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Levy’s Sound Studios was one of very few recording studios outside the major record labels that were established in the thirties, a unique feature being their pressing factories they operated at Aston Clinton and Colnbrook. From these units they pressed their own labels Oriole and Embassy records, as well as taking in washing from an American label, Mercury, and also exporting discs to the far corners of the British Empire. They also owned a world-renowned record shop in Whitechapel. Alongside Star, Recorded Sound and Guy de Beir (subsequently renamed Advision), they pioneered an independent recording service for aspiring amateur and professional singers, solo musicians and orchestras.

I joined Levy’s in 1955 as a junior engineer and delivery boy (their being no couriers in those days). I was fifteen and had to get work due to my father’s earlier demise from cancer. He was an hotelier and ran Westminster Residential Service Suites at 59 Jermyn Street. Even though my mother took over the management when he died, it was clear that the post would not last forever.

I was always interested in photography, recording and my small bedroom in the hotel was littered with 8mm cine cameras, editing equipment, projectors, speakers, Scophony Baird tape recorder, sound mixer, grams and other paraphernalia. I decided a disc cutter would complete my equipment and my mother, being a generous soul and to make up for my father’s early death, decided to buy me one. They were not easy to find, but in one government surplus shop (a trade that abounded in those days) we found a pristine MSS mobile disc cutter with the magic letters BBC scorched into the heavy wooden carry case. It had been used by war correspondents in the field of battle. As you can imagine I was like a dog with two tails. Eventually I taught myself how to work it. This entailed a balancing act with the cutting head. Too little weight and the record would not play, too much and a sapphire cutting needle would grind itself through the lacquer surface into the aluminium base of the blank and be ruined. Also control of dynamic range and modulation of the cutter head ensured success or failure.

In Piccadilly Arcade, a stone’s throw from the hotel, was a modest recording outfit run by Guy Whetstone and Stephen Appleby, who later established Advision. They provided me with either relapped or new sapphire cutters as required. Both were long suffering and at 30 bob a sapphire (£1.50 in today’s money), extremely generous. We all became close friends as the years went by. As luck would have it this single bit of skill enabled me to begin my career in recording.

In my search for work I walked the length of Bond Street and finally, after much pacing outside, marched into Levy’s Sound Studios and asked to speak to the chief engineer. I was greeted by a bemused Jacques Levy who told me his chief engineer was busy but would he do. "Well", I said, "I need a job. I can make these", removing my best 78rpm acetate discs from my school satchel. "Would you be interested"? Mr Jacques, as he always liked to be addressed, got his linen tester out and looked at the groove formation and then played the records. Eventually he summoned forth chief recording engineer Ted Sibbick, a portly little man in a white coat who gave me the third degree. How had I come by these! Where did I find them and so forth. Finally after taking them both to my room in Jermyn Street they were convinced I had cut them myself and I got a job at £3.10s (£3.50) a week.

Ted Sibbick was an excellent teacher; a staunch Mason, he used to regale me with stories of when he was at the BBC during the war. "You know" he would say, "Our boys out there" – referring to MI6 – "were so efficient I used to get scripts of Hitler’s speeches six weeks ahead of a broadcast, and when they were relayed to me live from Caversham, the BBC monitoring Station, I had already worked out where the disc changes would be". On a less savoury note he mentioned finding, following a land mine attack on Broadcasting House, a policeman’s head complete with helmet on the window ledge of his dubbing room six stories up.

I began my apprenticeship with Levy’s, which was to last six years and ended up with my becoming their chief engineer. At first, of course, I did all the mundane stuff like make tea, deliver discs and sweep the studio floor. Mr Jacques liked a clean ship!

In the pre-war period as newsreels became popular, background libraries of specially recorded music emerged and Levy’s received its fair share of sessions mainly because they offered a unique advantage, a recording and pressing facility for 78rpm records. A one-stop shop so to speak.

Early background music labels like De Wolfe, Paxton, Chappell, Boosey & Hawkes and KPM all used Levy’s. Morris Levy, (Mr) Jacques’ elder brother, was then Studio Manager and the sole balance engineer. As I remember, re-mastering many of these catalogues over the years, there was a sort of rounded quality to his recordings which seemed to defy the laws of the technology of the day. Although not a trained musician, even I could appreciate the extremely well crafted balance of chord harmonies captured on his recordings right down to the double bass. Of course all studios have their own characteristics and these are shown up more if you wide mic or close mic. Much of the MGM scoring studio’s reputation was derived from using one microphone for the entire orchestra and an extremely sympathetic acoustic. Levy’s was a very live studio by today’s standards and separation was quite a challenge, so it took quite a degree of careful judgement to get the balance just right, as I was to learn later.

The recording equipment Morris used was really quite primitive and was still in use when I arrived in the fifties. There was a central 6-channel mixer, a big box of valves, without any equalisation, a secondary passive mixer that took the output of main mixer, and two Vortexion mixers purchased later. These were then fed into an equaliser with primitive top and bass controls connected to the mono tape recorder or disc cutter. Microphones consisted of BBC Marconi long ribbons and American and STD Cardoids. It was simple but the signal was clean and distortion free as a whistle.

Although I was not aware of it at the time but, a close friend throughout my life, Bernard Mattimore (a recording engineer with EMI), tells me there was no equalization at Abbey Road studios either. All equalisation was done in post production through a large box of Cooker Knobs known as a 'Curve Bender' which Abbey Road built. You sat in the Greenroom with the A&R man and perhaps the M.D. and you clicked away until they thought it sounded better! You had a sheet of paper designed to show all the knobs and their calibrations. You ticked off the settings and the sheet was put in the Master Tape Box and sent up for cutting. The cutting engineers all had 'Curve Benders'; having referred to the ticked-sheet, they set their 'box of knobs' likewise. At least they were supposed to, I knew some who didn't, and no one could tell after anyway!

All Classical lacquer masters were played before they went down to Hayes for processing. There appeared to be a constant war between the studio and the factory regarding quality, so this policy of 'It was all right when it left us', was adopted.

Levy’s never played lacquer masters for fear of the damage caused to the grooves by the application of steel needles to the soft lacquer. It only goes to show how the isolated islands of operation were interpreting by the emerging technology.

The Studio at 73 New Bond Street was built into what was once an art gallery. The room was roughly 40’x40’ and backed onto Dering Street. Below was a pub called the ‘Bunch of Grapes’ which became a haven for the recording community of the area in the late fifties. Bernard, who was now the manager of the HMV studio in Oxford Street, would join Stephen Appleby, Guy and Andy Whetstone from the newly formed Advision at 83, a few doors away in Bond Street. It was all very pleasant.

The acoustic engineers had built a soundproof shell within the gallery, all on a floating floor. Even the control room was within the shell. Above the control room was a void to the ceiling of the old art gallery. Here they had dumped old gear, redundant Brunswick recording lathes, several racks of transcription discs (16" x 33⅓ rpm records the wartime precursor of LP’s) and the like. Science Museum cry your eyes out!

Originally sessions were recorded direct onto disc live. And, although I only have this by hearsay, it was not until (Mr) Jacques returned from Germany at the end of hostilities clutching a Magnetophon tape machine, which seemed to have fallen off a panzer wagon, did they convert to pre-recording on tape. (He was always a bit hush-hush about what he did in the war - as he was in business.) The machine ran at 30 ips and made a dickens of a noise as I remember. It used open sided European platters of quarter inch tape 3,250ft long. Many of these revolutionary devices had been captured by the advancing expeditionary forces during the war and distributed to allied countries for evaluation. Bing Crosby got his hands on one, created Ampex and the rest is history. The one we had still retained the secret rotating scrambler head used to transmit secret messages to agents in the field, as well as normal linear heads.

Because of my talent for disc cutting I was confined to the dubbing suites for several months at 101 New Bond Street with Ted Sibbick, opposite the Studio at 73. My initial work consisted of making 78rpm lacquers from the output of the studio; masters for onward processing at Aston Clinton and Colnbrook (their pressing plants); and transferring to disc amateur tape recordings which were increasing month on month.

Levy’s, with its unique ability to record and press independently of the majors, meant it had a healthy trade in work from many of the countries left over from the "Empire" - not least India and Africa. The Sheherazade Label based in Delhi used to send lacquers by the dozen, which I converted to pressing masters. It provided me with a useful Saturday job and welcome overtime - 50 sides a morning was my record!

There was also Melodisc, a West African label who recorded in the Studio most times. The various bands, colourful Rastafarians, brought in ornate musical instruments like talking drums, odd battered trumpets, bugles and guitars. Unfortunately, they did have a tiresome habit of blessing the session by sprinkling thick Black John Rum over (Mr) Jacques’ shiny parquet studio floor. We managed to sponge it off without offending the artistes and before it ate into the veneer.

It was not for several months after being employed that was I allowed to go into the Holy of Holy’s – The Control Room. Although the Magnetophon was still in position, but just used for winding tape, it had been replaced by an EMI BTR2, an enormous green machine that weighed a ton and took a day to line up.

Sessions were booked in by Mrs Friend who kept the diary. Certain days were pencilled out for Oriole or Embassy sessions; the balance was the luck of the draw. As you can imagine we received our quota of musical émigrés from Eastern Europe after WW2, mainly Jewish. (Mr) Jacques did not find their presence something he could tolerate and retired, so it gave me ample opportunity to learn to balance sound. Some of these highly excitable people would arrive with band parts expecting to find a full orchestra, hanging around in the studio, to play their stuff. They were disappointed more often than not and most of the time was spent placating them and ringing Maestro Mario, a singing teacher who occupied the top floor of 101, to request help from his accompanist. Eventually the lady came over and did what she could and another demo was committed to a treasured lacquered disc.

Levy’s, being independent and struggling to survive in a world that was beginning to be controlled by technology, were really not equipped financially or willing to accept the argument for increased investment from a business point of view.

When the ‘LP’ was introduced, and with it an all-singing and dancing disc recording machine from Denmark, the Lyrec SV8, which retailed at some $275,000 they were slow to accept the need. This was 1956 and when you compare what can be done today with a PC and DVD reader/writer to record both pictures and sound on a small plastic disc, which everyone can own for a few hundred pounds, then the advances in technology over the next 48 years can really be appreciated.

At first we all looked in envy as we were shown the demo model at the IBC studios in Portland Place just north of Broadcasting House. (Mr) Jacques, Ted and I were in awe of the bright blinking lights and all the functions. You could dial in the duration of the recording; it would set the level automatically, and sort out variable groove depth and width, based on a judgement of recording time and average recording modulation. It was a fail-safe machine and was the first example of how technology would soon take the artistry out of virtually everything we do today. We all secretly wished it had not been invented and hoped it would grind its cutter on its first recording assignment. We all knew that Levy’s could not afford one and so we scratched our heads and said, "we can do that".

Within a month we had fitted new motors to our Neumann lathe to run at 33⅓ rpm. LP’s, unlike most of the 78’s produced hitherto, had two additional requirements - the groove had a variable depth to cope with the increased dynamic range of tape, and as a result the lead screw on the lathe had to run variably and independent of the turntable to accommodate the constantly changing groove width. This was to be compounded when stereo was introduced. With everything optimised you could then get up to 30 minutes per side on an LP.

If you do not have a locked-in calculator to sort this out then it needs to be done manually. So we loaded the front of the cutting head for the maximum depth and fixed a small coil spring to it with a piece of felt as a damper. The top of the spring was connected to a little screw which could be rotated to lessen the load on the cutter and set the minimum depth. So far so good! The variable drive for the lead screw was slightly less sophisticated. Ted found an old electric 78rpm gramophone motor and removed the turntable. We then fixed a 12" blank to the lead screw and let it rest on the motor’s hub. As there used to be a lever to adjust the gramophone motor’s speed we found that full speed equalled roughly a groove pitch of 50 microns and dead slow around 10 microns.

By setting two RGD tape playback machines side by side and running the tape though one machine as a pre listening device in advance of the head that was connected to the disc cutter’s amplifier, we got prior knowledge of when an orchestral piece was offering up a crescendo or pianissimo, so we could open up the groove width and increase depth. It was all a bit hairy - left hand on the depth control, right hand on the variable pitch device, but we were in business! And that simply is what we did at Levy’s for many years, producing countless LP’s for their own Oriole and Embassy labels as well as re-mastering background music libraries on LP. Copies of original 78 disc recordings were pressed in vinyl instead of shellac in order to minimise surface noise and dubbed onto tape then made up into albums and so on. Months were spent on dubbing background music catalogues to cope with the new technology. I even devised a method of turning mono into stereo by means of an 8-channel mixer with a panning control and the dextrous use of equalisation on each channel.

Eventually, I moved into programme production and tape editing for the shows they made for Radio Luxembourg, the main two being, "For you Madam" and "John Dark". Ex-BBC producer, Neil Tuson, directed both. The former was a magazine programme introduced by Peter West and included the live performances by Frank Chacksfield and his Orchestra.

One notable programme included an interview with a hero of mine. I used to listen to AFN out of Stuttgart in 1950 and there was one DJ called Sgt Frank Batters (I think that is how the name is spelt) who always ended his broadcast by playing, Caterina Valente’s The Breeze and I. Lo and behold, as I edited the broadcast tape there he was, but regrettably I never met him.

John Dark was a Dick Barton sound-alike. Neil had created and produced Dick Barton for the BBC and when it was axed to make way for the Archers he took the idea to Luxembourg who picked it up with open arms. The name had to be changed for legal reasons. We used to record five episodes every Sunday, two in the morning and three in the afternoon. Notable artists included Paul Whitson Jones, Mary Wimbush and Jack May (later to be Nelson Gabriel in the Archers). Sometimes I did the studio spot effects like slamming doors or creating ghastly grinding noises while Dark was being interrogated by some evil power. Other times I was on the grams with backgound FX like wind, rain, thunder and an effect which I had to create from scratch - thousands of rats scrabbling to devour John Dark in a sewer. He always got away!

A great deal of recording was done outside the studio. My first trip was to Eastbourne to record Max Jaffa’s Palm Court Orchestra, later to be an LP released on Oriole. My first solo mobile recording was made at the Commonwealth Institute in Northumberland Avenue just off Trafalgar Square. A strange science fiction writer by the name of L. Ron Hubbard was to give a series of 8 one-hour lectures in one day on the subject of Scientology. This so called religion became quite notorious in the late 50’s and apparently the tapes are still revered today as his gospels.

Other locations included the Conway Hall (where a lot of background music was recorded without the consent of the Musicians’ Union), Wigmore Hall (where I spent many days secretly recording international artists’ own samplers), and Walthamstow Town Hall which had exceptional acoustics. The World Record Club recorded many easy-listening records there. They also produced a version of the musical My Fair Lady way before it hit London.

I became a close friend of Norman Lonsdale WRC MD, and his wife Fiona Bentley, who with Lord Aberdair and Cyril Ornadel (MD for Sunday Night at the London Palladium), began making independent productions. It was her vision that gave me my first break into writing scripts and producing children’s records. Some 90 were made in all using the cream of writers, like David Croft, (BBC "Dad’s Army" and "Hello Hello" writer/producer), musical directors that included John Gregory, Ken Jones, Bernie Fenton, Cyril Ornadel, and famous stars too numerous to mention. They sold throughout the world. I got to direct Ferdi Mayne, Vivien Leigh, Donald Wolfit, Roger Livesey, Bernard Miles, Jack Hulbert, Cicely Courtneidge, Jean Metcalfe, and many other big stars. Not bad for a kid of 19 eh!.

There was always a bit of tension between the two Levy brothers, Morris and (Mr) Jacques. It was to come to a head when I began balancing their economy Woolworth records that went out on the Embassy label. The trick was to find what was going to be top of the hit parade in the coming weeks and then make an exact, or, as they called it in the trade, "Chinese Copy" using local singers and musicians. Then get them into Woolworth’s at half the price of the real thing. We got it down to a fine art, recording on a Thursday and in the stores by the following Monday.

But Morris was not pleased with many of the results. Either the level on the disc was not sufficient or interpretation was not close enough. The truth was that the studio was now totally under-funded and the gear had seen better days. So many advancements had been made elsewhere that it was becoming impossible to compete. I secretly borrowed a limiter/compressor from a rival studio and without telling (Mr) J connected it to the disc-cutting suite. As I recorded the master discs for the factory, the limiter compressed the dynamic range and created a "wall of sound" enabling at least 8db additional level on the disc, and gave the recording a totally different feel. Morris was overjoyed but (Mr) Jacques and I were never to be close colleagues again and the situation got so volatile I had to leave the company in 1961.

Eventually both brothers had to concede that the studio needed re-equipping. This was accomplished by my successor Jeff Frost. But soon CBS, who had much of their output for British consumption pressed at Oriole Records over the years, decided that a takeover of the group (comprising Oriole and Embassy Records, their factories at Aston Clinton and Colnbrook, as well as Levy’s Sound Studios), would prove a sound business move.

They took the catalogue, the premises and the factories; but the talent and dedication, of Levy’s pioneers, had long gone. But that is another story!

Editor: Bill Johnson left the recording business in about 1965 and, even though he worked at many other Studios like Olympic, Lansdowne (as Dennis Preston's assistant) and built his own studio Ryemuse, he decided to move into business theatre productions and staging large presentations for people like Capital Radio and the Shaklee Corporation of America under his own company Magic Lantern. For two good examples of the ‘different’ sound achieved in the Levy Studios, listen to ‘Festive Days’ and ‘Bandstand’ on the new Guild CD "An Introduction to The Golden Age of Light Music".

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The Music of the ‘Carry On’ Films 1958-78


This article is a shortened version of an undergraduate music dissertation written at Durham University in the Spring of 2002. The original paper is presented with a selection of audio and video examples, together with a bibliography and discography. For the purposes of this article, many of the examples and citations have been removed. In some places, however, I have referred to Gavin Sutherland’s CD, The Carry On Album (Sanctuary Group CDWHL 2119). Many readers will already own this disc; for those who don’t, my advice is to treat yourself to a copy! Peter Edwards

In 1958, Gerald Thomas and Peter Rogers made a low-budget film called Carry On Sergeant. Over the next twenty years they would produce 29 more films bearing the ‘Carry On’prefix, and representing the most successful series of comedy films in British cinema history. Like most aspects of popular culture, these films were not original; they wallowed in a collection of tried and tested comic ideals and stereotypes, owing something to nearly every genre of comedy which had gone before. And yet the ‘Carry On’ series quickly established itself as something rather special; something which was uniquely and affectionately British, and remains so to this day.

As Britain’s culture changed from the late 1950s to the late 70s, the Carry Ons adapted accordingly. The series soon diverted from the almost Ealing style launched by Carry On Sergeant; the actors, jokes and characters, however, stayed reassuringly the same. They represented comedy in its simplest form: low brow and unassuming but speaking directly to a mass audience. The films achieved this consistency through a talented team of comedians, notably Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Charles Hawtrey, Kenneth Connor, Hattie Jacques and Joan Sims. The screenplay writer, together with director and producer, was a major driving force. But in this article I will be discussing the work of the man who is most criminally forgotten: the composer.

It is through music that every structural aspect of the Carry On films is brought to life. Indeed, without the skill of the composer any film production would be sure to fall flat; this being the case more than ever in a comedy production. The rather cheeky, largely visual, naughty and yet innocent humour of the Carry Ons is directly and often graphically mirrored by their music. A good film score is an integral part of the production, as much as lighting, costumes sound effects and dialogue; it cannot be merely tagged on.

The massive amount of music included in twenty years of Carry Ons was written almost exclusively by two men. Bruce Montgomery composed the scores for the first six films from 1958-62 . His successor, Eric Rogers, scored the following twenty-three films until 1978. Interestingly the change in composer coincided with a change in screenplay writer: Talbot Rothwell replaced Norman Hudis. This brought about a marked change in style whilst continuing and enhancing the spirit of Carry On into and beyond the Swinging Sixties.

The roots of this kind of comedy could be described as the ‘spirit of Carry On’. Everything in the production, including the music, was to immerse itself in these roots in order to give the audience what it wanted. The earliest and perhaps most obvious of these roots is apparent in the British music-hall. These centres of popular entertainment offered shows of a decent quality, at an affordable price, to a largely working class audience. Their comics made light of embarrassing situations, spoofing the most cherished of our institutions. The early Carry Ons did precisely that, sending up the British Army in Carry On Sergeant (1958), the National Health Service in Carry On Nurse (1959), the Police Force in Carry On Constable (1960) and so on. Later the films would send up the more ‘serious’ films of the day: James Bond in Carry On Spying (1964), the Western in Carry On Cowboy (1965), and the historical costume drama in Carry On Don’t Lose Your Head (1966).

British audiences have always laughed at jokes about sex, or indeed about anything considered ‘naughty’ or ‘taboo’. Just as the music-halls pushed cultural boundaries in their time, the Carry Ons did the same in the 1950s, 60s and 70s – and always at the mercy of the censors. But jokes and innuendo, as written in a script, are not funny in their own right. The thought of anyone but Kenneth Williams crying "Stop messin’ about!" does not provoke so much as a smile. Music-hall songs were always associated with their particular performers; and the jokes of the Carry Ons were associated with the men and women on screen, established as the ‘Carry On Team’. Perhaps this is why the main acting figures in the films are famous, whilst the men behind the scenes – especially the composer – are largely forgotten. And yet the thought of a Carry On without its music is at least as dull as the thought of a music-hall without its orchestra.

The spirit of music-hall had to be presented, not just in the jokes of the songs, but in the music itself. In a similar way, the Carry Ons achieved light comedy through their light music. Every aspect of the comedy – the spoofs, the naughty situations, the larger-than-life characters and caricatures, the verbal and visual jokes – is presented by the composer in his score.

The theatre and its music continued to flourish in Britain when the music-hall was dying. By the 1950s the mainstream music-hall had been consigned to history, yet its very spirit had become transformed into comedy films, and its music into the variety theatre. Eric Rogers (the second of the Carry On composers) started his career in the theatre – as musical director at the London Palladium. Here he composed Startime, famous theme of the TV series Sunday Night at the London Palladium. He also arranged and orchestrated Lionel Bart’s musical Oliver!, (Bart could neither read nor write music himself). It was in the theatre that Rogers developed his own skill in composing film music. Just as the variety show stage was an important precedent for the humour of the Carry On films, the music of the theatre represented a solid grounding for the art of film composition. Above all, both mediums of entertainment were characterised, musically, by immaculately balanced scoring, impeccable timing to guarantee fast-moving continuity, and a particularly bright and colourful manner of orchestration which is displayed in the work of all great theatre and film composers.

An important difference between theatre and film, from the composer’s point of view, is the use of microphones. Film music may be scored at any level, since its volume can easily be adjusted when the score is mixed with dialogue and sound-effects. Furthermore, balance within the orchestra can be controlled through the use of several microphones; heavy brass, for example, can be softened whilst the quieter harp can be strengthened. This luxury does not exist in the theatre, since the audience hears the music directly from the pit. Theatre composers, therefore, must exercise particular skill in finely balanced orchestrations. Eric Rogers took his orchestral roots from the theatre into his film scores; this is evident in his consistently impeccable orchestration. The priority of finely balanced scoring was an underlying feature behind the success of the Carry On music.

Film music itself has its origins in the silent film. It is startling to consider that, within thirty or forty years, the solo pianist of the early 1900s cinema would be replaced by a fully synchronised recorded soundtrack, typically featuring a specially composed score for full orchestra. In the very early days, music was needed primarily as a means of drowning the clattering noise of the projector. When this noisy mechanism was eventually concealed in a soundproof box it became apparent that music was still required; not so much to satisfy an artistic urge, but to cover up the eerie silence which would otherwise dominate. Film critic Kurt London wrote:

‘We are not accustomed to apprehend movement as an artistic form without accompanying sounds. Every film must possess its individual rhythm which determines its form.’

This certain ‘necessity for music’ had the natural result of the use of inappropriate or superfluous music in films. This became more apparent when, as cinemas grew, the solo pianist was replaced by a full orchestra. Despite their versatility, these orchestras were unable to offer the same level of musical directness as could be improvised by a pianist or organist in front of the screen. It was not until the birth of the talking picture – famously The Jazz Singer (1927) – that producers began to consider the possibility of a specially commissioned score. Before then, cinema orchestras generally selected items from a library of mood music to compile a seemingly appropriate score for the film. But even the arrival of the soundtrack did not fuel an instant demand for film composition. Indeed, the primary novelty of the sound film was the human voice. The second interest was the addition of natural sound effects. The musical score would in fact take many years to establish itself as an indispensable element of film, as it had been in the silent days. It would also require substantial advances in recording and mixing technology for film music to be taken seriously.

A major breakthrough occurred in the late 1920s and early 30s with the advance of the Walt Disney group. Skeleton Dance (1929) was the first of the ‘Silly Symphonies’, in which animation was directly synchronised with music. Soon followed a healthy flow of animations, revelling in the most graphic and colourful orchestral scores. The advances in synchronising technology ironically brought about a full-circle return to the spirit of the silent film. This soon filtered through from animations to adult comedy, and it is this very tradition which is seen and heard in the Carry On films.

Soon, new standards took the lead in film music. As directors began to work more closely with composers, leading figures were employed to write scores: including Arthur Bliss (Things to Come, 1935), Benjamin Britten (Night Mail, 1936) and William Walton (As you like it, 1936). The serious composer of art music had entered the world of film. Bruce Montgomery and Eric Rogers, although not symphonists, were two such experts in film composition. With the technology to synchronise their scores to the nearest ⅓ second, they would transform the spirit of the turn-of-the-century silent film into the resources of a full orchestra. The Carry On music owes much to every historical aspect of cinema music, whilst having its own fresh voice as delivered by Montgomery and Rogers.

Having discussed the earliest roots of the spirit of Carry On, we may take a look at the more immediate musical influences. This is where the world of ‘light music’ comes in. The distinctive musical style of the Carry Ons was created from a great fusion of the various strands of light music, particularly those of Britain in the years between the wars through to the early 1960s. Pop music became increasingly influential from the mid 1960s to the final films of the late 1970s, but the Carry On style, as expressed through the orchestra, remained solidly consistent throughout the entire series. It is these various strands of music which contributed to the very British sound of the Carry On films. The light-hearted, often satirical though deeply rooted patriotism associated with the series is evident in the situations, the characters, the actors themselves and – most consistently – through the music.

British light music continued to thrive as the cinema and theatre orchestras declined. This was thanks to the advent of broadcasting. Radio programmes demanded a very fresh, instantly appealing style of music in order to captivate an audience. Interestingly, many of those given the task of writing this music were composers who had worked in the cinema and theatre. Sidney Torch and Ronald Binge were both virtuosos of the cinema organ, Charles Williams worked some time with the Gaumont British film company, and Eric Coates spent much of his early career in the theatre pit as a viola player.

This kind of music we love is characterised by its colourfulness, tunefulness and in particular by its directly accessible quality. But good tunes alone do not produce good music. Light music flourished because it was placed in the hands of composers who took it seriously; those who knew exactly how to write for the orchestra, how to create and arrange beautiful melodies, and whose music was the product of real craftsmanship. It is this approach to composition which forms the foundation of the music in the Carry On films.

Creating light music of high quality is one task; creating music of similar quality for film comedy takes the composer’s job a stage further. Light music is created to appeal directly to our sensibilities. Just as people could universally respond to the BBC’s generous offering of light music on radio and television, the cinema audiences of the 1950s, 60s and 70s could universally respond to the music in the Carry On films. Light music itself responded to the most cherished of musical genres – the marches of the parade ground, the waltzes and polkas of the ballroom, the intermezzos of the silent cinema and the virtuoso novelty numbers of the variety theatre – in the same way as the Carry Ons responded to just about every British institution of their time.

The BBC, besides broadcasting an unprecedented flow of light music in the post-war years, became an increasingly popular provider of radio comedy. Like most other broadcasts, comedy productions required music. The difference between these and other programmes was that comedies, besides needing a suitable title theme, demanded quirky musical interludes throughout the whole show. Between 1950 and 60 the BBC employed no less than eight full-time light orchestras for the purpose of broadcasting. Comedy shows usually had a live orchestra which would play an actively integrated role in the script. The need for bright, lively and finely balanced orchestrations was greater than ever before. The best example of these shows as a direct forerunner of the Carry On films, in terms of both music and comedy, is Hancock’s Half Hour. Starring three of the subsequent stars of most of the Carry On films – Sid James, Hattie Jacques and Kenneth Williams – Hancock represented the very spirit of radio comedy in the years immediately preceding Carry On Sergeant in 1958. It addressed day-to-day situations with down-to-earth characters playing themselves (Tony Hancock and Sid James) alongside slightly less down-to-earth caricatures (Bill Kerr as the dumb Australian) and a whole range of farcical characters (provided mainly by the varying tones of Kenneth Williams). Under a different scriptwriter the Carry Ons would work along similar lines with these actors only a few years later.

The music, composed by Angela Morley (then known as Wally Stott), had the comically quirky style which was to become so much a part of British comedy – on radio, television and film – for the next decade and beyond. The famous augmented 4ths of the opening theme on the tuba could be said to sum up the entire series. The interspersions of dialogue within the music – firstly from the BBC announcer, then from Tony Hancock himself – demonstrated a manner of musical timing which is so important in the planning of film music. In many ways Morley was showing her admiration for the work of Robert Farnon, who had composed Jumping Bean nearly ten years earlier in 1947. The rather cheeky opening bars of this piece have been used as a model for comic musical gestures ever since, both in the Carry On films and elsewhere.

One of the most remarkable things about the Carry On music is that it preserved its unashamed association with the world of light music, long after light music itself had begun to decline. As the 1960s progressed the BBC brought about a fashionable change to its image, resulting in significant developments on both the ‘popular’ and ‘serious’ sides of music, and leaving little or no concession to what lay in-between. The abolition of the Home Service and the Light Programme, in favour of generic broadcasting in 1967, was primarily responsible for the decline of light music on the radio. Listeners, it was argued, should be able to select any kind of music at any time. Since light music fell uneasily between the images of Radio 2 and Radio 3 it was choked out of circulation. By 1971 the BBC had disbanded all its light orchestras, leaving only the BBC Concert Orchestra – founded in 1953 and for many years closely associated with Sidney Torch – as a potential provider of lighter music for broadcasts such as Friday Night is Music Night. Meanwhile, somehow the Carry On industry was booming with a sound that had directly embraced the kind of music which was going out of fashion. It had an amazing ability to take on contemporary musical trends, between the late 1950s and late 70s, whilst retaining the solid orchestral style on which it was founded.

In Britain the 1950s saw the rise of swing, closely followed by Rock ‘n’ Roll. These popular styles were incorporated, indirectly, into the Carry On music. The earlier British dance bands of the 1920s and 30s had themselves embraced trends from the USA, whilst remaining distinctively British. Jack Hylton, a bandleader of the 1920s and 30s, put forward some of his ideas in an article entitled ‘The British Touch’:

‘I examine all the music [from the USA] in detail and have tried much of it live, but it has not appealed to the public. Before it can be played here it must be modified, given the British touch… In the dance halls or gramophone record alike it makes a subtle appeal to our British temperament; it is in fact becoming a truly national music.’

Although Hylton was not specific in defining the ‘British touch’, it is clear from his arrangements what he was talking about. The British bands were altogether more orchestral – less swingy, arguably more refined, making very significant use of string instruments. It is this refined British style of jazz which made its way into the post-war British bands, and into the Carry On scores of Bruce Montgomery in the late 1950s and early 60s.

From the mid 1960s Eric Rogers would acknowledge the styles of pop music which followed; music commonly associated with the ‘Swinging 60s’. But if the Carry Ons were supposedly modernising their scores to fit their fellow aspects of popular culture, they did it in a way which preserved everything that was good about orchestral film music. Whilst many films of the 1970s made use of a pop band score – this becoming increasingly common in low-budget releases – the Carry Ons kept their full orchestra. Eric Rogers in particular proved that he could swing his music just enough whilst retaining all the traditional elements of a descriptive comedy film score.

In taking something special from each of the strands of music mentioned above, the composers required a particular kind of orchestra. Since budget restrictions were tight, the composers had to select an ensemble which was flexible enough to cope with the varying styles of their scores. The standard budget for a Carry On orchestra was forty players. In 1975 producer Peter Rogers diminished this to thirty for Carry On Behind, forcing Eric Rogers to write a lighter textured score. Eric refused, however, to write for only twenty players in Carry On England (1976) – hence this film was scored by Max Harris. Forty was a viable number for a versatile film orchestra. Bruce Montgomery employed a fairly traditional scoring for the early films: usually double woodwind, four horns, three trumpets, three trombones and tuba, four percussionists, harp and strings. The woodwind players would increasingly be called to play saxophone as required.

Eric Rogers distributed his players differently, augmenting the brass section and lightening the traditional double woodwind in favour of a more consistent use of saxophones. The horn section was diminished in favour of four trumpets and trombones, the horn being used more as a solo instrument along with the woodwind section. One percussionist was stationed permanently on drum kit, whilst the other two were kept busy with the more traditional orchestral percussion, especially timpani, triangle, cymbals and xylophone, glockenspiel and vibraphone. Rather less traditional instruments included temple blocks, cow bell and swannee whistle – favourite Carry On sounds, although surprisingly few novelty instruments like this were required. The ‘rhythm section’ has been augmented, consistently to include electric guitar, bass guitar and piano, working alongside the harp. With this kind of ensemble Rogers had, at his disposal, a traditional orchestra with the additional feature of a pop band or dance orchestra embedded in the ensemble. Versatility was the key to a useful orchestra.

In a letter to Peter Rogers in 1962, composer Bruce Montgomery referred to his ‘Carry On bag of tricks’. By this he was talking about the extensive menu of musical devices from which he could choose, as required, to project the true spirit of the Carry On films. Eric Rogers would continue this trend, within his own style, when he succeeded Montgomery in 1963.

The ability of music, as an art form, to express the spirit of humour cannot be overstated. Music is arguably the most abstract and expressive of all the arts. Whilst a person’s eyes are actively selective in what they take in, the ears are fundamentally passive; this means that they are always open and (more or less) directed to any sound within their range. Music has the most powerful privilege of entering the ears whether the listener likes it or not. For this reason music, as an art, has always aimed to transform the potential laziness and dreaminess of the ear into concentrated effort and serious work. In film music the context is different, since the music is continuously matched to – or justified by – the images on the screen. Film music, unlike pure art music, does not necessarily transform the ear into ‘concentrated effort’ or ‘serious work’; but it is always there. For this reason the importance of good film music is paramount. Music in a comedy production – perhaps more than ever in a Carry On film – must express humour in such a direct way that its qualities cannot go unnoticed by the viewer.

Music of all kinds has traditionally been described as subjective; its effect always depends on its perception by a particular listener. Humour is also subjective, since identical events will always provoke different reactions from different people. Although music is a language (a means of communication) it is not a universal language. A verbal language may be universal amongst the people who speak and understand it; music is different because it is abstract. This is a good argument in the context of art music, although in the context of film, music has an altogether different function. The music of the Carry On films, in particular, could be described to a certain extent as objective. This is because its musical language, like the language of humour in the films, is understood universally. This does not mean that everybody appreciates it, or that everybody finds the films funny; rather, it means there is absolutely no doubt as to the connection between the comedy on the screen and the comedy in the music. Just as light music is written to appeal directly to our sensibilities, so do the Carry On films and their music. Cinema-goers, perhaps subconsciously, knew the style of the music in the same way that they knew the style of the films.

Prerequisites for humour, that is any kind of humour, rely firstly on the comical environment. In this there must be an element of surprise, without which none of the other components will have any effect. This works directly with the principle of comparison: the observer bases his expectations upon a specific context, which will be contrasted with something ridiculous – the circus clown being the classic example. A humorous situation often occurs at the expense of a victim; in the Carry On context this means spoofing British institutions. Also important for Carry On humour is the element of falsehood; humour is seldom completely truthful. The entire spirit of Carry On is based on something unreal. Through the many ups and downs of contemporary British life the Carry Ons would remain relentlessly cheerful – this is comedy about an England which never existed. The humour of the Carry On films, and their music, rests primarily on the overall elements of surprise and comparison between the familiar and the ridiculous.

Other prerequisites for humour concern the observer. First and foremost, the audience must be ‘in the mood’ if it is to appreciate humour. Without this ‘pleasurable state of being’ the most perfect situation and timing of a joke will be in vain. This is where the importance of music takes a real hold. A cinema audience, prior to receiving the main visual part of a film, is presented with the title music. The title themes to the Carry On films are the key to audience disposition. Typically only between 1½ and 2 minutes long, the theme music needed to sum up the spirit of the entire film, getting the audience into that ‘pleasurable state of being’ – in addition to presenting the credits. In the words of director Gerald Thomas, the theme would ‘bang the drum for the picture’.

The march Bruce Montgomery composed to introduce Carry On Sergeant in 1958 was to have a significance unknown to anyone at the time. It became the ‘Carry on Theme’, used in various shapes and forms to introduce the next five films. Its original version was recorded by the Band of the Coldstream Guards, and intended as a gentle parody of British military music. Montgomery then arranged this for full orchestra for Carry On Nurse (1959). [The Carry On Album,track 5]

The three contrasting sections are concisely joined in a traditional march structure, summing up the spirit of Carry On. The opening tune is the military parody; the second section is in cheeky ‘Carry On’ style – featuring the kind of jaunty xylophone writing which would become such an important part of the later Carry On music. The trio section represents warm British nostalgia – so much a part of these early Carry Ons.

After Carry On Nurse producer Peter Rogers suggested that the march be jazzed up for the next film (Carry On Teacher). This is where Eric Rogers entered the scene. Montgomery wrote a letter to Eric about his marching theme:

‘As you can see, it was intended to be the sort of thing a not-very-intelligent Army bandmaster might have written in about 1900… I feel if anyone can make a free symphonic pop version of it, you can.’

Rogers’ upbeat version of this theme became an instant hit, acknowledging the growing trends in 1950s popular music whilst referring back to the original which is so unashamedly and traditionally British. Despite its obvious big band connotations, Rogers’ treatment is largely orchestral – most notably by his important use of strings, featured in the melody of the trio section. [The Carry On Album, track 8]

The Carry On theme, as conceived by Montgomery and jazzed up by Rogers, is a classic example of what makes a good title to a film. In the spirit of British light music it consists of a good tune which is well constructed and orchestrated; at the same time it acknowledges swing, and the rather cheeky style of the films themselves.

From this point onwards the title themes became increasingly upbeat, culminating in the classic Rogers style of the 1970s. A good example of this is Carry On At Your Convenience (1971), whose story is centred on a toilet manufacturers. [The Carry On Album, track 15]. From studying the score, one immediately observes the remarkable clarity – and apparent simplicity – of orchestration. Strings are mainly in unison and octaves, providing rushing sequences (based on scales) to punctuate the beat along with the upper woodwind. The virtuosity of the string parts is strongly evident. The brass, too, appear to be in unison providing the main punctuation of the melody. The percussion writing is particularly crisp and bright – the xylophone was one of Rogers’ favourite instruments, and the drum kit was an important driving force in the orchestra, together with piano and electric guitar. The harp has the primary job of playing rushing glissandi, particularly at moments of key change. In the spirit of the fast-moving theatre show, Rogers revelled in key changes, typically up a semitone, for which he would employ rushing sequences or scales in octave strings, upper woodwind and xylophone. Incidentally, this particular theme features four key changes in the space of less than 1½ minutes, with an additional swift key change in the last two bars before the opening scene of the film is introduced [from 1:15]. This final key change is a classic Rogers device, providing a quirky ‘kick’ immediately before the first section of ‘incidental’ music.

The next section, heard in the opening scene of the film, depicts W.C. Boggs toilet factory. This is playfully mechanical music, suitable to the action taking place – as the workers busily go about their duties. The temple blocks, two triangles, xylophone and muted brass all contribute to the ‘working’ music. This is a similar style, not surprisingly, to the one heard in Rogers’ orchestration of Lionel Bart’s Oliver! about ten years earlier, in the opening workhouse scene. The ‘Carry On’ depiction of the boys marching into dinner is unmistakable.

Humour in music may be divided into two categories. ‘Referential humour’ is humour which has extra-musical connotations, whist ‘absolute humour’ is humour within the musical material itself. Although comedy film music can often be humorous in its own right, here we are concerned primarily with referential humour, since the music nearly always matches the images and dialogue on the screen. It is by this token that one may be justified in classifying the music as objective rather than subjective, since the link between music and visual or verbal comedy is unequivocal. One kind of referential humour is that of ‘satirical quoting’. In the Carry On films musical references to well-known genres are aplenty, in the same way as the content of the films is based on all kinds of cultural references.

The title themes provided the composer with the opportunity to make a strong musical reference if desired. Traditional tunes appear to be a major contributor. The theme to Carry On Camping (1969)is based on ‘One man went to mow’ [The Carry On Album, track 1], Carry On Loving (1970) on the two traditional wedding marches (by Wagner and Mendelssohn), Carry On Henry (1971) on ‘Greensleeves’, and Carry On Matron (1972, set in a maternity hospital) on ‘Rock a bye baby’. All four of these tunes are given the Rogers ‘Carry On’ swing treatment.

Often traditional tunes become an integrated part of the score. In Carry On Teacher (1959) Bruce Montgomery uses a disguised form of ‘Girls and Boys come out to play’ whenever the children go out into the playground. Quotations sometimes take on a more contemporary form, providing direct references to other films or television programmes In a scene from Carry On Spying, set in the dark streets of Vienna, Rogers directly quotes the well-known zither music of Anton Karas in The Third Man (the famous British spy thriller of 1949). This is interspersed with pizzicato strings to create comic tension. When a British agent (Bernard Cribbins) pokes his head around the corner, a tense motif based on ‘Rule Britannia’ is heard in the woodwind. A more up to date cultural reference can be heard in Carry On Screaming! (1966) in a scene where the detective (Harry H. Corbett) drives along the street in a cart before unwittingly committing a robbery – he has been turned into a monster. The television series Steptoe and Son – very popular at this time – classically featured the same actor driving a rag and bone cart. Appropriately, Rogers bows his head to Steptoe by quoting a fragment of the television theme. Familiar musical quotations such as this served as a comic reference point for contemporary cinema audiences.

Classical music quotations are also commonplace in Carry On films; these could be received and appreciated on a different level, probably only by a limited portion of the very wide audience. Carry On Cleo (1964) is set largely in Egypt; hence the title theme is based, loosely, on the grand procession from Verdi’s ‘Aida’ [The Carry On Album, track 9]. Rogers made extensive use of Haydn’s string music in Carry On Camping (1969). An arrangement of the serenade from his string quartet in F is used firstly to depict a quiet country boarding school for well-bred young ladies [track 2, from 3:15]. When it is revealed what the girls really get up to – in the company of trespassing young men – Rogers jazzes up the original in the spirit of the Swinging 60s. The versatility of the ensemble is fully displayed, as the five-part string sound gives way to a saxophone solo with piano, electric guitar and drums.

A different kind of satirical quoting is found in Carry On Nurse (1959). Here Bruce Montgomery uses his own original melody – the main tune from the Carry On theme – as a source of referential humour. The melody is heard on tuba and glissando timpani – used to represent the menacing Matron (Hattie Jacques) as she approaches the ward for her inspection – in conjunction with an affectionate portrayal of one of the patients (Charles Hawtrey) pretending to conduct an orchestra from his headphones. In the score the tuba line is marked molto pomposo. This is an example of Carry On humour where the instruments of the orchestra, besides mimicking visual comedy, become a source of comedy in their own right. The trombone, snare drum and triangle (as acted by Charles Hawtrey) become comic sounds. Similarly, Montgomery writes a satirical passage for the school orchestra in Carry On Teacher (1959). The music for the school play, supposedly written by the music master (Charles Hawtrey, who appears as conductor) is deliberately poorly scored and equally poorly played for comic effect. Again, Montgomery has exploited the content of the film by writing a score which demonstrates the funniness of music itself.

Another example of humour in music is that of tone painting. 18th century composers revelled in exoticisms, brought about by a fascination for Oriental themes: Mozart, for example, in his Turkish music. In many ways little has changed since then, particularly in the world of film music. Whenever the Carry On Team visited an exotic location (usually a disguised Pinewood Studios) the composer would be quick to oblige with appropriately exotic-sounding music. The scores always avoided absolute authenticity, remaining a purely Western and deliberately ethnocentric portrayal of the location; this is part of the humour. Carry On Up The Khyber (1968) includes some suitably exotic music to paint the atmosphere of an Indian palace, residency of the Khasi of Kalabar (Kenneth Williams) - [The Carry On Album, track 16, from 2:24]. This is a classic example of Rogers wearing his ‘world music’ hat, using a conventional Carry On orchestra. The percussion section plays an important role, with gong, Chinese bell tree, tambourine and finger cymbals (ironically many of these are not Indian instruments). The airy melody is played by divided violins, with muted banjo tremolos imitating the sitar.

For the costume-drama Carry Ons a different skill was required. Despite being low-budget, the Carry On productions always employed appropriate period music, alongside suitable costumes, sets and choreography. Carry On Don’t Lose Your Head (1966), set during the French Revolution, features some country dancing at an aristocrats’ ball. This kind of dance, in terms of rhythmic and melodic drive, may be readily compared to a Classical ‘Quadrille’ – a dance which came to the ballroom during the reign of Napoleon I. The choice of music is historically and culturally appropriate. The main achievement of the composer, however, is to treat this style in his own individual way; the orchestration is pure Eric Rogers, characterised by his jaunty use of off-beat snare drum, and woodwind with glockenspiel. These films used musical tone painting in a manner which reflects the period and setting whilst being unmistakably ‘Carry On’.

The Carry Ons are particularly famous for their verbal jokes, and yet so much of their humour is visual – visual, that is, with musical accompaniment. Imitations of non-musical sounds are a major ingredient of referential humour in music. The Carry On composers took this a stage further by imitating non-musical sounds in a deliberately unrealistic – often crude – way. The sound of a clumsy doctor bumping into the large Matron in Carry On Doctor (1967), for example, is accompanied aptly by a heavy thump from the percussion section. Bruce Montgomery tended to dress up a comic visual scene with a passage of grossly exaggerated music. Carry On Teacher (1959) features one such scene in which the PE teacher (Joan Sims) attempts to put on a pair of shorts which are too small for her – accompanied by a crudely Wagnerian brassy climax.

Like so many scenes from the films, the music here is not so much an imitation of a ‘non-musical sound’ as an imitation of a comic (and largely silent) gesture. Eric Rogers had some fun depicting a traditional British hand signal in Carry On Cabby (1963). In a brief example of 1960s road-rage near the start of the film, a car jams on its brakes to a timpani glissando – the taxi behind grinds to a halt, accompanied by a harp glissando and a twang from the electric guitar. The taxi driver, Sid James, calls out , "Can’t you give a hand signal?!". The other driver obliges with a rather crude ‘hand signal’, aptly accompanied by an upward glissando on the swannee whistle, culminating in a clang on the cowbell.

Musical accompaniment to screen gestures, in the context of Carry On, is not about realism or even caricature. The idea that music in film should be ‘realistic’ is nonsensical, since both music and film, by definition, are art forms and therefore unrealistic. The Carry On music succeeds because it has a certain objective relationship to the action, whilst simultaneously serving a purpose far beyond the demands of ‘realism’. Indeed, the music relies on its own unrealism for the desired comic effect.

Besides directly conveying humour, film music is equally important in conveying the human emotion. A good score is able to describe the emotional feeling of the film’s characters – perhaps in the same manner as a book, though without the luxury of written narrative. Spoken narrative in films is rare and only occasionally used (for special effect). For this reason the score is an indispensable narrative and emotional voice.

Emotional music serves an important role in the comedy of the Carry On films. Bruce Montgomery was particularly good at displaying gushing romantic emotions in his portrayal of characters. In Carry On Teacher (1959) a school inspector (Leslie Phillips) is bowled over at the sight of PE teacher, Miss Allcock (Joan Sims), accompanied by 15 seconds of music. This quick breath of musical romance, in itself, sums up his feelings. The inspector’s first sight of the lady is signalled by a bright chord on the vibraphone, closely followed by flutter-tongued flute (a classic Montgomery device) and slushy violins. A muted trumpet contributes to the sexy feel of the music. As Miss Allcock goes out of sight, the brief scene is abruptly ended by a clang on the tubular bell – this features as a musical pun on Leslie Phillips’ next line: "Ding Dong!".

In the later films, Eric Rogers’ portrayal of romantic emotions is rather swifter and cruder. In Carry On Cleo (1964), Mark Anthony (Sid James) goes to see Cleopatra (Amanda Barrie), and is instantly overcome by her dazzling beauty. His first reaction at seeing her submerged in the Egyptian bath is conveyed by an upward glissando on the timpani – an immortal ‘Carry On’ sound if ever there was one!

Bruce Montgomery and Eric Rogers had their own individual styles of composition, and yet they both equally match the spirit of Carry On in their music. Their music not only matches the rest of the film; it becomes a source of comedy in its own right.

The spirit of the Carry On films is founded in popular light entertainment. Whilst their underlying formula was highly unoriginal, their transformation and delivery of it was fresh and contemporary. The music, too, is rooted in all things light. It has a sound which affectionately embraces Britain’s musical past whilst acknowledging the ever-changing present; just as all good light music does. The films were consistently popular at the box office. Despite this – or even because of it – they have been heavily criticised. During one day of filming, a brash interviewer cornered producer Peter Rogers in Pinewood Studios:

"Still making the same old crap, Peter?" he asked.

"If you call money crap, then yes I am," Rogers replied.

It could be argued that commercial success and artistic quality are naturally in conflict with one another. This is because composers are continually forced into structural frameworks set by the mechanical and administrative frameworks of film-making. The Carry On composers were subjected, perhaps more than ever, to these restrictions. After viewing the fine cut with the director, the composer had no more than two weeks to write his score, and only two days in which to rehearse and record it. And yet these scores have not suffered musically; indeed, one could argue that the tight confinements of a Carry On budget production helped to ensure the kind of precision which is so evident in the music. The same was true for so many light music composers, who wrote such large amounts of high quality music in a very limited time.

The only way in which a film maker produces light comedy is through his being meticulous. Comedians do not perform light-hearted humour by light-hearted means; they are meticulous in planning their act. In the same way, light music is written by serious composers who are meticulous in their craft. The Carry On films have an unequivocally light image. All elements of the production, however, involved the height of precision and accuracy – the screenplay, the costumes, the lighting, the camerawork and the music. In being both light and meticulous the Carry Ons went beyond the norms of popular entertainment by taking on their own special quality. This quality may be at odds with the criteria traditionally used to define good film; but whatever the Carry Ons achieved, they achieved only through the most precise means.

The Carry On scores revel in leitmotifs, clichés, tonal colours and lyrical melodies – elements traditionally criticised as being at odds with true freedom of musical expression. Ironically the music succeeds for this very reason. It is the constant engagement with the listener’s expectations – the continuous delivery of something familiar – which helps enhance this popular style of comedy. Just as the content of the films relied primarily on British cultural stereotypes, the music worked along similar lines. So we have military music in Carry On Sergeant, nautical music in Carry On Cruising, wild west music in Carry On Cowboy, crude horror music in Carry On Screaming … and so on. The very essence of humour is grounded in comparison. In this context the audience is comparing familiar aspects of their culture to comic parodies, as presented by the films. That is why the Carry On films thrive on a very direct and objective relationship between music and action.

The Carry On films transformed their deep British roots into something fresh and contemporary. The music followed suit; Bruce Montgomery and Eric Rogers knew the style and delivered it in their own ways, whilst remaining ever-faithful to the original spirit of the series. The suggestion that the music of the films is ‘a remarkable match’ does not appear to go far enough. These two elements are inseparable. They are fully integrated, complementing one another and working together – and in the true spirit of Carry On.


To fully appreciate this article, you are strongly advised to listen to THE CARRY ON ALBUM – Sanctuary Group CDWHL 2119. This features the City of Prague Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Gavin Sutherland, performing many extracts from "Carry On" films composed by Bruce Montgomery and Eric Rogers.

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Announcing an important new series of Light Music CDs in March 2004

Guild Light Music

David Ades explains the aims of these new releases

Guild Records already produce a varied selection of classical historical recordings, and they also specialise in church and choral music - their catalogue even contains a few jazz releases. To view a complete list, please visit

Last November I was contacted by their Managing Director, Kaikoo Lalkaka, who informed me that he was considering a new venture in the field of Light Music. Although Guild is well established in its existing markets, he was looking for a new challenge, and had decided that there is still a big demand for older vintage Light Music recordings that is not fully satisfied by other record companies.

After many e-mails and telephone conversations, it was agreed that I would suggest an initial selection of music for three CDs, and that Alan Bunting would handle the digital sound restoration. If the first releases did well, Guild would consider issuing further CDs on a regular basis.

Because they are already known for their restoration of historical sound recordings, Guild wished to concentrate on Light Music that is now out of copyright in Britain (over 50 years old), with special emphasis on the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s. They would be distributed in several countries, so had to be attractive to an international record buying public.

Happily there are already a large number of Light Music CDs already available from various companies, but Guild would need to try and be a little different in order to be recognised as an important player in this particular area of the music scene. This raised some problems, but also posed some exciting challenges.

First of all it is important to identify Guild’s target market. Existing collectors of Light Music will hopefully wish to purchase each CD that comes along, but also it is necessary to offer collections which are likely to appeal to casual purchasers, who may be browsing in their local record store. To attract the latter, you must include at least a few well-known titles and familiar names among the orchestras. This could mean that keen collectors would have to put up with the occasional duplication, but we are trying to minimise this by including different versions of some well-known compositions that may not have been available on CD previously. For example I have not selected the famous Columbia 78 of Edward White’s Runaway Rocking Horse, but the rarer recording by the Orchestre Raymonde on Decca. Also the Grosvenor Concert Orchestra version of Ray Martin’s Dancing Bells which is delightfully different from the composer’s own recording.

You’ll have to forgive me for not including Eric Coates’ own recording of his London Bridge March, but the 1935 recording by the New Light Symphony Orchestra under Joseph Lewis has such a wonderful early Abbey Road sound about it. Arthur Benjamin’s Jamaican Rhumba by the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra on Columbia is very familiar, so the scintillating arrangement by Percy Faith should come as a pleasant surprise to those who have not heard it before.

The first CD – to quote its title – is intended as ‘An Introduction to The Golden Age of Light Music’, with examples of the many varied styles that will hopefully appear in future releases. The next two CDs concentrate on the 1940s and 1950s – again emphasising the wide variety of tuneful sounds that fall within the general scope of Light Music.

Looking further ahead, future CDs will probably concentrate on more specific areas of Light Music, and we expect to be able to give additional information about our plans in the June magazine. The important thing from the start is to get people interested in these new CDs, so that they will want to investigate each new release that comes along.

On the subject of quality, Alan and I have both decided that any sound restorations which do not reach our high standards will be replaced with something else, until better copies of the original records can be located. The CD booklets will contain detailed notes about the recordings and the composers/ arrangers, and future compilations will concentrate on the inclusion of a greater number of tracks that have not previously been available on commercial CDs. On top of all this, the price of the CDs will be fixed at a level which is competitive with other products on the market. It is hoped that once collectors have purchased one of the CDs in the series, they will want to own them all, gradually building up an impressive library of Light Music.

So far almost all of the tracks have been dubbed from my own collection, although a few have been provided by Alan and members of the Robert Farnon Society. If this new series proves to be as successful as we all hope, then we are going to have to rely upon recordings from other people, so this is a golden opportunity for RFS members to hear some of their own prized 78s (or even early LPs) digitally restored to a pristine condition, and reissued on CD. If there is something very special that you would like us to consider, please write to me first and let me know what you have available (at this stage please don’t send the actual recordings). Naturally a free copy of the CD will be given in return for any records that are used.

Even if you cannot offer any recordings of your own, I’d still like to hear from you if you have any particular requests. Just remember that the recordings must be at least 50 years old, which means that anything issued up to 1953 can be included on CDs released in Britain during 2004.

We hope that all RFS members will share our enthusiasm for this exciting new project. Future releases will depend upon healthy sales; should you already own a few of the tracks on the first issues, I hope that this will not deter you from adding them to your collection, thus ensuring that more will follow soon! And – as mentioned above – you have a real chance to influence what is included later on.

An Introduction to The Golden Age of Light Music

1 Gateway To The West (Robert Farnon)

2 Going For A Ride (Sidney Torch)

3 With A Song In My Heart (Rodgers, Hart)

4 Heykens’ Serenade (Jonny Heykens, arr. Ron Goodwin)

5 Martinique (Warren)

6 Skyscraper Fantasy (Donald Phillips)

7 Dance Of The Spanish Onion (David Rose)

8 Out Of This World – theme from the film (Harold Arlen, Johnny Mercer)

9 Paris To Piccadilly (Robert Busby, Eddie Hurran)

10 Festive Days (Charles Ancliffe)

11 Ha’penny Breeze - theme from the film (Philip Green)

12 Tropical (Morton Gould)

13 Puffin’ Billy (Edward White)

14 First Rhapsody (George Melachrino)

15 Fantasie Impromptu in C Sharp Minor (Chopin, arr. Robert Farnon)
featuring Arthur Gleghorn, flute and Reginald Kell, clarinet

16 London Bridge March (Eric Coates)

17 Mock Turtles (Angela Morley)

18 To A Wild Rose (Edward MacDowell, arr. Peter Yorke)

19 Plink, Plank, Plunk! (Leroy Anderson)

20 Jamaican Rhumba (Arthur Benjamin, arr. Percy Faith)

21 Vision in Velvet (Trevor Duncan)

22 Grand Canyon (Dolf van der Linden)

23 Dancing Princess (Hart, Layman, arr. Leon Young)

24 Dainty Lady (Leo Peter)

25 Bandstand (‘Frescoes’ Suite) (Haydn Wood)


The Golden Age of Light Music : the 1940s

1 Music In The Air (Byron Lloyd, arr. Sidney Torch))

2 Just One Of Those Things (Cole Porter)

3 Melody On The Move (Clive Richardson)

4 Out Of My Dreams (Richard Rodgers, Oscar Hammerstein II)

5 Linda Chilena (A. Orefiche, R. Connelly)

6 Laura (David Raksin)

7 Golliwog’s Cakewalk (Debussy, arr. Douglas)

8 Manhattan Square Dance (David Rose)

9 Runaway Rocking Horse (Edward White)

10 Woodland Revel (George Melachrino)

11 Music for Romance (Manning Sherwin, Eric Maschwitz)

12 Canadian Caravan (Robert Farnon)

13 Waltz from "TheThree Bears" (Eric Coates)

14 Metropolis (Jack Brown)

15 Gorgeous Hussy (Allan Gray)

16 Ascot Enclosure (Peter Yorke)

17 Ten Green Bottles (Trad. arr. Ronald Hanmer)

18 Wagon Lit (Sidney Torch)

19 Roving Fancies (Haydn Wood)

20 "The Way To The Stars" – Film Themes (Nicholas Brodszky)

21 Theatreland (Jack Strachey)

22 Dancing Tambourine (Polla, arr. Morton Gould)

23 "Blue Skies" – Selection (Irving Berlin)
Blue Skies, Always, Heat Wave, Getting Nowhere, A Pretty Girl Is Like A Melody, You Keep Coming Back Like A Song, Blue Skies.



The Golden Age of Light Music : the 1950s

1 Liza (Ira & George Gershwin, Sammy Kahn)

2 Caravan (Duke Ellington)

3 Marching Strings (Marshall Ross)

4 Fandango (Frank Perkins, Bradford)

5 Heart-O-London (Charles Williams)

6 Hey Presto! (Brett Wilson, arr. Trevor Duncan)
NEW CONCERT ORCHESTRA Conducted by Frederic Curzon

7 The Melody Maker (Noel Gay)

8 Proud Canvas (Robert Farnon)

9 Festival (Richard Addinsell)

10 Blue Moon (Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart)

11 Dancing Bells (Ray Martin)

12 Granada (Augustin Lara)

13 Petite Waltz (Joe Heyne)
BILLY COTTON AND HIS BAND - piano, Clem Bernard

14 Shortcake Walk (Sidney Torch)

15 Flirtation Waltz (R. Heywood)

16 Angel Cake (Angela Morley)

17 Waltz Of The Bubbles (David Rose)

18 Sportsmaster (Robert Busby)

19 Paris Interlude (Edward White)

20 At Last, At Last (Charles Trenet)

21 Roller Coaster (Busch, Delugg)

22 The Moon Was Yellow (Ahlert)

23 Piccadilly Spree (Cyril Watters)

24 Champagne March (Geoffrey Henman)

25 Jungle Fantasy (Esy Morales)

26 Parade of the Film Hits
Broadway Melody, Laura, Wedding Of The Painted Doll, Please, Over The Rainbow, A Fine Romance, Be My Love, La Ronde, The Trolley Song


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by Murray Ginsberg

When Bloom Rose Houtman married pianist Alan Clare in 1947, she had no idea how much her life would soon change. Through Alan, a London cocktail pianist, she would beintroduced to a whole new world of famous people, recording artists and world class musicians. But in 1944, three years before the 15-year-old beauty met the musician, ironically her fate changed dramatically when the Houtman home was destroyed by a Luftwaffe bomb. The catastrophe forced the family to move to Leicester, at that time a small town about a hundred miles from London.The family remained in Leicester when the war ended, and in 1947 when she was 18, she went dancing to De Montfort Hall where Sid Millward and the Nitwits were playing. The Nitwits were a comedy band, with a large following. During the evening friends who had accompanied her told Alan that Bloom was a talented singer who came from a musical family. Why not give her a crack at a song? The pianist invited her to come up and sing one number.

Feeling less than confident, she went up on stage and sat on a stool next to the pianist. "What would you like to sing?" he asked. "I'll Be Loving You Always," she replied. Alan said, "Let's try the key of 'F'." He put her at ease by saying, 'Don't worry, you'll do fine. Just use your adrenalin not to be nervous and sing well."

Bloom said her song went well, because Sid Millward booked her to do a Sunday concert with them the following week. A week later after she had finished her performance, the young lady was pleased with the applause and the large number of compliments she received. She was on her way.

"It helped to be accompanied by such competent musicians," she said, "especially Alan who I thought was the best one in the group. He could play anything."

It didn't take long for a relationship to develop. "Alan was so kind to me, he felt like family and I fell for him right away. When we got married on November 3, 1947, I ceased being Bloom Houtman and became Bloom Clare." The Leicester newspaper was quick to issue an announcement: "Local girl marries Nitwit."

As the years progressed Alan's reputation as a fine pianist caught the attention of many top London personalities. In the 1950s and ‘60s, he fronted a trio in the Studio Club, a popular West End night spot which attracted everyone who was anyone in show business, as well as politicians, government officials and royalty. There she met not only Stephane Grappelli, the celebrated French jazz violinist, but others, including members of Britain's top rated 1950s Goon Show - the famous Peter Sellers/Spike Milligan/Harry Secombe and Michael Bentine quartet with whom she became close personal friends.

"Stephane got us the flat we moved into in Holland Park," she said. "Whenever they rehearsed together Stephane was either at our place or Alan would walk to the bottom of the road where Stephane lived and rehearse with him there. They were always together." (The 70-ish lady still lives at the same address with current husband Henry Chantry.)

"Stephane used to tell us stories about Django Reinhardt, his Gypsy guitarist when they were the Hot Club of France. Although Django was a magnificent jazz artist, Stephane was always impatient with him because he could never be convinced that the moon he saw in the sky over England was the same moon he’d seen in France. He thought there was a different moon in every country."

Stephane too, was not without his idiosyncrasies. "Once when he drove home to Troy Court in west London and parked his car in his parking place, he slammed the car door too loudly. Someone shouted out of a window, ‘Damn yobo, make less noise!’ Stephane quickly retaliated with ‘I’ve got more money than you!’ Alan said Stephane’s booming voice could be heard blocks away.

I met Bloom Clare in 1995 at a recital in Wigmore Hall where my partner, Myra Davis and I had been invited by pianist Gene DiNovi who was touring England with clarinetist Jim Campbell. Bloom and Myra and I became close friends from the start, a friendship that has lasted to this day.

Over the weeks and months that followed Bloom (now widowed from her pianist husband) regaled us with dozens of stories about the Goons. "Peter and Spike were real characters," she recalled. "They always enjoyed playing tricks on one another. For example, one morning at 3 am Milligan, who lived opposite Sellers was roused from a deep sleep by a knock on his door. When he opened it he found Sellers standing there naked except for a Bowler hat, socks and shoes.

‘Good morning! Do you know a good tailor?’ Peter asked.

Milligan said he got his own back by sending him a telegram the next day saying, "Ignore first telegram."

Another from Bloom: "Spike often told us he would sleep on the floor at Peter’s house on a pneumatic mattress which he would blow up only to find by morning it had a leak and he was sleeping on the stone cold floor."

From 1951 to 1960 the Goons created such havoc on BBC radio, that they acquired a cult following and turned Sellers, Milligan, Bentine and Secombe into household names.

How did it all start? According to Milligan, after the war both became close friends when each realised they shared the same zany sense of humour. In racking their brains for ideas that might be considered funny to a radio audience they tried all sorts of gimmicks. One of their tricks was to record their voices at slow speed on Peter's tape recorder and then play them back fast. Each was a master of odd dialects which they perfected for radio.

In a 1950s magazine article, Milligan said that Sellers introduced him to BBC producer Pat Dixon, who asked him to write a trial script for a show they had in mind. As part of the script Sellers suggested recording some voices which included Bentine’s and singer Harry Secombe’s. The voices were so bizarre that the novelty delighted Dixon into launching a comedy series. That was the start of the Goon Show.

The first broadcast on May 28, 1951, was a smash hit which soon developed into a celebrated series that catapulted Sellers, Secombe, Bentine and Milligan to the top of the BBC’s list of radio stars. Milligan was soon regarded as Britain's top comedy writer:

"I went to my doctor for an examination. The doctor said, 'Take off all your clothes.' "Shouldn't you be taking me out to dinner first?"

For years Bloom and Alan entertained dozens of showbiz personalities in their flat in Holland Park. Their music room which contained a piano and a cot was always a mess, she said, with music and papers lying all over the place and "DO NOT TOUCH" signs posted everywhere. The piano was used for rehearsals, the cot for sleeping. "Spike Milligan slept there many times," Bloom said. "The bed was also used when a guest had had too much to drink."

At one time Sellers bought them a Mellotron, a large piano-like instrument with an electronic keyboard programmed to produce sounds of orchestral instruments. "My husband was a piano freak," she said. "There was never a piano that suited him. It was either too hard to play, the action was too soft, it was out of tune, or there was one note out of tune which would put him off completely. Alan didn’t like the Mellotron. We finally got rid of it which Peter immediately replaced with a magnificent grand piano."

Bloom remembers her husband taking her to the Carribean Club in the West End, where she met black people for the first time. When the man who owned the club asked the beautiful young lady to dance, she looked at her husband to ask whether it would be OK. Alan of course encouraged her to do so. "He was a charming man," Bloom said.

She was also thrilled to meet Lena Horne who was appearing at the club at the time. "She was the most beautiful lady I'd ever seen. That was in 1948 when Lena was in her prime."

Another close friend was American singer Adelaide Hall, who had sung with the Duke Ellington orchestra. "Addy was a wonderful singer who sang many songs, particularly a spectacular counter melody to the Duke’s Creole Love Song. She'd moved to England and married Bert Hicks who was from the Carribean. He talked her into buying her own club, which became a successful London night spot."

Bloom remembers meeting Duke Ellington in early 1948 when he and his orchestra appeared in Leicester at De Montfort Hall. Heavily pregnant at the time, she went backstage and introduced herself, telling him that she and Adelaide were very good friends. Twenty years later she and Adelaide both attended another Duke Ellington concert at the Hammersmith Odeon in London, after which both went backstage to see the Duke. But Bloom was apprehensive. She wasn’t sure he would remember her since the last time she spoke with him was twenty years earlier in Leicester. But the Duke, renowned for his "love-you-madly" charm, said, "Of course I remember you vividly. You were pregnant at the time, and besides, I always remember a beautiful woman. Love you madly."

Bloom said their flat was like a hotel, with everybody coming and going to and from rehearsals all the time. "Whenever American bands toured England people like Cab Calloway and some of his musicians used to come to our place and play in the music room. So did Zoot Sims and that great pianist Teddy Wilson. There were so many of them. I remember Zoot got so drunk once he collapsed on the cot and didn’t wake up until the next afternoon. And when he did wake up he didn’t know where he was."

"When Allan was playing at the Studio Club he met Lord Snowdon, Princess Margaret and Peter Sellers who would often dine there. That’s when Alan and Sellers struck up a close friendship, that would lead to recording sessions, broadcasts and the odd stage appearance.

Alan and Bloom were often guests at Peter’s house. "He was such a lovely man, always very charming. We became good friends. He came to our place for dinner a number of times after he married Miranda Quarry in 1970.

During his lifetime Peter Sellers married four beautiful women: Ann Levy, an actress from South Africa, Britt Ekland, the Swedish movie star, Miranda Quarry, a politician’s daughter, and actress Lynne Frederick.

"Peter was always very generous. The piano he bought us must have cost a thousand pounds," she said. "He sent it to us by post. I remember him phoning to see if it had arrived. When I picked up the phone and asked where he was calling from - he could have been next door, or in another country, we never knew - he said, 'I'm cruising off the Greek Islands.'

"Peter bought the yacht because he didn't want to be surrounded by people when he was on a beach," she explained, "he wanted privacy. But when he had his privacy he wanted people around him."

Ann Levy who bore him two children, a son Michael and a daughter Sarah, was Sellers’ first wife. According to Milligan (and almost everyone else in London) Peter was obsessed with beautiful women and always having affairs with new girl friends, one of whom was Italian film star Sophia Loren. He would sometimes actually discuss these affairs with his wife. When Ann Levy could tolerate his liaisons no longer, she moved out. "When she left him he couldn't get over it because she had the cheek to leave him," Bloom said.

Bloom may have found Sellers generous and lots of fun to be with, but in an August 25, 2002, Sunday Times article by Danny Danzinger, Peter’s 48-year-old son, Michael Sellers recalled how he and his sister Sarah, were distanced from their father by his obsessional outbursts of jealousy:

"Because of his business Dad was away a lot. If he was in a play he was away all day and not back until I was in bed. If he was shooting a movie he’d be away for months on end, which seemed forever to a little child."

"When he was home he had a mercurial, irrational temper, you could upset him with a look, a word. For example, if you were what he felt was unenthusiastic about greeting him, he’d be angry and disappointed. He was very insecure about things like that. But by the time I was eight, I’d learned to humour him.

"One of my earliest memories is of my parents arguing. My bedroom backed onto theirs and I’d hear them shout and scream. As far as I’m aware, he never hit Mum but paintings and mirrors used to be ripped off the wall, objects mangled, doors torn off their hinges. Later, during an argument with his third wife, Miranda, he drove his Rolls Royce into the back of one car, backed it into the one behind, then drove it into the first car again, just to make a point."

"My parents separated when I was around eight and after some time we lived with my mother and stepfather - who was a wonderful man, far more of a father than my father was. For the holidays we went to wherever my father happened to be: Rome, Monte Carlo, New York or Hollywood. One holiday he was off to Los Angeles. It was April and I didn’t want to go - April’s my birthday. I was going to be 10, I wanted to have a party with my friends. We had a row, and that escalated into him saying: "You don’t love me, you don’t care about me. . ." My little sister Sarah and I were in tears at this, but he wouldn’t stop. "Right," he said, "who do you love the most, your mother or me?"

"I love you both equally," Sarah eventually replied - which I sort of knew was the right answer. But I’d had enough and said: "Mum."

"Okay, that’s it," he screamed, and we were sent back to Mum’s, where almost immediately this truck arrived, packed with all our possessions from his home, and a note: "I never want to see you again. I disown you."

"Whenever a friend came to our flat I never bothered to ask who the latest girl friend was," Bloom remarked. "I just took people as they were. If Spike came in with a girl friend, I never enquired. He would introduce us but we never knew whether it was the latest romance or just a thing for the night."

On the other hand, Bloom said Harry Secombe and Michael Bentine were normal. Loved throughout England as a comedian and singer Secombe also proved himself to be a writer of considerable wit with several best-selling novels to his credit. "After he was knighted I phoned his wife Myra and asked, 'How does it feel to be Lady Secombe?' Myra replied, 'I'm still doing the washing up and taking out the rubbish,' which was typical of Myra."

And saxophonist Lew Lewis who played in Toronto's O’Keefe Centre Orchestra in the 1960s and 70s tells a story about Michael Bentine when he appeared at the O’Keefe Centre in the 1970s. "Michael and I hit it off," he said, "and we became close friends during his three or four annual visits to Toronto with the British touring Paladium Show. A very intelligent man with an enormous sense of humour, Michael amazed me when he said he was born in Peru, South America, where he was descended from the Inca Indians, which he told me was one of the lost tribes of Israel. He always referred to himself as a Peruvian Inca Jew, which astonished me." The Toronto saxophonist also quoted Bentine’s story of his family’s close friendship with Albert Einstein, the word-famous physicist. "Whenever Albert Einstein came to England he stayed with the Bentines. Michael told me ‘the old man used to bounce me on his knee when I was three years old.’"

Peter Sellers became world famous when he went into movies where he showed he could be not only a very funny comedian, but an excellent actor as well. He was applauded for his appearances as the bumbling Inspector Clouseau in The Pink Panther series,as well as Dr. Strangelove, The Mouse That Roared, The Secret Life of Henry Orient and Being There with actors Shirley MacLean and Melvyn Douglas. In Being There Sellers is brilliant as Chauncey Gardner who is mistaken as an authority on world affairs, when he is actually Chance the uneducated, ignorant gardener of another rich man’s estate.

In the autumn of 1979 Sellers began work on what was to be his final film, The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu, in which he played both the evil Fu and his Scotland Yard adversary, Nayland Smith. But Sellers' friends were alarmed at how frail he had suddenly become. A weak heart appeared to be taking its toll.

On July 22, 1980, shortly after 2 pm Sellers suffered a massive heart attack and collapsed into an armchair in his suite at London's Dorchester Hotel. He was rushed to the Middlesex Hospital where he died two days later.

According to Milligan, Sellers said that he wanted to be remembered above all as a Goon and ironically his fatal heart attack occurred on the day he was due to enjoy a dinner reunion with Milligan and Secombe, the first such get-together for eight years.

And no, Peter Sellers never brought Sophia Loren to Bloom’s flat.

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David Ades reports on two memorable Vocalion sessions

Studio 2 at EMI’s Abbey Road studios in North London is probably the most famous recording studio in the world, thanks to its association with The Beatles. But it was producing hit records long before that, and it also gave its name to the much respected Studio Two Stereo series on EMI’s Columbia label which was launched in the mid-1960s.

The John Wilson Orchestra Photographed in Studio Two, Abbey Road on Tuesday 13 May 2003 (click to enlarge)
The John Wilson Orchestra Photographed in Studio Two, Abbey Road on Tuesday 13 May 2003 (click to enlarge)

Although smaller than the famous Studio 1, it is nevertheless very suitable for concert orchestras, including the 50 musicians (many from the leading London symphony orchestras) assembled on Tuesday 13 May for the first of the Angela Morley recordings.

 During the morning session (11.00am – 2.00pm) John Wilson conducted some of Angela’s scores for the films "The Slipper and the Rose", "Watership Down" (with John Harle taking the saxophone solo in Kehaar’s Theme) and "Captain Nemo and the Underwater City".

Angela herself had travelled over from her home in Scottsdale, Arizona, to supervise and assist as necessary, and it was clear that John greatly appreciated her involvement and great enthusiasm for the project. Sometimes she would be standing at John’s left hand while he rehearsed his fine orchestra (led by Andrew Haveron), and on other occasions she would be sitting alongside Michael Dutton in the control room listening intently to the magic sounds being captured on tape (large reels, 2 inches wide, costing £2 per minute!). Also on hand was Michael Ponder, keeping a watchful eye on the scores, and making copious notes to assist with the mixing and editing, which would be undertaken over the following weekend.

The afternoon session from 3.00–6.00pm (with the same symphony size orchestra) began with Angela’s superb "A Canadian in Mayfair", which she composed as a tribute to Robert Farnon, virtually launching her international career as one of the finest light music and film composers of the last century. The original manuscript had been lost (probably in that disastrous fire in 1964 at Chappell’s Bond Street premises), so Angela had painstakingly reconstructed her score by listening to the original recording. Like all great artists, when offered the opportunity to revisit earlier work, she could not resist the temptation to make some subtle changes here and there, which will provide added interest for her many admirers. They will be reassured to know that she has retained all the vibrancy and sheer ebullience of this light music classic.

The film music from "When Eight Bells Toll" was followed by another work for the Chappell library – "Snow Ride". This is the first time it has been recorded commercially, and it is a bight, bouncy number that perfectly captures the festive season. Through the Woods from "Watership Down" was soon ‘in the can’, to be followed by more film music – from "The Looking Glass War". This dates from 1969, which was a busy period when Angela decided to concentrate more on writing for the big screen, and film producers were more than happy to employ her talents.

John Wilson records Angela Morley at Abbey Road May 2003. Top row: Michael Dutton and Michael Ponder. Below: Andrew Haverton, John Wilson and Angela Morley (Click to enlarge)
John Wilson records Angela Morley at Abbey Road May 2003. Top row: Michael Dutton and Michael Ponder. Below: Andrew Haverton, John Wilson and Angela Morley

After she settled in California, the local TV studios soon realised that they had a major film composer in their midst. Unfortunately television music seems to have a very short shelf life, and it can often pass unrecognised. Happily this new CD allows us to hear excerpts from several of Angela’s television scores, and White Wing (from "Hotel") is an indication of how much good music may be slipping away.

This very productive session continued with "Rotten Row", which very nearly didn’t get recorded. It was around 5.00pm when John Wilson suddenly realised that the scores weren’t where they should have been. This Chappell composition (probably Angela’s best-known work) is happily still available on hire, and the company responsible had sent it by special delivery the previous day. Unfortunately, the Post Office had failed to deliver to the Abbey Road studios on time, so frantic telephone calls were made to try and retrieve the situation. It would have been a tragedy if this charming work had been omitted from the CD, but it had to be recorded that afternoon, because the smaller orchestra on the following day would not comprise of the right mix of musicians. To cut a long story short, the manuscript was faxed to the Abbey Road studios in 30 parts, which were then hastily photocopied by the writer of this article, and eventually distributed to the waiting musicians. There was little time for rehearsal, but London musicians are renowned for their sight-reading, and "Rotten Row" posed no problems. In fact John Wilson took it at a gallop, rather than the usual gentle canter, so listeners will find it interesting to compare with other recorded versions. Angela appeared a little shocked at first, but she soon seemed to approve of the new interpretation! Somewhat amazingly, there was still a little time left, during which "My Autumn Love" was successfully recorded.

John Wilson conducting; leader Andrew Haveron
John Wilson conducting; leader Andrew Haveron

The final three-hour session began at 10.00 the following morning, with a smaller orchestra – mainly strings and woodwinds. The first two numbers had television origins: firstly "Madame X", then (from that memorable series "Dynasty") Angela’s haunting Blues for Alexis vividly conjuring up mental images of Joan Collins. Missing parts again posed problems, so the tea break was taken at this point, allowing Angela to write some extra phrases for cor anglais and clarinet in the next number, Venturing Forth from "Watership Down". This left just one final number – the delicious "A Tender Mood" which many radio listeners will recall from the 1980s when Angela was often invited as guest conductor of the sorely-missed BBC Radio Orchestra.

The following afternoon Angela and John supervised some overdubbing on two numbers. Guitar and bass clarinet were added to "The Looking Glass War" and guitar was dubbed into "My Autumn Love". Then Tony Fisher arrived with his flugelhorn to add solos to both numbers, thus completing the magical sessions for this new CD.

Angela Morley seemed very happy with the way in which everything had gone, and she was clearly looking forward to mixing the results at the weekend. Her enthusiasm is an example to us all, and her energy is phenomenal; after the sessions she was planning extensive tours of England and Europe, before eventually returning home to the USA around seven weeks later at the beginning of July. Her only acknowledgement of the passing years was her confessed revulsion at the thought that she will celebrate her 80th birthday on 10 March in 2004. It will simply be yet another milestone that she will take in her stride, and we look forward to her future visits to record more of her wonderful music for posterity.

Paul Weston charts

As soon as John Wilson had packed away the final Angela Morley scores at 1.00pm on Wednesday 14 May, he had to turn his attention to the afternoon’s session, recreating some of the marvellous scores penned by Paul Weston – many over 50 years ago. During the 2-hour break the studio was rearranged to accommodate an 18-piece big band, with 4 trumpets, 4 trombones, 6 saxes plus piano (Andy Vinter, ex-BBC Big Band), double bass, drums and guitar.

At 3.00pm promptly, the first run-through of Just You, Just Me began, with John beaming all over his face in response to the great sound – often just sitting on his chair without conducting, leaving the band to take control of the melody. Thereafter one standard followed another as the band got to grips with Talk of the Town, At Sundown, Judy, I’m Confessing and finally Memories of You with an outstanding trumpet solo from Mike Lovatt.

It was good to meet up with Paul Weston’s son Tim (accompanied by his charming wife Shelby), who had come to London especially for these sessions. He seemed very impressed with the band, and with the wall of sound that engulfed us in the control room. Tim wasn’t even a glint in his parents’ eyes when some of these charts were written (his mother is, of course, the legendary Jo Stafford), but he could remember seeing his father working at home on scores, sitting at the piano with a pencil in his mouth. At the time the family was living in Beverly Hills, where they had moved in 1957, and like all busy musicians, Paul was frequently facing deadlines. In the days before faxes and photocopying this meant rushing scores by car to his copyists (Clyde Balsley and Jack Collins) in Hollywood. In 1980 the Westons sold their home and settled in Century City, a suburb of Los Angeles.

Angela Morley and Jim Wilson listen intently to a playback
Angela Morley and Jim Wilson listen intently to a playback

On the podium Paul could be a hard taskmaster, expecting high standards from his musicians. He would clap his hands when it was necessary to bring them to order. Away from work he was quite different – relaxed and good company. When constructing his scores he would always take special care with his introductions, and the links between the reprise of the main theme. Occasionally it is possible to detect a pattern in his arrangements for full orchestra, with the theme first being given to the strings and woodwinds, before the brass are allowed to grab the melody firmly and fully, creating a blast of sound that must have caused some problems for early sound engineers.

The next morning at 10.00am the band was augmented with vibes, for six more great numbers – Breezing Along With The Breeze, It’s a Lovely Day Today, You Turned The Tables On Me, Keeping Out Of Mischief, What Can I Say and All Of Me.

As already mentioned, during the afternoon some Angela Morley tracks were over-dubbed, so the remaining two Paul Weston sessions were scheduled for Friday the 16th, commencing at 10.00am when 22 strings plus harp were added. The trumpets and trombones were reduced to three each, but there was still a strong sax contingent of six players, doubling on various other instruments as usual. Radio-2’s Malcolm Laycock also made a welcome appearance, and in the afternoon singer Gary Williams (fresh from his triumph at the Royal Festival Hall film music concert in March) called to see his friend John Wilson.

The opening number Moonlight Becomes You had everyone in the control room gasping with delight when the full brass section opened up half-way through. The same glorious effects were soon repeated in other numbers, including Time After Time, East Of The Sun, Time On My Hands, You Go To My Head and This Can’t Be Love.

The string sound coming from the John Wilson Orchestra was noticeably fuller than used to be heard on Paul Weston’s own recordings. Was he restricted by his record company bosses, or did he decide for himself that a massive string section was not required? Maybe the microphones and/or studios in the USA produced a different sound? Tim Weston discussed this with his mother upon his return home; Jo Stafford said that the small string section reflected the fact that Paul himself was paying for the sessions! Jo was one of the few artists who, by virtue of her big sales, could specify/’command’ that the company ‘ate’ the costs of recording.

Paul’s own instrument was the piano, although his particular favourites were saxes and clarinets. As a very young man he had decided to study arranging after an horrific train accident had almost killed him, because he had to find something to occupy him whilst undergoing a long convalescence. It proved to be the turning point in his career, especially as he had previously failed an audition to join a dance band as a clarinet player. (Later he joined the same band on piano – The Green Serenaders at Dartmouth – and toured South America and the Caribbean playing with them on a cruise ship).

John Wilson and Tim Weston
John Wilson and Tim Weston

After an hour’s break for lunch, the final three-hour session began at 2.00pm, with another run-though of This Can’t Be Love, hoping to improve on the pre-lunch play-through. The usual pattern is for each number to be rehearsed once, then a ‘take’ is recorded. Sometimes this is very good with very few ‘fluffs’ or wrong notes, but either the conductor or the sound engineer usually spot something that is not quite right. A second ‘take’ is often sufficient, and if necessary parts of the two can be edited to make one satisfactory performance. Sometimes a short passage is repeated (a ‘patch’) which can easily be inserted, which avoids too much time being spent re-recording something that has been satisfactorily achieved previously. Very rarely a certain number might keep causing problems, requiring even four or five ‘takes’ but by this time the musicians are starting to get a bit jaded, and the performance can begin to suffer.

Things went well during the afternoon, with Sleepy Time Gal, When Your Lover Has Gone, Through, But Not For Me, Poor Butterfly and April In Paris successfully taped. Time was available just before 5.00pm, so it was decided to do a re-take of Time On My Hands which had not entirely pleased John during the morning.

And then it was all over. Everyone was still on a high, reliving some of the highlights of the past four days. New friends had been made, and old friends warmly greeted once more. RFS members Stan and Pat Coates had been at John’s side in the studio, checking through all the scores and collecting and distributing them at each change of title.

It takes so many people to bring an enterprise such as this to a successful conclusion, and one can only hope that the wonderful sounds heard in the studio can be faithfully recreated at home when these two CDs are eventually released. In the safe hands of Michael Dutton, this is a guaranteed certainty!

David Ades (August 2003)

For details of these – and all Vocalion CDs – you are invited to visit their website which you can access through our ‘Links’ page.

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[John Wilson and Angela Morton]"Soft Lights and Sweet Music"


David Ades reports on a very special new release

Dateline: July 2001; Abbey Road, Studios, London

Occasions like this don’t happen very often. It is rare enough for a light orchestra to make a new recording, and rarer still for an arranger to be given the opportunity of hearing old scores being dusted off once again.

Major record companies wouldn’t consider such a project, unless sales in the hundreds of thousands were assured. Fortunately, in Britain we possess a thriving independent sector, and in Michael Dutton we have a producer who is prepared to invest thousands of pounds in something which is dear to the hearts of all of us who believe that quality popular music is still vitally important.

Spare a thought also for the conductor with the responsibility of bringing to life these timeless creations, with the writer sitting barely five feet away from his podium! Lesser mortals could find such a situation intimidating, to say the least. Happily John Wilson appreciated the helpful co-operation he received from Angela Morley; her very few suggestions were well received, and the mutual admiration each had for the other created a harmonious working environment which permeated every note performed by John’s youthful players.

Angela Morley was positively glowing during these sessions. She sat entranced in EMI’s Studio Two as John Wilson took his fine orchestra through each of these timeless scores, extracting all of the intricate nuances which make a Morley arrangement so special.

Only occasionally did she climb the steep stairs up to the control room for a brief chat with sound engineer Mike Dutton, and producer Michael Ponder.

During a break, she talked to Journal Into Melody expressing her delight that these scores are being revitalised for a new audience.

"The arrangements that are being recorded for this CD have all had a life in the past but, magically, thanks to John Wilson, they now have a new existence. We’re doing about nine arrangements from my days in the early 1960s with Reader’s Digest, and the rest come from the 1970s when I did a lot of conducting for the BBC Radio Orchestra. John Wilson is super talented and a joy to work with; he loves all of this kind of this music ... not only mine but Robert Farnon and those lovely sounds of the MGM musicals in the golden age, especially Conrad Salinger who I think we all feel is the best there ever was in Hollywood. John is wrapped up in this kind of music as well as having a wonderful symphonic career - he conducts the Hallé and other orchestras. This is a real treat for me.

"I’m not in the control room ... it’s so lovely to sit in the studio and listen to these pieces played by this new generation of new musicians who are all super players, perhaps better than the old ones in many, many cases."

Full tracklisting details can be found at the end of this feature. We list below the tunes recorded at the various sessions, together with Angela’s own comments about some of them:

Tuesday 24 July




"I put the syncopated section into the middle of this piece because it has a very slow tempo. I wrote something which sounds extemporised, but it’s not."


"I wrote this arrangement about 1960, and haven’t heard it since. They played it most beautifully. When I got the printed music and saw the verse I had the idea of doing it as something sounding like a string quartet, postponing the moment before going into the main tune."



"I did this for an album in England which was called ‘Christmas by the Fireside’ and issued in mono. In the USA Warner Bros. put it out in stereo as ‘Happy Holiday’. I have changed the arrangement just a little bit. Like some of the others, I felt that it needed a little bit of modernising. I’ve tried to make it atmospheric .. full of falling things! I originally did have a sort of beguine rhythm going in this piece, but I don’t feel that it is a very important part of this arrangement."



"Years ago, for some reason or another, I really didn’t know how to write an arrangement of this one. At a later time of my life, in the 1970s, I found a way of doing it, and started part of the arrangement. Then I finished it in the 1970s for the BBC Radio Orchestra - I’ve re-written partly for this recording."


" ... I love interweaving parts!"


"This was the first thing I did for Reader’s Digest around 1960. Norman Luboff produced (who was a neighbour of mine in London at the time), and we recorded in Walthamstow Town Hall, with that wonderful acoustic."


"Another one from 1960-61 Reader’s Digest period. The arrangement is exactly the same as I did it 40 years ago. It’s a lovely song, and I decided to let the harp play the tune for the first time around, and then the celeste; only later does it go to what you’d expect with the violins

and the woodwinds."


"I am particularly proud of an arrangement I did for Rosemary Squires which, if anything, I prefer to this one. Again, I haven’t tinkered with my original score."


"I wrote that for an album "London Pride" brought out in England in mono (with a trombone solo by Laddie Busby), but in the USA it was part of a series in stereo which included Michel Legrand’s portrait of Paris. I’ve changed my original score just a little bit."

Wednesday 25 July






"I wrote this not very long ago for a violinist who didn’t really care for it, so I thought ‘Right!’ I’ll take this back and find someone who will play it most beautifully in England!"


To coincide with this new release, Richard Hindley has written the following special tribute to Angela Morley exclusively for ‘Journal Into Melody’.

Angela Morley

A Personal Tribute by Richard Hindley

"She’s a very classy person and a great arranger, in the same league as Riddle, May, Farnon, Salinger et al."

The quote is from maestro John Wilson. The venue is EMI’s Abbey Road Studios and the description is of Angela Morley, whose career and reputation continues to grow despite her move a few years ago from the bustling city of Los Angeles to a quiet outer suburb of Phoenix, Arizona.

It’s here that composer-conductor John Williams still contacts her for help with orchestrations for the movies he scores; Itzhak Perlman, guest soloist for this year’s Academy Awards requests that she arrange a suite for the Ceremony; and her own music room is the venue for the local Alliance Française choir, which she’s formed to record a series of locally produced CDs.

Dotted around the house, in a seemingly hazardous fashion, you happen to discover various citations and awards. Angela, after all, is the recipient of no less than two Academy Award nominations, as well as six Emmy Award nominations and three Emmy Awards for arranging. No wonder then that John Wilson, who is thrilled at the whole project, notices how much respect his musicians have for her.

Two days in July are booked for this, the third CD recording session by the John Wilson Orchestra, a Vocalion release commissioned by Michael Dutton. This time the orchestra consists of some 40 players, many of them representing the cream of London’s talent. John has assembled a 40 piece orchestra consisting of 24 strings, 5 woodwind, 4 trombones, tuba, sax, trumpet, guitar, piano/celeste, drums, percussion and harp. And John was justifiably proud to describe his musicians: "The players I work with are all very, very carefully chosen. I know most of the best players in London and who is right for what style etc. The orchestra was extremely glamorous. The string section particularly so - most of the players are soloists or well-known chamber music players or section principals. I suppose they are sympathetic to the style. We have been playing together for 5 years and they know what I want and they love doing it".

After months of research and preparation, John is ready to cue his players for the first of 16 tracks from Angela’s repertoire. The release of this CD has been eagerly awaited by many RFS members simply because we’ll be hearing British musicians playing new interpretations, some of which have not appeared since their original airing on LP, or their broadcast by the BBC Radio Orchestra. Angela’s name has regularly appeared in members’ lists published by this magazine of all time favourites for reissue, and it’s certainly been a while since an entire album devoted to her orchestral arrangements has appeared. So this new album will supplement the re-issue of the soundtrack score for Watership Down, the early stereo album Christmas by the Fireside, The Symphonic Suite of the Music of Jerome Kern (a Vocalion release conducted by Stanley Black, shared with an Irving Berlin Suite by other arrangers), several tracks on albums conducted by John Williams (notably the two Cinema Serenade issues) and not forgetting her earlier work on two Geraldo Tip Top Tunes albums.

Angela made sure she would be in London to attend this recording session, and her arrival that morning must have meant a lot to her. I asked how she felt about hearing her scores, all of which would be performed for the first time in years. "Studio 2 is full of memories for I recorded many times with Geraldo’s Orchestra there between 1944 and 1948. All those fairly recently released recordings of Tip Top Tunes favourites, some of them with alto solos by me, were recorded in that studio. At that time the recording booth was in the studio, just to the right inside the door as one enters and under the present stairs. The recording was done on a wax blank. If you wanted to hear it back you could, but you’d destroy it in the process! One could hardly hear the bass & the drums. In the later 1950s, I conducted my own arrangements accompanying Rosemary Squires, Max Geldray and Mel Tormé, the latter recording his ‘Christmas Song’ with me in 1961. That was, I believe, the last time that I set foot in that studio. It was a little strange but fun to return to EMI Abbey Road. Probably the strangest thing was to be looking at an orchestra of 40 or so London session musicians and to only recognise one face, Andy Vinter (on piano/celeste)!"

It was the Geraldo Orchestra that permitted her to start arranging, with encouragement and inspiration from another of its contributors, Robert Farnon. Angela, who readily acknowledges that she ‘fell under his spell’, also identifies Bill Finnegan, chief arranger with the Glenn Miller Orchestra, as another potent influence. Angela is well aware of the advantage she was given: "The great bonus for a developing arranger was that the band might be a swing band on Monday and then augmented to symphonic size on Tuesday, while on other days perhaps various combinations in-between, and on occasion even adding a choir. Since I got to arrange for all these combinations, was there ever a better arranging academy? I doubt that anything like that exists today".

But another influence was to exert itself onto Angela’s style, an influence that still continues into the present day - her admiration of that French master of orchestration, Maurice Ravel. What exactly is his appeal? "Firstly, his very elegant melodic writing, then his polytonal harmonies and lastly his exquisite orchestral sense".

So what can we look forward to in the John Wilson album? "Of the arrangements that John recorded this summer, only two of them had been originally written for Philips. These are ‘Embraceable You’ which I originally arranged in 1954 for a Gershwin album of the same name, and ‘A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square’ for ‘London Pride’ (or in USA ’Sounds of the Cites: London’) from 1958. Philips allowed me to have about the same number of musicians as John had and the London album was recorded at Walthamstow Civic Hall. ’Snowfall’ from 1959 was scored for my second Christmas album ‘Christmas by the Fireside’ issued by Pye. I didn’t write any new arrangements for this CD but I did rewrite parts of some of the arrangements. I’m always rewriting my arrangements in my mind and if you let me near them, I can’t resist the urge to ‘improve them’. When I look at my ‘50s arrangements, I want to simplify them and remove any ‘50s fads that seem dated now".

Most of the tracks for the new album were written for a Reader’s Digest boxed set entitled 120 Greatest Hit Songs from Broadway, written around 1960/61. "I suggested that Norman Luboff produce the package and he did. The package reached the final boxed set status, then Charles Gerhardt (the American contracted producer) arrived in London announcing that much of it was to be redone. ’Too much instrumental music, not enough singers!’ I’m not sure how many, if any, of my instrumental recordings ended up in the final package. (There were 11 in the Australian release). I believe that this summer we recorded eight of them. However, the instrumental line-up of the Broadway arrangements was then adopted for all the other arrangements on the CD. This meant rescoring or adapting. Of the remaining pieces, ’Ruby’ dates from about 1966 and then several arrangements from my 1970s broadcasts conducting the BBC Radio Orchestra".

John Wilson helped Angela sift through a huge repertoire of scores and they both feel they’ve selected the best ones. I asked John if he’d had any difficulty in accessing written copies of the scores: "Angela has kept all her scores (thank God!) and some parts, too; the rest had to be copied; this took an AGE!"

So we have to thank John’s dedication and commitment in getting the project onto scoring paper before conducting the music at Abbey Road, an unusual situation for Angela, who for once relinquished the conductor’s baton: "I sat just behind John’s podium all the time to just enjoy the novel experience of being a fly on the wall at my own past recordings. I also had many occasions to discuss the interpretations with John and sometimes to correct wrong notes or wrong phrasing."

For John Wilson the suggestions "made perfect sense and were in line with what I thought myself. The whole thing was recorded in 9 hours and was all very painless. We enjoy a very convivial working relationship. The finished thing sounds very posh. Angela said to me that this was the best orchestra she had ever worked with, Hollywood included. Made me feel very proud indeed".

With the session completed, John Wilson’s final commitment was to supervise the mix-down of the tracks so that we can all enjoy the final result when the album is released. Angela spent some time on holiday in Europe before returning to her home in Arizona where she continues to lead a busy life. As for your correspondent on the other side of the world, even before hearing the album, I’ll be getting first in line to ask Mr Dutton: Sir, please can I have some more?

In researching this article, the author acknowledges the help of John Wilson and Angela Morley who, in the early part of her career, worked under the name of Wally Stott.

playing the Romantic Arrangements of Angela Morley

"Soft Lights and Sweet Music"


Vocalion CDSA 6803

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 "What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again"

Think of a production number from one of the great MGM musicals. Whether it be Gene Kelly splashing along the sidewalk from ‘Singin’ in the Rain’, Fred Astaire and Cyd Charisse ‘Dancing in the Dark’ from ‘The Bandwagon’, or Fred with Judy Garland as a ‘Couple of Swells’ in ‘Easter Parade’, the chances are you’ll be associating these famous performers with those equally well known arrangements by Conrad Salinger. What’s interesting is that even if he hadn’t been associated with the number of your choice, it was Salinger who eventually set the defining style of the studio’s musicals, something that took place soon after the start of his 23 year career there.

 His life-long friend and associate, John Green, who was Head of the MGM Music Department in the 1950s, described him as the studio’s ‘star orchestrator, one of the two or three outstanding arranger/orchestrators in the entire field of musical theatre’. In a recent interview John Wilson described Salinger’s talents: "he could translate colour and mood into sound to produce the most startling production numbers. When needed he could write on a grand scale, as in the climax of ‘This Heart of Mine’ (‘Ziegfeld Follies’, 1946), and then he would paint delicate smaller scale sound pictures as in parts of ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ (1952)".

Jeff Sultanof, conductor, arranger and editor, describes it in technical terms: "Salinger’s genius was to fill the sound canvas with rich, beautiful harmonies balanced with contrapuntal lines, and then set them in basic orchestral colour groups, the combination almost too busy in some cases, but not quite. There are those who believe that MGM’s musicals are over-orchestrated and overdone musically, but I’ve rarely heard a musician complain about Salinger’s work, because it is skilfully written and yet inspired. And there is always room for the singer. This is why Salinger’s work continues to inspire orchestrators, even though few of us will ever have the opportunity to create that level of work since there are few movie musicals made today".

Salinger’s credentials are a case in point when it comes to music making in Hollywood, where three composers - Max Steiner, Alfred Newman and Erich Korngold - had established during the nineteen thirties a scoring style based on nineteenth century romanticism. Moving on to the Hollywood musicals from the 1940s, Salinger’s talents brought in a French sensibility to the musical scene, influenced by Debussy and Ravel, and, by implication, their acknowledged master, Rimsky-Korsakov, whose rich orchestrations left an indelible mark on both of them. Christopher Hampton, the late musician and writer, also credits Frederic Delius as an influence too, reminding us that he’d lived for most of his life in France, and whose music was deeply influenced by Impressionist painting. Hints of the legacy of these composers run through Salinger’s work and you can sometimes spot a dash of Respighi and Stravinsky as well. To understand why, you only have to look at his background.

"It’s a lovely day that’s all around you, count your treasures you are well-to-do…"

In its promotional publicity, Brookline, Massachusetts, describes itself as ‘a desirable commuter suburb of Boston’. John F Kennedy was born there in 1917, and its later musical residents included Arthur Fiedler, Serge Koussevitsky (a music professor from Moscow who became conductor of the Boston Symphony) and Roland Hayes (a renowned black American lyric tenor). Ironically, there is no mention of Conrad Salinger, born there on 30th August 1901. The music flowing from his pen would be heard by more people around the world than all three of these together. This image of Brookline gives an implication that he came from a wealthy and probably cultivated family, one that could afford to encourage his talents even after his graduation from Harvard in 1923. To complete his musical studies, he crossed the Atlantic to France where he was enrolled in the Paris Conservatoire. Yet this shift to another culture was enticing in more ways than one: Salinger was homosexual, and, by moving to Paris, he could turn his back on the puritanical and censorious society of his upbringing. (In fact Boston retained this reputation well into the 20th century, prompting the expression "Banned in Boston" - an unintentional pun mercilessly exploited in the sixties in the eponymous David Rose bump and grind composition - for MGM Records, to boot).

Salinger studied harmony and orchestration with André Gédalge, himself author of a famous work on counterpoint, and possibly Maurice Ravel as well. The tuition with Ravel is in dispute, but Ravel was certainly involved at the Conservatoire during this period, another of his pupils being Ralph Vaughan Williams. In any case, Ravel himself had studied under Gédalge - whose other pupils included Darius Milhaud and Arthur Honegger. But there would have been other influences at work on Salinger as well, for let’s not forget what a vibrant and exciting place Paris was at this time. Even after the ravages of the First World War it still remained the arts capital of the world, with jazz adding to the vigour of the music scene, aided and abetted by such luminaries as Josephine Baker who created a sensation with her performances of exotic primitivism.

Salinger spent a total of seven years in Paris, and apart from learning to speak fluent French, he would have been exposed to the popular French music of the day. Running throughout his work are cheerful jaunty motifs, redolent of the boulevards of Paris: think ‘Mimi’ by Rodgers and Hart and ‘Ah Paree!’ from Stephen Sondheim’s ‘Follies’, to name other writers who have consciously parodied that French boulevard style in their songs. This influence, with its lightness of touch mixed with the solid academic background from the Conservatoire (he was a proficient composer and conductor, too) was to serve Salinger brilliantly during his career, although the technicolor world of the French capital as portrayed in ‘An American in Paris’, ‘Funny Face’ and ‘Gigi’ lay quite a few years ahead. One wonders what the look on the face of André Gédalge would have been, were he to have heard ‘Sinbad the Sailor’, Salinger’s reworking of Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Scheherezade’ some 25 years later for Gene Kelly’s ‘Invitation to the Dance’.

"Your troubles there, they’re out of style, for Broadway always wears a smile…"

Returning to the art deco splendour of New York in 1929, Salinger was very much a cultivated ‘man of the world’, always impeccably dressed, an image of sartorial splendour that he’d retain throughout his life, quite the opposite of the public’s idea of how many musicians present themselves. Indeed, closer inspection of a 1937 photograph taken of him joking with co-worker John Green reveals a framed reproduction of the Dutch master Vermeer: an unexpected adornment for the wall of his office, where presumably the photograph was taken, but certainly in keeping with his refinement.

His professional career started at Harms, the music publishing company, as a staff arranger. He then moved into the world of Broadway shows and the movie industry, for at this time some of it was still based in New York. His first film experience was for Paramount, both at their Astoria Studios on Long Island and the Paramount Theatre on 41st Street NYC. This was the era when first run movie releases were preceded by spectacular stage shows. The head of the department who engaged him was Adolph Deutsch, who would reappear in Salinger’s career at MGM. Salinger is acknowledged to be an uncredited arranger, along with John Green, for the Lubitch musical ‘The Smiling Lieutenant’ (1931).

Between 1932 to 1937 Salinger concentrated on arranging for a dozen Broadway shows, initially assisting Robert Russell Bennett, who considered him to be a protégé.  David Raksin and John Green were other noteworthy arrangers on some of these shows, again names that would reappear at MGM. Green in fact scored the Broadway show ‘Here Goes the Bride’ in 1931 on which Salinger worked. Other titles from this period include ‘George White’s Scandals’ (1936) and ‘Billy Rose’s Jumbo’ (1935) with a Rodgers and Hart score. This one would eventually be filmed at MGM in the sixties after delays of many years caused by contractual restraints. Of particular interest is ‘Ziegfeld Follies of 1936’ which boasted a sophisticated score by Vernon Duke and Ira Gershwin and a cast including Bob Hope, Fanny Brice and Eve Arden. This is one of the few instances where we can now hear a new cast recording utilising the original arrangements, all painstakingly reconstructed. Issued recently on CD by Decca USA, it evocatively conveys the original intentions of the production, although the many glorious arrangements, the work of three other arrangers in addition to Salinger, regrettably remain unsigned.

"I’m on my way, here’s my beret, I’m going Hollywood…"

Salinger’s transition to Hollywood was not instantaneous: his first assignment was for Alfred Newman at Goldwyn-United Artists in 1937, but the experience proved unenjoyable and he returned to New York and Broadway. He was also assigned to the the Astaire/Rogers musical ‘Carefree’ (1938) at RKO, where his work as arranger/orchestrator went uncredited, as was that of his co-worker Robert Russell Bennett. But by now Salinger’s fame and reputation had spread throughout the industry, and he’d already met up with Roger Edens, an accomplished musician and writer, a man of many talents who acted virtually as an associate producer at MGM. Edens was a close colleague of songwriter producer Arthur Freed, who was to create the studio’s most prestigious musicals. This he achieved by surrounding himself with a handpicked team composed of the studio’s top talent, the legendary ‘Freed Unit’. Freed’s clout and standing ensured its members were virtually on call for his productions, much to the occasional annoyance of other producers at the studio. 

Edens arranged that Salinger should immediately join the Unit and he was eventually offered an irresistible long-term contract that drew him permanently to Hollywood. This was a well worn path for countless actors, directors and musicians since the start of talking pictures, for Hollywood had always had the drawcard of fame with its concomitant wealth to seduce talent to its doors. So Salinger gave his regards to Broadway and started a career at MGM. His contribution to some 50 musicals would be inextricably linked to the fortunes of the MGM dream factory.

"Where troubles melt like lemon drops away across the chimney tops, that’s where you’ll find me…"

His first assignment was on ‘The Wizard of Oz’(1939) as the uncredited orchestrator of the ill fated ‘Jitterbug’ number, unfortunately destined for the cutting room floor, although the music track remains in existence. ‘Strike Up the Band’ (1940) brought him his first on-screen credit and from then on the credits run thick and fast, his work on all the musicals directed by Vincente Minnelli from 1942 being particularly inspired. Minnelli was also an import from Broadway as well as being a self-confessed Francophile. Their collaboration worked to such an extent that, as John Wilson aptly puts it, ‘he heard what Minnelli saw’. No wonder his work reached new highs. Jeff Sultanof describes it as being ‘beautiful to hear and sophisticated in content. I believe the other orchestrators at MGM were influenced by Salinger. Wally Heglin’s arrangements before and after 1943 show the Salinger influence as an example’.

During these years Salinger and Roger Edens created a powerful synergy in their contribution to the production numbers: Edens would sketch out the mood, tempo, texture and setting of a prospective number, after which Salinger fleshed out the details. ‘The Trolley Song’ in Minnelli’s second movie musical ‘Meet Me in St Louis’ (1944) is the perfect example, and a description of Judy Garland’s recording of it is vividly described in a book by Hugh Fordin on the Freed Unit: ‘even after the orchestra’s first reading of his arrangement…an excitement spread among those playing and listening. Then, when Judy came in with her dead-sure instinct of what she was to deliver, the ceiling seemed to fly off the stage…..Salinger’s arrangement was a masterpiece. It conveyed all the colour, the motion, the excitement that was eventually going to be seen on the screen. With the remaining numbers and the background scoring for this film as well as all the work he was to do thereafter, Salinger always maintained sonority and texture in his writing, which made his a very special sound and style that has never been equalled in the American movie musical’.

For the next Minnelli collaboration, ‘Ziegfeld Follies’ (1946) we get sumptuous and exotic textures, notably in the lavish production numbers ‘Limehouse Blues’ and ‘This Heart of Mine’. In the latter Salinger includes French horn obbligato passages worthy of Richard Strauss to transport us well and truly ‘over the top’. But most importantly, in both these numbers, it’s the narrative - the dramatic story telling which bursts through the confines of those popular songs - that pushes the art of the arranger well into the realms of composer.

Jeff Sultanof points out that the Salinger style ‘was also tailored for the microphone, an important distinction’, and this is the key explanation of that unique MGM sound. In the late twenties, Bing Crosby had studied the limitations of 78 rpm recording techniques, tailoring his voice accordingly. In similar fashion, Salinger accepted that the optical sound recording of the day, the process that preceded tape recording by photographing the audio onto film - had a limited dynamic range, with a consequent loss in quality between live performance and final release print. Despite those huge Hollywood budgets and virtually limitless musical resources at the studio, he realised his writing sounded best with around 38 players, more in keeping with the pit orchestras of Broadway. Any choral backing was consequently scaled down to match, thus creating something relatively easier (and less costly) to record. But this also had the advantage of creating an orchestra from the cream of talent available. As described by John Wilson: ‘it was really a dance band line-up with a string section. Many of the musicians had been star players with such as Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey. Si Zentner, for example, usually led the trombones. And they were augmented as required from film to film. Above all, though, the orchestra was noted for its warmth of the brass sound and the ‘fat’, almost old-fashioned string sound. You have to bear in mind that America received a flood of refugees from Europe, particularly from Russia, and that many brought with them the Jewish traditions of string playing. So the sound is rich and vibrant, full-bodied, at times almost flashy, with a strong vibrato, and relentlessly brilliant.’

"Forget your troubles come on get happy, you’d better chase all your cares away…"

Throughout his career at MGM, Salinger also distinguished himself as a composer of background scores for many of the musicals in addition to arranging the numbers, such as ‘Till the Clouds Roll By’ (1946) ‘On the Town’ (1949) and ‘Show Boat’ (1951) for which he shared an Oscar Nomination with Adolph Deutsch for ‘Best Scoring of a Musical Picture’. For some dramatic productions, such as ‘The Last Time I Saw Paris’ (1954) and ‘Gaby’ (1956) he scored the entire film, utilising as thematic inspiration Jerome Kern’s song for the former, and Richard Rodgers’ ‘Where or When’ for the latter. With the introduction of tape recording, and later on stereophonic recording, he saw the studio revert to the larger orchestra, which suited the new wide screen image and spectacular adaptations of Broadway musicals like ‘Brigadoon’ (1954) and ‘Kismet’ (1955) and ‘Silk Stockings’(1957). 

These gradually took over from the staple musical output that had been the hallmark of MGM into the early fifties, so that the release of such masterpieces as ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ (1952) and ‘The Bandwagon’ (1953) signalled the gradual demise of original scripts and the scaling down of musical output in general. Christopher Hampton considers this period to be the epitome of Salinger’s endeavours, when he created ‘the de luxe quality of orchestral writing exemplified by ‘Dancing in the Dark’, ‘Singin’ in the Rain’ and ‘The Heather on the Hill’ (from Brigadoon) - a quality born of his feeling for beauty of timbre, for mood, for atmosphere, for nuance, above all for line, the give-and-take of melody and countermelody’.

By the mid fifties, Metro was starting to fall apart, with producers no longer under contract and the famous roster of stars well on the wane. Consequently we find Salinger looking in other directions for employment. His credit, as composer, is to be found in the TV series ‘General Electric Theatre’ (1954),   ‘Wagon Train’ (1957) - quite a contrast to frothy musicals, but in the distinguished company of such other composers as David Raksin, David Buttolph and Gerry Goldsmith - and ‘Batchelor Father’ (1960 series). Even so, Salinger still worked as orchestrator on the dwindling number of musicals, two of them with Paris settings. ‘Funny Face’ was directed by Stanley Donen in 1957 and has the notable ‘Bonjour Paris’ number, for which Salinger provides a brilliant kaleidoscopic arrangement that describes the bustle and panoramas of the city in its underscoring of Roger Eden’s song. ‘Gigi’ (1958), proved to be the last production for the Freed Unit that was not developed from a Broadway show and Salinger’s last collaboration with Freed and Minnelli.

One surprise is to discover that he was the uncredited orchestrator on the blockbuster western ‘The Big Country’ (United Artists, 1958). The score, composed by Jerome Moross, is regarded as one of Hollywood’s best. One wonders what exactly Salinger’s contribution was, given his stature and years of experience against those of Moross, a relative newcomer to the Hollywood big league. There has to be an irony about those opening bars -  the composer describes the spinning wagon wheels of the main title, but his orchestrator is the man who had created and arranged the ‘Trolley Song’ wheel motif! Nevertheless, a compensating recognition was about to come to Salinger, one that would bring his name to prominence for the record-buying public.
By the late fifties Verve Records was identified with recordings featuring top jazz instrumentalists and singers. All the more unusual then, that Salinger was approached to prepare an instrumental album of his arrangements. This was the idea of Buddy Bregman, the label’s star arranger/conductor and head of A & R, a man with a huge list of impressive credits. By then he had already accompanied Ella Fitzgerald on both her Cole Porter and Rodgers and Hart Songbook albums, two of the top twenty-five albums in almost every magazine poll and Record Guide Book. These, plus the Bing Crosby album ‘Bing Sings Whilst Bregman Swings’ had all gone platinum. Bregman had also recorded several successful big band albums of his own. Norman Granz, chief producer at Verve (and creator of the label itself), gave Bregman the go-ahead, and the album started to take shape. Bregman recalls the 12 tracks, all of his own choosing, were mainly based on Salinger’s vocal arrangements from the MGM musicals, scored for the classic line up of 40 musicians that he’d hit upon for the MGM Studio Orchestra - although the sleeve notes of the album refer to the tracks  as ‘(the) personal favourites of Mr Salinger’. It was recorded at Capitol Records on Vine Street, Hollywood, in Studio A, and, as Bregman recalls: ‘Connie Salinger attended….he left everything to me….he loved everything and the musicians he did know he interacted with. He was thrilled that I thought of this idea’. Bregman describes him as ‘a sweet man, a shy guy who always smiled’, in fact the antithesis of Bregman himself who, for this album, had the magnanimity to step aside from his usual credit in deference to this other great musician.

The stereo album, ‘A Lazy Afternoon’ (Verve LP MGV 2068) was issued as ‘The Conrad Salinger Orchestra Conducted by Buddy Bregman’- and you don’t find many accolades like that in the recording industry. Bregman remains proud of the achievement: ‘It’s a great album - not for my work - but for the idea that I put the whole thing together and his great charts!’ If you were to find a copy of this rare album, you may agree that it’s one of the greatest, and a special one at that, for there must be no other where it’s the arranger who has top billing. But Salinger himself was not a recording artist and was unknown to the general public. Perhaps this was a disadvantage when it came to sales of the album, for in USA they proved to be disappointing. Certainly Verve Records’ clichéd dreamy girl cover – de rigeur for orchestral albums of the day – gives no hint of its unique contents. Consequently its British release was scaled down to an extended play 45rpm issue (HMV 7EG 8322), although it fared slightly better in Australia, where it appeared on Astor, a budget label of rather poor audio quality. Interestingly, Bregman admits the Salinger influence for his subsequent instrumental album of Gershwin songs featured in the movie ‘Funny Face’ (Verve LP MGV 2064). What wonderful CD reissues these two albums would now make!

‘Billy Rose’s Jumbo’ (1962, aka ‘Jumbo’), the last MGM musical on which Salinger worked, reunited him with the Rodgers and Hart score from his Broadway past. It turned out to be not only the last musical for the studio that has the identifiable ‘MGM sound’ but for Salinger it was both a completion and a full stop, for by now the entire future of the studio looked bleak. Hollywood continued to respond to the demands of a younger audience - with the realisation that the rock era was truly here to stay - plus even further declines in box office receipts. Eventually the studio would be scaled down solely for television production and by 1969 a new regime would appear, headed by James Aubrey, who would order the destruction of the entire music library - an act, viewed in hindsight, that symbolised the imperatives of accountancy over any cultural legacy that might have been preserved.

"then goodbye, brings a tear to the eye…"

Conrad Salinger lived in Pacific Palisades, one of the wealthiest and most beautiful suburbs of Los Angeles. It was here that, on 9th July 1961, he took his life. He was 59 years old. The international movie database notes the cause of death as a ‘heart attack while sleeping’, surely a more graceful and dignified public record of his passing.

Perhaps this is where we should take a few bars rest, those of us who remain ‘waltzing in the wonder of why we’re here’ to contemplate the achievements of this talented man. Hollywood, with its mega Dream Factory, may well have delivered him fame and riches, but perhaps at the expense of peace of mind. We have seen how his life’s work became linked to an enormous studio, whose fortunes and production of its once staple musical output both declined. During this period Salinger worked with its top talent, nourished by scores from the nation’s greatest songwriters: Kern, Berlin, Gershwin, Porter, Arlen, Youmans, Lerner and Loewe, Burton Lane, Hugh Martin, Arthur Schwartz, Harry Warren, Comden and Green, and not forgetting Arthur Freed himself, as lyricist. He became, as Jeff Sultanof puts it ‘perhaps the single greatest orchestrator for motion pictures that I’m aware of…. I believe the following orchestrations changed the course of popular orchestral writing: ‘Dancing in the Dark’, ‘Mack the Black’ (from ‘The Pirate’, 1948), ‘Singin’ in the Rain’, ‘This Heart of Mine’ and ‘The Trolley Song’.

"now the young world has grown old, gone are the silver and gold…"

The Metro musicals, like all movies, were once a disposable commodity, to be released one week and forgotten the next. But with the advent of sales to television and later the release of the ‘That’s Entertainment’ compilations from the MGM vaults, a new generation came to appreciate their merits. From the 80s they’ve been re-released on videotape, laserdisc and now DVD as well as on CD by the Rhino label. These CDs have restored the songs and numbers to the same duration as performed in the films, unrestricted by the timing constraints of previous 78rpm and LP releases.

Although Salinger was part of a vast team of talent, his contribution has nevertheless continued to be appreciated. In 1985 Barbra Streisand insisted on his orchestration of Jerome Kern’s ballad ‘Bill’ from ‘Show Boat’(1951) for her Broadway Album, which was then adapted by Peter Matz. Although a new arrangement had been presented to her, she could not forget seeing the movie as a child, with the Salinger arrangement staying in her memory, and that was the backing she wanted. The next significant recognition was on a much bigger scale: the release in 1990 of the Chandos CD ‘A Musical Spectacular: Songs and Production Numbers from the MGM Musicals’, recorded in London by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Elmer Bernstein. The arrangements were lovingly restored by the instigator of the project, Christopher Palmer, whose detailed sleeve notes celebrated Salinger’s work for the first time since Buddy Bregman’s album. Palmer described him as  ‘the real hero of the album’ which, thirteen years later, is in its third release, the latest version at last giving Salinger’s credit prominently on the front cover.

"But came the dawn, the show goes on, and I don’t wanna say godnight!"

March 2003 signalled an even more exciting event, when John Wilson presented his ‘That’s Entertainment’ concert at the Royal Festival Hall, London. John had set himself an enormous task of restoration to scorepaper of many of his favourite MGM numbers by accessing remnants of the originals, for the most part retained in sketch form for reasons of copyright, but ‘long hidden in deepest storage’. He assembled an 85 piece orchestra with an enormous choir of 100 to perform creations of many talented arrangers: Skip Martin, John Green, Andre Previn and Robert van Epps - but the most prominent name was that of Salinger. Unlike the Chandos recording, John ensured his line-up included many fine musicians familiar with the jazz idiom to recreate a much more authentic MGM sound. The audience, to quote John, ‘went bananas’ - proof indeed that these scores should have a secure life in the concert hall, in happy coexistence with the originals on the soundtracks of the movies themselves.

Salinger may well have had to deal with problems both professional and private at the end of his life, but we can still enjoy the legacy of his talent - a talent that enhances and sometimes transcends those glorious Metro musicals of his day.

Author’s postscript

In researching this article I acknowledge information from the following:

The book ‘MGM’s Greatest Musicals : The Arthur Freed Unit’ by Hugh Fordin, published by Da Capo Press New York 1996 (the book was originally published in 1975 under the title ‘The World of Entertainment! Hollywood’s Greatest Musicals’); Christopher Palmer’s sleeve notes for the RPO Chandos CD; John Wilson talking to Malcolm Laycock for BBC Radio 2; John Wilson’s programme notes for his ‘That’s Entertainment’ concert, supplied by RFS member Ken Bruce; and Gary Zantos, who has an encyclopaedic knowledge of the MGM studios.

Thanks are also due to Buddy Bregman, and especially to Jeff Sultanoff - his enthusiasm and supplying of invaluable information was a great inspiration. In addition to his conducting, arranging and editing activities, Jeff is also an author and Assistant Professor of Music at Five Towns University, Long Island, NY. (He modestly revealed that he has edited and recopied fifty-two Robert Farnon compositions and arrangements, which Bob has seen and approved. Working in conjunction with John Wilson, he is preparing a Robert Farnon edition of definitive versions of his music). Thanks also to my friend William Motzing, Lecturer in Jazz Studies, Sydney Conservatorium of Music, University of Sydney, for checking through the final draft. (Bill has recorded the Main Title from  Robert Farnon’s ‘Bear Island’ score on his 1994 double CD ‘Best of Adventure’ with the City of Prague Philharmonic).

Richard Hindley (June 2003)

Editor: Richard Hindley is a respected Film Editor, based in Mossman, NSW, Australia. His recent credits include the animated movie musical "The Magic Pudding" released by Fox/Icon, featuring the voices of John Cleese and Toni Colette; and the children’s television series "Out There", a co-production between ABC Australia, BBC and Sesame/Nicelodeon. Richard has been a member of the Robert Farnon Society since its very first meeting in 1956.

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The Editor invites comments from the experts in the field

Two events have had a momentous impact upon the recording scene during the past 20 years. First of all the arrival of the compact disc has resulted in what can only be described as an explosion in the availability of music at an affordable price; and secondly (and more recently) advances in digital sound technology have made it possible to improve the sound quality of pre-1950s recordings to a degree which once would have been thought impossible.

In many respects 1950 (give or take a year either way) seems to have been a watershed in sound reproduction. Until then, the 78 rpm disc had been the universal carrier of recorded music, having quickly superseded wax cylinders when sound recording became possible in the late 1800s. But two important things happened in the middle of the last century: record companies started using tape for studio recordings, and the Long Playing record arrived on the scene.

Both of these developments offered significant improvements in sound quality, both as to the quality of the actual recordings which could be faithfully captured for later replay, and in the elimination of much of the background noise which had gone hand in hand with 78s.

The familiar sound of frying eggs and bacon - the sizzle and crackle of 78s - could largely have been eliminated. In the late 1920s companies such as Columbia in Britain were issuing 78s pressed in a material which offered a much quieter surface that their contemporaries. In the last days of 78s many were pressed in vinyl (the same as LPs) and surely this could have been introduced much sooner. World War 2 was partly to blame (shellac was in short supply and recycled material wasn’t exactly pure) but also a certain amount of ‘grit’ was added at times to make 78s more durable and last longer.

Whatever the reasons (and cost must have been another consideration), the material from which most 78s were pressed was noisy, but strangely the human ear seemed able to filter it out so that listeners only heard what they wanted to hear. Also, for some perverse reason, the background noise from acoustic gramophones (with those incredibly heavy soundboxes) was less noticeable than from electric record players.

But when LPs (and to a lesser extent 45s) took over, comparisons with the older 78s highlighted the imperfections, which people regarded as no longer being acceptable.

This lengthy introduction is all leading up to the point in the early 1990s when latest developments such as the British invention CEDAR made it possible (and affordable) for record companies to start processing old recordings to extract the music, and leave the unwanted noise behind. The 50-year copyright rule in Britain also helped, because by the end of the 20th century virtually all of the 78rpm repertoire was now available to anyone who wanted to clean up and repackage vintage recordings from the past.

For the sake of accuracy, it should be mentioned that the hiss from tape recordings, and the crackles and plops from well-played LPs, can also benefit from the likes of CEDAR.

The big companies who owned the original recordings were among the first to embrace the new technology, although their enthusiasm waned as the 1990s progressed. Today it is largely the smaller independent companies who are making the running, and producing some of the best results. I suppose we should always remember that commercial companies cannot continue without profits, and their CDs of reissues must appeal to purchasers. If a touch of reverb can ‘liven up’ a dull recording and make it more appealing to record buyers, we should hardly be surprised if producers make this choice. Perhaps it is a choice between preserving a recording accurately for historical purposes, or simply making it sound enjoyable for today’s CD purchasers.

The technology is progressing at an astonishing rate. Once it could cost over £100 to process a 3-minute 78rpm disc; today anyone with a personal computer (and a little basic technical knowledge) can afford to buy the software which can process old recordings to an acceptable standard.

We can all remember the vintage LPs from the 1970s, where the method of ‘improving’ the sound quality of 78s (usually on dance band recordings) was to reduce the treble to mask the hiss and crackle. Unfortunately this removed much of the ‘bite’ in the music as well - some records sounded as though you were hearing them with a cushion stuffed inside your loudspeaker.

Today almost anything is possible ... and now we get to the real reason for this article.

The big question being asked by those with ears to appreciate the difference is: how far should today’s sound engineers go in carrying out the restoration of old records?

Should one merely try to remove some, or all of the background noise? Should a little echo be added here and there to try and ‘liven up’ dull, or dry recordings? Pre-war microphones and studios had their limitations (remember electrical recordings only arrived in the mid-1920s), and such shortcomings often become more obvious when background noise is eliminated. And on the subject of noise, should all hiss and crackle be completely removed? Sometimes this can distort the music, and result in an unreal sound from the orchestra and singers.

Through letters and comments to this and other magazines, I have become increasingly aware that record buyers are now paying far more attention to the expertise and style of the top sound engineers. Each and every one of them seem to have their strong supporters and occasionally their critics. Sometimes it can depend upon whether you normally listen on headphones or through loudspeakers. It may sound obvious, but the best sound reproduction systems can occasionally spoil listening pleasure, because any shortcomings may become more apparent.

I have therefore invited several of the top sound restorers from around the world to let me have their comments, for the benefit of readers of Journal Into Melody, and I am pleased that several have taken considerable trouble in their replies. We now print the first two responses that came in from two respected sound engineers; more will follow in March 2002.

Graham Newton:

My approach to the subject can be boiled down to a very simple rule... The goal of audio restoration should be to come as close as possible to what would have been heard if you could have stood in the studio on the day the recording was made, limitations of the recording medium itself being taken into account.

In other words, an acoustic recording will NEVER be able to sound as good as even a relatively poor electrical recording, all else being equal, simply because of the technical limitation of the two mediums. In the acoustic recording, the extended low and high frequencies of the electrical process simply do not exist on the medium, and there is no way to extract what is not there in the first place. With the limitations of the media being understood, one can then strive to reach the best that the media was capable of, consistent with my stated goal of audio restoration. The ultimate object would be to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, but since that is not likely possible, at least, a pretty good replica of the silk purse should be attempted!

There are some modern tricks that can be employed to improve the listenability of the original material, but none of these should interfere with listening through to the original recording, to the degree that the media allows. Some of these tricks involve surgical equalization to remove resonances hums or rumble in the original. Other equalization is done to improve the sound of instruments as much as the media limitations will allow, providing the restoration engineer has a good familiarity with what live instruments should sound like.

Adding reverberation is definitely NOT permitted in the goals of audio restoration... it wasn't there in the original recording, and should not be added after the fact. Some personal advantages that I have, are a long experience in the recording field with RCA Victor, and the broadcast field with three major Canadian radio stations, both AM and FM. Additionally, doing recordings of symphony orchestras, particularly Orchestra Toronto, a 105 piece community orchestra here in Toronto. There is no substitute for being able to walk around the orchestra during rehearsals and listening to the various instruments played by excellent musicians. This gives the knowledge of the sound that you want to achieve in the restoration process.

Usually, you can focus on one instrument, a soloist perhaps, and equalize to the true sound of that instrument... if you can do that, then mostly everything else will fall in place. Granted, you may not be able to get all the overtones of the instruments, depending on the medium used to make the recording.

The last part of audio restoration is like the image in a dirty mirror... clean the mirror and the image becomes clear and sharp. Noise reduction can be thought of as cleaning the mirror, that is, removing clicks pops, crackle and hiss noises on the media that stand between you and the studio sound. The success of this part is very dependent on the recording and the media itself. The ear hears certain "cues" that tell the mind what it is listening to, and you cannot necessarily remove ALL the noise, because attempting to do so usually results in losing the natural "cues" and adding unwanted artifacts of the processing that are less desirable than the noise that was to be removed.

The experts in this field have learned this and will stop before damage is done to the music. Unfortunately, there are many so-called "producers" out there who persist in demanding that ALL the noise be removed, resulting in dull, lifeless music... and everyone has heard the sad examples of these problems... there's just no accounting for taste.

Alan Bunting:

For me, the "rules of restoration" so far as (electrically recorded) 78s are concerned are quite straightforward. The aim should be to reproduce what the original recording engineer heard on the loudspeaker in the control room. This means removing the unwanted noises introduced by the recording / reproducing medium which for 78s means clicks, crackles, hiss and, in some cases, hum. Any temptations to "enhance" or "improve" the sound should be resisted although, as I will attempt to explain, it is sometimes permissible to "tweak" certain aspects of the sound which may have suffered as a result of the restoration.

Whatever certain record companies and restorers might tell you, removal of ALL of the background noise is impossible without harming the music and should never be attempted. Systems such as CEDAR used in conjunction with skilled manual editing can remove all clicks and crackles from recordings without affecting the music but, in the case of shellac 78s, usually leave behind a noise which I choose to call "shash" – a mixture of hiss and other noises caused by the shellac and whatever fillers were used in its mix. Depending on the frequencies it contains a certain amount of shash can be removed (sometimes quite a lot) using various computer processes but, as it contains a wide range of frequencies, such removal inevitably affects the music to a greater or lesser degree. This is why some highly regarded restorers do not go further than the CEDAR stage with the result that, although their work is usually more "musical" than that of others, the small amount of noise in the background means that some record company executives feel they aren’t getting value for money and insist that further "restoration" is done to remove every vestige of background noise, usually with dire results.

When even a small amount of the shash is removed, then inevitably the music suffers to some degree and it is here I feel that a judicious amount of carefully applied "tweaking" is sometimes justified. A little "presence" may be applied using parametric equalisation and, in some circumstances, a little reverberation may be added as the "ambience" of a recording is usually the first thing to suffer during restoration. However, in my opinion, this reverb must be carefully chosen to match that of the original recording and MUST be monophonic – the practice of certain record companies to swamp carefully restored recordings with stereo reverberation is, to my mind, deplorable.

There are also "restorers" who think that they can considerably improve on the original and not only add stereo reverb but carry out what I can only describe as "mutilation" of recordings by means of considerable re-equalisation which actually changes the balance between the orchestral instruments. I believe that, apart from the noise introduced by the medium, the restored sound should be as close as possible to what the original artist / producer / recording engineer intended. I consider changing it to be supreme arrogance but, as there is undoubtedly a considerable number of record buyers who like this kind of thing, this practice will undoubtedly continue and who am I to say it is wrong. However, for those of us who do not approve, I think that it should be made clear on such CDs that what they contain is not the original sound but the "what I think it should have sounded like" creation of the restoration engineer.

Although this piece is concerned primarily with the restoration of 78s, I must touch on the "restoration" of more recent mono material originally recorded on tape. These recordings rarely suffered from the limitations in the recording process which is the usual excuse offered by record companies to justify "enhancing" recordings originally made on 78s, so why some companies consider it necessary to add stereo reverberation etc. to these carefully crafted productions is beyond me. It seems impossible to justify and, in my opinion, is an insult to those who produced the original recording.

As for those who claim to be able to turn mono recordings into stereo, words fail me! The laws of physics make this impossible and anyone making such claims is not a reputable restorer but a fraud and such productions should be avoided at all costs.

At the time of writing (September) there is considerable correspondence on this topic on several e-mail groups on the Internet. One statement in particular summed it all up for me "Returning a performance to its original sound is restoration; adding "sweetening" in an effort to make it better than it is falls in the category of meddling."

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On Sunday 22 January 1967, at 2.30pm, the BBC Light Programme broadcast the first programme in a new series featuring Robert Farnon conducting the Radio Orchestra : "Farnon in Concert". Shortly before the first show, Robert Farnon gave a fascinating interview to ‘Crescendo’, which was reprinted in ‘Journal Into Melody’. Over 35 years later in 2003, we are pleased to give our present-day members the opportunity to read what Bob had to say.

Robert Farnon : talking about "Farnon in Concert", and much more

It’s a great pleasure to do this new weekly BBC series, which I believe is going to be heard each Sunday until the end of June. I’m looking forward to its run. Actually, I come over from my home in Guernsey every fortnight. On the Tuesday we usually do all the script, because there’s a lot of talking throughout the programme, between the visiting composer, the guest singer, the regular compere, John Dunn, and myself. We do most of that work at Broadcasting House, and it is cut into the show later. Then on the Wednesday, from 2.00 in the afternoon until 10 p.m., we record the music for one programme. On Thursday we do a second complete show.

That allows me to be home for one full week, rather than come over each week. Because the travelling’s a bit of a bind, you know. If you have to make it every week, you just get here, do your work, go home, spend one day and come back again. That’s how it was with the previous series on BBC, and I’m glad that they’ve been able to arrange it this way - thanks to the producer, Vernon Lawrence.

I worked with the Radio Orchestra last year, when we did two or three isolated programmes. Just occasionally I came in, conducted the orchestra and brought a few arrangements. Prior to that, I worked with the string section in a couple of programmes. On the whole, it’s a first-class orchestra. And they’re magnificent readers. They read this music just at sight - which is a godsend when we have such limited rehearsal time.

The Radio Orchestra has some very good soloists in it - the leader, violinist John Jezzard, Bobby Lamb (trombone), Jimmy Chester (alto). An excellent Canadian tenor player - Art Ellefson.

And, of course, Malcolm Cecil on bass and Jackie Dougan on drums are first-rate. Then we have Bobby Midgeley come in for the afternoon session, playing all the extra percussion wonderfully well. Individually, there’s an awful lot of talent there. Collectively, they’ve been together long enough now to have some terrific teamwork. Which you don’t get in the session boys so much. Sometimes you do - if the same four trombones or four trumpets arrive at a date, but quite often it isn’t so. I think the only real difference is there are probably a few more virtuosos among session players that do recordings and film work.

As a unit, this is a top-class light orchestra, which can play almost any style of music. We’ve done everything from small Dixieland jazz and beat stuff up to a movement from Dvorak’s "New World" Symphony. Which isn’t bad going, is it? And everything you could think of in-between.

It’s certainly a great help to know that there are these outstanding jazz players in the orchestra. Then I can dig into my library and say: "Well, yes, this’ll come off well, because it has a tenor solo, and we’ve got a terrific tenor player in the band." Or "Here’s a speciality for the alto," or whatever. It helps me in programming the music, to know what I can use.

As a matter of interest, Johnny Dankworth is going to be a guest in one of the programmes, and I’m writing a saxophone piece for him. But I must mention something else here - this originated from a suggestion by the producer, who thought it might be an idea if I wrote a little thing for Johnny. And, funnily enough, I’d been starting a serious composition for another alto player, also a fellow-Canadian, Bob Burns. But a major work - a saxophone concerto, which will feature Bob playing tenor, alto and soprano. He’ll play one of these instruments on each of three movements.

I must say that the general standard of musicianship in this country is very high. Right after the war, when I started doing some vocal accompaniments at Decca and working with the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra, I found that the reading was absolutely staggering. I’d never come across musicians who could sight–read so well. Back home it would take us probably twice the time. And it’s the same today.

Where American musicians tend to excel, I think, is in interpretation. Also, most of the American bands we hear are permanently–organised outfits, so they have more time to get a good ensemble sound. Ted Heath’s band, being permanent, got a wonderful ensemble sound. But in session work, where we’re going to do an album of jazz tunes, or whatever, we only have so much time to get these things done. In other words, the brass or saxophone section can’t take the music away and ‘wood-shed’ it, as we call it, for half an hour - just get into a corner and practice it, phrase it, change it and chop it about. As, say, Ted Heath’s band does - and the Americans.

It’s always been my opinion that we could get the same ensemble sound from the ordinary bands here. Ted’s was not a soloists’ band (not later on, anyway) but it was a great ensemble band. I remember, when I was with Geraldo, he allowed us to have a rehearsal of up to three or four hours, just wood-shedding one number. And, as a result, we got a great sound.

Being a perfectionist, I’m seldom completely happy about the sound. I think it’s a bit mean on my part - I shouldn’t be so selfish, always wanting everything to be perfect.

As for being a conductor, I conduct because I like conducting my own music. But I’m not really mad about actually conducting an orchestra. I much prefer writing. It was when I was in my teens in Toronto that the writing gradually took hold. From the time I was seven years old, I can remember music throughout the family. My father was a violinist; my mother played piano. My only sister was a jazz pianist, and my elder brother, Brian, was in a college band when he was twelve. I was eleven or twelve when I bought my first set of drums, just playing the bass drum and brass, and played trumpet for many years.

What happened was: I was on drums with my brother’s band, and it was very difficult to find brass players. The tenor saxophone player had an old cornet, which he gave to me as a present. So I started studying it, and taking lessons and I liked it very much. Then I used to play the second trumpet parts at the drums, just playing the bass drum and hi-hat cymbal with my feet, leaving my hands free to play the trumpet! In 1936 I joined the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, playing first trumpet for Percy Faith’s Orchestra. That was an entree for me, as far as writing was concerned, because I used to do some arranging for Percy, too. He wasn’t a vocal writer at the time, and I did his choir arrangements for him. When he left for America, I suppose I filled the gap, as it were. I took over, formed an orchestra and did a lot of conducting for CBC. But I would play as well. I didn’t give up playing until I came to Britain with the Canadian Army in 1944.

My original studies in writing were with a private teacher named Louis Wiseman. He was a pupil at a school in Prague at the same time as one of the Strauss family. A very good teacher, though not a good composer. He taught me the harmony, the counterpoint and the general theory of music. I took it over from there. And I didn’t write any popular music to speak of; I was just concerned in writing serious music. I wrote a symphonette for orchestra, then two symphonies and several orchestral works, an etude for trumpet, some piano pieces - and this was all before I came over here. It was when I was in Britain with the Canadian Band of the AEF that I became more involved in the light music side. As the conductor of a popular orchestra, which ours was, similar to those of Glenn Miller and George Melachrino, I wasn’t accented by the BBC as a serious musician: I remember sending my Second Symphony score to the BBC for review, and I never heard from them about it for three years. Finally I discovered the score in a little office in Shaftesbury Avenue, underneath a pile of manuscripts. It had been there, gathering dust, for all that time. I was more or less advised by the chap there that they didn’t even look at it, because it couldn’t possibly be good if it was written by a jazz musician.

This is a strange attitude, but it is true. And I think it still prevails today to a great extent. I’ve written one or two serious works recently: one is a "Rhapsody For Violin And Orchestra", which has been played at the Festival Hall, as well as all over Europe and in Canada. But, although it’s been submitted to them, it’s never been played by the BBC Serious Music Department at all. And that’s today.

Apart from the BBC, I find the same unawareness on the part of the symphony orchestras here, to whom my work has been submitted, but who have not used it. Yet the symphony orchestras abroad consider it worth including in their repertoire. My First Symphony was played by the Philadelphia Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy. So if it’s performed by one of the ten leading orchestras in the world, it should be good enough for the BBC.

The AEF Band was a full aggregation, including strings, but we didn’t have the best players. During the war the Canadian Army had several big entertainment units, and they used to send, say, tenor twelve-piece groups out on the Continent with a show. Some of them got up very close behind the lines. The cream of the professional musicians of Canada were in these units. And we were left in London with rather the second string of players.

Therefore, with our leading brass, woodwind and string players out entertaining the troops, we had great difficulty in competing with Miller - and Melachrino. But we had quite a good orchestra, because we were working a 9 to 5 routine nearly every day of the week. So what we lacked in skill, we made up for in ensemble playing and drilled musicianship, I suppose.

Anyway, it served as a launching point for me here. Of course, we were working in the BBC regularly and, shortly after the war, the Corporation offered me a series along the lines of the large orchestral music of the Canadian Army Band. That, incidentally, was on a Sunday afternoon, as this one is. It was called Journey Into Melody, and we followed it with another series, Melody Hour. Now we’ve either come full circle, or we’re turning the clock back 20 years - I don’t know what. But we’re doing the same thing, more or less, again. Though I think the styles have changed a bit.

It would be interesting, perhaps, for some people to know that a lot of the arrangements we’re playing in this present series are the ones we played in the original series 18-20 years ago. They’re not all new arrangements, by any means.

Unfortunately there’s no budget for arranging in the programme. I’m just pulling the suitable ones out of the book. And, according to the musicians, most of them still stand up. Which is nice to know.

My associations with jazz and jazz musicians go back to when I lived in Toronto. Of course, New York wasn’t very far away - just across the border. And we used to go over every possible weekend and sit in with some of these boys, just for a musical tonic. I first played with Dizzy Gillespie when he came through Toronto with Cab Calloway’s band. We used to have jam sessions afterwards and play like mad all night long, together with Chu Berry on tenor and Cozy Cole on drums. Dizzy played straight trumpet then - he didn’t have it sticking up in the air. He used to giggle when I played a jazz solo on cornet - he’d always played trumpet himself. In fact, I think it’s a nicer sound than flugelhorn, easier to control, with a better tone.

I used to sit in and play jazz choruses at Minton’s. Also at a place called the Trianon in Buffalo, which is even closer to Toronto. I used to work a 9 till 1 job at a Summer place near Niagara Falls. Our way of relaxing after the job every night was to nip over to Buffalo. It was only about an hour’s drive - we’d get back about 6.00 in the morning. At the Trianon, we played with some very interesting fellows from the old Don Redman Band, such as Jean Goldkette, Red Norvo and his brother, a drummer. Red’s wife, Mildred Bailey, was singing with the band. Those were very happy salad days.

It was just filling my need to play jazz - that was the only way to play it. Because there weren’t very many jazz musicians in my home town at the time. Not like there is now - we have Oscar Peterson in residence and, until recently, we also had Ray Brown and Ed Thigpen. But we didn’t then, so we had to go over the border for our jazz.

Any interest evidenced by jazz people like Quincy Jones in my present-day work doesn’t have anything to do with jazz, I don’t think. Probably, they just like some of the arrangements I’ve done on record. Harmonically, more than anything else, and perhaps the orchestral colours. I don’t think they listen much to the jazz side of it, because we don’t play very much. The orchestras we use are a little bit too large to play jazz. We attempt it - to try to find that elusive combination of jazz and symphonic. It’s terribly difficult, but a lot of people - Johnny Dankworth, John Lewis, Duke Ellington - are having a go, too. But on a big scale, with the 60-piece Radio Orchestra that you hear on Sundays, it’s not at all easy to move a band of that size in a swinging arrangement. Occasionally, though, it does happen.

Quincy Jones was with Philips Records for quite a long time, as an A and R man. We made about four or five albums together, including the one with Sarah Vaughan. I directed the orchestra; he was in the control room A and R-ing, as it were. I think that contract resulted from the fact that my orchestral music appealed to him. And he was interested in writing for the orchestra in that way -for the straighter instruments and strings. Not just the jazz side of it, which he had done for so many years. This, of course, is what he’s now putting into practice in his film scores.

It’s surprising how many of these jazz boys want to write for strings. I remember having a letter from Victor Feldman, saying he’d love to do some string writing, and asking if I’d give him a correspondence lesson or two. He sent over some examples; I sent back corrections, and so on. We just did it on a friendly basis, because we’re old pals, you know.

The same applied to Quincy. We used to have little chewing–the–fat sessions, when he would ask about string voicings and whatnot. Likewise the baritone player Sahib Shihab, who lives in Denmark. We had some friendly little get–togethers in Copenhagen. He would do a few bars, and we’d talk about it. And I think he learned more that way than he would trying to find some book which would instruct him along the appropriate lines.

Writing for strings is quite an art ….

To write for strings well is quite an art, I believe. A lot of people today are writing for strings the same way they would write for saxophones. And it sounds that way, you know, rather dull. They have one phrase for about eight bars with a big slur marked over it. But a violin can’t do that. He’ll run out of bow, even if the bow is 20 feet long. He couldn’t phrase that way.

In string writing, bowing is very important. That is, whether it’s an up-bow, a down-bow, or whatever. It requires a bit of study. So does the harp; that’s a most complicated instrument to write for.

Scoring for the straight woodwinds also calls for a little bit of skill. If it lies well for the instrument, the player will give it more, and it sounds better. If you put the part in front of them, and all the bowing is marked, all the dynamics and everything is there, it immediately sounds right on the first read-through. And, of course, that makes a musician feel good, too - the fact that he got through, perhaps, a difficult string piece the first time. But he couldn’t do that if the bowing was all upside-down. It would make him look a bit of a Charlie, when he’s not.

The string writing, I think, has had a lot to do with the jobs I’ve been asked to do. Because most of these big dance bands-cum-string orchestras have rather uninteresting things to play. Even Glenn Miller, when he had that magnificent string section during the war - he didn’t use it. They were playing long notes all the time, instead of interesting string parts.

Writing for singers? I’ve never enjoyed it to any great extent. I like working with the orchestra by itself. I’ve written for many singers, and I don’t ever remember one side becoming a hit. I did string arrangements for Vera Lynn till I was blue in the face, and never a hit. Then she decided to get someone else, Roland Shaw, and the very first number he wrote for her was a hit! I just didn’t have any luck. Although the Sarah Vaughan record came off. But that was almost orchestral writing, anyway. We had the Danish choir, the orchestra, and Sarah herself is like a musical instrument. She’s so intelligent; she listens to the accompaniment and just weaves in like an ad lib tenor or whatever.

As a matter of fact, Sinatra is like that, too. He knows just where to slide in. But on our ill-fated album, into which I put a lot of work, he just wasn’t in very good voice. He’d just returned from a world tour, and was doing concerts at the Festival Hall each night. He, too, claimed that his voice was tired. Therefore he wouldn’t allow the record to be released in America, because the singing would have done him more harm than good. So he rested his voice after that, I think, and about five or six months later he made an album, on which his singing was much improved. Yes, it would be nice to do another one with him if it’s not too late.

Tony Bennett and I have been trying to make an album for years. Just recently he asked if I could come over to New York to make one. And I couldn’t, because I was just beginning the BBC Farnon In Concert series.

Incidentally, Tony has recorded the floperoo Eurovision Contest song that I wrote - "Country Girl". Apparently it’s become quite a hit in America since its release there. He’s also incorporated it into his act at the Copacabana, just accompanied by a harpist; which would be interesting. We’re hoping to have him as a guest on the Sunday radio show, when he comes over in May. So we might have a chance to hear his performance of my song then.

But I haven’t done much songwriting - no talent for it, really. "Country Girl" took me about three months to write; it was a great struggle. I enjoyed doing it, but no one should take that long writing a song, I don’t think.

When it comes to arranging, even if it’s just a pop song, I use the same form that I would for a serious work. I have, more or less, an idea of the format of what I’m going to do with it, but I never know how it will develop. And I like developing arrangements of any kind. They should be developed somewhere. Otherwise, it could be just another stock printed arrangement. What happens is: I lay out, say, a complete four- or five-line sketch right from the beginning. Then, when you score it, that’s the joyful part. Adding the gingerbread. The hard, creative work has been done in the sketch; you have your framework, as it were. Therefore, you can sit back and it’s just like writing a letter; then you add the different little colours and flourishes as you go along.

My approach to composition has always been the same, really. I like to think it’s improved a bit, because I’m certainly learning every day. But I know what I like to do. I still want to write serious music, because I enjoy it so much.

In 1962 I wrote two large orchestral works, one to showcase Oscar Peterson and his Trio and one for Dizzy Gillespie, which we were to record in Berlin. And I wanted to use six or seven lead men from London, not being too familiar with the musicians in Germany, to make sure that at least the leaders of each section were going to carry us through. It was just as well I did, because, although we found a wonderful string section over there, at that time the brass and saxophone players weren’t too good. They’re much better now - at least there are more available.

However, the British men were informed by the Musicians’ Union that, if they proceeded with this recording involving American musicians, disciplinary action would be taken. And when Dizzy, Oscar and Norman Granz, who was promoting this album for Verve, arrived in Berlin, they each received telegrams from the American Federation of Musicians. They all stood to be expelled from the Union if they carried on with the project. Of course, that scrubbed the whole thing.

The reason we went to Berlin was that, if it were to be done in New York, it would cost the record company a fortune, what with the travelling expenses and everything. We had about 75 musicians in one section of a movement, plus Oscar’s Trio. Then plus Dizzy. Whereas the Union fees and general costs in Berlin would be much lower.

So Norman wondered if we could do it in England, but that wasn’t possible, either. It was decided to shelve it for the time being, and, if I came to New York later on, perhaps they could do the Dizzy side of the album. Then the Oscar side at another time, and spread the expense over like that.

Meanwhile, Dizzy and Oscar both joined other companies. I joined Philips, who didn’t allow me to work for another company, because I was under exclusive contract. Eventually I got permission to do the LP on Verve—but something else happened. Dizzy went to the Far East, I think. Some situation always came along to stop it materialising.

But I still hope we can do it some time. I might even orchestrate it for a smaller combination. Perhaps that would give us a chance, financially, to record it, without having to bring in a gallery of strings. String players are very expensive these days. I’d certainly like to revise some of it. By now it would be a dated work: it’s four years old.

I do think that jazz dates very quickly. It always will, somehow. The same as improvisations in classical works; I think they date. In the old days, concertos included a cadenza which was to be improvised by the particular player. I imagine that, if what he did then was played today by Rubinstein, it would sound very dated. Anything that’s improvised dates. Listening to the Goodman band now, although it’s great and brilliant, it sounds terribly corny to me, when you compare it with the swinging arrangements they play today.

Some of the things they do in jazz today really amaze me. Look at Dizzy - the way he has improved. When I used to play with him, he was even worse than I was - dreadful player. But now he’s great, and I’ve told him so. He often says: "I’m glad you gave up the cornet, man!"

When I played jazz, I didn’t have the incredible facility of, say, Al Hirt. I don’t think anyone else did in that era. In my opinion, the techniques in jazz have progressed to such a fantastic degree of excellence that it’s almost impossible to believe.

Footnote: Remember that Robert Farnon gave this interview towards the end of 1966, and we have repeated it here without any updating. Of course, we now know that he was soon to achieve his wish of making some fine albums with Tony Bennett, and that LP with Frank Sinatra is now far more highly regarded than it was at the time.

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Gavin Sutherland

The Brilliant Young Conductor who has recorded so much fine Light Music in recent years, is interviewed by ROB BARNETT

RB: Where were you born?

Gavin Sutherland: I was born in Chester-le-Street, County Durham. What was your family background?

Father was a factory inspector, mother a secretary for the local Council. In the North East arts were considered inappropriate as a profession – you were essentially bred as factory fodder – light engineering and so forth – and I couldn’t face that.

Were your parents or family at all musical? Well, I think it’s fair to say that we were a family that appreciated music, and the house was certainly full of music, but the only direct musical contact was my mother. She played organ at our local church but stopped before I was born (and actually stopped playing completely as a result). My father liked to sing around the house, and at many of the "go-as-you-pleases" – a forerunner to karaoke in many a working men’s club! My sister liked to sing (though used to regularly slide down in pitch from the key in which she started!!) and learned to dance, and so was a regular in several operatic societies. Your education ... I started to play our piano, unbidden, by ear, at the age of three. This slowly developed through the years, although I was still branded as self taught. It’s almost right to say I could read music before I could read, although I think my musical interests needed harnessing. Thus it was that I was given lessons on the trombone (we had no piano teacher in our education authority) from the age of seven. This got me into the county youth bands, and I found this wholly to my liking. I did all of my grades on trombone (all distinction, I’m embarrassed to confess!) but just let the piano wend its way of its own accord. My real early musical education was practical – sitting in the bands and orchestras – watching, remembering, absorbing. To this end I wish to pay tribute to two of my mentors from this time – Derek Scollard, my first trombone teacher, who arranged and conducted one of the bands I worked with. He gave me the impetus to start dabbling with arrangement, although my first few efforts (the first dates from the age of 7!) were lamentable…but I stuck at it and that’s where my love of writing and arranging music was born. The other leading light at the time was the late Jack Stobbs – a rather eccentric and totally fascinating teacher. I think he knew my interests and focused on them – plus his love of English music opened up my ears to the music of Walton, Elgar, Warlock, Finzi, Arnold, and so on. Added to that his encouragement and energy got me "to the next stage" as it were – a stage that is often difficult in a musician’s life, where one battles with the soul and, as Dave Allen famously put it, "the braincells become haemorrhoids" and Neanderthal tendencies creep in!! To this end, I didn’t really have time to notice that, as my quest for more experience led me to local amateur operatic societies and choral societies, first as accompanist then as conductor (I musically directed my first show at the age of 11, and, whilst the participants can’t take you seriously at that stage, at least it got me moving in the direction of conducting.). On the amateur operatic front I think I worked on over fifty productions until I went to university, and all the while it got me working with people. The music business doesn’t just stop with the total grip on thorough knowledge of your craft – social and people skills are profoundly important too, and I’m glad to say I made most of my mistakes and received most of my knocks when I was young enough for it not to hurt! I do have to say my other school studies possibly suffered a little but I was apparently oblivious to that. I did get a lot of jealous stick from my peers at school, and found solace in being able to lock myself away in a music practice room and simply play. It’s still a comfort blanket to this day! Have literary sources influenced your style or approach? You mean musical books? I had lots of them – Frederick Prausnitz’s "Score and Podium", William Lovelock’s "The Elements of Orchestral Arrangement", Piston’s famous orchestration tome, Adkins’ "Treatise on the Military Band", and so on. I have to be honest and say that although I tried to devour them, thinking it would be a bigger help than it subsequently was (!), I found the real way to learn for me was simply to practise and absorb other conductors. As for arranging and composition, scores were the great textbooks to me. Anything currently in our repertoire in the bands, full scores of classical and contemporary works, all of these came hurtling through our local library at a rate of knots! What direction did your musical studies take? Well, I tried for Durham University for my mother (who was determined I should get a job as a music teacher – something I think I could never ever have done!) but, as I only had qualifications as a trombonist on paper they couldn’t possibly consider me. I even offered to go and play for them, but that wouldn’t work! Newcastle said they didn’t really want to take many local students, as they were going more for foreign applicants (charming!). So it was that I headed south to see what was on offer. I was offered unconditionals by several of the main music colleges, but actually settled on Huddersfield University (Polytechnic for my first two years there) as it seemed to offer the most adaptable course and also pleased my mother as being "not London". Can you tell us more about your musical training? Huddersfield was a real eye-opener. Amongst many fine musicians, all of whom like me had applied and got in on their merits, I felt suddenly rather nervous. From the safe and cosy atmosphere of regular fun work in the North East it now all took on a more serious feel. As it turned out, I think I matured considerably at Huddersfield, both musically and personally. Some teachers became good close friends, one got me my first regular professional job (I had had a bit of freelance playing, conducting and arranging just before I got to Huddersfield, but not on a regular basis). I suppose I was counted as "a funny ‘un" since some of my teachers did not want to undo what I’d achieved musically and technically so far in my life. As a result I was taught more about interpretation as a pianist (with the marvellous Bernard Robertson), pushing out the boundaries of composition (with Peter J.Lawson – a real hero) and performance development as a conductor (first with John Gulley and then with another of my key influences in life – John Longstaff). But what of the trombone? Well, I’d had enough – I’d got a new instrument but it wasn’t making any difference at all – I really knew I wasn’t good enough, so it went back in its case just after I turned 19. I must have done something right, for I ended up getting a first, two prizes (the Krucynski Prize for Piano and the Davidson Prize for Distinction brought to the Institution) and, through John Longstaff, regular work as a pianist with Northern Ballet Theatre. To end up playing a piano concerto in my last end-of-year concert (Gershwin in F, of course!) must have angered many of the fine pianists in my year, for which I apologise, but I had left Huddersfield with a much better idea of my future, thanks to an assured and energetic training. As a conductor are you associated with a particular orchestra? This is actually a follow on from the question about training, since one of Northern Ballet Theatre’s then staff conductors was about to leave (this was about 1994/5) and, thanks to both John Longstaff (their Head of Music at the time) and John Pryce-Jones (their Music Director), I began to conduct more and more for the company (I had started playing piano for them during my second year at university), finally being appointed as a full-time staff conductor in 1995. My introduction to the world of ballet had occurred much earlier, playing for a ballet school for five years during my teens. Funny thing, fate… I did a very large share of the conducting with the company during this time, eager to develop and full of enthusiasm. After three and a half more years I decided to move on, and thought of London as the place to base myself, it being the epicentre of arts in the country. During my last season with NBT I had made my first CD – "Brian Kay’s British Light Music Discoveries" for ASV, with the Royal Ballet Sinfonia. I seemed to hit it off with them, and, on learning I had conducted for ballet, they offered me performances of "The Nutcracker" with Birmingham Royal Ballet at the end of that year. This then led to a current association with this fine orchestra, in the ballet pit, occasionally on the concert platform, but mainly in the recording studio. The funny thing is I form associations with many orchestras (the joke being "Gavin is always invited to conduct the orchestra at least twice – the second time to apologise!") – a recent one being with the Australian Pops Philharmonic Orchestra, for whom I’ve arranged and conducted a lot. I also became associated with the Royal New Zealand Ballet, and have conducted significantly for them. My associations are always truly meant, and strong bonds are often important to maintain a stability in a hectic life such as mine. Given a free hand which ten works .. previously unrecorded would you want to record. and why in each case?

  1. Three Rivers Fantasy by Arthur Wilkinson – as a child I adored this piece, played as it was at the start of the day’s transmission on Tyne-Tees Television. A bright and joyous celebration of North Eastern folksongs and tunes, the printed music is sadly lost (like so many works). I have reconstructed it, along with TV startup pieces from the other ITV regions, for an ongoing project to record all of them on CD. They really do reflect a cross-section of the biggest names in British Music.
  2. The Mansell Concerto by Kenneth Leslie Smith – I came upon this piece during my early years as a radio listener (we had Radio 2 on until about 3 then the television was turned on – what better musical upbringing could a person have?) with the late Bob Docker and the BBC Concert Orchestra, and found it really fascinating, with some lovely harmonic shifts.
  3. Symphony by Eric Rogers – I found this score amongst Eric’s papers whilst researching "The Carry On Album" and it looks a most impressive piece. I must say that we are actually going to record this in September (2002), so slowly but surely the ambition gets there!
  4. Westward Ho! by Hastings Mann – Similar reasoning to (1), but used for the (then) Westward TV area during the 1960s.
  5. Devonshire Dances by Paul Lewis – I don’t think these have been properly recorded (they’ve certainly been performed a lot) but I am an enormous fan of Paul’s music (and we remain close friends) and these sparkling pieces for harp and chamber orchestra are really beautifully worked. Paul’s gift for melody must come from the need in library music to establish the mood, right from bar one. A rare talent.
  6. The Phoenix Tree by Philip Lane – Philip has been, without a doubt, the single most important person in my career thus far. His production skills are fantastic, and we’ve developed a real rapport in the studio and away from work too. I am a very big fan of his music, since it always screams optimism! His choral and orchestral writing has been long acknowledged as excellent, and this piece, written for performance by Aled Jones in 1990, is exemplary.
  7. Fantasia on "Auld Lang Syne" by Ernest Tomlinson – It was Ernest that brought Philip and I together in the first place, and for that I’m eternally grateful. Added to that I’ve always enjoyed Ernest’s music and the generosity and warmth of his spirit. I first heard this piece in a concert conducted by my old friend John Wilson at the Royal College of Music, and was captivated by just how many tunes fit with the New Year anthem, and each other! There is also a version for two pianos (and, most importantly, two turner-overs!) but I’d dearly love to commit this piece to disc as it is a work of contrapuntal genius!
  8. Pastorale Montage by Gideon Fagan – This piece is actually recorded on an old Chappell music library disc, but was used as music for one of the old BBC TV Interlude films, depicting a slowly turning windmill. A gorgeous miniature which fitted the pictures so well.
  9. London Medley by Arthur Wilkinson – written for the interval of the 1968 Eurovision Song Contest from the Albert Hall, and conducted by Norrie Paramor, this piece is delightful and very approachable. It also continues with my interest in Arthur Wilkinson and was in fact composed in the last year of his life – a warning to workaholic musicians everywhere.
  10. Selection from "Over She Goes" (Billy Mayerl, arr. George Zalva (Cruikshank)). I had known Billy Mayerl’s music for many years as a pianist, but had little idea that he had written songs and musicals also. This musical starred the wonderful Stanley Lupino, a comedian whose work I was introduced to by one of my best friends, Martin Fenton. Typical of show selections, it actually does heighten a lot of fine tunes with exquisite nuance of orchestration – something lost in some arrangements these days.

What would be your advice to a person considering conducting as a career? Go for it. The business is so diverse now that there are so many different avenues to pursue. Alongside the problem of gaining experience comes the fact that orchestral musicians can come over as the biggest cynics in the world. The only way to handle them is to be yourself and be clear. Technique can be taught, but people skills only come with trial and error. You have touched on this a little already but what qualities are necessary in a great conductor? This ties in with the previous question – being down to earth, energetic and enthusiastic, being able to breathe with the orchestra (Henry Wood often said that the best conductors would be string players – I rather disagree, as breathing in phrasing comes far more naturally with the techniques of a wind player). Along with this comes all the stick technique you can muster in back up to keeping things calm and easy to follow – all the greats had this gift. What is your attitude to the recording studio? One of my favourite working environments. The focus of concentration every time the light goes on is a feeling I adore. To know that at the end of a session your thumbprint is on every piece on that disc (or soundtrack, or whatever). The other thing is consistency. The preferred method of working for the discs I’ve done is to try and get down two complete takes, then go back and cover any "patches" that may need tightening. To do this one must feel the music since if a patch is to be dropped in to a track the tempi must match, as must the feel. The many discs I’ve done with the Royal Ballet Sinfonia in particular are blessed by such fine playing and a really comfortable atmosphere in the studio that rehearsal can be kept on the economical side. When things start running against the clock, though, and we are pushed for time, the whole attitude shifts to sorting things out immediately in the most time-saving way possible, whilst trying to keep calm. How did you become involved with ASV and other record companies? It started with Ernest Tomlinson bringing Philip Lane and I together in late 1996. I possessed the scores to the "Carry On" films and Philip, already well respected as a record producer, told me he was keen to record a disc of them. We met for the first time at his house in Cheltenham, and further discussions took place in London, Bath and even in a hotel in Batley! The record companies he had tried thought the idea too parochial and so the idea was shelved for a while. Meanwhile Philip had began work on a series of British Light Music discs for ASV. I think Kenneth Alwyn wasn’t available, and Philip, having seen my work on the ballet podium and knowing my love of light music, asked me if I was available. Thus it was that I took two days off work at NBT (the first I had taken off in three years) to go to London and record the disc (this was April 1998). One disc led to another, which led to another, and so on…"The Carry On Album" finally got made in February 1999! What are your recording plans? I’ve just done a disc of Matthew Curtis’s music (my 30th disc made to date) with the Royal Ballet Sinfonia at Whitfield Street in London (with a man of whom I must make special mention – Mike Ross-Trevor, award-winning and highly respected recording engineer, and above all a very nice guy!) and then I made the cast recording of my musical "Little Women" (which enjoyed a short run at the Bloomsbury Theatre during July). The next projects are a further volume of British String Miniatures (I think it’s Volume 3 or 4!) and an interesting disc of the works of British film composers, but works they wrote for the concert hall. We feature works by Leighton Lucas, Bruce Montgomery, Anthony Collins, Eric Rogers and others. Other discs planned for the future include the music of Montague Phillips, Charles Williams, a tantalising disc known at the minute by the working title "The Denham Concertos" after the famous film studios (pieces written very much with the success of the "Warsaw Concerto" in the film "Dangerous Moonlight" in mind) , a possible disc of the music of Angela Morley, oh, and Carry On volume two! Have you been steered away from some composers by record companies? Not really. The record companies listen to people such as Philip, with his thorough research of suitable works for balanced discs, and his astute business skills make their recording viable. ....Or to some composers by record companies Safest to say "see above"! What would be your ten desert island CDs and why? Easy!

  1. The Dream of Gerontius conducted by Sir John Barbirolli – simple – my favourite choral piece, my favourite conductor.
  2. "The Great British Experience" – an EMI compilation by David Ades that is a real bedrock disc for any light music collector.
  3. "The Sound Gallery" – it’s not all 40s and 50s light music that I like, you know!
  4. "Brian Kay’s British Light Discoveries" – partly to remind me of that very first session, partly because of the moving nature of some of the pieces we recorded, like Maurice Johnstone’s "Tarn Hows" and the beautiful "Little Suite" of Richard Rodney Bennett
  5. "The Carl Stalling Project" – all film and cartoon music fascinates me – the intricacies of it leave me spellbound at times. Stalling was the master, and his witty scores always make me chuckle.
  6. That Conifer double-disc set of the music of Robert Farnon – another hero, with such a genial style that any light music lover can only marvel at his gifts.
  7. Hoffnung’s Music Festivals – A sense of humour in music, whether in the writing or in the performance, is very important to me. I love to laugh, and I think light music has to "smile" – there was no one more keen to see it do so than cartoonist Gerard Hoffnung.
  8. Any disc by Sergio Mendes and Brasil ’66 – I also like Latin music, and the sultry pulse of the bossa nova. Mendes’ arrangements were fantastic and provoke a really exciting reaction in my body.
  9. Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys – perfect production values, beautiful songs, excellent performances.
  10. ANY CD of Eric Coates – for preference I’d have to say the first of Malcolm Nabarro’s series on ASV, as the performance of the "London Suite" is the best I have ever heard.

Oh, and my luxury would be a bag of crisps! GS Editor: this interview appears courtesy of the British Music Society. Readers who would like to know more about the British Music Society are invited to write to 7 Tudor Gardens, Upminster, Essex, RM14 3DE, or you can e-mail Rob Barnett at: GAVIN SUTHERLAND Selective Discography

ASV CD WHL 2113 BRIAN KAY’S BRITISH LIGHT MUSIC DISCOVERIES: The Roots of Heaven (Sir Malcolm Arnold); Suite of Scottish Dances (William Alwyn); An Impression on a Windy Day (Sir Malcolm Sargent); The Glass Slipper (Clifton Parker); The Coloured Counties (James Langley); The Barber of Seville Goes to the Devil (Gordon Jacob); Tarn Hows (Maurice Johnstone); Two Worlds (Alan Langford); Little Suite (Sir Richard Rodney Bennett). ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA ASV CD WHL 2119 THE "CARRY ON" ALBUM: Music from the "Carry On" films composed by Bruce Montgomery and Eric Rogers. CITY OF PRAGUE PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA ASV CD WHL 2126 BRITISH LIGHT MUSIC DISCOVERIES Vol. 2: Little Suite No. 4 (Sor Malcolm Arnold); The River (Wiloliam Blezard); Traditional Hornpipe Suite (Adrian Cruft); Rossini on Ilkla Moor (Eric Fenby); Wexford Bells (Raymond Warren); The Path Across the Moors (Arthur Butterworth); An Ayrshire Serenade (Anthony Hedges); An English Overture (Paul Lewis); Suite of Cotswold Folkdances (Philip Lane). ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA MARCO POLO 8225161 BILL WORLAND: Shopping Spree, Latin Lover, In the Shadow of Vesuvius, Pepita, Scottish Flower, Sombrero, Brighton Belle, etc. RTE CONCERT ORCHESTRA MARCO POLO 8225162 PERCY WHITLOCK: The Feast of St. Benedict, Ballet of the Wood Creatures, Wessex Suite, Music for Orchestra, etc. RTE CONCERT ORCHESTRA ASV CD WHL 2131 BRITISH LIGHT MUSIC DISCOVERIES Vol. 4: Partita (John Rutter); Suite Française (Sir Richard Rodney Bennett); The Padstow Lifeboat (Sir Malcolm Arnold); Fantasy on Dover Castle (David Fanshawe); Battersea Park Suite (William Blezard); Dance Diversions (Michael Hurd); A Miniature Symphony (Paul Lewis). ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA MARCO POLO 8225185 PHILIP LANE: London Salute, Diversions on a Theme of Paganini, Cotswold Dances, Divertissement for Clarinet Harp and Strings, Three Christmas Pictures, A Maritime Overture, Three Nautical Miniatures for Strings, Prestbury Park. ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA ASV CD WHL 2132 ENGLISH BASSOON CONCERTOS: Concerto in D (Eric Fogg); Concertino (John Addison); Concertino (Peter Hope); Summer Music (Arthur Butterworth). ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA ASV CD WHL 2133 BRITISH LIGHT OVERTURES Volume 1: Caramba (William Blezard); Overture to a Costume Comedy (Stanley Black); Overture and Beginners (James Langley); Tantivy Towers (Thomas Dunhill); Boy Wizard (Herbert Chappell); Festive Overture (Walter Carroll); Overture to an Unwritten Comedy (Michael Hurd); The Arcadians (Lionel Monckton); A Spa Overture (Philip Lane); Concert Overture (Thomas Pitfield); Sussex Symphony Overture (Paul Lewis). ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA ASV CD WHL 2138 LONDON LANDMARKS: Metropolis (David Watts); Rotten Row (Angela Morley); London Salute (Philip Lane); Concerto for Saxophone and Orchestra (Christopher Gunning); London Fields (Phyllis Tate); London Landmarks (Haydn Wood); Festival of London March (Paul Lewis). ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA MARCO POLO 8225184 ALFRED REYNOLDS: Festival March, Alice Through The Looking-Glass, The Toy Cart, The Taming of the Shrew, 1066 And All That, etc. ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA ASV CD WHL 2134 BRITISH STRING MINIATURES: Divertimento (Gareth Walters); Elegy (Sir Edward Elgar); Suite (Michael Roberts); Two Aquarelles (Frederick Delius); Fiddler’s Green (Anthony Hedges); Two Pieces from Henry V (Sir William Walton); Partita (John Addison). ROYAL BALLET SINFONIA

September 2002

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About Geoff 123
Geoff Leonard was born in Bristol. He spent much of his working career in banking but became an independent record producer in the early nineties, specialising in the works of John Barry and British TV theme compilations.
He also wrote liner notes for many soundtrack albums, including those by John Barry, Roy Budd, Ron Grainer, Maurice Jarre and Johnny Harris. He co-wrote two biographies of John Barry in 1998 and 2008, and is currently working on a biography of singer, actor, producer Adam Faith.
He joined the Internet Movie Data-base ( as a data-manager in 2001 and looked after biographies, composers and the music-department, amongst other tasks. He retired after nine years loyal service in order to continue writing.