Langtree Sinfonia
A termly n A newsletter for members & friends of the Orchestra
Notes from the Chair
The great news this term is that the orchestra is now in a much healthier financial state. This is thanks to all of you for so promptly paying your subs; a special thanks to those who so generously gave a bit extra, donated wine for the raffle or sponsored an extra player for concerts.
The workshop in February proved to be popular; feedback was that everyone enjoyed working through Tchaikovsky’s ‘Winter Daydreams’ and that February was a good time of year for this workshop. Raising the fee to £10 for the day meant that we more than covered our expenses.
The sad news this term has been the death of Edward, one of our longest serving members. Edward has done so much for the orchestra over the years, serving as treasurer, chairman and school liaison officer as well as playing clarinet. He really took the orchestra to his heart, so much so that among the school office staff we were known as ‘Edward’s orchestra’. We will all miss his sergeant major’s voice calling us to order and, of course, the repertoire of Edward jokes! All telephone conversations with him began or ended with ‘have you heard the one about …’ and I, like many others, know something was wrong when the jokes began to peter out. A few weeks ago the raffle raised £40 to be sent to the Worcester Cathedral Development and Restoration Trust in Edward’s memory. We too can best preserve his memory by ensuring the continuing success of the orchestra he loved.
A final thought. When, aged 93, Pablo Casals was asked why he practiced the cello for three hours a day he replied, ‘I’m beginning to notice some improvement.’ Perhaps this is a lesson for us all.
Chris
Inspiration and taste
The other day, I was listening to (and watching) the historic TV appearances of Rosalyn Tureck, one of the high priestesses of Bach interpretation. Amongst other works she played The Italian Concerto. I was struck by the extraordinary precision of her piano playing, and began to ponder what it is that keeps me spellbound when I experience something special like this. It was more than the fact that I could watch her playing and marvel at her skill. And it was more than the extraordinary beauty of the concerto she was playing. It occurred to me that there were (at least) four distinct, though related, elements to my tumbling thoughts. First, there was the sheer wonder about the man who created the music. My simple brain can grasp that for a composer to compose a tune is needed, and harmonies. But concept, shape, flow, balance, progression, harmonic relationships, rapport between left hand and right hand – and all one note at a time. How ever do you do that? Where do you start? Where did Bach start? Not that Bach could possibly have been a one-note-at-a-time composer in anything other than a pen-pushing sense. And I bet he found a way round that, too. What a brain! What fantastic creative ability! This awe is always present when I listen to Bach’s great works, and colours my response to it.
Secondly, there is the inspirational ability of the performer, in this case Rosalyn Tureck, who was until her death in 2003, one of the great interpreters on many musical keyboards, with a quite scintillating affinity to Bach’s music. To listen is almost to be deprived of any opportunity to perceive the boundary between performer and the music. What talent! How much work, how many hours, must have been given to produce her mastery of the instruments!
The third and, many would assert the most important element, is the music itself. It is a mystery why people like some pieces of music and not others. My own taste for Bach returned as I reached middle age, having rather left me during earlier years, and has developed as a love for his solo instrumental pieces. The Italian Concerto had my pulses racing in the outer movements juxtaposed with the calm ethereal simplicity of the slow movement. Later, when Rosalyn played a selection of the Goldberg variations, an all-time favourite of mine, the smooth, almost effortless flow of the 29th variation was as graceful and accurate as I’ve ever heard anyone play it.
The fourth element is my response, my reaction, to the music I hear, the stirring of my soul, the inspiration to do better, to be kinder to others, to be more patient and insightful when faced with my own shortcomings. I find music can calm my irritations, force me to be introspective, demand that I look outwards to the world and to the needs of others, bolster my appreciation of the friendships I am lucky enough to have, exhort me to greater effort and keener attention to detail. It can soothe my troubles and galvanise me into action, prepare me for rest and inspire me to rise. Bach, in combination with the finest exponents of his solo works, can do all these things for me as well, or better, than anything else in the world.
Returning to the strange issue of taste, I wonder why it is that some are enlivened by Snow Patrol, some inspired by Kathleen Ferrier’s voice, some moved to tears by Puccini, or by Mavrinsky’s conducting, or by Woody Guthrie’s determination to expose or Pablo Casals’ pledge to challenge, while others are soothed by Duke Ellington, Jeff Beck, Coldplay or Phillip Glass? What is the indefinable ‘something’ about music that appeals, to so many and yet not all? And what is it about well-loved music that refuses to speak to some, so strongly that it stimulates active dislike? Perhaps there are no answers, except maybe the evident truth that the differences between genres, and works, are as many and various as the differences between people.
I wonder how many of us Langtree players like what we play every term, or whether the ecstasies of contribution and collaboration vary from section to section or person to person as the terms pass and the concert programmes are renewed? At one level, it is nice to learn new pieces, and rewarding just to experience the growing familiarity of the notes in my part as the weeks pass and my fumbling slowly decreases. But there are works we have played that have been more memorable and more delightful than others, for me at least, and these seem to be where my taste, and Paul’s careful choice of work that suits Langtree Sinfonia’s instrumentation, have happily combined. Those times have been special indeed; my guess is that every programme will have been special to someone. Long may it remain so!
Adrian King
Edward Price
Edward and his trusty pair of clarinets were, quite simply, one of the foundation stones of Langtree Orchestral Society, (now Langtree Sinfonia, of course). Scarcely a rehearsal went by without us hearing his clear, authoritative voice informing us of an arrangement of which we needed to take note, or the lucky number winning the bottle of wine. His roles variously as Chair, Treasurer, Grand Keeper of the Attendance Register and latterly Venue Organiser, are well known and were invaluable right to the last rehearsal Edward attended. He was always polite and courteous to everyone, and was particularly warm and welcoming to new members of the orchestra. But it was his sheer presence, to say nothing of his woodwind contribution, which marked him out as the rock that he was. His thunderous voice belied the frequent, humorous twinkle in his eye. He always chuckled mischievously when he quoted the description of the clarinet as “an ill woodwind that nobody blows good!”
He had a prodigious repertoire of jokes upon which he could call whenever a suitable occasion arose. His jokes were never smutty. Ena, his wife, showed me the notes he had kept of key words and phrases that served as his aide-memoire; sometime just a few words from a punch-line were enough to bring a well-worn joke to his mind. During our frequent shared car journeys, he’d often keep me amused for ages with some of his gems. And his guffaws just made the jokes funnier.
Edward had a phenomenal memory for detail. He often recounted stories of his years with the Alitalia airline and his wartime service in the army, his love of music serving him well in the military band where he learned his musical craft. His recollections of where his unit went, what he saw, and what was said to whom, were always as clear as crystal. On one occasion, Edward related with infectious enjoyment the story of how he and his fellow soldiers had chopped up the Sergeant-Major’s (or was it the Colonel’s?) desk for firewood, when the cold became too bitter. But despite the direct question ‘What happened to my desk, Price?’ Edward never let on.
A gap in the woodwind section can generally be filled – and thank goodness for Ann – but Edward can never be replaced. He is sadly missed. Our warm thoughts go to Ena and the rest of Edward’s family.
Adrian King (with thanks also to Antony Branfoot)
The Remarkable Rocket
On 21st March members of The Langtree Sinfonia participated in the premier of The Remarkable Rocket, a cantata with words by
Oscar Wilde and music by Tim Cook. It is scored for singers, piano/harpsichord, flute, bassoon and string quartet.
They had a crowded afternoon; the singers met at 2:00 pm, the instrumentalists at 2:45, run-through at 3:30, performance at 4:00 and there was even time for a quick tea at 3:20. About 50 people came to listen, including the Langtree Sinfonia Chairman, who pronounced the event ‘enjoyable’.
The story is: The King has organised a firework display to celebrate his son’s marriage. The Remarkable Rocket explains how important he is and he is so impressed with himself that it moves him to real tears. In the display everyone is a great success except the rocket, who is so damp with crying that he cannot go off at all. The next day the workmen come to clear up and they throw the rocket over a wall and into a ditch where he is found by two little boys. They put him on their fire and lie down to wait for the kettle to boil. The fire dries the rocket out and he finally goes off but nobody sees him or hears him, not even the little boys who are sound asleep.
During the wedding celebrations the king decides to play his flute which ‘He did very badly. But no one had dared to tell him because he was the king’. This gave an opportunity to write some ‘bad’ flute music. It is actually quite difficult to write in ‘mistakes’ because the composer has to give the audience enough information to
know what the right note should have been. So I wrote a simple waltz tune, played three times with different mistakes each time and ending with the flute part a quaver late and a semitone sharp! Sally performed this with excruciating accuracy!
My thanks to Sally, Kate, Bill, Nigel, Nick and Jeremy for giving up their afternoon for such an unpredictable experiment.
Tim Cook
From the editor
Edward was a loyal contributor to this newsletter and we all enjoyed his articles and jokes. I have chosen one of his classics to reprint here along with an interview he gave to the newsletter. I hope you will enjoy hearing his voice again, in print at least.
Solo pieces (from 2004)
A number of readers have suggested that it would be interesting to read interviews with, or personal reminiscences by, individual members of the orchestra (and if anyone can think of a better title than the above I’d be grateful). It is with great pleasure that we start this feature with everyone’s favourite clarinettist, Edward Price.
I joined the Langtree Orchestral Society, now known as the Langtree Sinfonia in July 1979, and in May 1980 I became Chairman; I stayed on the committee until this year.
My love of music began at a very young age, and at the age of five I started piano lessons. When I was seven I started singing lessons as well. In April 1935 I was taken to Worcester Cathedral for a voice test, and having passed I was awarded a choral scholarship by Sir Joel Atkins, organist and Master of the Choristers. In the May I became a probationer with the cathedral choir, and in 1937 I was promoted to a chorister. I stayed in the choir until late 1940 ending as Head Chorister. In 1938 I had the honour of singing in the Three Choirs Festival held at Worcester, with the choirs of Hereford and Worcester.
I carried on with my education until 1943, I then volunteered for the army in August of that year, in the Worcestershire Regiment. After serving in North West Europe 1944 – 1945 I volunteered to join the regimental band. In January 1946 I took up the clarinet and within three months I was playing in the band.
In November 1947 I was selected for a twelve month course at the Royal Military School of Music, Kneller Hall, on the clarinet etc. I received instruction twice a week from George Garside, formerly principal clarinet of the London Symphony Orchestra. On rejoining my band (which was in Berlin) in December 1948, I was able to study with Kurt Humolt of the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra for three months, before we moved to the university town of Göttingen. In 1950 the band moved to Malaya and for the next two years we were playing in conditions of great tropical humidity.