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A triumphal failure!

 

  It was my good fortune during my years at boarding school to have as my Art Master a teacher who had student with the great English Watercolourist, Percy Lancaster. In my pre-teen years water colour painting had pride of place in my life and I became sufficiently proficient at it to sell one or two watercolours by the time I was thirteen having been given some special commissions. It was no surprise therefore that since becoming a painter was unthinkable in those days, I was pointed by the school towards architecture, with music running as a highly competitive second to the extent that by my mid-teens I was playing two or three times a week with a sixteen piece band. Never the less, at seventeen I was accepted into the Faculty of Architecture at Liverpool University.

  Architectural study during the day time at the University did have one main rewarding factor. In the Students Union at the Gilmore Hall was...a piano which I soon discovered to be alone and unattended during the lunchtime. Ah Haa! 

  Word got around that there was a piano maniac loose amongst the undergraduates and it was therefore not surprising that when a music competition was announced, the 'Bucks' in my Faculty nominated me to represent them. 

  Come the day of the competition they decided that a little pre-competition celebration was in order. I was 'frog-marched' into the local 'watering hole' where several of my supporters, each demanded the honour of providing me with a drink that would guarantee 'Dutch courage'

  'Get them down in one, Smithy!' was the cry.

  No surprise, that as we approached the Gilmore Hall, I could swear there were now TWO Gilmore Halls and THREE concert grands awaiting me! My choice for the day was Chopin's Grand Polonaise in Ab major. A 'war horse' if ever there was one, upon which I 'charged' into 'battle' to the 'Hurrahs' of my supporters.

The main theme seemed deserving of several extra playings and my playing the Polish 'cavalry section' was reminiscence of 'The Charge of the Light Brigade' and every bit as disastrous. By now, both I and my supporters couldn't have cared less and even before I reached the end, if indeed I ever did, the cheers of my supporters and the entire assembly was in complete uproar. I was forcibly removed from the stage and carried out shoulder high, the examiners report trampled under foot....A glorious and triumphal failure...oh, happy days!

 

 

Do you wish to learn quickly??

 

In a word, DON'T. I would like to tell you a true story of my OWN experience...

 

 

   One day, the phone rang. It was an Orchestral conductor on the line, telling me that the soloist due to perform in 10 days hence, could not attend the concert. Would I be prepared to learn and play the Litolff Scherzo at that short notice in place of that soloist? Full of youthful confidence and keen to jump onto ANY offered piano stool, I said, of course!  The score was in my hands two days later - 8 days  remained! I played and played the work - within 5 or 6 days I was playing from memory (of a type). There was no rehearsal with the Orchestra available.

    I travelled in the Orchestral coach to the concert. The venue was the large canteen (seating 1000 people) of an aviation factory near Liverpool. The concert began with two works for the Orchestra alone and then...I walked out, through the large potted Palms and took my place at the piano. The conductor glanced, first at the Orchestra, then at me, half raising his baton. It suddenly occurred to me that I could not think of a SINGLE note of the work and that I was sweating profusely.

    I pretended to be adjusting my piano stool and suddenly could see in my mind the FIRST emphatic chord. NOTHING else... just that first chord...I nodded to the conductor - we were off! If you know this brilliant movement, you will excuse me if I add - at a gallop! I played the work  by sheer automaton, note perfect but, and this is the point to the story, I can still relive the sheer terror of the movement of which I could ONLY remember ONE chord and I dare say - might have failed to think of that one...

 

 

‘A moment in time...’  

 

I was standing on the platform of one of London’s Underground train stations, my briefcase which was folded in my arms, against  my chest, containing my music. I was turning over in my head, the many things that my teacher, Herbert Fryer had brought to my attention during my lesson, only half an hour previously.

    I felt the familiar blast of warm air as the arriving train roared to a halt on the platform. The doors ‘gasped’ open and out streamed the noisy, restless, bustling ‘sea’ of humanity. I retreated to the station wall to avoid the crush. The train was once again, filled to bursting. The doors closed, and with a 'crescendo' of noise the train was gone. My train would be next.

    The platform was almost empty. I turned to look at the poster I was leaning against. In bold  letters it read, ‘Ilford Promenade Concerts.' I thought to myself, ‘Impressive...unobtainable, without doubt!’ At the bottom of the poster was the name and address of the Concert Secretary...I could hear the train arriving...with seconds to spare, I opened my briefcase and feverishly looked for something to write with. I didn’t have a pencil...yes, I DID!  I rummaged for a scrap of paper and took down the address. My train was in - I was away.

    In that one moment, I had decided to write to the Secretary and say that I would be happy to play in the Promenade Concerts. Even hinting that the Concert series NEEDED someone of my calibre!  What a HELL of a nerve!

    I couldn’t believe it. I got an answer! Would I be prepared to play the Tchaikovsky B flat minor piano concerto in the opening concert of the following set? The B Flat minor. The big one! Concerto on a grand scale - everyone loves it - crashing chords, gorgeous melodies, rhythm, excitement, pianism. Of course, there was the small matter that I didn’t know the concerto! It was to be performed in 5 months! On top of this, there was no second piano in Mr. Fryer's studio for me to rehearse the works cues or its ensembles. YES, I would play the Tchaikovsky...Just my ‘cup of tea!’

    Five months passed. The day had arrived. Due to the fact that this performance was an afternoon concert, there was no rehearsal. It struck me, as I took my place at the piano that I had never, not even once, played the work as an integrated performance, and that Ilford Town Hall was packed with 2000 people, not to mention the Mayor and Mayoress wearing their Chains of Office.

    I was seated there, at the pianoforte, bow tie and all, because of the sudden decision of ‘a moment in time...’  

The review of the concert was as follows...

‘... The main work was the piano concerto No1 of Tchaikovsky. I never cease to wonder at the excellence of the soloists the IMM manage to obtain for these concerts. Saturday was no exception. Richard Smith is young, yet he displays a degree of technical skill the equal of many more experienced concert performers. He proved himself to be in the tradition of teacher Herbert Fryer’s pupils, many of whom have achieved international reputations.

Richard Smith’s interpretation of the dramatic passages in this concerto was impressive; my only disappointment was that he seemed to lose the qualities of light and shade in the second movement. For all that, he shows tremendous promise, and we are certain to hear more of him...'

 

 

The tale of a fish....

 

During the period of time when I was Director of Concerts in Southport, the Conductor of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, was Sir Charles Groves (he told he before he was knighted, that his Knighthood was pending). On those occasions when the Royal Liverpool Phil. was coming to Southport to perform, Sir Charles Groves and his wife would come to my home, and have an early evening meal before the concert.

 

I was told that Sir Charles was rather partial to Salmon. I asked a friends, who was in the wholesale fish business to provide  me some salmon for the occasion of his next meal with us. Rising to the importance of the occasion, my friend arrived with a whole, 14 pound, fresh salmon! 'We've got it, we may as well cook it!' I said to my wife, Ruth. With Mr and Mrs Groves and Ruth seated at the table, I staggered in with a huge platter filled with the massive fish. We just about found room on the table for it.

 

Sir Charles looked the fish straight in the eye, raised his knife in true baton style as if to a soloist, and said to me ' Do we start with the into, or the Coda?' to which I replied 'The choice is yours Sir Charles, but please leave out of repeats!'

 

 

Beat the strike!  

 

   Would YOU travel 500 miles by rail, coach, articulated lorry, trucks and cars - 30 hours of continuous travel - just to appear for 20 minutes as a pianoforte soloist in London's West End?

 

It all started when my piano tutor at the time, the famous Herbert Fryer asked me to appear at a soiree in the Salle Erard, Regent Street, London. This would be a great occasion. I accepted, of course.

    I left early on Thursday morning and arrived at the venue with ten minutes to spare before my appearance. I was one of three others taking part in the soiree. The others came from China, New Zealand and Australian. This was truly an International affair.

    My choice of work was the Beethoven Sonata in E minor (Op30) and after the performance, Mr Fryer congratulated me, and immediately asked me if I would like to give the first of a series of Recitals in the Autumn at this same venue. I happily accepted this prestigious offer.

    As soon as the soiree had finished, this was when my troubles began for a national rail strike had begun! The time: 10.30pm. I made for Victoria Coach station to catch a coach back to Southport. Nothing. I could have waited, I was told, but I'd be waiting in the queue until 7 the next morning!

    I tried all main line trains routes but the train strike had bitten hard in the South and there were no services whatsoever, however I did manage to catch an underground train on the Northern line to it's termination destination, Queen's Park. I arrived there on the last train. The time was now midnight. What could I do now?

    I took a taxi and made for the main A5 road. Luck was with me. I managed to get a lift from a passing motorist to Doncaster (anything would do, as long as it went North).. From here, through the night and into the morning, my tale of journeying continued. A 16-ton lorry on the Sheffield road towards Manchester; a minibus from Barnsley on the Penistone road; a farmers van to Manchester and finally, a train back to Southport.

    Since leaving my home early on Thursday I had had no sleep, and only eaten odd snacks wherever I got the chance. Further good news was awaiting me when I got home. I had been asked to give the first of a series of teatime recitals, each lasting an hour which would begin in September at St Thomas's church, off Regent St, London.

     The motto to this story: when opportunity beckons, seize it  with both hands...especially if you're a pianist! Nothing ventured, nothing gained!