Name-dropping on the edge of music.
Not being raised in a particularly musical household, I learned to be an "almost good enough" amateur musician, but it was never really in the blood. My mother played a bit of piano, and my father, raised in poverty and disadvantage, learned to appreciate the standard classics from attending wartime Municipal Concerts in the local Guildhall, organised to raise people's spirits. My attempts at performing anything in public were generally doomed to failure, despite, or maybe because of, parental encouragement.
The embarrassing faux-pas (which they usually were) are amusing to look back on with hindsight, whether playing organ at the wrong moment in a family wedding, or playing the same riff ad nauseam in a rock band. I was later more successful at singing, whether a barbershop quartet, jazz choir or chamber choir. But now with a croaky voice, my greatest pleasure is listening to music, and thinking about music – as maybe it always should have been. I now have less interest in choral music than before, as if the genre is more of a participation sport. My earliest exposure to music in the cinema was, coincidentally or not, "The Music Man" (Meredith Wilson 1962). Barbershop singing by the Buffalo Bills featured heavily. Seventy six trombones and all that may have a lot to answer for.
I still laugh at some childhood musical experiences. In a row in front at a symphony concert, I can stil hear a mother explaining to her young child "This symphony has four movements. A long piece made up of four short pieces. You mustn't clap until the very end. In between the movements, people cough". At the end of the first movement, she burst into tears. "I can't cough Mummy".
Cleo Laine made a guest appearance at a Primary School music event. To help me remember which notes to play in a fanfare on my Hohner Melodica (remember those?), she marked the side of the keyboard with chalk, scratching the green paint. As a child I never forgave her, but I'm sure she wasn't responsible for my limited appreciation of jazz. In truth I never "got" improvisation at the piano anyway. For me, jazz too is a participation sport. The Melodica was the closest I ever came to playing a wind instrument.
Interest in the music of others is now more important. I was always on the periphery of any personal connection. One of the Shulman Brothers had attended the same school a few years before me. Later to become a key member of Simon Dupree and the Big Sound ("Kites" 1967) and then Gentle Giant, he returned to school as a guest. When the head teacher asked what he had been doing with his life he announced to the Assembly "Well man, I've been writin' tunes and stuff". Their music certainly inspired a later interest in Prog Rock.
At the same school I was taught to play the organ to Grade 7 by a wonderful man. Missing an arm after the war, he was able to connect the pedalboard to the keyboard, enabling him to play some of the mssing left hand part with his right foot. The necessary gymnastics led him to fall off the stool during one morning assembly, giving rise to the most blood-curdling cluster chord from the organ's pedals.
During an unmotivated and unsuccessful attempt at studying music to a higher level, during which I was advised to learn the viola instead of the fiddle (ear-damage limitation), I at least had the opportunity to help the progression of others in the business. A chance encounter with a band then called Edward Bear, in a Portsmouth pub, led to the first recording sessions for one Joe Jackson ("Steppin Out", "Different for Girls"). His autobiography mentions me (not by name) and recalls us having to take the university gates off its hinges at the end of the session to get their van out, as we were in the studio without official permission.
An early morning appearance with a male chorus on TV-am, hosted by Chris Tarrant under Sandown Pier on the Isle of Wight, is eminently forgettable, so I won't mention that one. It would have been around 1983. "What are you going to sing?" asked Chris. "Ride the railroad tonight" I replied. "A classic!" said Mr Tarrant with a characteristic smirk. Anyway I won't mention it, particularly after revisiting the song's suggestive lyrics.
Years later I and 500 others were delighted to have the opportunity to sing with Bryn Terfel outside the Royal Festival Hall, London (Bryn's Big Sing, 2012). We were coached in singing in Cymraeg (before I started learning the language). The festival director in her closing remarks said "Maybe if you're not Welsh, why not decide to be". The rest is history for this putative Cymro newydd.
Simon Dupree and the Big Sound - Kites 1967 – YouTube
Gentle Giant - Knots – YouTube
Joe Jackson - Steppin' Out – YouTube
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I look forward to your comments. Also it would be nice to know where you are in the world. Thanks for reading.