The warmest day of the year to date greeted the Robert Farnon Society members and friends who made a special trip to Edinburgh to attend the premiere of Robert Farnon’s Symphony No. 3 – The Edinburgh on Saturday 14 May. Some had even flown up from the south of England especially for this memorable occasion, and everyone agreed that it was a magical experience.

The following reports (by three RFS members who attended the premiere) give an idea of the ‘flavour’ of that very special event. First of all we hear from James Beyer…..

World Première of Robert Farnon’s 
Symphony No 3 in F "Edinburgh"
National Symphony Orchestra of Scotland (Leader John Reid)
Conductor: Iain Sutherland
Saturday 14th May 2005 in The Usher Hall, Edinburgh
An appreciation with some personal thoughts

Saturday 14th May 2005 was a special day for my native city of Edinburgh – for at the Usher Hall that evening, the National Symphony Orchestra of Scotland (Leader John Reid) under their Conductor, Iain Sutherland would present the World Première of Robert Farnon’s 3rd Symphony – his "Edinburgh" Symphony.

For myself and fellow RFS member Brian Henderson, things began happening the previous day, when we spent a most enjoyable evening in the company of Philip Farlow and his wife, Edwina (who had travelled earlier by train from London). A bright and sunny Saturday dawned – heralding what was to turn out to be one of the warmest and sunniest days so far this year! Edinburgh city centre was thronged with people, determined to take advantage of the good weather; and as the day progressed, it proved to be memorable on a number of counts. That afternoon, I met David Ades for a chat over coffee before heading off to the Usher Hall for the evening Concert.

Early doors brought a number of RFS members together – Robert and Patricia Walton, Malcolm and Iris Frazer, Philip and Edwina Farlow and Brian Henderson. Also attending the Concert were three RFS members from Fife - Terry Viner, Stephen Gray and David Kinnison.

For those of us in the audience whose association with Robert Farnon was more than a passing acquaintance with his music, the evening was not without some feelings of emotion, poignancy and personal reflection.

Initial efforts by Bob to get his Symphony performed in Scotland, let alone Edinburgh were fraught with all sorts of difficulties and problems; and at times the prospect of a world première north of the border seemed hopeless. Latterly, telephone calls between us were frequent in an attempt to get his "Edinburgh" Symphony performed in the Capital. As an amateur musician my contacts within the professional sector are limited; and thus, no matter how keen I was to "promote" and support Bob’s project, my "input" was therefore restricted. However, thanks to Iain Sutherland and the National Symphony Orchestra of Scotland, Bob’s wish became a reality. The Concert was presented in partnership with the Royal Bank of Canada, Europe.

So – to the Concert itself.

The programme began with Sir Malcolm Arnold’s "Tam O’Shanter" Overture Op 51. An Englishman’s idea of Scottish-ness? – well, perhaps; but it was a rousing and exciting start to the evening, with a spirited performance from the NSOS.

In complete contrast, there followed a performance of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major Op 35 with soloist, Alexander Sitkovetsky. At 22 years of age, this amazing young man’s talent is phenomenal. Having made his début as a soloist at the tender age of 8, he has become one of the most promising young musicians of the 21st century. Sitkovetsky has performed throughout Europe and the UK; and other engagements have taken him to the USA, Israel and Hawaii, as well as his native city of Moscow.

The interval brought excited anticipation, as we eagerly awaited the first performance of Robert Farnon’s Symphony No 3 in F – dedicated to André Previn, who once referred to Farnon as, "the greatest string writer in the world". And in this respect, the Symphony serves as vindication of Previn’s statement – not that any proof is needed.

From the opening bars of the 1st Movement (Calmato assai) with its expressively romantic theme, we knew instinctively that we were about to experience something very special. For in this 25 minute Symphony, Bob "encapsulated" his life-story in music, so to speak. It would not be an exaggeration to say that it is, in many ways, retrospective and at the same time "biographical" in character – for here, Bob, in effect, is narrating his life-story. Neatly dovetailed, is an amalgam of varying styles and moods, which reflect his astounding musical career. And to really appreciate the work, one has to know the man and his music – for here is his humour, his sensitivity, his humility and above all his supreme musicianship. And as the music unfolded, I found myself identifying with Bob and his music. He had the great gift of being able to write in a number of different styles; and we were reminded of these in this multi-faceted Symphony.

There was the tonal richness of Bob’s film music – complete with the big romantic themes; the sound of a concert orchestra from the 30s or 40s; a hint of Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett; and rhapsodic passages reminding one of such works as, "A la claire fontaine". Especially notable was the NSOS brass section, comprising four trumpets, four trombones with the addition of four horns, which provided the "Big Band" element.

At one point, the orchestra launched into a rhythmic figure in a style not unreminiscent of "Jumping Bean", and which was quickly followed by a typically Farnonesque treatment of the nursery rhyme, "Baa, Baa, Blacksheep". And there were touches of comedy. By using a "slapstick" at one point, was Bob I wonder, reminding us of the unscripted comedy of his "Happy Gang" days?

Particularly poignant was the main theme from the 2nd Movement written for the solo trumpet – highlighting Bob’s love for the instrument and recalling his time as lead trumpeter in Percy Faith’s Canadian Broadcasting Corporation Orchestra. Here also were some Gershwinesque touches and a reminder of Bob’s association with the Big Bands.

The 3rd movement included the Scottish references – heard initially by distant pipe-band drumming (I now know why Bob asked me to send him a CD of authentic pipe-drumming!) – and developed by the introduction of two folk tunes ("My love she’s but a lassie, yet" and "The Bluebells of Scotland"). First heard separately, Bob quickly combines them in skilful counterpoint. The Symphony ends with a direct quote from his arrangement of Scottish airs – the suite, "From The Highlands". After all; as Bob once said, "If you’re going to borrow (music), borrow from the best!"

The final chord brought hesitant applause at first – not out of disrespect or an unappreciative regard for the music; but due, I suspect, to a typically reticent Edinburgh audience. This was something noted especially by the foreign visitors, who are accustomed to showing their appreciation in a somewhat more enthusiastic and passionate manner.

Following a short "tribute" to Robert Farnon by Iain Sutherland, we were treated to two encores – "Westminster Waltz" and "Portrait of a Flirt".

Iain Sutherland has to be commended for his masterful interpretation of Robert Farnon’s fine score and giving us the opportunity to hear Bob’s last major work. In addition, he must be complimented on the excellent programme note for Robert Farnon’s 3rd Symphony. In writing the analysis, Mr Sutherland "guided" the reader-listener through the opus, thus serving to enhance one’s enjoyment and appreciation of what hitherto was an unknown work. (The text of Iain Sutherland’s programme note is reproduced below).

Sadly, with Bob’s recent death, it is the end of an era; but let us reflect on the rich musical legacy he has given us, which is something that we will continue to treasure and enjoy for many years to come.

After the Concert, a fellow member of The Robert Farnon Society remarked, "It has been a magical weekend". It certainly was!

James Beyer (Conductor: The Edinburgh Light Orchestra) 

The following Programme Note is reproduced by kind permission of Iain Sutherland.

Symphony No. 3 in F ‘Edinburgh’
Robert Farnon CM
Dedicated to André Previn
i. Calmato assai ii. Larghetto iii. Allegro

Robert Farnon’s final opus is dedicated to the world-renowned conductor and composer, André Previn, and was inspired by a summer visit to Scotland’s capital city. Like so many Canadians, Farnon had a strong Scottish connection, his Grandmother having been an émigré. Although not a symphony in the strict classical sense of the form, as indeed, neither were Tchaikovsky’s, nor Sibelius’s, it is an extended work, in three movements, rather like three loosely linked symphonic rhapsodies. It is scored for a large orchestra with four Trumpets, and, unusually for a symphony orchestra, four Trombones. The sonority of eight brass, is, however, redolent of the ‘Big Band’ sound, and allied here to the usual four French Horns, gives the work an immediately identifiable ‘feel’. The composer does not shy away from the kind of writing and orchestrating for which he was so justifiably world famous in an effort to be more ‘symphonic’ per se, and many of his unique orchestration techniques echo throughout the score.

The first movement, Calmato assai, opens with the first of many romantic melodic themes, played by unison violins; a short series of brass and timpani interjections leads to a new theme played against a brass backdrop of subtly changing chords, with a jazz-style ‘walking’ bass. These themes continue to be explored until a bright, jig-like section bursts out, leading to a short, full brass fragment of a warmly remembered nursery rhyme, eventually leading to a new, more intense theme, introduced by the strings, then the solo cor anglais and the solo cello. The opening theme returns in the full orchestra, and a short coda beginning with a chromatic, rising and intense figure by the brass, subsiding into a calm and very soft ending, with an ambivalent F major/ F minor descending figure on the harp.

The second movement, Larghetto, begins with a short cadenza on the solo flute, recalling the jig-like central section of the first movement. The solo violin and flute then present a meditative, romantic theme; a secondary theme from the strings soon becomes the accompaniment to the return of the first melody on the oboe. A lush chorale by the full brass section is followed by the main theme played by the solo trumpet. The middle section of the movement is, to me, a nostalgic reminder of Robert Farnon’s war years as Conductor of the Canadian Band of the AEF, alongside Glenn Miller with the American Band and George Melachrino, the British. The secondary theme mentioned earlier is played by the Trombone quartet over pizzicato rhythms from solo bass and cellos. A new theme now emerges, and is presented three times in contrasting orchestrations, the middle one being of great intensity, and the third extended into ever quieter, rising triplets until abating in a short vibraphone solo, before the pizzicato bass whispers the final phrase.

The Finale, Allegro, opens with a series of irregular rhythms played by the harp and strings col legno, with the wooden back of the bow, and an accompaniment of exotic percussion instruments including finger cymbals, templeblocks, woodblocks and sandpaper blocks. A solo clarinet sings out a blues tinged fragment, later taken up by the trumpets after a jazz-style burst from the full orchestra. As the irregular rhythms fade away, a roll on the timpani and suspended cymbal opens up into a gloriously full-throated, big, broad theme for the whole orchestra, reminiscent of the great themes Robert Farnon provided for many a romantic film score. The theme then quietens, with the brass choir accompanied by triplet figures on the vibraphone, celeste and harp, until Scottish pipe-band drums are heard pianissimo; having visited most of the influences on his music on his symphonic journey, he beholds Edinburgh. Two folk melodies, ‘My love she’s but a lassie, yet’ and ‘The Bluebells of Scotland’, are ingeniously combined in a rising crescendo until the jig-style theme returns for a short, joyous coda.

Iain Sutherland


Robert Walton gives his impressions on this major new work …..

To hear any work for the first time, is a thrilling experience, especially a world premiere, but when it's a symphony by your favourite composer, that has to be special. Even though you're familiar with the idiom, you never know quite what to expect. Whether you're in a concert hall or at home, it's no different. Your auditory senses are in a state of high expectation and anticipation. You become a human sponge ready to absorb a brand new creation. Such was the case with Robert Farnon's last major work, his Third Symphony, performed in the imposing Usher Hall in the historic capital and cultural centre of Scotland. The thought that the composer would never actually hear the symphony made it a very poignant occasion.

Dedicated to André Previn, the man who called Robert Farnon "the greatest living writer for strings", the symphony starts simply with unison violins playing a gorgeous tune which only Farnon could have written. (Violins playing the same note, especially in their lower register, can often produce much more emotion than in harmony). That comes later. But for now this melody is given the seal of approval by the brass and timpani. I knew it wouldn't be too long before Farnon introduced a jazz element to the proceedings. And sure enough he incorporates the device invented by Basie bassist Walter Page in the late 1920s, a walking bass. And how effective it is, especially with a new melody over beautiful chords. Then a jig (Scottish of course!) suddenly emerges from the orchestra dancing its way towards a familiar nursery rhyme played by the brass. But the strings never far away, return with a more passionate theme followed by the cor anglais and cello. If the nursery rhyme was familiar, then the opening tune repeated by the whole orchestra has already endeared itself to the listener. Now it's the turn of the brass to get worked up but not for long. They quickly calm down to the softest of endings, while the harp keeps you guessing whether the movement is going to finish in a major or minor key.

Symphonies are all about recycling and mood swings, so it's not surprising that the second movement opens with a reminder of the earlier jig featuring some solo flute fireworks slowing right down to join a violin in a new tender tune. Yet another string theme is skilfully transformed into the accompaniment of the tender tune but this time the oboe takes the solo. Now we're treated to a huge Ted Heath like brass section of 8 players (4 trumpets and, unusual for a symphony orchestra, 4 trombones) who produce the most glorious sound. This is Farnon in full flight showing it's not only strings he's master of. Then the trombones come into their own with a reworking of the earlier theme which doubled as an accompaniment, but this time the lower strings in pizzicato mode provide the accompaniment. And as if all that isn't enough, a completely new melody (Farnon's full of them) is stated three times no less in different guises, the second one erupting with immense force. The movement ends peacefully with a vibraphone solo and a pizzicato bass. Taking a leaf out of the finale of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique, Farnon instructs the violins to tap the strings with the sticks of their bows (col legno) instead of using the hair. This unusual effect when mixed with the harp and percussion creates an exciting exotic sound. The clarinet plays a brief blues which is picked up later by the trumpets, but not before the whole orchestra lets itself go in an uninhibited jazzy outburst. But the orchestra has one more important function to fulfil. To play one of those thrilling climaxes Farnon is famous for, and it doesn't disappoint. It's my favourite part of the symphony. In fact I was so overwhelmed I hardly noticed the two Scottish tunes at the end but did detect the orchestration was strangely familiar. Clearly a little bit of recycling From the Highlands!A major part of the success of the work was due to the brilliant conducting of lain Sutherland who with the National Symphony Orchestra of Scotland gave such a polished performance it sounded like it had been in the repertoire for years. If André Previn had been present I'm sure his original assessment of Farnon would have remained unchanged. Robert Walton

Phil Farlow completes our trio of reminiscences….

On the weekend of Saturday the 14th May the sun shone brightly and warmly on the City of Edinburgh for what must have been one of the most memorable and poignant events in the Robert Farnon calendar.

The main event for us was the National Symphony Orchestra of Scotland conducted by Iain Sutherland with the World Premiere Performance of Bob’s Symphony No. 3 in F, the ‘Edinburgh’ which was to be performed at the Usher Hall.  

My wife Edwina and I had travelled up from London by train on the Friday and that evening the weekend started in great style when we met up for a very memorable Italian meal with James Beyer and Brian Robinson who later on also kindly hosted a mini tour of Edinburgh by night.

During the Saturday we walked through the Gardens, up to Edinburgh Castle and down the Royal Mile taking in quite a few metres of tartan on the way, and also viewed the apparently controversial architectural lines of the new Parliament Building.

On the Saturday evening we arrived at Usher Hall in good time to greet several Robert Farnon Society members including Robert and Patricia Walton, Malcolm and Iris Frazer as well as David Ades and his brother- and sister-in-laws Andrew and Joan Stevenson. There was definitely that buzz in the air that goes with events like this one, and as we all chatted away the time soon drew near to take our seats.

The  World Premiere of Bob’s ‘Edinburgh’ Symphony was to be performed after the interval – and whatever had been chosen before, I don’t think I was the only person there to want to ‘wind on’ in my excitement to hear this new work.

Then the interval came – another chat with our friends and another look around to see who was there – and we were back in our seats for – well ‘the great moment’ we’d waited for.

Baited breath time as traditionally on came the orchestra’s leader John Reid closely followed by conductor Iain Sutherland – and then that wonderful hush that occurs just before the first notes are ushered.

There are three movements in the ‘Edinburgh’ Symphony, and as they slowly unwound to our ears for the first time ever in public, the very strong first impression that I got was that Bob has given us here glimpses of his lifetime’s music. Here encapsulated in this Symphony are all the Farnon trademarks that we have all come to know and love: the humour of ‘Happy Gang’, the eight brass big band sound, all the beautiful tone colours of the strings – it was all there. And the many and different ways Bob applies it for each requirement as well – the sounds of the AEF band, the ‘Portrait of a Flirt’ sound, the film sound, the jazz style, the blues style, the romantic style, the way he scored for singers – and more. The Scottish connections came as a delight with interpolations of jig rhythms, pipe band drums and folk melodies and in the third movement Bob brings us his own touch of ‘exotica’ where added to harp and strings are finger cymbals, templeblocks, woodblocks and sandpaper blocks. Wow !!

I personally think that the ‘Edinburgh’ Symphony is a really joyous illustration and not least celebration of Robert Farnon’s life in music, and that it couldn’t have been marked better than in this Premiere performance by the National Symphony Orchestra of Scotland conducted by Iain Sutherland.

In the light of Bob’s recent passing, and to complete the evening’s entertainment, we had the further joy of hearing the orchestra playing ‘Westminster Waltz’ and ‘Portrait of a Flirt’ which certainly finished icing the cake to perfection.

Phil Farlow

This article appeared in ‘Journal Into Melody’ September 2005

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Much has been written about Sidney Torch in recent years, although there have been few personal reminiscences from people who actually knew him. Thanks to one of America’s leading organists, RFS member LEW WILLIAMS, we can fill in a few of the gaps which reveal Sidney in a new light. Lew is based in Scottsdale, Arizona, where one of his near neighbours – and a good friend – is ANGELA MORLEY. More of that later: first of all we’ll let Lew set the scene with a few reflections on the great composer.


A London couple who were on very friendly terms with Sidney Torch received a phone call from him one day in the early 1970s,  inviting them to come down to Eastbourne and get his organ records, as he was going to chuck them out otherwise.  When they arrived, Mrs. Torch met them at the door and said quietly, "You know, of course, that we don't talk organ in this house." So during tea, the conversation was decidedly steered in other directions. Apparently, Elizabeth Torch, a BBC producer who married Sidney in the early 1950s, did not much care for the cinema organ, as per Torch's own comments towards the end of the third instalment of his interview (see later in this article).

When Mrs. Torch left to do a bit of shopping, Sidney said "Right, now, what ever happened to so-and-so (an organist)?  Is such-and-such an organ still intact?"  Perhaps he regarded his cinema work as an early indiscretion and was still curious about what was going on.

Some years later, during a 1990 visit to the UK, our London couple showed me a poignant letter Sidney had written, lamenting his wife's recent passing and his own poor health, notably back trouble.  It wasn't long afterwards that I heard from another longtime UK friend, telling me that Torch had taken his own life.  According to the newspapers, a shotgun was involved, and a note was left behind.

It is somewhat telling to know that, while Torch had a grand piano in his Eastbourne flat, the lid was down, the keyboard cover locked, and the whereabouts of the key were unknown.  He was much happier talking about his dogs. According to one source, he said, "You must understand that music was my business, and I have now retired."

Another incident occurred during an orchestral rehearsal. During a break, the musicians were milling about while Torch was chatting with someone.  Some prankster who had found one of his old organ 78s quietly put it on the player and started it.  After a few notes sounded, Torch started a bit and said, "Hello. What's this?"  He wandered over to the gramophone and watched the rapidly spinning disc, then reached down and took the tone arm up.  Removing the record from the spindle, he looked at the label for a moment, broke it over his knee, dropped it on the floor, and wandered back to his conversation as though nothing had happened.

Tony Moss, who was one of the founders of the Cinema Organ Society, met Torch in the bar at Broadcasting House in the '50s or '60s.  They had an amiable conversation until Tony mentioned organs. Torch drew himself up and inquired, "Oh, are you an organ fan?"  When Tony replied that he was indeed, Torch said "Well.........I'm not."  And that was that.

A final anecdote about the conclusion of Sidney Torch's long career in music: One of Torch's colleagues relates how he came to retire in the early '70s. When the post of conductor with the BBC Concert Orchestra opened up, Torch felt that he was sure to be appointed.  It ended up going to someone else, and apparently Torch decided that he'd done enough conducting.

On the way to the Friday Night broadcast that same evening, Sidney said "You know, this will be my last broadcast."  Indeed, at the conclusion of the signature theme, as soon as the light on the conductor's desk went out, Torch turned to the audience and said "Ladies & gentlemen, I have conducted my final broadcast.  Good night."  He then snapped his baton in two, laid it on the music desk, and walked off.

Editor: In May 1972 Sidney Torch was interviewed by two American organ enthusiasts, Judd Walton and Frank Killinger. They were arranging to issue a 2-LP collection of his 1930s organ recordings, and were hoping to get some background information from him about his pre-war career. The following extracts are taken from transcripts of the interview which were printed in the ‘Journal of the American Theatre Organ Society’ in October 1972 and February, March & April 1973. They are reproduced with due acknowledgements, and special thanks to Lew Williams. Judd Walton sets the scene…

One of the main objectives in going to England was to meet Torch. Over the years reports had been received that this would be difficult, if not impossible. Several contacts were made without success, and as my visit neared an end, it began to appear that the meeting would not be possible. On arriving at my Hotel in London from a trip to Scotland, however, a note was waiting for me with the message, "Please call Mr. Torch". The following Tuesday we met for lunch at Verrey's in Regent Street for two hours of delightful conversation. I was accompanied by Frank Killinger who was in London for the summer.

Mr. Torch was very gracious, hospitable and kind and proved to be as I had expected, a very warm, generous and considerate person. Above all he was forthright in his opinions and is truly an individual musically. The meeting was the highlight of the entire trip — without exception.

He gave us his approval of the reissue of his organ recordings on Doric label, and offered his help in any way possible. At a later meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Killinger, he provided many pictures from his personal collection for our use.

(K) You started playing professionally at 14?

(T) I got myself a job when I was 14 by attending an audition for orchestras in a very large complex of London restaurants run by the well known firm Lyons. They must have built lots of restaurants; 3, 4, 5 floors of restaurants, always on the corner and they were called Lyons Corner Houses. Of course, we used to have nonstop music for nine hours a day on every floor. Therefore, we used to have three bands on every floor and if there were four floors, they employed twelve orchestras. Each orchestra was about twelve or fifteen strong. It was a pretty large employment of musicians. Mind you, the pay was very, very poor in those days. I gave an audition as a pianist in one of these things. I had a black jacket, striped trousers, a bowler hat and an umbrella. I was only 14. I thought myself quite a guy because I looked older. There were about 300 musicians applying for jobs and the audition piece was Tchaikowsky's 1812 Overture. I played rather well as a child, so I rattled off everybody's cues. I played the violin part, the bassoon part, the tuba part, all on the piano. I wasn't popular but I got the job. That's how I started. I was one week out of school and I got five pounds a week. In those days, that was a lot of money.

(K) Did they have any sort of a musicians union at that time?

(T) Not as effective as they are today. Today, of course, it's 100% closed shop as it is in the States. In other words, if you're not a member you don't play. But in those days there were two unions. There was one which was called the Normal Average Player and there was another one called the Association which was only intended for the better players, the top players who commanded all the best work. Ifyou belonged to the Normal Union, the musicians union, you were less of a performer. It was a sort of snob value of course. If you were a member of the Association you could get five shillings extra, you know, this sort of thing. But, of course, that's all done away with now, there's no such thing. Everyone belongs to the same union.

I did all sorts of things. I went on tour with a musical comedy to play the piano and this is where I first got my appetite for conducting. One evening the manager of the company came to me and said that Jack (that was the conductor) is sick, you're conducting tonight, and vanished, you know, like that! That's how I became a conductor. I don't remember much about it. I just remember going there and the entire orchestra saying to me: go on, you can do it. I was about 16. But I just had to do it. Everything was red. I remember there was a red stage with red people on it and red music in front of it and a red orchestra to the left and right of it. Sounds like the charge of the Light Brigade, doesn't it. But we must have all finished together. To this day I couldn't tell you what happened. I was unconscious then, I still am. But that's how I became a conductor.

(K) A conductor has special frustrations. When you get a large orchestra and everybody's not doing their bit because maybe they're not feeling up to it, you suffer accordingly. Right?

(T) Part of your job is to make them do their bit. Of course, you can't always get the same degree of good performance. To get a good performance not only must you be feeling well and up to performing yourself, but every individual member of the orchestra must be feeling fit as well. Then you may get a good performance. But if there are 100 people in the orchestra, the chances are against you getting this thing. But it does happen and you operate that anything over 50% is good. If you go below 50%, this is when you've got a dud in front of you. And of course, we are all human, we can all make mistakes, and sometimes if you're feeling exceptionally well and on top of the performance you become rash. This is when you do make mistakes.

After I had this taste of conducting, I had an offer to play the piano in the cinema in the days of silent films. It was a very large orchestra in the largest cinema in London. Most of the people who played in this orchestra in those days, if they are still alive, are stars in their own right. We've all got a feeling towards stars. We had one of the first Wurlitzer organs in England or inBritain in that cinema.

(W) What cinema was that?

(T) A cinema named the Broad which was in a suburb of London called Stratford, in East London. It had something like about 3,000 seats in the days when most cinemas were 400 or 500 seats. The first one of the very, very large cinemas. Anyway, we had an American organist named Archie Parkhouse, who was a demonstrator for the Wurlitzer Organ Company and had been sent over by Wurlitzer to England for the installation of this organ and to demonstrate how it should be played and to teach English people how to play it. He said to me, "Why don't you learn to play the cinema organs." So I said, "Well, I don't know how." He said, "Well, you ought to because I've seen talkies come in the States and I'm sure they are coming over here and you'll be out of a job." I said, "Well, I don't want to be out of a job. How do you do it?" He said, "Sit down here, put your hands on there, put your feet on there and I'll be back in 10 minutes, I'm going for a smoke." The film was running and there I was stuck with an organ which I didn't know how to play. Sure enough, the orchestra did get the sack, and I was kept on as assistant organist, I used to stay there night after night, hours and hours of practice and experiment — that's how I learned the organ. No one taught me, I learned it by necessity.

In those days we used to have two organists because we used to sit there waiting for the film to break down, so that you could jump in quickly and play something. But there was a snag to it. You know, Wurlitzer organs or in fact any cinema organ has to have an electric motor to give the necessary power to the keyboard and the pipes. Ifthis motor is allowed to run for an unlimited amount of time, it burns out like any electrical motor. So you have to switch it off. Of course, in the way of the world, every time you switch it off the film broke down. Every time you let the motor run the film didn't break down, so in the end the management decided it was a waste of time having a second organist because sure enough as soon as he switched off the motor the film broke down. By the time it was running again the film had restarted. So they said to me, "You're finishing at the end of the month."

Archie Parkhouse, this American — very kind to me, said "Don't worry, I'll give you an introduction to some of my friends." He sent me to see them and the organist at what was then the Regal Marble Arch which today is the Odeon Marble Arch. A very famous cinema in the old days, it was so elegant that all the linkmen and the reception men inside wore powdered wigs and white stockings, in the manner of footmen. He sent me to see the organist there, a very famous man, the late Quentin Maclean. He gave me a letter of introduction to Maclean. I went to the stage door and said I wanted to see Maclean. The stagedoor keeper said, "You can't. He doesn't see anybody without an appointment." I left the letter and when I went back, the receptionist called me over and said, "You're wanted on the phone." It was Quentin Maclean who said to me, "Why didn't you wait and see me." I said, "The stagedoor keeper told me to go away." He said, "I badly want to see you. Can you come back?" I went back and he said to me, "Look, I've got to go to Dublin to open a new cinema and I badly need someone to fill my place while I'm away. Can you do it?" I said, "Yes." He said, "Come back at 11:00 tonight and I'll show you how this organ works." It was the biggest organ in England. Five manuals. Frightened the life out of me. He showed me how to play it and I stayed there all night. The next day they offered me the job as pianist and assistant organist. So I wasn't out of work again. Mind you, I don't think this is talent, I don't think it is luck. It's a combination of talent and luck but the other thing was that I was prepared to sit there all night and practice until I had mastered it.

(K) You had tremendous self discipline on that.

(T) Not only self discipline. It was my main chance. I wanted to succeed. If you want to succeed you can. That's how I became an organist.

(W) How long were you there?

(T) 1928 to 1933 or 1934. About 6 years. I was assistant to Quentin Maclean then I was assistant to his successor who was Reginald Foort. When Reggie Foort left I was given the job. In those days. I used to do organ broadcasts twice a week, three quarters of an hour each one. Twice a week, 52 weeks a year, broadcast all over the world. Today everything is recorded in advance. In those days we used to broadcast on what is now called the BBC Wurlitzer. I used to get up at 2:00 in the morning, go down to the theatre, broadcast, come home again. You didn't go by your time, you went by the time of the country of reception. If you were broadcasting to a country which was eight hours behind, that was just too bad.

(W) Was it during this period you made your first cinema organ record?

(T) The first cinema organ record I made, two records, I think or three, I'm not certain were on a label called Regal Zonophone.

(W) How did this come about?

(T) Columbia used to record the orchestra of the Regal Marble Arch. I had to do an arrangement for a record and the arrangement was a selection from the music of the "King of Jazz" which had never been known in this country - brand new. Shows you how far back that is. I was given the sheet music, the American copies of the sheet music, to make a selection. Anyway, I did, and we recorded it. The Columbia manager, A and R man said, "That's a good arrangement. Who did that?" Somebody said, "He did." So he came up to me and said, "I'm going to do things for you. You're playing the organ too, eh? Would you like to make records?" I said, "Of course." That's how I got a record. From there I graduated to Columbia and then I graduated to Decca after that.

(W) What was your next organ post after the Regal Marble Arch from which I understand the organ is now removed, unfortunately.

{T) A very famous cinema in North London called the Regal Edmonton. They opened that and they offered me the job so I went there. Then after that I went on tours opening up new cinemas along the way. I went finally to the State Kilburn which was the biggest Wurlitzer in the country. I opened that and stayed there until the war came. Then I went into the RAF and stopped playing the organ.

(K) You did some fantastic records on that Regal Edmonton (Christie organ).

(T) You think so. I look back on them now and I think they're pretty corny compared to what could have been done.

(K) You may think so, sir, but we in the States think differently. There isn't anyone in the States, past or present, that has equaled the records you made on the Edmonton or the Kilburn.

(T) That sounds very nice. I wish I thought that too. I listen to them very occasionally. About once every 5 years I take one out and play it and then I blush and put them back again — quickly, I don't think they are nearly as good as they should have been. They may have been advanced for those days.

(K) They were. Well advanced. But they still stand up today.

(T) Yes, but technically, I think they sort of fell between lack of ideas and too many ideas. In other words, they came halfway between that. In some instances when I look back on them I think to myself, why didn't I think of doing so and so. And then I look back and I say why did I attempt to do so. It was a dangerous life you know.

(K) Like the "Flying Scotsman".

(T) It was made up on the spur of the moment.

(K) That was a fantastic record.

(T) Yes, but you see there is no tune there at all. It's just a couple of traditional Scottish tunes put together. And the whole thing is a fix.

(K) Right, but it just flows like water.

(T) Well, it's made up. It's improvisation. Every time I played it, it was different, because it simply had the tune of Loch Lomond or Annie Laurie, then I improvised on that. This was not difficult.

(W) Weren't most of these recordings your arrangements?

(T) Oh, every one of them were my arrangements but they were not written down. They were practiced until they were in my head.

(W) The only record, sir, that I have broken in my collection, and I have several thousand records, was your recording on Columbia, "Teddy Bear's Picnic". I had a very dear cat that became frightened and knocked it off the table.

(T) The cat shows remarkable taste.

(K) I have a complete collection of your records, except the Zonophones.

(T) They are not good. These were very early days when I was experimenting and when the recording companies were experimenting. You know, the ultimate recording of a cinema organ has never been mastered to the extent of recording an orchestra. I believe that Jesse Crawford finally made records in a sound proof chamber with no sound except what he got through the can (headphones). He couldn't hear the pipes because they were outside. Is this so? I have been told this.

(K) I don't know. He did a lot of recording in North Tonawanda.

(W) No. Not the recordings.

(K) He did the player rolls in North Tonawanda.

(W) He recorded basically on five organs. The Paramount studio, the earlier style F in the Wurlitzer hall in New York, the Special style 260 in Chicago and a style E on which he made Valencia with 7 ranks.

(T) You're much more learned about cinema organs than I am. I had forgotten all this.

(W) I have one in my home, 2 manual, 14 ranks. Two Tibias, a Wurlitzer Musette.

(T) I wouldn't have thought, judging by your appearances, you live as dangerously as all that. And you play it yourself?

(W) Strictly for my own amazement.

(T) Well, that's the only way to do it. It's a very dangerous instrument because it is the easiest thing on the cinema organ to be vulgar. It's also terribly simple to be loud. The difficulty of playing the cinema organ is to restrain yourself and show good taste.

(W) Mr. Torch, you have just reiterated what I've been trying to say for so many years.

(T) Well, I'm honored that we think alike, but I am sure it's true.

(K) Crawford has this feeling.

(W) Precisely right!

(T) Have you ever played any of the British organs, Compton or Christie?

(W) Yes, it has been my pleasure to have done that this visit, about 24 of them.

(T) Wild horses wouldn't make me play a cinema organ and on 24! You're a brave man.

(W) I have been down to Southhampton which I disliked with great intensity, it's a Compton. Yesterday I heard the State Kilburn which is as near our large American organs as I've heard even though it is only 16 ranks. I had a great night at the 8 rank out at Clapham. I loved the Gaumont in Manchester. The Odeon or former Paramount is a typical Publix No. 1.

(T) I like the Odeon in Manchester. It's very good. Henry Croudson used to play that. Great little organ. Most of these including the British ones always remind me of a bison getting out of the swamp. You said what a marvellous bass it had. Now this is indicative of most cinema organs. They all had a terrific rolling sound from the bottom register. There wasn't enough personality on top, registration, you know. All tended to be voiced — everything was voiced for the Tibia sound.

(W) This is right.

(T) This is why I liked playing the Regal Marble Arch, because this was limited to legitimate organ in its voicing. It had nothing to do with the action or unit system. In other words, you could get staccato authority, not only in the actual key performance but the staccato of the sound. The pipe would go ‘eep’, like that.

(W) Was that your favorite organ?

(T) No, but I think there was a lot to be said for it. It, of course, had this straight side to its nature. Most cinema organs tend to have the same sort of loud rolling noise throughout the entire arrangement of the instrument right from the 2' down to the 32' and it had this. I think although it's a necessary part of the cinema organ, it is a trap for the unwary performer. It's like having an orchestra composed of players, all of whom have a very large vibrato. Imagine all those strings vibrating together. This isn't very good. I think that the voicing over here has tended in this country to be much too sticky sentimental. At least what we care to think of as being sentimental in those days.

(K) The Regal Edmonton, on the Christie, had a lot of brilliance and snap to it.

(T) That was my voicing. In the "Bugle Call Rag", that organ goes ‘daddle daddle dup’. You try and do that on most of the Compton organs or most of the Wurlitzers in this country and it goes ‘buooh buooh go buooh’.

(W) Without tremolos, still?

(T) Makes no difference. It's the voicing of the stops and the location of the chambers. You know, in sound, I don't have to tell you in some cinemas the site of the chambers is very detrimental to the sound. You get this backwards and forwards roll. You know I haven't talked about cinema organs in 25 years.

(K) This is why we are so thrilled because you are talking about it to us.

(T) I very rarely talk about anything to do with that side of my career. I have as my orchestral pianist a very famous organist, William Davis. He is probably the best player in this country today. We sometimes talk about it and he imitates me sometimes. We have an electric organ which we use in the orchestra and when I'm least expecting it, he'll play my old signature tune. But that's the nearest I ever get to it.

(W) I heard it yesterday - Douglas Reeve at the State Kilburn programme.

(T) They don't play it like I used to. I used to do 1 or 2 glissandos. They try and do a glissando every time. We all copy Jesse Crawford who invented the glissando as far as I know.

(W) He said that he did.

(T) I believe this because I never heard it before he did it. But then like everything else in a cinema organ, it is the discretion with which you use it which is important. The trouble is this, when they finally can play loud, they play loud all the time. By the time they can do glissandos, they do them all the time. All these things are very valuable. These are the points that make up a cinema organ — the ability to do these special tricks which only a cinema organist can do. If you use them all the time, they are no longer tricks.

(K) This is where the taste comes from. This is what you had and were very advanced when you did it.

(W) If you will permit me to say so, you were so far ahead of any other artist on this instrument.

(T) I think this only proves how bad the others were. It doesn't prove that I was good.

(W) On the contrary, I believe it does prove how good you were because to this day in our opinion and those of us in America who have listened, it hasn't been touched.

(T) Is there the market and is there the opportunity today? You see, when I played it, it was at the peak of popularity. The cinema organ was something for which people actually carne to the cinema. They came to see the film, but if two cinemas had the same film, they would go to the one in which Sidney Torch was playing. Not because it was Sidney Torch but because it was a cinema organ — it was an added attraction. But is this a true thing today? People go to see a film because there is violence or sex or sadism.

(K.) But, strangely enough, even today if we get a top-rank organ, like the Fox Theatre in San Francisco a 5,000 seat house, we might fill it. George Wright gave several special performances there at which that house was packed.

(T) Yes, forgive me though, but this is a special occasion, the specialized taste, but if he were running three performances or four performances a day, seven days a week, and George Wright appeared every day, would this mean a difference? That's the point I'm trying to make. You see, in the day I played this was an asset - it meant something. People went because somebody was playing the organ at a specific place. But today they won't do this. Therefore, it is very difficult, if not impossible, certainly unfair, to compare the two days. I have had many, many years of people writing to rne and say, "Play again, record again." But I don't believe myself that that justifies the concept. I think it is probably better to be a legend in somebody else's mind and I think if they heard me today they wouldn't think as much of me as they did when I was there. Of course, it's something I won't buy. I don't subscribe to it; I don't think I was good. I think I was disappointing. Mind you, I've got grey hairs now and I'm not perhaps as sharply defined, I feel, and this is what in retrospect I see as missing. But then I was young and my only excuse is that because I was young I didn't have the right idea.

(K) Well, you had the right ideas all right, because as Judd said, they were so far advanced than anything else we made at that time.

(T) I suppose you've got to judge it by the context of what happens every day. But I think myself that most people made up for talent with sheer noise that they loudly passed as a substitute. And they became vulgar because of this. It was so easy to be vulgar, it is so easy to be loud.

(W) The organ became their master instead of them mastering the instrument. This happens today.

(T) Well you know, it's very, very true the second loudest noise you can make is silence. If you have a terrific crash the next loudest thing is to stop entirely and make everybody wait for it — and then silence, the impact is almost as great as the loud sound.

(W) They don't know when to take their hands off the keys. We wish we had some of your orchestral music available on radio in the States.

(T) Yes, well you see, these things are a matter of commercial assessment, in the first instance. The rate of pay for orchestral musicians throughout the world is very, very high now, so therefore, the initial cost of making tapes of orchestral music is exceptionally high. And no company will set up to do this unless it is assured of a reasonable risk in getting at least a return and at the best a profit. Now, as you must know (you are in the recording business), classics are duds, as you buy a subsidy. It's the subsidy on the pop records that pay for the other side and in the end it's all a figure in the books, isn't it? It depends on which side of the ledger you are going to put these things on.

(W) That's right.

(K) How did they record your organ records? I understand they had a van that went around to the theatres.

(T) Yes, they had a recording van which they would bring around and go up on the roof. With a bit of rope, they would hang a microphone, let it dangle down and trust their luck. If it didn't go right we would all break for a half an hour while the rope was shifted to another place. This happened on every session. No one ever found the right place for the microphone because it entirely depended on what you were playing and the registration. Of course, I am not an expert on microphones although I've spent my life recording, but it seems to me that we have lost this thing of having one microphone balance the sound as it is played in the studio or in the home, from the viewpoint of one pair of ears. After that I am fully in accord with boosting this or boosting that for the purposes of getting something mechanical to sound as if it were live. Today they have 27 microphones. Everybody has a microphone. But there's no one microphone that gives you the overall sound. This is the one thing, of course, we used to try and do with the cinema organ, but if you played quietly it was too far away, and if you played loudly it was too near. If you used the reeds it was too violent; if you used the flutes it was too mellow. You were always in trouble; the engineer was always coming to say "Can you boost bar so and so; can you take down bar so and so". You never played as you really wanted to, because in those days we didn't have the ability to record four bars and cut it in. It was all wax and you had to start from the beginning to the end, what is more, when the van came out there was only storage space for 70 waxes and the hot cupboard. As you know, the waxes had to be kept at a set temperature. So that you would get this thing; the telephone would ring, the recording engineer would say to you, "You had better be good this time because this is the last wax!" If you didn't get that one right your session was over and you got nothing. As you didn't make anything except royalties, it was up to you to see that it was in the can.

How you manage today is quite a different matter. You go in there for the whole day and you record four bars at a time and then you fake it out. You would have what, seven channels, eight channels. We had one channel and the wax and the diamond would cut it like that. We used to blow the needle, blow away the surface wax, and off you'd go. And if someone came into the theatre and dropped a pail (one of the cleaners came in while we were recording and dropped a pail). People used to come in the middle of a record and say. "Hey, where is the gas meter?" Or the electric meter.

(K) How many takes, may I ask you, did you have to do on the average number?

(T) Very difficult to say. You see, in those days, we used to make at the most three waxes in a four hour session. Frequently we only got two. Shall we say that the van carried perhaps twenty waxes?

(K) Probably, Yes.

(T) So you might get perhaps six or eight, or even ten takes, frequently you would only get the first half a minute and the batter would go. "Sorry, the needle jumped". The wax has got a pop in it, you know, a bubble or something like that. You might touch something. A cinema organ can be very difficult you know, you touch it with your cuff, something squeals. It has to be played like that. It has to all be done away from the keys.

(K) Because I listen to those, and I never know a clinker, I never knew a wrong note.

(T) Well, the whole point is you don't expect to hear a wrong note or a click or something on any other form of recording. You choose to comment upon the cinema organ in this way because you are used to hearing that performance and you hear clinks and long notes and stumbles that you shouldn't hear. There is no reason at all why the thing shouldn't be played well, but it requires good players.

(W) Your work on the State Kilburn was rnarvellous.

(T) Well, that was the highest point I reached, really in technique, but it still was unsatisfactory. It had a terrific lag, you know. The distance from the console to the chambers was something like about 80 or 90 feet. The lag was such that it was quite a second or two, so you had to play purely by touch. You didn't listen. You must learn to keep tempo despite it. For a stranger it can be terrible. But then it is part and parcel of the technique of playing this instrument. If you are not prepared for a lag in sound you shouldn't play the cinema organ — or any organ. It is an instrument that lags behind the actual execution. Its very nature is such. And over the distance it travels from where you actually touch the keys to where the pipe speaks and to when it comes back to ears. This is what is so frightening about electronic organs today. They are quicker than you can play. Everybody can play fast now. The thing to do is to play fast. I don't think you should confuse good playing with technique. It's rather like confusing good driving with speed, you know? I mean, just because you drive fast you're not a good driver.

(W) Mr. Torch, may I say you are one of the most modest individuals I have met.

(T) Nonsense, I'm a realist. It isn't a question of being modest. I don't think myself or anyone has achieved the high standard of performance that can be achieved on that instrument; Idon't think there has been enough time, effort or money devoted to it. The State Kilburn had more service time and more practice time devoted to it than any other organ in the country. The tuner, the service man lived with that organ 24 hours a day — lived around the comer. You could always get a thing put right or improved, the balance, the weight on the tremolos, which were always being remounted. We were always searching for the ultimate. Should we shift this reed an eighth of an inch or not? I think it would go much further than that, but it takes time and money and patience.

(K) Which of the theatre organs did you like best of those you played?

(T) The Wurlitzer, Gaumont State Kilburn. I had more say in that organ than any. This was the best achievement I think, that Wurlitzer had over here. It was the keenest, cleanest sounding organ in this country.

(W) What was the date of finality of your work on cinema organs?

(T) 1939-40. It was in the first six months of the war.

(K) Then you went in the Air Force?

(T) Right. I could see when I was in there that there was no possibility of cinema organs ever being revived again. It was obvious.

(W) May I interject, sir. What is your definition of good musicianship? — Artistry in music?

(T) I don't think it can be defined!

(W) May I ask a very personal question? Do you feel you have musicianship in your work with the orchestra and —

(T) Not by any means enough. Ah, I'm not, I hope, as vulgar as most of the people who delve in music. And that is especially what it is for. I've yet to hear someone who wasn't vulgar. See, they play wrong harmonies, wrong tempos, wrong rhythms, wrong melodies. Organists seem to have a fixed idea in their head that anything can be juggled because they are playing the cinema organ. You don't have to play four beats in a bar because the composer said so. You can play five because it's cinema organ. You don't have to play a chord of C major. You can play F major if you like, because it's cinema organ. You don't have to play the right pedal note, you can play any pedal note you like because it's a cinema organ. You couldn't do any of these things if you were playing some cathedral? I'm forever damned in my opinion of other cinema organists, aren't I? You see, here is the ultimate proof of what I have been saying. Right! You have to take the uppermost out of the orchestra; you have to take stops out of the orchestra purely and simply to protect the listener. This is the wrong way to protect the listener. You should protect the listener by ensuring that the person who uses the instrument has sufficient savvy, good taste, whatever it is to be able to have these things but not to use them all the time.

(K) It's like giving a brain surgeon's kit to a boy.

(T) It's maddening! Your words are final proof of what I have tried to say. This instrument has been badly performed by people who shouldn't be given the opportunity to use it. This doesn't apply to everybody. Of course,there are good performers. I don't even know their names today. There always will be good performers but they are the very tiniest minority. This applies to painting or anything else.

(W)May I say, realizing that you have to get on, that I deeply appreciate this opportunity to meet you, sir.

(T) It was very nice and I've enjoyed it very much.

 Editor: Sidney Torch mentioned his first arrangement – "King of Jazz" – on Columbia DX 72, recorded in 1930 at the Regal Cinema, Marble Arch. This is included on the recent Guild Light Music CD "British Cinema and Theatre Orchestras" – GLCD5108. A few parts of the published interview have been omitted for space considerations, but other editing has been minimal.

This article appeared in "Journal Into Melody" June/July 2005.

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Talk about being in the presence of the Top Brass! (writes FORREST PATTEN). We’re not talking about military officers or corporate management here; but simply two of the finest trumpet masters to ever grace the concert stage and recording studio. Pete Candoli will forever be associated with his blazing solos in the Woody Herman and Henry Mancini organizations. Uan Rasey’s masterful playing can be heard in a host of blockbuster motion pictures from An American In Paris to the solitary trumpet featured in the late Jerry Goldsmith’s score to the film Chinatown. Frank Comstock arranged our meeting (as a part of Frank’s Summit) on the morning of September 8, 2004. We met at Uan Rasey’s home in the Laurel Canyon area near Studio City, Califoria. Once again, RFS member Rob Keil joined us for the gathering and participated in the following interview.




FP: Gentlemen, I’d like to welcome you to our interview today and start out with a question for Pete Candoli. I heard this famous story about you when you were with the Woody Herman band. Dressed in a Superman costume, you leaped over the band (on stage) and performed quite a trumpet solo on that great Herman hit "Apple Honey." Tell us about that.

PC: This is funny. I used to work out all the time in at Sid Klein’s gym in New York.

You’d see these guys with 52-inch chests. I used to be there all the time. They must have thought that I was high or something because I’d always be jumping around. I was just a health nut at that time. I was inspired by Uan (Rasey) the first time I met him. I was in high school at the time and would spend the summer months playing with the Sonny Dunham orchestra. That’s where I met Uan. He was one of the first true health food nuts! He had a bag of carrots and celery that he’d carry around all day. You know, natural foods. I thought that this guy was pretty weird! He played first trumpet then, but it wasn’t until later that everyone realized how good this man really is. I sincerely mean that. Uan’s probably the finest trumpet teacher that this town has ever seen. He’s also a composer and many other things. Anyway, they called me Superman in Woody’s band because I could open windows that nobody else could lift up, things like that. So they thought I should wear a Superman suit as a part of the act. They made me a costume complete with cape. Woody wanted me to come out at the end of "Apple Honey." That was a great Herd arrangement. We had fine players like Neil Hefti, Bill Harris, and many others at the time. During the last chorus (before the finale) I’d play a trumpet break and jump on-stage while ripping my suit off to reveal this Superman outfit underneath. One time I had this cable attached (because I’d jump off of a seven-foot platform) and it malfunctioned! Chubby Jackson was announcing over the microphone "It’s Superman!" I was supposed fly out towards the audience. Somehow the cable pulled me side-to-side across the stage and I (while holding this Superman pose) ended up hitting my head on a wall and bouncing back to the middle of the stage. I had to blow the horn after that! That’s when I told Woody that the act was over. There was danger in that act! They wrote a tune for me called "Superman With A Horn" that I performed at Carnegie Hall.

FP: There’s an album that I’ve always considered to be the epitome of great trumpet virtuosity. You both played on it. It’s called TUTTI’S TRUMPETS conducted by Tutti Camarata. What do you remember about those sessions?

PC: Uan was a lead player on that album. Mannie Klein and Shorty Sherock were there.

UR: And Conrad Gozzo. Pete had some great solos on that record. That was a lot of fun. It’s just been re-issued on CD.

PC: It’s been a wonderful ride and it still is. I guess at this point, I’m too nervous to steal so I’ve got to keep playing!

FP: And, of course, there was all of your fine work with Henry Mancini.

PC: Hank was a piano player with the Glenn Miller band after the service. He’d sit there and daydream. He was like the Gordon Jenkins of the piano. He’d "plink" something here and "plink" something there. He was a wonderful guy and a wonderful friend. I love all of the great things he has written.

UR: I’ve got to tell you a story. I was on a record date along with Conrad Gozzo and Pete. I’m telling you, Pete did everything for Hank. And you know the kind of jazz he plays. We’re making the first take and Barney Kessell yells out "Pete! Pete! I know why you stopped playing. The way that you were playing, you were headed right for Do."

PC: Barney was one of the funniest guys. He did about three or four albums with my brother Conte.

FP: I’m very curious about your particular style of trumpet playing. When I think of those players who really hit those "high" notes, the names Cat Anderson, Maynard Ferguson and Bud Brisbois come to mind. How hard was it to reach those notes?

PC: I don’t remember. I just did it. I think a lot of the notes were written. I never considered myself a "screamer", unlike Maynard who’s a wonderful player. I never screamed to be screaming unless there was a need to be on top of the band following the last chorus or something.

UR: But Pete was one of the great lead players, too. I’ve worked with quite a few of these guys, but they don’t quite match the quality of Pete as a lead player.

PC: The best album I’ve ever been involved with (featuring brass and rhythm) was Bob Bain’s album with pianist Junior Mance. They had bent notes like you’ve never heard. That’s my all-time favorite. You can’t fake those notes. You either have them or you don’t. I remember talking to Billy May, He said that good players will unconsciously land on the right notes in the chord and it will just feel good. They won’t have to play louder or softer. A good note will have the substance in a chord or a phrase. Billy knew that right away. He was such a natural and one of my favorites.

FP: Pete, did you prefer the live performances of the big band era, or the work in the recording studios for motion pictures and television?

PC: Everything has its purpose and everything is great in its own way. It’s wonderful what they did with the motion picture orchestras, The composer Hugo Friedhoffer was a dear friend. He was right up there with Robert Farnon. I was amazed with the artistry of these composers. I always considered myself just an instrumentalist.

RK: I’m a big Henry Mancini and Billy May fan so meeting the two of you is a big thrill for me. When working with Mancini or May, they obviously picked you because you had something special that they heard. When playing for them, how much was actually written out versus how much did they actually let you improvise on your solos?

PC: With Hank, he’d let me go most of the time. Except there would be a few instances where he’d say, "Pete, this scene is kind of easy so stay in bounds on this one." I said "OK", because I knew exactly what he meant. There was no reason to "go outside" because I knew what the content of the compositions were. Most of the time, though, he’d let me go where I wanted to go on the solos. I had a lot of freedom. I was really thrilled to be able to work with people like Nelson Riddle, Don Costa and Frank Comstock.

FP: Pete, do you have a comment or two about Robert Farnon?

PC: Well, I’ve known about Robert Farnon for as long as I’ve known about Hugo Friedhoffer and others. I knew his brother Brian quite well. He had a band up in Reno and is a fine musician and a wonderful guy. Of course, Bob headed over to England and has been there a long time. We sure miss him around here! To me, he’s one of the great pinnacles and always has been. He introduced so many nuances in music that you have to stop and ask "what went by there?" when you listen to his music.

UR: He’s very close to Conrad Salinger who, I believe, is still one of the very best. I don’t mean to offend Bob when I say that. I worked a lot with Salinger when I was at MGM.

FP: Are there any brass players from today’s generation that you particularly like?

PC: Yes. Arturo Sandoval. He’s one of Uan’s students and always calls on him when he’s in town. Uan’s one of the finest teachers around.

UR: The mediocrity of the music business came with the guitar thing back in the late 50’s. People who knew nothing about music (or how to play an instrument) were, all of a sudden, making half a million dollars a year from record deals. You just can’t fight that. It just went downhill after that.

PC: To me, it doesn’t matter. It became a commodity. People ended up making millions who were not even connected with the music business! It’s a different business altogether really. In rap, all you need is a couple of bongo players in the background while a DJ creates scratching sounds on his turntable and another guy warbles some lyrics.

UR: We did a parody record with Stan Freberg. Billy May would tell Stan to "mumble more." Stan would just repeat "baby, baby" during the whole take! It was hilarious. I was very close to Billy. He didn’t like artificial sound in the recording studios. With the proper microphone placements, he wanted to hear the band (on the recording) just as he heard it from the podium. He didn’t feel comfortable with the engineers who wanted to artificially "sweeten" a session.

PC: At least in the school system where they have stage bands, they have various degrees for instrumentalists. That’s our saving grace. 

At that time, Pete Condoli had to leave for an outside appointment. We continued our interview with Uan Rasey.  

FP: Uan, your bio lists so many famous films that you’ve worked on. There were all of those great MGM musicals starting in 1947.

UR: I was really being auditioned at the time on different musicals with different leaders. They didn’t like the way that Raphael Mendez played classical or jazz. That was unfortunate because he was a great player. One day there was a big argument between Miklos Rosza and Raphael Mendez about making something a little bit smoother. Rosza wanted some vibrato and Mendez couldn’t seem to get what he wanted. They asked me to play it and apparently they liked it. We did the picture ON THE TOWN and Lennie Hayton seemed to like what I did with the jazz parts. I stayed at MGM for 35 years.

FP: Tell us about some of the films you’ve worked on.

UR: You know, I was never really of fan of films. Other guys would come home with a copy of this or a copy of that. It was just work as far as I was concerned. I was more fascinated with the craftsmen on the lot who would build the miniature ships or the locomotives. For some reason, I enjoyed the work a lot, but I never really retained a personal interest in the films themselves. I think my family was rather disappointed that I didn’t have that much to talk about!

FP: How about your solo on AN AMERICAN IN PARIS.

UR: The first time, I read through it straight. Then Gene Kelly came over and said, "Sexy. Play it sexy." So I played what I thought was "sexy." I got a screen credit for my efforts in that film which was rather unheard of in those days.

FP: We know that Gene Kelly had a lot of input into the choreography of a film. How much input did he have in the actual musical side?

UR: Gene was the type of guy who’d be willing to change things for a dance sequence where Fred (Astaire) had to have it one way and that was it. I remember one time that we had a four bar break and Fred came in wrong. The 50-piece band was right but Fred insisted they were wrong. Gene would have simply laughed about it and gone on. He might have wanted to add a shake here or leave something out. He might have wanted to emphasize something or completely change a step altogether. If we came up with a phrase or something that would prove a little jazzier during the rehearsal, Gene would say "Try it." We had to be cautious when adding these bits and pieces because the conductor, Johnny Green, knew very little about jazz and had his own way of interpreting it.

FP: When you did the scoring at MGM, did they always pre-record the tracks and have a playback on the set for the singers and actors?

UR: Yes. You pre-recorded everything and they could sweeten it later if they wanted to. They’d have a playback on the set when they were actually shooting the sequences.

FP: Jumping a head a few years, tell about your work on the film CHINATOWN with the late Jerry Goldsmith. The trumpet solo actually carries the whole score.

UR: There were 40 strings, four pianos, four drummers and one trumpet player. That was it. I had no idea what the picture was about. Arranger Arthur Morton told me to play it sexy but like it’s not good sex! That was his interpretation of it. It was well written, though.

FP: Let’s talk about your work for Capitol Records. I remember hearing you all over the place on many of the Glen Gray Casa Loma Band releases. Did Glen actually conduct those sessions.

UR: Those were a lot of fun. No, Glen did no conduct. His arrangers did and were very inept. We really had to clean up his arrangement of Benny Goodman’s "Let’s Dance." It took us something like two hours to do it and it was chaotic. Jack Marshall was waiting in the wings to bring in the arrangement he had put together for the group. He came in and, facing the band, asked that he be shown the same respect as the previous arranger! Everyone had a good laugh over that.

FP: You were on the Capitol album SOLO SPOTLIGHT that was Glen Gray’s tribute to composer Victor Young.

UR: I worked with Victor going back to the radio days. He was not only a fine writer, but a fine conductor. In reality, he’d rather be playing poker than rehearsing. But he was a great technician.

FP: You’ve obviously had fun over the years.

UR: I remember Billy May would turn to all of us and say "Cheer down everyone! Cheer down!" I was always surrounded by guys who’d like to laugh and would have a great sense of humor. People like Bob Bain, Shelly Manne, Frank Comstock, Jack Marshall, and Joe Howard.

RK: I’ve always been a big fan of Billy May. I’ve heard that he would come into a session with an armload of music. The band would go through one score and move onto the next one almost immediately.

UR: Billy really didn’t like to rehearse much. Many times, he’d have an arranger working on a chart almost up to the last minute. He’d say let’s go through it once and, if the music was OK, then let’s record it. The only difference was when Billy was working on Bing Crosby’s show. Billy really enjoyed classical music. Back in 1948, I brought back over 40 scores from Boosey & Hawkes in London. He liked seeing what the great classical composers had written. On Wednesday we’d rehearse all of Bing’s numbers for the show and have the actual dress rehearsal on Thursday morning. Following that, the orchestra would play from charts that Billy had written. I remember he once did a chart of the third movement from Mahler’s Sixth Symphony. He wrote it backwards and it took him two-to-three hours to write it all out (longer than it took him to write out anything for Bing). He did it just to see what the piece would sound like in reverse! We played it through with a 40-piece orchestra. He’d write things out just like that and for fun. It would take him three or four hours to write these things, but it would only take an hour or less to write Bing’s numbers. Bill Finnegan composed the beautiful "Serenade In Blue" for Glenn Miller. However, the night before they were going to rehearse it, he hadn’t written an intro for it. Glenn decided to hold a contest among his arrangers to see who could come up with the best intro. Besides Bill Finnegan, there was Jerry Gray and Billy May. Billy’s intro won and the rest, as they say, is history.

FP: Uan, on behalf of all of us associated with the Robert Farnon Society, thanks for a great interview.

UR: My pleasure. It’s been fun.

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In September, 2004, a musical reunion took place in Southern California reports FORREST PATTEN. This event reunited a group of some of the most accomplished and talented composers, arrangers and players in the business. Organized by staunch RFS member composer-arranger Frank Comstock, "Frank’s summit," as we affectionately dubbed it, proved to be a marvellous opportunity for old friends to come together and to share memorable stories of the music business.

In order not to miss an opportunity like this, Nancy and I packed our bags and recording gear and headed to The Sportsmen’s Lodge, a venerable meeting establishment and resort located in Studio City. Our good friend and recent RFS member, Rob Keil, flew down for the day to join the festivities and to assist us in our quest: to obtain a series of exclusive interviews on behalf of the Robert Farnon Society. Starting with this issue of Journal Into Melody, we’d like to present the first of those interviews.

Van Alexander has had a wonderful musical life. He literally was responsible for the launch of Ella Fitzgerald’s career by co-writing and arranging her big hit "A Tisket A Tasket". He wrote a book on arranging and has counted Johnny Mandel as one of his students. He has provided numerous orchestral backings and arrangements for the likes of Gordon MacRae and a host of other Capitol Records recording artists. He has scored a number of memorable films and television shows, including Dean Martin’s long-time NBC variety series. He’s also released a series of popular recordings featuring his own orchestra. Here’s Van’s story.

Van, who will turn 90 this year, shows no sign of slowing down. He recently completed some big band charts on behalf of pianist Michael Feinstein for a Carnegie Hall concert. EMI in the UK has recently re-issued two of his popular Capitol albums on a single CD. He’s won numerous awards and is very grateful for all of the good that’s come his way. In Van’s own words: "It’s been a wonderful ride." I have a feeling that this ride is far from over. It’s like the best "E Ticket" ride at Disneyland!


Interviewed by FORREST PATTEN

 Forrest Patten: Van Alexander, on behalf of the Robert Farnon Society, I’d like to thank you for joining us today for this very special interview. I think our readers would be interested in the story behind your tune "A Tisket A Tasket" for Ella Fitzgerald and Chick Webb’s band.

Van Alexander: It was the luckiest thing that happened in my career. Pure luck. I was arranging for Chick’s band. In 1938 they were playing at Levaggi’s Restaurant in Boston and were also on the air three or four times a week nationwide. Naturally, all of the music publishers were after Chick to play all the current hits. He was loading me up two or three weeks ahead of time with writing assignments. I was doing three arrangements a week plus the copying. Ella had recently joined the band and I was doing all of her early Decca arrangements. One day she said "Gee, I’ve got a great idea for a tune. Why don’t you try to work up something on the old nursery rhyme "A Tisket A Tasket." I said, "That’s a great idea, Ella. Let me think about it." But I didn’t have time the first week. When I came to Boston with my arrangements, she asked me if I had thought about the tune. I said, "Yeah I did, Ella. Maybe next week I’ll have something." Next week arrived and I still didn’t have anything. Now she got a little testy with me. She said, "If you don’t want to do it, just tell me and I’ll ask Edgar Sampson." He was the first saxophone player in the band and a wonderful arranger. So I said, "Hold the phone, Ella. Don’t ask Edgar. I’ll get to it." The song is an old nursery rhyme that was in the public domain. Anybody could have written an arrangement for it. What I did was to put it into a 32-bar song and added all of the novelty things. I took it to Boston. They rehearsed it that day and put it on the air that night. Robbins Music Publishing had a man in Boston named Leo Talent. He called Abe Olman (who was a big man at Robbins) and told him to "tape this thing off the air tonight and see what you think." Well, everybody raved about it. Two weeks later, they recorded it at Decca and it became #1 on the Lucky Strike Hit Parade show for 19 weeks. The real irony of the story is that in 1986 (almost 50 years later) because of that record, Ella, Chick and I were inducted into the Grammy Hall Of Fame. That’s the story. If I hadn’t have done it, Edgar Sampson (or somebody else) would have ended up doing it. It was Ella’s idea. She changed a lot of the lyrics. It was a happy marriage. It was really her entry into the business, as well as mine, too. Chick Webb was just starting to make it, but he didn’t last long enough. He was quite ill and was unable to really cash in on "A Tisket A Tasket."

FP: Let’s go back to your beginning on the East Coast. You were influenced by some of the great Black bands and Black musicians of the day. Tell us about that time in your life.

VA: As a teenager, a lot of us were so-called "jitterbugs." We loved to do the "Lindy Hop" and so-forth. The place to do it and hear some great music at the same time was in Harlem at the Savoy Ballroom. We’d go there quite often and listen to some great bands and great arrangements (which I was always interested in). After going there as often as we did, I struck up a "nodding acquaintance" with Chick Webb. One night I got up a little nerve and said, "Chick, I have a couple of arrangements at home that I think would fit your band. Are you interested?" He said, "Sure, bring them down Friday night for the rehearsal." Well, I was bluffing. I didn’t have any arrangements. I went home and scratched out "Keepin’ Out Of Mischief Now" and the old Dixieland classic "That’s A Plenty." I brought them down to the rehearsal and, unbeknownst to me, the rehearsal started after the job. They’d finish the job at one o’clock, have some Muscatel Wine or something, and they’d start rehearsing about two o’clock in the morning. There were other arrangements in line before mine. Edgar Sampson would bring something in, as would Charlie Dixson (names I would never forget). Anyhow, they got to me about four o’clock in the morning. My mother was frantic. She called the police and told them that her son was out in Harlem. She wondered what he could be doing there at 4:30 in the morning!? I was just turning 19 at the time. Chick liked the arrangements and paid me $10 each for them. He really didn’t have the money so he took an advance on his salary from Charles Buchannan (who was the manager). There were other great bands at the Savoy. There was Teddy Hill, Willie Bryant and, through Chick, I got to write for all of these bands including Louis Armstrong (who had a big band in those days). I remember rehearsing Louis in a brownstone building up in Harlem and, later on, we did some TV shows together.

FP: Let’s talk about the formation of the Van Alexander Orchestra.

VA: The advent of my orchestra came about after "A Tisket A Tasket." There was a fellow by the name of Eli Oberstein who was the head of RCA Victor Records. He had formed what he called a stable of bandleaders/song writers. He signed Larry Clinton, Les Brown, and after "A Tisket," he thought he had another one! So he signed me. My band was fair. We did well for the first couple of years. Then the war came and we couldn’t get good musicians. It sort of petered out. I had an opportunity to come to California with Bob Crosby. The Capitol Theater in New York had been doing just picture shows during the war and since the war looked as if it was going to be over soon, they reinstated their big band policy. And the first one they booked was Bob Crosby. But Bob didn’t have a band! He had just gotten out of the service. So my manager at the time, a guy named Joe Glazer, cooked up a deal where it would be "Bob Crosby and the Van Alexander Orchestra." So we had a nice four weeks at the Capitol. Bob and I had a good relationship. He asked me if I’d like to come out to the West Coast. I told him I’d think about it. As I saw the handwriting on the wall where big bands were concerned, I took him up on the opportunity. And the story unfolds from there.

FP: Besides Ella Fitzgerald, you’ve arranged and conducted for a number of very talented artists, most notable at Capitol Records. The name Gordon MacRae comes to mind.

VA: Dear Gordon had one of the most glorious voices. When he did the "Soliloquy" from ‘Carousel,’ he made it sound as if it was a "real man" singing it. Gordon had just finished doing his two big pictures (Oklahoma and Carousel) and then there was a lull. Nothing was coming his way, partly because (in Hollywood) he was considered to be a kind of "Peck’s Bad Boy." He got a bit of a reputation in Hollywood and producers were a little bit afraid. He did one picture after those two blockbusters, ‘The Best Things In Life Are Free.’ He was going to go out on the road and make a little money based on the success of his two major musical pictures. He needed a conductor and arranger. A mutual friend, Marty Melcher (who was Gordon’s agent) and an old friend of mine who used to do publicity for my band got us together. It was the most wonderful relationship and turned out be very profitable because, through Gordon, I got my foot in the door at Capitol Records (where he was one of their artists). We did 12 or 13 albums together and, as a result, I became one of the in-house arrangers at Capitol. I got to record with other artists including Kay Starr and Dakota Staton. Gordon had four wonderful children and was married to the beautiful Sheila MacRae. Our kids sort of grew up together and I was on the road with Gordon for maybe 12 or 13 years, plus doing his records. When Sheila joined the act, she did so to sort of "solidify" Gordon and keep him on the straight road. They had the #1 nightclub act in the country and played all of the great spots. We had a wonderful time and got to meet an awful lot of people in the process. We even met Pablo Casals while playing Puerto Rico! I really miss Gordon. He sort of straightened out at the end of his life, but it was a little too late. He was a big gambler. In the beginning, he’d be making $25,000 a week in Las Vegas, but would lose it all at the tables. They’d have to pay tax on the money won and ended up owing the government over a million dollars. Sheila’s still around. I see and talk to her occasionally. But she’s having a bit of a financial struggle at this time in her life. It’s a sad story, considering all of the money they made.

FP: In listening to all of the recordings that you’ve done over the years, I’m overwhelmed by the variety of styles that you’ve been able to achieve. You can go from some of the most swinging arrangements from your early roots to an album of hymns featuring a solo organ with chorus. And, of course, there were the operetta albums featuring Dorothy Kirsten and Gordon MacRae. Stylistically, you were like a chameleon where you could blend from one setting to the next.

VA: That’s nice to hear. Someone once called me a "journeyman" arranger. I feel like I’ve done it all. I’ve done 22 feature pictures and hundreds of segments for different television shows that are still being shown.

FP: Let’s talk about some of the television shows and movies.

VA: I did many segments of Bewitched, The Donna Reed Show, I Dream Of Jeannie and Dennis The Menace. I had a deal with Screen Gems Television. The main show that I scored was Hazel starring Shirley Booth. Those early shows would use a twelve or a thirteen-piece orchestra. Today, most shows use a piano or guitar for a play-out! Through Screen Gems, I got a deal at Columbia Pictures. The first picture I scored there was a thing with Joan Crawford called ‘Straight Jacket.’ It was a horror picture. They seemed to like it so I got to do a second picture with Joan. I had one disaster over there, though. I had done four or five successful pictures. They had a Western film with Glenn Ford and Inger Stevens. They had changed directors in the middle of it, as well as writers. The picture was really in trouble. Following those four or five independent projects for Columbia, they said, "Why don’t we give Van a chance? Maybe he can save the picture." They gave me a very good price and I had plenty of time to do it. I was given an office at the studio. I did the score in about six or seven weeks. I had a big orchestra and they were all there at the scoring session (Mike Frankovich and the head of the music department, Joni Taps). They raved about the music and said, "My God. You’ve saved the picture!" I was on cloud nine. So now they had what they called a "preview" of the picture. This is where they show it to the public and try to get some feedback. With my wife and two daughters, we all went to a theatre out here in the San Fernando Valley for the showing. Well, it was a disaster. People were laughing in the serious parts and were hissing the villain. I wanted to crawl under the table. I thought that I had written a pretty good score and everyone at the scoring stage had approved. And now the Columbia brass sees the result in the theatre! Two days later, Mike Frankovitch calls and tells me that he doesn’t think that the music is right for the picture! I asked him if they wanted to change anything and he said, "No, I think that we’re going to throw it all out and re-score it with 10 guitars and make it a real Western." So they hired Mundell Lowe who is a great guitar player. He brought in 10 guitars, but that didn’t help the picture either. It never played in a theatre, but was on television about three weeks later. That made me feel a little better, but I felt as if I’d never do another picture! But I remember what film composer David Raksin once said: "You’re not a full-fledged screen composer until you’ve had a score thrown out of a picture." Many times, things that look like a disaster turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Right at that time, I got a call from my dear friend Les Brown who had the band on The Dean Martin Show. He asked me if I’d like to come over and do some arrangements for the show. They had a couple of other guys doing arrangements at the same time. I said sure and went to work for Les and Dean. During the war in Vietnam, Les would travel with Bob Hope overseas. In his absence, I got to conduct the shows. Greg Garrison, the producer, seemed to like me and gave me many other shows to do. Those included Emmy Awards broadcasts, Gene Kelly specials, and a series featuring the singing group The Gold Diggers. In fact, I got a couple of Emmy nominations but no wins. That was quite a period.

FP: Tell us more about your work on The Dean Martin Show. You actually put out an album with a number of the familiar cues from that show.

VA: We did that at the request of the producer, Greg Garrison. In retrospect, it wasn’t very good for us because he used a lot of those cues on Dean’s Celebrity Roasts programs where he didn’t hire a band. But, the guys wanted to do it as a record date. Dean Martin was a pussycat. He never wanted to rehearse, of course. He thought that the spontaneity of not rehearsing would benefit the show. On the other hand, someone like Perry Como would rehearse for three weeks for a one-hour program. If Dean was doing a duet with somebody like Peggy Lee, we’d make a cassette of a man and a woman singing the particular arrangement, and he’d learn it while driving to or from the golf course. If he loused it up in any way, everybody would laugh and they would do it over again. They just loved Dean. He couldn’t do anything wrong. I wouldn’t say that he was the most dedicated performer in the world, but he got away with it. He’d tell the director, "Point the Italian where you want him."

FP: Talking about television music, what’s happened to the idea of a memorable theme?

VA: You mean what’s happened to melody. Dean’s identification theme was wonderful ("Everybody Loves Somebody Sometimes") written by Ken Lane. An incident happened on the show that benefited me, but I’m still rather chagrined about it to this day. The producer, Mr. Garrison said, "Why don’t we have our own theme for the show?" People kind of shook their heads and wondered how they could replace Ken Lane’s song that had already established such a strong identification with Dean. They asked me to write a new theme where they could own the publishing. It could be very valuable based on performances. I went to Ken Lane and told him he’d have to go to Dean and tell him what’s happening because he (Dean) was rather oblivious to what was going on. Ken asked me if I knew what Dean would say if he’d go to him with a complaint? Dean would throw up his hands and say, "Aw, what’s the difference? Forget about it." As it turned out, I wrote a closing theme that they used for the last year of the show. It was great for me because I got ASCAP performances. But I felt terrible for my dear friend Ken Lane (who passed away a few years ago).

FP: There was another tune from that same album that I remember playing on the air during my early days in radio. In addition to your recording, Ernie Heckscher also covered it on one of his albums. What’s the story behind "The Bar-rump Bump"?

VA:That was an original composition that I wrote for a Dom Deluise special. Following a joke, Greg Garrison would always say "bar-rump bump." He asked me if I could come up with a song using that title. I wrote it and they liked it. Ernie Heckscher recorded it. I actually did five or six albums with Ernie (two of which he actually paid for himself to record). Columbia released a couple of them.

FP: Van, a couple of years ago, ASCAP presented you with a Lifetime Achievement Award. Tell us about that.

VA: They said I was deserving of it because of my multi-faceted career. I’ve been in ASCAP since 1941 (right after "A Tisket"). Coupled with the pictures and television shows that I did, Marilyn Bergman called and said that they had had a board meeting and decided that they had wanted to honour me. I told them that I didn’t know whether or not I was really deserving of a Lifetime Achievement Award, but I was highly honoured. It was a nice evening. I was proud that my whole family was there along with a lot of friends. It’s a nice "notch in the belt," as they say.

FP: Let’s touch upon your three Capitol albums: THE HOME OF HAPPY FEET, SWING! STAGED FOR SOUND and LET’S DANCE THE LAST DANCE.

VA: THE HOME OF HAPPY FEET was actually the pseudo-name for the Savoy Ballroom. But nobody knew what "the home of happy feet" was. So Capitol withdrew that and re-issued that album as THE SAVOY STOMP. Consequently, it sold like hot cakes. I wish it had sold like records! It was an artistic success and it had a lot of great players on it. I know that Uan Rasey played on the dates, as did Barney Kessel. Bob Bain was there on the Swing! Staged For Sound sessions. The Savoy album was a re-creation of, as far as my memory was concerned, tunes that were associated with bands that played at the Savoy. We did Andy Kirk’s "Until The Real Thing Comes Along," (which was his theme); and Chick Webb’s theme "Let’s Get Together." There was Lucky Millinder’s "Ride, Red, Ride" that featured a vocal by Joe Howard and some great trumpet work by Shorty Sherock. The other album, Swing! Staged For Sound was a series of duets accompanied by a big band. We had three drummers (Shelly Manne, Milt Holland and Irv Cottler) and two trombones (Milt Bernhart and Dick Kenney). We had Plas Johnson and Babe Russin on tenor sax. And Henri Rose and Bobby Stevenson were featured on two pianos. It was a good album.

FP: I was blown away by the two pianos on "I Won’t Dance."

VA: That’s where we interpolated Chopin’s "Revolutionary Etude" and tied it into the final arrangement.

FP: Who were your early musical inspirations? I know that your mother was a concert pianist.

VA: Growing up, I loved listening to Andre Kostelanetz and all the things that he did. As I got a little older and started listening to the big bands, there were the Dorseys, Glen Gray and the Casa Loma Orchestra, and Benny Goodman. I never dreamed that someday I would have a chance to write for some of them. My all-time favourite was Billy May. I also like Pete Rugolo. There were so many. And there are so many great writers today.

FP: Do you have a personal message that you’d like to send to Robert Farnon?

VA: Well, how does he do it? He’s had a marvellous career and he’s still going; exploring new frontiers all the time. I’d love to meet him personally someday.

FP: Van, we want to thank you very much. You’ve had a wonderful career and are, indeed, a true legend in the music world.

VA: Thank you.

Forrest Patten conducted this interview with Van Alexander on 8 September 2004.

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Chandos finally salutes a great British composer who was far more prolific than most of his admirers realise

The Film Music of CLIFTON PARKER

Chandos CHAN 10279 featuring music from Treasure Island, Western Approaches, The Sword and the Rose, Sea of Sand, The Blue Lagoon, Night of the Demon, Virgin Island – a Caribbean Rhapsody, Sink the Bismarck and Blue PullmanBBC Concert Orchestra Conducted by Rumon Gamba

The excellent CD booklet notes by James Marshall give us some welcome biographical details of this slightly elusive composer, whose work seems to have been largely ignored by many reference books. He was born Edward John Clifton Parker on 5 February 1905 in London, the third and youngest son of bank manager Theophilus Parker.

The three boys were encouraged by their father to go into commerce, but Edward (who later dropped his first two names) studied music privately and composed his first recognised work Romance for violin and piano when aged sixteen. This was published, and led to Clifton Parker obtaining an ARCM diploma in piano teaching at the Royal Academy of Music in 1926. A little later, he abandoned his career in commerce, and became a music copyist.

By the mid-1930s he was achieving success with some of his classical pieces, and managed to get his work accepted for broadcasts on the BBC. He came to the attention of Muir Mathieson, one of the music pioneers of the British film industry. Like so many fellow composers at the time, his early contributions went uncredited (including the 1942 Noel Coward film "In Which We Serve"), but in 1944 his name finally attracted attention following his superb score for "Western Approaches". Muir Mathieson recorded the film’s main theme Seascape on a Decca 12" 78 (now reissued on Guild GLCD5109), and Stanley Black later conducted it in stereo.

In the world of Light Music, Clifton Parker’s Overture – The Glass Slipper has long been a favourite, although it was many years before it became available on a commercial recording. Originally it was performed by Charles Williams and the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra for the Chappell Recorded Music Library in 1945, and this is also on a recent Guild CD – GLCD5107.

RFS member Alan Willmott has assisted with the production of this new Chandos CD, and he was at the recording sessions in Walthamstow Town Hall last March. It is due to Alan’s influence that the final track is a suite from the British Transport Films 1960 production "Blue Pullman" – probably the finest of Parker’s scores for BTF documentaries. Some of these famous shorts have already appeared on video, and there are plans for further releases on DVD in the near future. As well as providing a fascinating glimpse of an era that now seems so distant, these films benefited from specially commissioned scores from leading composers of the day.

It is to be hoped that this new CD will stimulate fresh interest in the music of Clifton Parker, leading to more recordings of his compositions and film scores. He also composed over 100 songs, and wrote for a number of theatrical productions, so there must be a wealth of ‘undiscovered’ material available. Sadly his last years were spoilt by ill health, and he died on 2 September 1989 aged 84. David Ades

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 Reuben Musiker has asked me to write about the work I did for the Longines Symphonette Society in the 1960s. His request to me was triggered by his rediscovery of some orchestral recordings, such as ‘Evening Serenade’, an album of standards which he felt to be of truly excellent quality.

I don’t have a single record from that series of recordings which I don’t really think was as good as the Reader’s Digest Series, which I described in an earlier issue of Journal into Melody. All I can remember about it is as follows.

Sometime in the middle 1960s, I received a letter from an old friend of Norman and Betty Luboff called Gene Lowell. When Norman was demobilized from the army after WWII ended, he headed for New York to find a job singing. There were at that time several big radio shows that had choirs. One was called the Rail Road Hour where the musical director was Lynn Murray who became much later a respected Hollywood film composer for writing scores like ‘The Bridges at TokoRi’, the Gary Grant and Grace Kelly film ‘To Catch a Thief’ and many others. Lynn Murray had an assistant called Gene Lowell and it was the latter who auditioned singers for Lynn. Norman Luboff turned up one day and sang for Gene who gave him the Rail Road Hour and some other shows. Anyway, I received Gene’s letter asking me if he could produce records for the Symphonette in London. I didn’t have time to read the letter because I was just leaving the house to take my car on a holiday to the continent with my son Bryan. The first time I had to write a reply was in Andorra.

Gene really liked hearing from Andorra of all places. When I got home again I ‘phoned Gene and the first recording happened soon after that. We did all the recordings at the old CTS Studios in Westbourne Grove with Eric Tomlinson and later John Richards as recording engineers. The first package was a Christmas album and I managed to do it all myself. After this, the work became so heavy that I couldn’t do.

From then on, there’s not much to remember. The work continued until about 1970. None of us were ever credited for either arranging or conducting, the name on the records was, I believe, just made up to look impressive. Maybe the lack of recognition was the reason why I didn’t rank it with Reader’s Digest. I’m afraid I do not know anything about ‘Evening Serenade’. Several arrangers could have done it, perhaps Peter Knight, Ken Thorne and quite a few others. Maybe I did some of it without knowing the title ‘Evening Serenade’. Gene Lowell passed away in the late 1980s. His dear wife, Helen, is still alive probably in her 90s. I’m certain that she would not be able to help you.

Angela Morley 2004

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… as MURRAY GINSBERG recalls

Lew Lewis and I attended a wonderful birthday party at the home of Floyd and Bonny Roberts last June 11, in celebration of Floyd's 90th birthday. Floyd played 1st trombone with Bob Farnon's wartime orchestra in London. 88-year-old Lew Lewis played tenor saxophone in the Army Show Orchestra that toured Canada in 1943 but he didn't go overseas with the rest of us in December of that year. Lew knew Bob and brother Brian intimately. All three had played on various gigs in Toronto when they were kids.

As expected, a lot of musician friends were present along with about thirty civilian guests, which made for a memorable afternoon in Bonny and Floyd's garden on a sunny Sunday afternoon. And the stories were all entertaining, particularly those about Bob Farnon. A lot of the guests were of vintage years who remembered The Happy Gang with Bert Pearl as compere. And several fondly remembered some of the jokes members of the Gang told.

One of the features of the daily broadcast was Pearl announcing that it was time to reach into the Joke Box. "Whose turn is it today?" he would ask. And one of the members, Blain Mathe, Bob, or Eddie Allen, would pluck a joke from the imaginary box and ask a question, such as "Why does a chicken cross the street?" And Bert would reply, "I don't know Blain. Why does a chicken cross the street?" And Blain would say, "To get to the other side!" And everybody would roar with laughter and play a huge chord.

One day one of the members moved the studio clock forward ten minutes without telling Pearl. On a cue from the producer in the control booth Bert began the show "on time" by knocking three times on an imaginary door, and saying "Who's there?" and everybody shouted, "It's the Happy Gang!" and Bert said, "Well, come on in!" and group went into the opening theme song Smiles.

Then after a few words of welcome to the audience, Bert said, "It's time for someone to put his hand into the Joke Box. Who's turn is it today?" Bob replied, "It's my turn today, Bert. Why does the ocean roar?"

Bert answered: "I don't know Bob. Why does the ocean roar?"

"You'd roar too, if you had crabs on your bottom!" Bob replied.

Bert Pearl's face immediately drained of blood. He began to sputter and choke. He gesticulated toward Bob. "Why on earth did you say that terrible thing on the air?" he whispered. Of course, everybody broke up howling with laughter and rolling around on the floor. Poor Bert was beside himself. Then announcer Herb May got on a chair and turned the hands of the studio clock back to the correct time. But poor Bert had a dreadful time getting back to continue the show. For days he was in shock. He would never know for sure if those bastards were going to play another trick on him.

At the same party a musician who had been a member of the Toronto Symphony when it performed at the Royal Festival Hall during the Commonwealth Festival of the Arts in 1965, remembered a couple of British musicians visiting the Toronto players in the Performers' Lounge and asking Principal 2nd Violinist Clifford Evans whether the famous story about Bob Farnon and Bert Pearl had actually happened. Cliff, who had never met Bob, turned to me and asked if I knew the story. "Yes, it certainly did happen," I replied, amazed that anyone in Britain would have heard the story. I always thought it only to be a local Toronto musician's tale. When I queried the visitors how they had heard about it, their enthusiastic reply was "News like that travels fast. Everyone in the United Kingdom loves The Guv'nor and wants to know everything he does, whether true or false."

Another story told at Floyd Roberts' party:

In the early 1980s when Bob Farnon came to Canada to conduct the National Arts Centre Orchestra in Ottawa, someone organized an Army Show reunion. Some twenty-five friends and colleagues from across the country including Floyd and myself met and dined in the lounge of the Arts Centre, then enjoyed the all-Bob Farnon music concert. Floyd Roberts and I shared a room at the Chateau Laurier, one of Ottawa's finest hotels.

Afterwards a number of us were driven to the home of a wealthy orchestra patron to meet old friends in the orchestra and enjoy an after-concert party. One of the guests we were happy to meet was His Excellency Edward Schreyer, Canada's first Canadian-born Governor-General. To our delighted surprise His Excellency displayed an amazing knowledge of Farnon's work and reputation, citing certain "highly intelligent" arrangements of songs Bob had recorded, such as A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square and I've Got You Under My Skin, as well as his particular voicing of strings, which the Governor-General understood to be a conundrum to most renowned American, Canadian and British arrangers.

At 2 am, after a full day, I returned to our hotel room and no sooner had gotten into into bed when the door opened and Floyd, followed by Bob carrying a large bottle of Chivas Regal were invited to sit down to share some of The Guv'nor's bottle. Did anyone sleep that night? Not on your life. Bob regaled us with wonderful stories of the world famous singers, movie stars and musicians he had worked with during a fabulous career.

The rest is history.

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by Reg Otter

 What is it with we Brits; in the midst of "wall-to-wall" pop cacophony from talentless artistes who in the 1930’s would have been treated to a few ripe sounding raspberries, and gormless looking youngsters who can just about twang a guitar string and who hold the instrument as a phallic symbol … we still continue to ignore the glamour, sheer enchantment and theatrical magic and musicality of one of the greatest composers of light music since the golden days of Franz Lehar?

A man whose name is still used fifty-three years after his death to promote an award for the most gifted composer of music today. (Erroneously in my humble opinion, in these sadly, noisy, pop infested times!) In fact it disgusted me recently to learn that the prize…. The Ivor Novello Award, had been given to some band which wouldn’t know the difference between Glamorous Night and Mairzy Doats! Even the Robert Farnon Society doesn’t seem to know much about my favourite composer so here is an attempt to recapture the "Dancing Years" of one of the most talented, gifted, popular and esteemed composers who ever graced the stage of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane.

David Ivor Davies was born in Cardiff on January 15th 1893; Ivor Novello was "born" (by deed poll) on January 15th 1927 and the great and wonderful Ivor succumbed to a heart attack, aged only 58 on March 6th 1951. Everyone who knew and loved his music will be familiar with the title of this article. I have always considered this lovely melody to be descriptive of attending one of Ivor’s musical shows. One would anticipate with pleasure the event, for weeks, no need to worry about critics’ impressions of a first night because if you were a "Novellian" you just knew you were going to hear beautiful music, see splendid sets and oft times experience shipwrecks, train crashes or a Hampstead Heath fairground!

Ivor was at the peak of his career and his life, just prior to and during the Second World War and that is why the words of the beautiful melody which inspired this article are so significant, even though they were written four years after the war finished ...and all my doubts and fears were borne away…. the music carried me to realms far above…… where I knew the meaning of love….. and that was the essence of this composer’s terrific popularity, for he gave us shows which raised our spirits like a Churchillian speech and eliminated, if only for a while, our doubts and fears.

I didn’t know Ivor Novello personally and in 1935 when his first musical show "Glamorous Night" came to Drury Lane, I was a mere 11year old schoolboy on the threshold of life, struggling with j’ai, tu as, il a, nous avon, vous avez, ils ont, but I was a trifle different from my schoolpals in that I enjoyed songs such as Shine Through My Dreams, whereas they were whistling and humming Lullaby of Broadway and Thanks a Million.

The world’s end, Chelsea, was my domain and I never ventured past Sloane Square, let alone Drury Lane Theatre where my idol was appearing; anyway where would I have got five shillings for a seat in the stalls? So it was listening to the concert orchestras of Harry Fryer, Richard Crean and Peter Yorke that I came to appreciate Ivor’s music, for his melodies were often played on the radio as the shows evolved …. "Glamorous Night""Careless Rapture"and " Crest of the Wave".

It was during the war that my dream to actually see an Ivor show was realised and what better way to fulfil my fantasy than to see "The Dancing Years" at the Adelphi in the Strand. As soon as the nightwatchman appeared on stage at the very beginning of this wonderful show, I was lost in a theatrical world of enchantment and musical make believe; and when Ivor appeared to tumultuous applause and Mary Ellis sang Waltz of My Heart, I was hooked for the remainder of my life.

I have adored Ivor Novello’s music for seventy years, but it is really since 1943 when I first saw this show, that I experienced the magic, the wonder and charisma of being part of an Ivor audience. Even during the war, tea and biscuits were served at the intervals and as the trays were being returned, the orchestra would be playing softly the introductory music to the next act and, as in all of Ivor’s musicals I’ve seen since, the whole audience would be humming the lovely song which had flowed from his pen to the orchestra which was now playing it. It was such an uplifting experience to hear the quite obviously appreciative "choir" of people (much like the Humming Chorus in Puccini’s "Madam Butterfly") and many, although they had perhaps seen the show only once or twice, knew the lyrics, so it was nothing unusual to see or hear a matronly, dignified figure mouthing "Call and I shall be all you ask of me, music in spring, flowers for a king, all of these I bring to you."

One of my own personal regrets in life is that I never saw the early Theatre Royal, Drury Lane musicals, but towards the end of the 1940’s I wrote to Ivor at his flat in the Aldwych, Strand, telling him of my overwhelming appreciation and admiration of his life and work and requesting an autographed photo. One was returned promptly which I treasure to this very day; I also have one of Ivor’s first "Maria Ziegler", Mary Ellis, who lived to be 105.

I have often pondered about choosing my favourite Ivor Novello melody and I would have to return to a couple of years before I was born in 1924 to find what to me is one of the most charming and witty. It is of course And Her Mother Came Too! In these awfully tuneless, dreary days of "pop" culture, it is so very refreshing, occasionally, to listen to the silken, attractive voice of Jack Buchanan telling us of his visit to a golf course where his ubiquitous future Mother-in-Law was knocked out by a ball and at last…. he and his love were alone, but not for long – " for her Mother came too." Thinking of the only voices qualified to interpret Ivor’s music in the style he would have preferred, I cannot believe he could have foundanyone to excel Jack in the singing of this cute tune.

I have heard Glamorous Night sung by countless sopranos but none have surpassed the elegance, perfection and musicality of Mary Ellis. I have never heard Someday My Heart Will Awake and the title of my tribute sung more beautifully than by Vanessa Lee and who else could bring chills to the spine during the rendering of Highwayman Love other than Olive Gilbert? Mentioning this superb contralto who was a personal friend of Ivor’s, I can never forget her and Mary Ellis combining to give us the delightful Wings of Sleep in "The Dancing Years" where the applause lasted almost to the beginning of the next act!

However if, as I say, I had to choose one song which Ivor Novello composed which has to be his masterpiece, out of all the tuneful pleasurable melodies which flowed from the pianos at ‘Redroofs’, the country home at Maidenhead and 11 Aldwych (the flat in London) it would have to be Why is There Ever Goodbye? I consider the words (by Christopher Hassall) and the haunting music (by Ivor.who else) to be the lovliest they or anyone else ever wrote:

Brown leaves in the forest are falling again, 
hungry thrushes are calling again…. 
out in the snow.Time flies…. 
And you part from your favourite friend, 
even love seems to end, 
when the winds blow.

Then just fifteen short years before he left us, Ivor posed the question we all ask when those we love die:

Why is There Ever Goodbye? 
All the joy of today,
Though it seemed willing to stay,
Is tomorrow a dream that soon passes away, 
Like the dew on a thorn, 
When the dawn of the sun has begun? 
Far on the crest of a star,
I can show you a light that continues to shine every night, 
Filled with a fire unfading, 
Why, if the stars never die….. 
is there ever goodbye?

On that fateful March 6th in 1951, when Ivor suddenly died, I asked that question. Fifty three years after, I still have no answer.

from Journal Into Melody : September 2004

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PHIL KELLY: "Bob Farnon has been my textbook for string writing"

The highly respected American composer and arranger, Phil Kelly, has recently been corresponding with Malcolm Frazer. In addition to more than 40 years as a composer-arranger for film, TV, and other media applications, Phil has written for bands like Bill Watrous' NY Wildlife Refuge, the Old Tonight show band, Doc Severinsen, Si Zentner, as well as functioning as arranger/ conductor / drummer for vocalists Buddy Greco, Julius LaRosa, Frank D'Rone, Sylvia Syms, John Gary, Jenny Smith, and Al 'TNT' Braggs among others.

Early on in his career, he also logged several years as a jazz drummer with artists such as Terry Gibbs, Red Garland, and Denny Zeitlin as well as years of work as a studio and recording drummer. In addition to his film and TV writing, Phil has written music for over 500 national commercials, ESPN, ABC Sports, NFL Films, and industrial films and shows for Cadillac, Chevrolet, Volkswagen, American Airlines and Zales Jewellers.

He also was the primary arranger for the Fort Worth (TX) Symphony Pops series for more than 25 years,and has been commissioned to provide custom pop symphonic scores for Doc Severinsen and Peter Nero. He has had arrangements played by the Houston, Dallas, Detroit, Cincinnati, and North Carolina Symphony orchestras.

Now semi-retired and residing in Bellingham WA, he still writes jazz and pop orchestra arrangements for publication and on commission, and is beginning an auxiliary career in the educational field as a clinician in film scoring and music for the media at various colleges around the USA, as well as a big band coach at the Bud Shank Centrum Jazz camp in Port Townsend WA for the past two years. His first big band jazz album under his own name, "Convergence Zone" has been recorded this summer for autumn release on Origin Records.

Phil recently told Malcolm Frazer that he regards Robert Farnon as being … "greatly responsible in many ways for turning me into a fairly competent orchestral / film / arranger-composer. Actually, Bob (through one of his many American disciples, Marion Evans) has been my textbook for string (and orchestral) writing since the early 1960s. I was one of the acolytes that hung out in Marion’s apartment across the street from Jim & Andys where I was introduced to the Farnon oeuvre."

Readers may recall that a photograph of a distinguished group of arrangers in Marion Evans’ apartment back in 1956 was included in JIM 151 – June 2002, page 6. Unfortunately Phil Kelly wasn’t present when this photo was taken. Phil has an attractive website – www.philkellymusic.com

from Journal Into Melody : September 2004


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Robert Farnon as I see him, hear him and love him.

An affectionate tribute by MARC FORTIER

 Intro : just a few bars … don’t be afraid …

 I have been very fortunate to be raised listening to radio in my far North city of Jonquière, Province of Québec, Canada in the forties [Fortier..?) and fifties for I have listened to a lot of Robert Farnon’s compositions as themes of many CBC radio productions. At the time, I did not know the man behind the music and this revelation came decades later.

Gene Lees, the one and only Gene Lees, Jack of All Trades and Master of All, did ask me one day (years ago) "Do you know that tune?" He whistled it and I replied: "Of course!" He added a few others and the answer was always the same: I knew the music by heart. We were in Los Angeles, the weather was cool and the beer was cold at the Rodeo Bar in Beverly Hills. It was there that I met the man behind the music of Jumping BeanPeanut PolkaGateway to the WestMain Street and so many others.

Then came John Parry who shipped me, one day, a full box of LPs, documents and cassettes of various productions by the Guv. I was in awe! I think that he had understood from a previous conversation in Toronto that I was a fan and that I seriously needed to "finish my education …"

Thanks to both. Without them, maybe I would never have made the connection between the superb music and the superb man.

As I see him …

It is sufficient to see a photo of Mr Farnon and myself to get the message: he is a giant and I am ... who I am. At 5’6’’, I have been accustomed to deal with taller people (Mr Farnon, Gene Lees, Henry Mancini among others in the music field) and it never bothered me. The body size is not an issue here.

But the voice is!

Mr Farnon’s voice always fascinated me by its roundness, its solidity, its warmth and all the harmonics embellishing the primary tones. He always sounds like a 45 year old opera baritone at his best! Mozart would have chosen him for a role in many of his operas.

His profound and calm voice serves to show him as a man who has no fear, no regrets and no afterthoughts. He is a living example of the best philosophy a man can ever stick to: Live and let live !

And I think he does and always did.

After many years of correspondence by mail, fax and telephone, I first met Mr Farnon in Toronto on October 24th of 1997 at Manta Studio where many composers and arrangers gathered to see the man and listen to his teachings. I emceed the event with composer Victor Davies.

Besides him in front of that selected crowd of one hundred musicians, I felt smaller than ever, both physically and musically. We were all living a very special moment and we could feel the aura surrounding the Guv.

But, as soon as his voice filled the studio with its unique roundness and warmth, everyone felt as if he or she had known Robert Farnon for … let’s say … a year or two. This, of course, excluded old friends who had known him for decades like Pip Wedge and a few others.

As I hear him …

 The Robert Farnon sound is a unique component of the universal symphonic world: it is pure, clean, new, fresh and always surprising as the man himsef.

Many a music analyst will scientifically conclude that Mr Farnon sounds a lot like Ravel or Delius and I dare say that it is all wrong: Robert Farnon sounds a lot like Robert Farnon.

More seriously, if I had to select a single composer of symphonic music to whom Robert Farnon compares in terms of style and perfection of orchestra writing, I would not hesitate: Antonin Dvorak !

Dvorak had inherited from Beethoven the strictness of the form and the luminosity of the colours. No fooling around, no detour, no fuzziness and no fill-ins: from the first bar to the last with the essentials, all the essentials and only the essentials. With no grey zone, no useless verbiage, no show-off and no disputable choices as far as harmony, counterpoint and instrumentation are concerned. Always the perfect balance.

At the Manta meeting in 1997, a student said that his teacher had told him this: Composing is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration. Mr Farnon did not hesitate and replied : Exactly the opposite, young man ! 

And that is exactly how I hear the music of Robert Farnon: like Beethoven, it flows from source in a uninterrupted wave of sound and one would think that it had been written forever. It is natural because it pours from strict inspiration without any sweat, any hard labour and any concession to rules, tricks or camouflage.

This is where the separation is made between the Mozarts and Salieris, between those who have it all and those who have some of it.

As I love him …

 Everyone has been told one day or the other by some fellow who knows things we do not that: Good guys never win ! 

Well, I have news for them. I have personally known a few big winners who happen or happened to be very good guys. Artists who reached the top with their sole talent, who made friends everywhere they set foot and who commanded respect, admiration and affection without really trying … They are or were simply like that: good talented fellows! ‘Name dropping’ is not my cup of tea but here it can illustrate my point: Vladimir Golschmann (who gave me conducting lessons), Morton Gould with whom I travelled over the hemispheres (North and South America, Europe, Africa and Australia) and Henry Mancini with whom I had good talks and a very respectful rapport (among those who left us) have been most successful, wealthy and beloved by everyone around. GOOD WINNING GUYS !

And, among those still here (and for a long time, I hope), how about Gene Lees, the man who really knows everything and who is one of the most lovable person I ever met. He also happens to be a superstar when time comes to write and talk about music and, knowing him for decades now, I know that he has won it all: fame, respect, affection, admiration and wealth!

How about that for Good guys who never win?

And now, the cherry on the sundae : Robert Farnon. Can anyone be, at the same time and for a whole life, a gentle giant simply loved by all those who have had the privilege to know him? Can there be a better example of fame and success in our field acquired through talent and goodness alone?

It must be quite a feeling to have achieved the greatest goals in one’s life and to have always been nice and easy with everyone… Ask Robert Farnon!

This article appeared in Journal Into Melody, Issue 159, June 2004.

Marc Fortier is well-known to music-lovers in Montreal. He has been responsible for keeping Robert Farnon’s name and music known in his native Canada for many years. Marc played a vital role in the 1997 celebrations in Ottawa, when Robert Farnon was honoured during his 80th year. As a result of Marc’s pressure (which involved copious amounts of correspondence and personal approaches), SOCAN and the Film Composers’ Guild also lent their support to this event, which Marc had been planning since 1991, hoping that the special concert could be staged at the time when Robert Farnon was celebrating his 75th birthday. Unfortunately this did not happen, but Marc’s persistence finally paid off with the memorable series of concerts which took place in Ottawa in October/November 1997, conducted by Victor Feldbrill.

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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 (www.imdb.com) 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.