening to a male singer.
JS Bach: The Brandenburg Concertos (all six – I’m cheating) I don’t think any music selection would be complete without a piece by Johan Sebastian Bach. And so I have chosen The Brandenburg Concertos – I find it hard to choose just one of the six. The complexity – and timeless quality – of Bach’s music is a continued inspiration. The video shows the Concerto No. 1, Allegro Moderato.
So, these are my eight choices. I could have included more from Eric Clapton, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, The Traveling Wilburys, R.E.M., ELO, Crowded House, South American music, The Chieftains, Alison Krauss, and of course a host of baroque composers such as Vivaldi, Boccherini, Haydn, Mozart, and later composers such as Beethoven, Schubert, etc. If I were to make the list in 12 months time, maybe there would be some changes.
And the extras . . .
So what would be my one luxury item and book? Well, I think I’d choose a pair of binoculars – that way I could spend some time birdwatching (assuming my desert island is suitably forested), and to scan the horizon for passing ships to rescue me. And the book? Well, since I reckon I’d have a lot of time on my hands to play word games, I think a copy of Roget’s Thesaurus would be very useful. Incidentally, the Bible would have to be the King James 1611 – I’m not a religious person, but the English text of this version is wonderful and has given so many phrases to modern English usage (and it just celebrated its 400th anniversary).