September 26: an exponential investment

When I was in my mid-teens I had a choice of rooms in my parents’ semi-detatched in Offerton Stockport. In the front room my mum and dad would be watching The Two Ronnies. In the Living room my elder brother would be sitting in the dark listening to Leonard Cohen or Al Stewart. In the kitchen I would be doing my schooolwork unless my younger sisters were doing their tap dancing. Sometimes I went into the front room to watch The Two Ronnies; sometimes I’d sit in the dark with my brother and try and work out what Leonard Cohen was all about; sometimes I did my school work in the kitchen.

These days, remarkably, I find myself tuning into You Tube to look at old Leonard Cohen footage or finding old Two Ronnies sketches. I also have a renewed interest in the reading matter that interested me as a fifteen year old (Elizabethan and Jacobean theatre). The things of the past that seem so random at the time etch themselves into your subconscious and never go away.

When I was twenty-one and living in Paris as a student, I shared a room with three other people. We all slept in sleeping bags with a small patch of floor each. Nobody had any money. One day Guy came back with an LP record. It was the first music we had heard for months. It was Vaughan-Williams Variations on a theme by Thomas Tallis. We all sat round and listened to it. After months of relative deprivation and no music, it was so moving that I was almost in tears. I listened to the piece the other day and it had the same effect. What happens? The past sneaks up on you and like some high yield investment it has grown exponentially and, whther you like like Leonard cohen or not, he’s got you.

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August 12: different conceptions of what music is

I went to the Proms the other day and heard a selection of modernist pieces: Stravinsky; Berg; Bartok. The Alban Berg was the least popular with both my neighbours on either side of me. with whom I had separate conversations in the interval. The Berg piece, his violin concerto ‘To the memory of an Angel’ was written in 1932 and is dedicated to the first performer of the piece and an 18-year-old girl who had just died, the daughter of Alma Mahler and Walter Gropius, the girl being the angel of the dedication. It is a fairly difficult atonal piece compared to the rhythmic delights of Stravinsky and Bartok. I said to my neighbour that when I heard the Berg piece it evoked for me the Vienna of the early century, the Vienna of Freud, the sudden massive presence of the unconscious and the deep repressiveness of the culture, especially for women. Berg’s concerto evokes all of this in a shimmering nightmare world. My neighbour said he was frustrated that he couldn’t hear the violin clearly enough, it being drowned out by the orchestra. He blamed the conductor. I said that was the point maybe. The orchestra was suffocating the individual (in concertos the orchestra often seems to represent society and the solo instrument the individual). Consciously or unconsciously, Berg would be referring to the girl or to himself, who had harboured a secret lover and secret illegitimate daughter for years.

I had a similar different understanding of a piece of music another time after a concert of Mahler’s 6th symphony. In the toilets at the end of the concert I heard a man speaking to his friend saying it was a frustrating piece of music because a good tune starts but then keeps getting interrupted and sidetracked. We were in the urinals at the Royal Festival Hall at the time and, despite the inappropriateness of the location, could not help piping up. That was the point, I said. It’s a disjointed, fragmented new world that Mahler is in. The old romatic world is dead. Mahler is evoking the altered sensibility.

I suppose it is what you want from music. A purely musical experience or a formulation of psychological or cultural material.

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