# The Wit and Humour of Musicians



## ShropshireMoose

I've scouted around and can't seem to find a thread that deals with this- viz. amusing anecdotes that concern musicians rather than musical jokes. It came to mind as I was browsing through "Moriz Rosenthal In Word and Music" this afternoon. At the back are a number of his sallies, and one made me laugh sufficiently to want to post it, hence me starting this thread. So here, to get things going are a few Rosenthal anecdotes:

On one occasion, Rosenthal expostulated with a sleepy member of the audience at a concert he was attending, "For pity's sake, don't snore so loudly or you will waken up the whole audience."

Rosenthal himself wrote the following:
Colleague W. put Chopin's so-called Minute Waltz in my difficult contrapuntal arrangement in thirds on his programme. What I had foreseen came to pass: he played the piece in the safe slowest tempo. After the concert he asked me: "So, how did you like your Minute Waltz?" I replied: "Like is not the right word. It was the most beautiful quarter of an hour of my life."

Rosenthal attended a recital given by a colleague whose besetting sin was his abuse of the "loud pedal" by persistently holding it down. When a friend remonstrated with him for arriving somewhat late he replied: "Never mind, I can hear it all still."

This reminds me of a story I read years ago, Benno Moiseiwitsch was dining in the Savage Club in London one night when a fellow member remarked that Mark Hambourg was giving a recital that night in Glasgow. "Why don't you open the window, we'll probably be able to hear him" quipped Moiseiwitsch. It should be added that the two were great friends.

Finally, a Beecham story that I've never read in any book, it was in, would you believe it, the Old Codgers column that used to, and for all I know still may be, a feature in the Daily Mirror. Beecham was travelling on a railway train that was run by the Cheshire Lines Committee, there was a lady in his compartment who asked him, "Do you mind if I smoke?" 
"Not at all madam" came the reply, "Do you mind if I'm sick?"
"How dare you sir, I'll have you know that I'm one of the directors' wives."
"Madam, I don't care if you're the director's only wife, I shall still be sick!"

That's got it started, now dear friends, over to you.......


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## Eschbeg

There's a great joke that circulated among the French in the late nineteenth century in reaction to Wagner's essay "The Music of the Future." According to the joke, Wagner was at a rehearsal of one of his operas and, wishing to hear a certain passage, asked the first violinist of the orchestra to play. The violinist sat calmly with his hands folded on his lap. After a few moments, Wagner said, "Hey, I just asked you to play that passage for me. What are you waiting for?" The violinist responded, "Bah... it's the music of the future. I'll play it next week."


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## KenOC

"Why do our British orchestras engage so many third-rate foreign guest conductors when we have so many second-rate conductors of our own?" -- Sir Thomas Beecham


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## ShropshireMoose

Moriz Rosenthal heard that Artur Schnabel had been rejected for service in the Austrian army, "Well what do you expect?" he said, "No fingers!"


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## ShropshireMoose

Not an anecdote, but something which has always made me laugh, a definition from the 1st edition of Everyman's Dictionary of Music by Eric Blom, published in 1946:

Crooning: A reprehensible form of singing that established itself in light entertainment music about the 1930s. It recommended itself at first to would-be singers without voices who were unable to acquire an adequate technique and later to a large public because anything, however inartistic, is likely to become popular if only it is done often enough by a large enough number of people. The principal of Crooning is to use as little voice as possible and instead to make a sentimental appeal by prolonged moaning somewhere near the written notes, but preferably never actually on those notes. The smallest vocal equipment is sufficient for the purpose of Crooning, one of its admirers' delusions being that it does not become wholly satisfactory until it is amplified by a microphone, a device capable of turning the squeak of a mouse into the howl of a factory siren.


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## ahammel

"A city life for me!"

-Sir Thomas on Vaughan Williams' _Pastoral Symphony_.


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## PetrB

After playing the piano reduction of Petrushka for Diaghilev, who commissioned it for the Ballet Russes, Diaghilev's only comment was, "But Igor, you end on a question?"

Stravinsky's comment when later relating that incident, "At least he understood that much."


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## PetrB

A wonderful pianist, my last formal piano instructor, taught in a small California Community College: her duties also included teaching the general and primary level class piano course.

She told me there was one student who simply did not get parallel motion when it came to scales, i.e. the student could manage the contrary motion (where the finger pattern for each hand is simultaneously the same) but just did not grasp or was incapable of getting the parallel. 

My teacher spent some time with the student, trying various approaches so the student would understand. At the end of a number of attempted approaches, with no light dawning in the student's mind, in front of the entire class she told the student, 
"The best thing for you to play is the radio."


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## bigshot

Beecham is the king of these sorts of stories. A lady cellist was playing with poor intonation and Beecham stopped a couple of times to point it out to her. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer... "Madam, you possess there between your legs a thing capable of bringing great pleasure to man. Yet you insist on sitting there and scratching upon it!"


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## superhorn

At a rehearsal for a production of Aida during the famous triumphal scene with Beechm conducting, one of the horses 
pooped suddenly on the stage . Beecham replied "God what a critic !".


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## Guest

bigshot said:


> Beecham is the king of these sorts of stories. A lady cellist was playing with poor intonation and Beecham stopped a couple of times to point it out to her. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer... "Madam, you possess there between your legs a thing capable of bringing great pleasure to man. Yet you insist on sitting there and scratching upon it!"


I once quoted the very same story on another classical music site and it was removed by the moderators who sent me a PM informing me that a poster had complained because (s)he had found it obscene. I believe the poster from that other site is also present here on Talk Classical. Let us see what transpires ...


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## ShropshireMoose

My favourite Beecham story concerns the time he was rehearsing the Messiah in Leeds, and during "For Unto Us A Child Is Born", remarked to the rather elderly female chorus, "Come along ladies, a little more joy and not quite so much astonishment."


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## Ingélou

TalkingHead said:


> I once quoted the very same story on another classical music site and it was removed by the moderators who sent me a PM informing me that a poster had complained because (s)he had found it obscene. I believe the poster from that other site is also present here on Talk Classical. Let us see what transpires ...


Interestingly, this story was quoted in a recent newspaper article as an example of Beecham's bullying, chauvinist attitudes. I can imagine the sniggers of the cellist's male colleagues, at the time and afterwards, and how humiliated she must have felt.

I have found that this is something that most men just don't get; older or middle-aged men, anyway. But there is hope for the world: *some* younger men are being brought up to empathise...


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## ShropshireMoose

Ingélou said:


> Interestingly, this story was quoted in a recent newspaper article as an example of Beecham's bullying, chauvinist attitudes. I can imagine the sniggers of the cellist's male colleagues, at the time and afterwards, and how humiliated she must have felt.
> 
> I have found that this is something that most men just don't get; older or middle-aged men, anyway. But there is hope for the world: *some* younger men are being brought up to empathise...


 That story is apocryphal, I know of no reliable Beecham authorities that give it any credence. So the newspapers should really be more careful in quoting something which is, so far as I can ascertain, an untruth. But then, the truth is so often of little interest to newspapers!


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## ShropshireMoose

Fritz Kreisler's wife was talking one day to Leopold Godowsky, Mrs. Kreisler was evidently somewhat sensitive about her husband's ancestry and said to Godowsky, "Of course, Fritz has very little Jewish blood in him." "Really?" replied Godowsky, "I'd no idea Fritz was so anaemic."


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## bigshot

TalkingHead said:


> I once quoted the very same story on another classical music site and it was removed by the moderators who sent me a PM informing me that a poster had complained because (s)he had found it obscene. I believe the poster from that other site is also present here on Talk Classical. Let us see what transpires ...


Don't blame me! Blame Beecham! (Although I would be proud of making a joke that good!)


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## ShropshireMoose

bigshot said:


> Don't blame me! Blame Beecham! (Although I would be proud of making a joke that good!)


You can't blame Beecham, because he didn't say it! (see post No.14), some sources suggest it may have been Sir Henry Wood, who, apparently had a rough cockney sense of humour, but I somehow doubt it. I suspect it may well have just been a general musicians joke that had to be attributed to somebody for the sake of telling the tale, a rough, tough, coarse bunch these orchestral musicians!


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## superhorn

Speaking of Fritz Kreisler , accord9ing to one story, he was sked by a wealthy and snooty society lady
to perform at a fancy dinner party . She offered him $ 1000 . However, she told the great violinists that he
ws not to mingle with any of the guests afterward . He replied, "Well, in that case, I'll take $ 500 ."





:lol: :lol: :lol:


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## ShropshireMoose

A pianist who was about to tour the United States asked Rachmaninoff's opinion as to the acoustics of a hall which he had never played in, but which he knew Rachmaninoff had, "If the cheque is good the acoustics are good." was the great man's response.


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## Funny

Dudley Moore compiled a lot of these in "Offbeat: My World of Music." http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/695102.Off_beat I was only disappointed in the book because I wanted to hear more about Moore's musical exploits and less of the passed-down classical-music anecdotes. But if you're looking for those it's a good source.


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## ShropshireMoose

Fyodor Chaliapin, the great Russian bass, was invited to a meal by a wealthy society hostess. When the meal was finished, she asked if he would oblige the assembled company with some songs. "No madam," said Chaliapin, "you invite me to dine, you feed me. You invite me to sing, you pay me."


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## Vaneyes

"There's *Pa Szell*, and then there's *Maazel*." - Ray Still, CSO.


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## Vaneyes

TalkingHead said:


> I once quoted the very same story on another classical music site and it was removed by the moderators who sent me a PM informing me that a poster had complained because (s)he had found it obscene. I believe the poster from that other site is also present here on Talk Classical. Let us see what transpires ...


I'm trembling now, hoping she didn't see the photo of Miley twerking Bad Santa.


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## mstar

superhorn said:


> Speaking of Fritz Kreisler , accord9ing to one story, he was sked by a wealthy and snooty society lady
> to perform at a fancy dinner party . She offered him $ 1000 . However, she told the great violinists that he
> ws not to mingle with any of the guests afterward . He replied, "Well, in that case, I'll take $ 500 ."
> 
> :lol: :lol: :lol:


Typing with one hand? XD


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## ShropshireMoose

Benny Goodman had a group of musicians round to rehearse at his apartment one day. One of the company remarked, "Benny, it's a bit cold in here isn't it?" "You're right, it is", said the great man and disappeared, to put the heating on as they thought, only to reappear some minutes later wearing a thick pullover.


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## KenOC

ShropshireMoose said:


> Benny Goodman had a group of musicians round to rehearse at his apartment one day. One of the company remarked, "Benny, it's a bit cold in here isn't it?" "You're right, it is", said the great man and disappeared, to put the heating on as they thought, only to reappear some minutes later wearing a thick pullover.


Managed to find this old chestnut along similar lines.
-------------------------------------
At Jascha Heifetz's debut at Carnegie Hall in 1917, violinist Mischa Elman stood up at the break and wiping his face, he commented "It's hot in here!" Arthur Rubinstein sitting next to him quipped, "Not for pianists!"


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## ShropshireMoose

KenOC said:


> Managed to find this old chestnut along similar lines.
> -------------------------------------
> At Jascha Heifetz's debut at Carnegie Hall in 1917, violinist Mischa Elman stood up at the break and wiping his face, he commented "It's hot in here!" Arthur Rubinstein sitting next to him quipped, "Not for pianists!"


I love that story- though I think it was Leopold Godowsky, not AR who made the comment.
Another nice one re. Heifetz concerns the time he told Groucho Marx that he'd been earning his living as a musician from the age of seven, to which Groucho quipped, "And I suppose before that you were just a bum?"


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## Sid James

Here's another involving *Maestro Beecham*, showing how difficult it was to work with one of the most difficult (read: egomaniacal) people in the recent history of classical music, *pianist Artur Schnabel*:

_Between the two world wars one of the most highly regarded concert pianists was the Austrian Artur Schnabel. His reputation rested on his interpretation of the great Viennese classics.

Schnabel was notorious for taking over rehearsals from the conductor. He had a habit of instructing individual players in the orchestra without the least regards for the conductor's standing.

At the end of a concert with the London Philharmonic during the 1930s, Sir Thomas Beecham asked Frank Probyn, a horn player, as to who was due to play the concerto next day. When Probyn told him it was Schnabel, Beecham looked thoughtful.

The following morning the rehearsal hall was alive with noisy bustle. At ten o'clock the players took their places. The revered figure of Schnabel, already at the keyboard, was ready to get to work. But where was Beecham?

Five, then ten, minutes elapsed - still no Sir Thomas. After twenty minutes, he arrived and marched briskly onto the rostrum entirely ignoring the soloist.

Beecham raised his arms. He pretended suddenly to notice Schnabel seated at one end of the nine-foot Steinway. He lowered his arms.

'Why are you here?' he asked as though surprised.

'To rehearse, of course,' Schnabel answered, astonished by the question.

'Not now, you can't,' Sir Thomas replied firmly, 'I've got more than one or two things to sort out before we get to you. Why don't you go and sit down over there?' He waved airily towards the seats in the hall. 'I'll give you a call when we're ready.'

The stunned pianist left the platform, meekly recognizing the weakness of his position.

Sir Thomas set about rehearsing with a rare bad humour a symphony not even on that evening's programme, sniping at his excellent players. First, he took the horns apart.

'Much better in the Berlin Philharmonic,' he snapped.

The players knew him too well to take this show of bad temper seriously and soon began to play up to it. The wretched Schnabel was forced to witness this unhappy rehearsal and to wait his turn. Any thoughts he might have had of overriding this particular conductor evaporated in the face of such arrogance.

The break in the rehearsal passed, and still Beecham ignored his soloist. What should Schnabel do? How could he re-establish himself without appearing foolish? Then, with only thirty minutes of the rehearsal remaining, Sir Thomas turned to him.

'I'm ready for you now, Mr. Schnabel,' he beamed. 'We've just time enough for a quick run-through.' _

Source: "Stick to the Music - Scores of Orchestral Tales" collected by John Boyden. London: Hutchinson publishers. 1984 (pp. 24-5)


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## ShropshireMoose

Oscar Levant once talked himself out of a speeding ticket by convincing the officer who had pulled him over that you couldn't listen to the finale of Beethoven's 7th Symphony and drive slowly.


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## ShropshireMoose

Hans Knappertsbusch once went to conduct a distinctly inferior orchestra at Bochum in the Ruhr. After the concert, an enthusiastic chairman of the orchestral board engaged him in conversation. "Tell me , Maestro, when was the last time you conducted the Bochum Symphony Orchestra?"
"Tonight," he replied.


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## SteveSherman

The tenor Peter Hofmann published an autobiography entitled Singen ist wie Fliegen (Singing is like Flying). Here in Munich it was widely rumored that the publisher wanted to add the subtitle Fliegen kann ich auch nicht (I Can't Fly Either).


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## ShropshireMoose

Georges Enesco was prevailed upon to repay an old personal debt by taking on as a violin pupil the somewhat untalented son of a friend. When it became necessary for the young man to give a debut recital, Enesco even allowed himself to be talked into accompanying him at the piano.
On the evening of the recital Enesco, realising at the last moment that he would need a page-turner, persuaded his friend, Alfred Cortot, to come up out of the audience and assist him. The following morning a review appeared in Figaro, which read: "A curious recital took place last night at the Salle Gaveau. The man who was turning the pages should by rights have been playing the piano. The man who was playing the piano ought to have been playing the violin. And the violinist ought really to have been turning the pages......."


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## ShropshireMoose

"What is a harp but an over-sized cheese slicer with cultural pretensions?"
Denis Norden.

Just read this in a magazine, and it really tickled me! I should add that I like the harp.


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## Sid James

A trio of other anecdotes from that Boyden book from which I copied the Beecham/Schnabel story earlier:

- Late in his life, the legendary conductor *Sir Adrian Boult *was invited to Buckingham Palace for high tea with the Queen Mother. He was chauffered there, but his joints where so stiff, he could not make it out of the car (or it would have taken up too much time). So a fold-out table and chair was set up on the side of the road near Boult's car seat window, the tea and cakes where served on it, and they had high tea on the street outside the palace!

- During a recording session of his ferocious choral work _Belshazzar's Feast_, composer *William Walton *took a break whilst his assistant rehearsed the musicians in a section that Sir William was having trouble with. When he came back from his break, Walton was amazed at the results garnered from the players and singers by this assistant conductor. It was far better than what he had been trying to achieve to no avail only minutes before. After they finished with the assistant, Walton pleadingly exclaimed something like "That was excellent, but why can't you do that for me?"

- During the 1950's, the conductor *Otto Klemperer *was based in London and conducted there, conveying the Germanic classics to a devouted audience. One of his biggest fans, who had collected all of his records, was a South African. He wrote to Klemperer's secretary saying he would be in London for a concert of the Maestro, and asked if it would be possible to see him after the concert. When the secretary mentioned this to Klemperer, he was not very enthusiastic. This guy was amongst the biggest crumudgeons in classical music history, after all. However, Klemperer reluctantly agreed to go ahead with the backstage meeting. When the time came Klemperer's No. 1 fan, who had travelled halfway across the world to meet his idol, knocked on his door. Klemperer shouted for him to enter. The fan entered, said hello to the maestro. Klemperer replied "Hello...and goodbye." The meeting was over!


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## Marschallin Blair

Sid James said:


> Here's another involving *Maestro Beecham*, showing how difficult it was to work with one of the most difficult (read: egomaniacal) people in the recent history of classical music, *pianist Artur Schnabel*:
> 
> _Between the two world wars one of the most highly regarded concert pianists was the Austrian Artur Schnabel. His reputation rested on his interpretation of the great Viennese classics.
> 
> Schnabel was notorious for taking over rehearsals from the conductor. He had a habit of instructing individual players in the orchestra without the least regards for the conductor's standing.
> 
> At the end of a concert with the London Philharmonic during the 1930s, Sir Thomas Beecham asked Frank Probyn, a horn player, as to who was due to play the concerto next day. When Probyn told him it was Schnabel, Beecham looked thoughtful.
> 
> The following morning the rehearsal hall was alive with noisy bustle. At ten o'clock the players took their places. The revered figure of Schnabel, already at the keyboard, was ready to get to work. But where was Beecham?
> 
> Five, then ten, minutes elapsed - still no Sir Thomas. After twenty minutes, he arrived and marched briskly onto the rostrum entirely ignoring the soloist.
> 
> Beecham raised his arms. He pretended suddenly to notice Schnabel seated at one end of the nine-foot Steinway. He lowered his arms.
> 
> 'Why are you here?' he asked as though surprised.
> 
> 'To rehearse, of course,' Schnabel answered, astonished by the question.
> 
> 'Not now, you can't,' Sir Thomas replied firmly, 'I've got more than one or two things to sort out before we get to you. Why don't you go and sit down over there?' He waved airily towards the seats in the hall. 'I'll give you a call when we're ready.'
> 
> The stunned pianist left the platform, meekly recognizing the weakness of his position.
> 
> Sir Thomas set about rehearsing with a rare bad humour a symphony not even on that evening's programme, sniping at his excellent players. First, he took the horns apart.
> 
> 'Much better in the Berlin Philharmonic,' he snapped.
> 
> The players knew him too well to take this show of bad temper seriously and soon began to play up to it. The wretched Schnabel was forced to witness this unhappy rehearsal and to wait his turn. Any thoughts he might have had of overriding this particular conductor evaporated in the face of such arrogance.
> 
> The break in the rehearsal passed, and still Beecham ignored his soloist. What should Schnabel do? How could he re-establish himself without appearing foolish? Then, with only thirty minutes of the rehearsal remaining, Sir Thomas turned to him.
> 
> 'I'm ready for you now, Mr. Schnabel,' he beamed. 'We've just time enough for a quick run-through.' _
> 
> Source: "Stick to the Music - Scores of Orchestral Tales" collected by John Boyden. London: Hutchinson publishers. 1984 (pp. 24-5)


Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. . . I love Beecham's frivolity if not his oeuvre; kind of like Keynes that way.


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## Marschallin Blair

PetrB said:


> After playing the piano reduction of Petrushka for Diaghilev, who commissioned it for the Ballet Russes, Diaghilev's only comment was, "But Igor, you end on a question?"
> 
> Stravinsky's comment when later relating that incident, "At least he understood that much."


. . . and when Diaghilev asked Stravinky why he was studying the score of Daphnis et Chloe, because it was so 'yesterday'-- Stravinsky said that he wasn't interested in what was 'yesterday,' or 'today,' but rather what was 'forever.'

Bravo, Igor!!


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## Marschallin Blair

My memory's a little hazy, but reminsicence seems to be such that Toscanini said that when one speaks of Richard Strauss the composer-- he takes off his hat; and when one speaks of Strauss the man-- he puts it on again. 

Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. 

-- But then, Toscanini COULD say that, since he's written twenty-six Rosenkavaliers and fourteen Die Frau ohne Schattens to Strauss' paltry two.


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## Sid James

I remembered the three of those anecdotes I put here last pretty well, although the Boult one had some errors (his meeting with the Queen Mother was not at Buckingham Palace, but Clarence House, and it was not just for tea but also for the conveyance of a diploma). But it's such a great anecdote, I thought I'd copy it out in full from Boyden's book. Its so typically English and the last line by the policeman is pure gold:

Sir Adrian Boult, when already well into his nineties, had to attend the Queen Mother to receive a diploma. His usual driver was unavailable to take him from his flat in West Hampstead (or Kilburn, as Boult preferred to call it), so he hired a car from an unfamiliar source.

Because his legs had given out, Sir Adrian was carried from his flat, in considerable discomfort, by the new chauffeur. On the way down to the car, they collided with a couple of doorstops before the old man was unceremoniously dumped in the Rolls.

When they reached Clarence House Sir Adrian decided that enough was enough and refused to leave the car. He may have lost the use of legs but he still had his wits about him.

'It would be better for everyone were the documents to be bought out to me,' he declared.

The driver went into the house. He returned an equerry, who told Sir Adrian that he would take care of everything.

Almost immediately a flunky appeared clutching a small awning, which he erected on four poles in the street to the side of the Rolls's rear door. He was followed by a couple of footmen with a small table and a golden chair.

The Queen Mother arrived, complete with diploma, followed by a footman with tea set out on a silver tray, which he placed on the table between the Queen Mother, and Sir Adrian, who was still seated on the Rolls's back seat. They proceeded to have tea in the street.

Once the diploma had been handed over, the Queen Mother went back indoors. Along the street ambled a policeman. He came across to Sir Adrian.

'Do you realize, sir,' he asked in a properly pompous manner, 'that you are sitting in an unlicensed vehicle?'

…and while I'm at it, here's another one from the book about Sir Adrian, this time regarding his struggle with conducting the music of Humphrey Searle. Sounds like the composer himself didn't entirely know what was going on in his fresh score, either.

In the early 1960's Sir Adrian Boult was rehearsing the London Philharmonic in the First Symphony of the English composer Humphrey Searle.

Boult was well over six feet tall and was standing on a platform some five feet above the level of the seats in the hall. The composer, who wrote in the atonal style then so fashionable, had decided to attend.

Once the rehearsal began Sir Adrian noticed that the trumpets were playing something different from his score.

'What have you got there?' he demanded.

'Concert B-flats,' they replied.

'That's not what's in the score,' he muttered, and he turned to look for the composer in the gloom of the hall.

'Composer,' he yelled.

Up came Searle, a score in his hand. As he approached he was forced to crane his head backwards to see the ramrod figure of the conductor high above.

'They've got B-flats. I've got Cs. Now, which do you want?' Sir Adrian asked.

The composer checked his score. 'Cs, Sir Adrian,' Searle confirmed.

'Right.' Boult turned to the trumpets. 'Change your parts to Cs.'

The rehearsal continued for a few bars until a similar situation arose with the horns.

'Composer,' shouted Boult.

Along came the composer, and the horn players' parts where changed to accommodate his intentions. But this pattern was repeated with different sections of the orchestra on too many occasions for Boult to continue seeking the composer's advice. Instead, he began to make his own alterations to the detail of Searle's symphony.

The composer listened and watched in silence until, during the last movement, he noticed something he wished to change which Boult had not picked up.

'Sir Adrian,' he called diffidently from the foot of the platform to the determined figure above him. 'Sir Adrian. There's something I'd like to mention.'

But Sir Adrian went on rehearsing, apparently oblivious of the supplicant below.

'Sir Adrian,' Searle repeated, 'Sir Adrian.'

But Sir Adrian had had enough of interruptions and alterations. He turned brusquely and snapped, 'Go away, little man. We're not playing your piece.'



Marschallin Blair said:


> My memory's a little hazy, but reminsicence seems to be such that Toscanini said that when one speaks of Richard Strauss the composer-- he takes off his hat; and when one speaks of Strauss the man-- he puts it on again.
> 
> Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.
> 
> -- But then, Toscanini COULD say that, since he's written twenty-six Rosenkavaliers and fourteen Die Frau ohne Schattens to Strauss' paltry two.


That would have been in reference to Strauss' implicit aquiescence to the Nazi regime. Toscanini stopped conducting in Germany once the Nazis took power, yet Strauss continued to do so (I think he took over at Bayreuth, where Toscanini particularly refused to go as long as the Nazis held power).

There's an anecdote in the Boyden book about a meeting between Maestros Toscanini and Barbirolli. When they met, Arturo was very agitated, pacing the room and almost knocking over furniture. Barbirolli asked him why he was troubled, and Toscanini replied that he heard that a plane had just gone down, and on board was one of Franco's generals. The Italian maestro asked his British colleague a rhetorical question, as to why Mussolini doesn't go down in a plane as well some day, why does he continue to live? Barbirolli was astonished because he had thought that Toscanini was angry and throwing some tantrum over some musical matter, which happened a lot, he didn't think it would be politics.


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## Marschallin Blair

Sid James said:


> I remembered the three of those anecdotes I put here last pretty well, although the Boult one had some errors (his meeting with the Queen Mother was not at Buckingham Palace, but Clarence House, and it was not just for tea but also for the conveyance of a diploma). But it's such a great anecdote, I thought I'd copy it out in full from Boyden's book. Its so typically English and the last line by the policeman is pure gold:
> 
> Sir Adrian Boult, when already well into his nineties, had to attend the Queen Mother to receive a diploma. His usual driver was unavailable to take him from his flat in West Hampstead (or Kilburn, as Boult preferred to call it), so he hired a car from an unfamiliar source.
> 
> Because his legs had given out, Sir Adrian was carried from his flat, in considerable discomfort, by the new chauffeur. On the way down to the car, they collided with a couple of doorstops before the old man was unceremoniously dumped in the Rolls.
> 
> When they reached Clarence House Sir Adrian decided that enough was enough and refused to leave the car. He may have lost the use of legs but he still had his wits about him.
> 
> 'It would be better for everyone were the documents to be bought out to me,' he declared.
> 
> The driver went into the house. He returned an equerry, who told Sir Adrian that he would take care of everything.
> 
> Almost immediately a flunky appeared clutching a small awning, which he erected on four poles in the street to the side of the Rolls's rear door. He was followed by a couple of footmen with a small table and a golden chair.
> 
> The Queen Mother arrived, complete with diploma, followed by a footman with tea set out on a silver tray, which he placed on the table between the Queen Mother, and Sir Adrian, who was still seated on the Rolls's back seat. They proceeded to have tea in the street.
> 
> Once the diploma had been handed over, the Queen Mother went back indoors. Along the street ambled a policeman. He came across to Sir Adrian.
> 
> 'Do you realize, sir,' he asked in a properly pompous manner, 'that you are sitting in an unlicensed vehicle?'
> 
> …and while I'm at it, here's another one from the book about Sir Adrian, this time regarding his struggle with conducting the music of Humphrey Searle. Sounds like the composer himself didn't entirely know what was going on in his fresh score, either.
> 
> In the early 1960's Sir Adrian Boult was rehearsing the London Philharmonic in the First Symphony of the English composer Humphrey Searle.
> 
> Boult was well over six feet tall and was standing on a platform some five feet above the level of the seats in the hall. The composer, who wrote in the atonal style then so fashionable, had decided to attend.
> 
> Once the rehearsal began Sir Adrian noticed that the trumpets were playing something different from his score.
> 
> 'What have you got there?' he demanded.
> 
> 'Concert B-flats,' they replied.
> 
> 'That's not what's in the score,' he muttered, and he turned to look for the composer in the gloom of the hall.
> 
> 'Composer,' he yelled.
> 
> Up came Searle, a score in his hand. As he approached he was forced to crane his head backwards to see the ramrod figure of the conductor high above.
> 
> 'They've got B-flats. I've got Cs. Now, which do you want?' Sir Adrian asked.
> 
> The composer checked his score. 'Cs, Sir Adrian,' Searle confirmed.
> 
> 'Right.' Boult turned to the trumpets. 'Change your parts to Cs.'
> 
> The rehearsal continued for a few bars until a similar situation arose with the horns.
> 
> 'Composer,' shouted Boult.
> 
> Along came the composer, and the horn players' parts where changed to accommodate his intentions. But this pattern was repeated with different sections of the orchestra on too many occasions for Boult to continue seeking the composer's advice. Instead, he began to make his own alterations to the detail of Searle's symphony.
> 
> The composer listened and watched in silence until, during the last movement, he noticed something he wished to change which Boult had not picked up.
> 
> 'Sir Adrian,' he called diffidently from the foot of the platform to the determined figure above him. 'Sir Adrian. There's something I'd like to mention.'
> 
> But Sir Adrian went on rehearsing, apparently oblivious of the supplicant below.
> 
> 'Sir Adrian,' Searle repeated, 'Sir Adrian.'
> 
> But Sir Adrian had had enough of interruptions and alterations. He turned brusquely and snapped, 'Go away, little man. We're not playing your piece.'
> 
> That would have been in reference to Strauss' implicit aquiescence to the Nazi regime. Toscanini stopped conducting in Germany once the Nazis took power, yet Strauss continued to do so (I think he took over at Bayreuth, where Toscanini particularly refused to go as long as the Nazis held power).
> 
> There's an anecdote in the Boyden book about a meeting between Maestros Toscanini and Barbirolli. When they met, Arturo was very agitated, pacing the room and almost knocking over furniture. Barbirolli asked him why he was troubled, and Toscanini replied that he heard that a plane had just gone down, and on board was one of Franco's generals. The Italian maestro asked his British colleague a rhetorical question, as to why Mussolini doesn't go down in a plane as well some day, why does he continue to live? Barbirolli was astonished because he had thought that Toscanini was angry and throwing some tantrum over some musical matter, which happened a lot, he didn't think it would be politics.


You're too wise Sid; your anecdotage is superb. I never knew the context. Grazie.


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## ShropshireMoose

Fritz Kreisler was dining one day in a restaurant in New York. A lady kept on looking at him, finally she summoned the waiter over, pointed to Kreisler and said, "Don't I know that man? Isn't he famous?" The waiter replied, "That, madam, is Mr. Kreisler." At this, lady got up, walked over to Kreisler and said, "Say, I'm so glad to meet you, I ride to work in one of your cars every day. Would you autograph the menu for me?" He duly signed, "With best wishes, Walter P. Chrysler."


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## Blancrocher

I'm copying out a post I just read by DavidA, since it gave me my first laugh of the day (though I'm not sure it was _deliberately_ humorous on Michelangeli's part).



> John Culshaw tells a story about Michelangeli. He had a recording contract with Decca and they lined up four pianos for him to try. He walked in, kicked each piano, and walked out again!


:lol:

Michelangeli was such a piece of work.

*p.s.* A nice thread you have here by the way, ShropshireMoose.


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## moody

Sid James said:


> Here's another involving *Maestro Beecham*, showing how difficult it was to work with one of the most difficult (read: egomaniacal) people in the recent history of classical music, *pianist Artur Schnabel*:
> 
> _Between the two world wars one of the most highly regarded concert pianists was the Austrian Artur Schnabel. His reputation rested on his interpretation of the great Viennese classics.
> 
> Schnabel was notorious for taking over rehearsals from the conductor. He had a habit of instructing individual players in the orchestra without the least regards for the conductor's standing.
> 
> At the end of a concert with the London Philharmonic during the 1930s, Sir Thomas Beecham asked Frank Probyn, a horn player, as to who was due to play the concerto next day. When Probyn told him it was Schnabel, Beecham looked thoughtful.
> 
> The following morning the rehearsal hall was alive with noisy bustle. At ten o'clock the players took their places. The revered figure of Schnabel, already at the keyboard, was ready to get to work. But where was Beecham?
> 
> Five, then ten, minutes elapsed - still no Sir Thomas. After twenty minutes, he arrived and marched briskly onto the rostrum entirely ignoring the soloist.
> 
> Beecham raised his arms. He pretended suddenly to notice Schnabel seated at one end of the nine-foot Steinway. He lowered his arms.
> 
> 'Why are you here?' he asked as though surprised.
> 
> 'To rehearse, of course,' Schnabel answered, astonished by the question.
> 
> 'Not now, you can't,' Sir Thomas replied firmly, 'I've got more than one or two things to sort out before we get to you. Why don't you go and sit down over there?' He waved airily towards the seats in the hall. 'I'll give you a call when we're ready.'
> 
> The stunned pianist left the platform, meekly recognizing the weakness of his position.
> 
> Sir Thomas set about rehearsing with a rare bad humour a symphony not even on that evening's programme, sniping at his excellent players. First, he took the horns apart.
> 
> 'Much better in the Berlin Philharmonic,' he snapped.
> 
> The players knew him too well to take this show of bad temper seriously and soon began to play up to it. The wretched Schnabel was forced to witness this unhappy rehearsal and to wait his turn. Any thoughts he might have had of overriding this particular conductor evaporated in the face of such arrogance.
> 
> The break in the rehearsal passed, and still Beecham ignored his soloist. What should Schnabel do? How could he re-establish himself without appearing foolish? Then, with only thirty minutes of the rehearsal remaining, Sir Thomas turned to him.
> 
> 'I'm ready for you now, Mr. Schnabel,' he beamed. 'We've just time enough for a quick run-through.' _
> 
> Source: "Stick to the Music - Scores of Orchestral Tales" collected by John Boyden. London: Hutchinson publishers. 1984 (pp. 24-5)


I don't believe that was Schnabel who was not in the least bit difficult. It must be some other pianist.


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## DavidA

KenOC said:


> "Why do our British orchestras engage so many third-rate foreign guest conductors when we have so many second-rate conductors of our own?" -- Sir Thomas Beecham


The musician that barb was aimed at was Rafael Kubelick. I think history had proved Beecham wrong here..

Beauchamp himself had a reputation of being a first rate conductor of second-rate music.


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## DavidA

Yehudi Menuhin recalls in his memoirs as having a conversation with Toscanini in a hotel room. In the middle of the conversation the telephone rang at which Toscanini, annoyed by the interruption, went and ripped the telephone clean of the wall. Later on the management came to fix the telephone and apologised to Toscanini that the phone had run at the wrong moment!


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## DavidA

Harold Schonberg says that the tenor Melchior of got bored by the roles he had to play. To alleviate the boredom he would sometimes have a game of cards with the stagehands on the side. Once when playing Tristan opposite Flagstad he actually fell asleep after his death scene. Flagstad had to poke him to stop his snores during the Leiberstode!


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## DavidA

During 1951 Bayreuth Festival, lavatories were apparently in short supply backstage, so Karajan typically commandeered one for his personal use. Knappersbusch wrote on the door: 'This is Herr Von Karajan's lavatory. The rest are for the other a**holes!'


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## DavidA

The celebrated base Siepi was singing Don Giovanni. At is descent into hell the contraption lowering the trap door stuck halfway, leaving him with head and shoulders visible to the audience. A second attempt was made to put the Don into hell but with the same result. At which point Siepi was heard to shout: "Oh wonderful! Hell is full!"


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## DavidA

Melchior was singing low Hendron at the Metropolitan in 1938. At the end the swan boat arrived to take him away as he sang his final farewell. Unfortunately the boat then departed before he had a chance to get into it. Melchior look at it going and said in a resigned tone: "When does the next swan go?" Apparently he was quoting one Leo Slezak who had been stuck in the same position 30 years before!


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## ShropshireMoose

Upon his visit to the USSR in 1964, the first thing that Arthur Rubinstein did was to check his hotel suite for "bugs", just in case the KGB were listening in. Finding a lot of wires underneath one of the carpets, he cut them and slept far more soundly as a result. Imagine his surprise upon going down to breakfast the following morning and learning that the chandelier had crashed to the floor in the room below his!


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## Sid James

Although I consider *Zoltán Kodály* not only to be a great composer but also a humanitarian, he also had some bad days, like this (this is another one from the Boyden book) :

_The composer Zoltán Kodály had to use an interpreter to convey his wishes to the orchestras he rehearsed in foreign countries. In common with most educated Hungarians he was fluent in German, so it was in that language that he conducted rehearsals during a trip to the United States.

On one occasion, at a point of intense frustration, Kodály screamed, "Schweinenhunden! Sie spielen wie Schweinenhunden!"

The interpreter pondered for a moment, considering the many alternatives open to him, and then announced: "Gentlemen, the maestro admires your playing very much indeed. But he'd like it better still if you would only give him a bit more expression at letter G!"_

Australian composer *Peter Sculthorpe* also gives an anecdote involving *Kodály*, in his autobiography _Sun Music_. Sculthorpe studied as a postgraduate at Oxford in the late 1950's. He was staying with a friend there, in what sounds like a mansion. Many musicians passed through there, including Kodály. One day a person came around who his host wanted to avoid. This person was peering through the main window where the host, her friend, Sculthorpe and Kodály where taking tea. To avoid him seeing them, they all darted under the Bechstein, hiding under it. The unwanted intruder peering in from the garden didn't see them, "it's just as well he was shortsighted" Sculthorpe wrote.

Sculthorpe's book is replete with anecdotes. Another one from the time he spent in England, Sculthorpe and a musicologist friend where staying in an old pub. They had it all to themselves, and many musicians and artistic types visiting the area came to stay a night. *John Cage* came with David Tudor, and they wanted a marble slab to sleep on, which was not particularly practical in a run down old pub. They never explained the reason for their request.

Another one was about the clarinetist Gervase de Peyer premiering a work called _St Michael Sonata_ by *Peter Maxwell Davies*. The composer conducted after Arthur Bliss had pulled out of the job, saying the rhyhms in this score where too complex for him to handle, better the composer do the job himself. Max wasn't that confident conducting, and it transpired that de Peyer played it with the wrong type of clarinet a semitone apart. Maxwell Davies only realized this after de Peyer dropped the news to him, initially he was pleased with the performance!

*Toru Takemitsu* is mentioned many times in Sculthorpe's book. I think Sculthorpe had some fondness for the man, and it was reciprocated. That's in common with many Australian composers, Takemitsu was a big influence as they looked towards Asia for inspiration. Takemitsu apparently made these strange Zen-like statements. "Peter Sculthorpe have moustache. His music now have moustache" was one of such quirky sayings by Toru that Sculthorpe relates.


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## Vaneyes

Egos are everything. 

Once while in transit from airport to hotel, HvK noticed an inordinate number of Solti posters for that evening's concert. Minutes later the two giants would come face to face in the hotel lobby, and without missing a beat, "Oh, Georg, you're in town."


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## ShropshireMoose

On a similar note, but showing a different personality completely, Pierre Monteux once tried to book into a hotel in the USA but was turned away by the clerk as the hotel was fully booked. As he began to walk out, someone explained to the clerk just who Monteux was, at which the clerk rushed after him and catching him up explained that there was a room for him after all, but he should have explained that he was "somebody"! Monteux looked at him and said, "Ev'rybody is somebody", and walked out!


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## DavidA

A German opera house was performing the Ring and had come to Gotterdamerung. After Siegfried's murder, two stage hands went to carry the body off on their shoulders during the funeral march. Unfortunately neither of them had rehearsed it before as they were stand-ins. Hence as they lifted the body up and walked off they were facing in opposite directions, with predictable consequences, leaving the audience red-faced with mirth for the Immolation.


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## Marschallin Blair

Vaneyes said:


> Egos are everything.
> 
> Once while in transit from airport to hotel, HvK noticed an inordinate number of Solti posters for that evening's concert. Minutes later the two giants would come face to face in the hotel lobby, and without missing a beat, "Oh, Georg, you're in town."


Well, Karajan got his: He saw Brigit Nilsson backstage at the Met and, noticing her string of gorgeous pearls, remarked: "Bought with your Met fees"-- to which Nilsson replied: "No, these are imitation pearls, bought with your conducting fees."-- or something like that. Ha. Ha. Ha.


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## Marschallin Blair

ShropshireMoose said:


> On a similar note, but showing a different personality completely, Pierre Monteux once tried to book into a hotel in the USA but was turned away by the clerk as the hotel was fully booked. As he began to walk out, someone explained to the clerk just who Monteux was, at which the clerk rushed after him and catching him up explained that there was a room for him after all, but he should have explained that he was "somebody"! Monteux looked at him and said, "Ev'rybody is somebody", and walked out!


Arthur Sullivan: "If everybody's 'somebody,' then no one's anybody!"


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## DavidA

Marschallin Blair said:


> Well, Karajan got his: He saw Brigit Nilsson backstage at the Met and, noticing her string of gorgeous pearls, remarked: "Bought with your Met fees"-- to which Nilsson replied: "No, these are imitation pearls, bought with your conducting fees."-- or something like that. Ha. Ha. Ha.


Just to,say that Karajan's biographer, Richard Osborne, tells us the pearls broke and HvK was trying to help her pick them up when the verbal exchange came.
There was no love loss between them, especially as Nilsson had quite a mouth on her which did not go down well with Karajan.
She once turned up to a rehearsal in a miner's helmet as a protest at how dark his production was. She said that the only thing you could see properly was him on the podium.
He once referred to her as 'Scarpia without make-up.'


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## DavidA

Marschallin Blair said:


> Arthur Sullivan: "If everybody's 'somebody,' then no one's anybody!"


Hope I'm not being too pedantic, but the quote is by WS Gilbert, the librettist of Gilbert and Sullivan. He was an irascible man and his ire was aroused when people gave Sullivan the credit!


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## DavidA

WS Gilbert was rehearsing a Gilbert and Sullivan Opera at the Savoy Theatre. He asked where the lady contralto was to which he got the reply, "She's around behind." "I know she has, " replied Gilbert, "but where _is_ she?"


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## Marschallin Blair

DavidA said:


> Just to,say that Karajan's biographer, Richard Osborne, tells us the pearls broke and HvK was trying to help her pick them up when the verbal exchange came.
> There was no love loss between them, especially as Nilsson had quite a mouth on her which did not go down well with Karajan.
> She once turned up to a rehearsal in a miner's helmet as a protest at how dark his production was. She said that the only thing you could see properly was him on the podium.
> He once referred to her as 'Scarpia without make-up.'


Oh God, David! Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. . . I am _ROL-LING!!_. . .Well-aimed Parthian shaft, that. Hey, he had to redeem himself _somehow_.


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## Marschallin Blair

DavidA said:


> Hope I'm not being too pedantic, but the quote is by WS Gilbert, the librettist of Gilbert and Sullivan. He was an irascible man and his ire was aroused when people gave Sullivan the credit!


No, not pedantic at all-- the words had to be_ EXPRESSED _by Sullivan. Ha. Ha. Ha. . .

Yep: Blonde All Too Blonde, episode nine-hundred and ninety-seven.

Thanks.


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## Marschallin Blair

DavidA said:


> A German opera house was performing the Ring and had come to Gotterdamerung. After Siegfried's murder, two stage hands went to carry the body off on their shoulders during the funeral march. Unfortunately neither of them had rehearsed it before as they were stand-ins. Hence as they lifted the body up and walked off they were facing in opposite directions, with predictable consequences, leaving the audience red-faced with mirth for the Immolation.


_CHOICE_ Python. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. . . my kind of humor all the way.


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## DavidA

"No operatic star has ever died soon enough for me." (Sir Thomas Beecham)


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## DavidA

Before the premier of G&S operetta, 'Ruddigore', Gilbert was told some people objected to the title. Gilbert's response to being told the words 'ruddy' and 'bloody' meant the same thing was: "Not at all, for that would mean that if I said that I admired your ruddy countenance, which I do, I would be saying that I liked your bloody cheek, which I don't.”


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## Marschallin Blair

DavidA said:


> Before the premier of G&S operetta, 'Ruddigore', Gilbert was told some people objected to the title. Gilbert's response to being told the words 'ruddy' and 'bloody' meant the same thing was: "Not at all, for that would mean that if I said that I admired your ruddy countenance, which I do, I would be saying that I liked your bloody cheek, which I don't."


_WICK-ED_. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. . . . arc-lighting, napalm strike. . . writ large. . . No, no_ l'esprit d'escalier _with Gilbert; or quarter. Ha. Ha. Ha. . . Thanks.


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## Marschallin Blair

DavidA said:


> "No operatic star has ever died soon enough for me." (Sir Thomas Beecham)


I like that story of him where there was an unruly, boisterous child in the audience. Beecham stopped conducting. Suavely turned around. Paused for dramatic effect, and said: "Madam. . ._ please_"-- the the cascading of applause.


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## DavidA

"Can't you read? The score demands 'con amore,' and what are you doing? You are playing it like married men!" (Arturo Toscanini)


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## DavidA

Lily Pons was appearing as Santuzza in Cavalier Rusticana. She came on in a cart drawn by a donkey. Unfortunately the donkey got stage fright. It bolted across the stage, throwing out the diva from the cart and bringing down the scenery.


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## ShropshireMoose

Dame Joan Sutherland was booked to sing in a performance of the Messiah conducted by Sir Adrian Boult. Her husband, Richard Bonynge had written a cadenza for her in one of the arias, but neglected to warn Sir Adrian that he had done so. At the end of this glittering cascade of notes at the first rehearsal, Sir Adrian remarked quietly, "Ah, the mad scene from Handel's Messiah."


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## ShropshireMoose

Sonia Horowitz was once asked by a journalist, "Isn't it wonderful to be the daughter of Horowitz and the granddaughter of Toscanini?" "Oh yes", she replied, "from my father I inherited colitis, from my grandfather dandruff!"


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## ShropshireMoose

In the 1940s, both Vladimir Horowitz and Oscar Levant were notorious for cancelling concerts. They were approached by Musical America with a view to them taking advertising space. Levant suggested that they take a joint ad reading "Vladimir Horowitz and Oscar Levant both available for a limited number of cancellations." !!!!


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## ShropshireMoose

A story I heard at a seaside concert in the late 1970s told by John Heddle Nash. His father, the well known tenor Heddle Nash, arrived at a rehearsal for a prom at the Queen's Hall, London, at the same time as Sir Henry Wood. Sir Henry noticed a man lurking around the front of the hall, and on closer inspection, it proved to be Ambrose, the bandleader, Sir Henry asked what he was doing there, and Ambrose replied that he'd always wanted to sit in on an orchestral rehearsal so that he could see how classical musicians rehearsed. "Well, come along my boy," beamed Sir Henry, ushering Ambrose into the hall. He sat him down on the front row, then mounted the platform, turned to the orchestra and said, "Gentlemen, you will see that this morning we have in attendance one of the most distinguished members of the lighter side of our profession. Now, we'll start with the Hebrides Overture, a-one, a-two, a-one two three four!"


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## Headphone Hermit

ShropshireMoose said:


> A story I heard at a seaside concert in the late 1970s told by John Heddle Nash. His father, the well known tenor Heddle Nash .....


please excuse me asking, but how is 'Heddle' pronounced? I wonder if it is 'Hed - lee' but have always been too ashamed to ask out loud


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## ShropshireMoose

Headphone Hermit said:


> please excuse me asking, but how is 'Heddle' pronounced? I wonder if it is 'Hed - lee' but have always been too ashamed to ask out loud


As in pedal- viz. when you pedal your bike! Or peddle your dope, as Tom Lehrer would have had it!


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## Headphone Hermit

ShropshireMoose said:


> As in pedal- viz. when you pedal your bike! Or peddle your dope, as Tom Lehrer would have had it!


Thank you, I suspected so but liked 'Hedley' - it can't be much fun to be named after a component in a weaving loom


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## KenOC

Headphone Hermit said:


> Thank you, I suspected so but liked 'Hedley' - it can't be much fun to be named after a component in a weaving loom


Better to be named after a character in Blazing Saddles...


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## Sofronitsky

Prokofiev once listened to a student playing his Third Piano Concerto. The student was accompanied by his teacher. After about fifteen minutes of the concerto, Prokofiev couldn't take it any longer. He grabbed the *TEACHER* by the neck and screamed in their face "Idiot! You don't even know how to play!".

I guess that isn't that funny... Maybe dark humor? USSR? Okay, I'll see myself out :tiphat:


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## ShropshireMoose

Sir Landon Ronald (1873-1938), the conductor, was advised when starting out on his career that he ought to belong to a London club so that he could make the right connections and what have you. He duly joined one, and upon his first visit there, handed in his coat and hat to the attendant at reception and proceeded up the stairs where he dined and chatted and so on. Some three hours later as he came down the stairs and arrived back at reception, he was astonished to find that the attendant had placed the correct hat and coat for him. "This is remarkable", said Ronald, "I'm a new member and you've got the right hat and coat without my having to tell you!" "Sir, it is my duty to know the members of this club", came the reply. "Yes, but it's still remarkable, as this is my first visit!" said Ronald. "As I said sir, it is my duty to know the members of this club", the attendant replied, smiling. Ronald walked out, duly pleased. Some months later he'd gone through the same routine, but, the day being warm he didn't immediately put his hat on, but walked out into the sunshine holding it in his hand. As he stood on the steps of his club, he felt in the band of the hat a bit of paper, "What on earth is that?", he pondered, taking it out. On it was pencilled, "bald and ugly" ! It was a story he took great delight in telling against himself.


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## Whistler Fred

I've always liked the response from composer Max Reger to critic Rudolph Louis (translated into English from the original German): "I am sitting in the smallest room of my house. I have your review before me. In a moment it will be behind me!"


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## PetrB

Sofronitsky said:


> Prokofiev once listened to a student playing his Third Piano Concerto. The student was accompanied by his teacher. After about fifteen minutes of the concerto, Prokofiev couldn't take it any longer. He grabbed the *TEACHER* by the neck and screamed in their face "Idiot! You don't even know how to play!".
> 
> I guess that isn't that funny... Maybe dark humor? USSR? Okay, I'll see myself out :tiphat:


USSR ~ Full-fledged stars of the ballet were listed in the program, _as also were their active coach / teacher, who got equal credit / blame for the dancer's performance in the printed reviews._ Yeah, it was a soviet Russian thingie.

Added: upon second consideration, maybe the pupil was doing fine, and the teacher was sorely lacking as both pianist / accompanist....


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## PetrB

Viennese Tenor Leo Slezak (1873 - 1946) [father of film actor Walter Slezak] as Lohengrin, had performed his final bit at the end of the opera where the swan boat returns to then carry him away.

Stagehands mistimed the arrival and departure of the boat; the swan boat arrived early and early sailed away before Slezak was done singing. He turned to look for his getaway vessel, and finding none there turned to the audience and asked, 
"Wann fährt der nächste Schwan?" 
("When does the next swan leave?")


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## PetrB

------------------- --------------- ------------------------


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## PetrB

ShropshireMoose said:


> Sir Landon Ronald (1873-1938), the conductor, was advised when starting out on his career that he ought to belong to a London club so that he could make the right connections and what have you. He duly joined one, and upon his first visit there, handed in his coat and hat to the attendant at reception and proceeded up the stairs where he dined and chatted and so on. Some three hours later as he came down the stairs and arrived back at reception, he was astonished to find that the attendant had placed the correct hat and coat for him. "This is remarkable", said Ronald, "I'm a new member and you've got the right hat and coat without my having to tell you!" "Sir, it is my duty to know the members of this club", came the reply. "Yes, but it's still remarkable, as this is my first visit!" said Ronald. "As I said sir, it is my duty to know the members of this club", the attendant replied, smiling. Ronald walked out, duly pleased. Some months later he'd gone through the same routine, but, the day being warm he didn't immediately put his hat on, but walked out into the sunshine holding it in his hand. As he stood on the steps of his club, he felt in the band of the hat a bit of paper, "What on earth is that?", he pondered, taking it out. On it was pencilled, "bald and ugly" ! It was a story he took great delight in telling against himself.


Still in Europe, many a pub will run a tab for you, standard even if you are a stranger and don't ask for them to run one. I asked the barkeep, 
"Do you make up names or some characteristic description for those patrons whose names you don't know?" 
His answer was a tacit very wry smile.


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## ShropshireMoose

Reading one or two posts about Wagner and his antisemitism reminds me of the story of Benno Moiseiwitsch in the Savage Club, of which he was a popular and much loved member. There was a new member who pestered him, trying to ingratiate himself. He posed one irritating question after another, finally he asked Moiseiwitsch, "Is there any antisemitism in this club?", at which the great man finally lost his temper and snapped back, "Only amongst the Jews!" It was this that supposedly inspired William Norman Ewer to pen his epigram "How odd of God, to choose the Jews", which in turn prompted "But not so odd as those who choose a Jewish God, yet spurn the Jews."
I used this story once when compering at a concert in which I was also playing at a church. It was received with a stony silence! My Mother commented afterwards, "You do like putting your neck on the line, don't you?" I should perhaps add that I used it, as the choir had sung a modern cantata based on the book of "Esther", which is from the Old Testament and deals entirely with Jewish issues. Can't remember who'd composed the work, but it was not particularly memorable (and I'm thinking back 20 years now), so it's perhaps as well that "Esther" is the shortest book in the bible.


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## Pysmythe

I have two that I don't see anyone has already posted. The first is from Beethoven, who is said to have remarked to some composer or other (I don't recall who it was supposed to be), "I liked your opera. I think I will set it to music." And the second is a rather charming little anecdote concerning Haydn and Mozart, who supposedly once made a bet about who would buy the wine for the evening they were going to have. It goes that Mozart bet Hadyn that he, Wolfgang, could write a piece in five minutes that he would be able to play, but which Haydn would not. Joe took him up on it, and Mozart went over to a corner and scribbled away for a couple of minutes. Went he came back and put the piece on the piano, Haydn immediately began to play it fluently, but when he turned the page over... the final chord was spaced so that it was impossible for anyone to play it, with the left hand way down in the bass and the right high up in the treble, with the middle note written around middle C. Haydn laughed and protested that the thing could not be done, whereupon Mozart sat down to play through it, and when he came to the impossible chord... leaned down and sounded the wayward middle note with his rather long nose. 

Haydn paid for the wine that evening.


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## ShropshireMoose

This morning, having listened to, and not particularly enjoyed a very straightlaced and rather dull account of some Kreisler pieces played by Henryk Szeryng, reminds me of the story of Artur Schnabel and Moriz Rosenthal. Schnabel had, unusually for him, played a programme of music by Chopin. Rosenthal, a superb player of Chopin, was in the audience and went backstage afterwards. "Well Rosenthal, what did you think of my Chopin?", asked Schnabel. "It's different," said Rosenthal. "Yes, well you see I try to bring out the thinker in Chopin",said Schnabel, beaming. "Ah, I see, Chopin-hauer!" came the response.


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## Hmmbug

I recall Max Reger's response to a particularly nasty review by a critic: "I am sitting in the smallest room of my house. I have your review in front of me. In a moment it will be behind me."


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## dgee

Cool, now we're all imagining this guy in the smallest room of his house :-(


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## KenOC

Question. Did Reger ever get any good reviews?


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## Hmmbug

Don't think so. Another critic had once remarked: "Reger's music, like his name, is the same forwards and backwards."


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## Mahlerian

KenOC said:


> Question. Did Reger ever get any good reviews?


Probably. Even the most controversial of composers received some good press once in a while. But those notices aren't generally as interesting to read!


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## KenOC

Mahlerian said:


> Probably. Even the most controversial of composers received some good press once in a while. But those notices aren't generally as interesting to read!


So true. The only review we'll ever read in Beethoven 2nd Symphony liner notes is that oddball one from France that talks about "a great snake, wounded but unwilling to die." The more serious contemporary reviews were quite favorable -- but less fun to read! And they don't support the old myth that Beethoven wasn't appreciated in his own time.


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## Notung

ShropshireMoose said:


> This morning, having listened to, and not particularly enjoyed a very straightlaced and rather dull account of some Kreisler pieces played by Henryk Szeryng, reminds me of the story of Artur Schnabel and Moriz Rosenthal. Schnabel had, unusually for him, played a programme of music by Chopin. Rosenthal, a superb player of Chopin, was in the audience and went backstage afterwards. "Well Rosenthal, what did you think of my Chopin?", asked Schnabel. "It's different," said Rosenthal. "Yes, well you see I try to bring out the thinker in Chopin",said Schnabel, beaming. "Ah, I see, Chopin-hauer!" came the response.


I had a philosophy teacher who always used bad puns. There's a pattern, I see.


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## hpowders

To me, that's notung to worry about.


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## Vaneyes

dgee said:


> Cool, now we're all imagining this guy in the smallest room of his house :-(
> 
> View attachment 44761


And after heaping helpings of Limburger & 'kraut, I can imagine the scene as overwhelming.


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## DavidA

At the inaugural Tchaikovsky competition in Moscow, during the height of the Cold War, the jury was biased to give a Soviet winner. All except Richter who apparently gave van Cliburn 100 out of 25 and the rest zero. When asked for his reason he said that while van Cliburn could play, the others could not!


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## Blancrocher

After a performance of one of Brahms' string quartets, the 2nd violinist pestered the composer with his preening conversation. “And what did you think of our tempi?” he asked at one point. 

“Wonderful,” Brahms replied. “Particularly yours.”


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