Open Writing

In his memoirs, ‘Am I Too Loud?’ Gerald Moore insists that to the soloist, “the accompanist should be a source of inspiration …” Gerald Moore was particularly qualified to comment on the position of the accompanist. For more than fifty years, he accompanied stars of the musical world such as Yehudi Menuhin, Kathleen Ferrier, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Pablo Casals.

Later in the book, he mentions that in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, accompanists were deemed of little importance, there to make the singer or instrumentalist look and sound good. They and their work were rarely acknowledged by soloists, and during performances they were frequently hidden behind screens of potted palms or other plants. In more recent times, thanks in part to Gerald Moore himself, musicians and audiences have learnt to recognise the importance of the pianist in song and instrumental recitals

When I began my musical journey at the age of eight, my family had our own built-in, budding accompanist, my older brother, Roger. We became a travelling concert-party, visiting ‘old age homes’ as they were called, bringing music and laughter to Johannesburg’s senior citizens. Dad was a superb baritone. He sang all the old Victorian favourites, from ‘The Road to Mandalay’ to ‘Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair,’ throwing in a couple of Mozart arias and Schubert lieder, translated into English.

Audiences thought his rendition of ‘The Song of the Flea’ was fabulously funny, and they roared with laughter when he produced his little green kazoo, shaped like a saxophone, and sang ‘The Bassoon’. Mom had a lovely, light soprano, adding ‘Chiri-biri-bin’ and arias from Gilbert and Sullivan to our musical offerings. They would also act out ‘sketches’ which had everyone chuckling merrily. Roger usually played at least one fiery solo by Chopin, Beethoven or Rachmaninov during an evening’s entertainment. On one memorable occasion, the upright piano’s front legs buckled, and he played an entire Chopin Etude with the piano resting on his knees. I played Handel, Gluck, Bizet, Wetzger or Doppler. We usually ended with our family piece, ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ by Bach, with Mom singing, Roger playing the piano and Dad and I doing the trilly bits on our flutes.

Throughout the performance, Roger was at the piano, following our quirks when nerves made us miss a beat, playing softer or louder depending on our volume, playing introductions and interjections with sensitivity and musicality. In the years when I was growing up, I took my brother’s marvellous accompanying talents for granted. He was reliable, thought musically in the exact way I did, slowed when I slowed, sped up with me, neither of us having to think about the business of playing together, or to verbalise what we were doing.

As happens with families, we eventually left home and our lives changed direction. With a shock, I learned that not all pianists are accompanists, and with none of them does easy musical communication come naturally. It has to be cultivated and built over time. Sometimes, the most marvellous pianists can find the art of accompanying beyond them, lacking the sensitivity towards other people which helps accompanists to ‘read’ a soloist, to move with them when there’s a change in volume or rhythm.

During a performance, the pianist I’m working with is the most important person on stage. I must know that we have rehearsed sufficiently, and that we have a musical intimacy gained through working together. I need to know that I can rely on the pianist to cover my imperfections and to travel the musical road we’re on, in the same way that I will.

Many years ago I lived in Kimberley, where I built a lovely musical relationship with an accomplished pianist, Deanne. At that time, she was studying for an analytical degree, a Bachelor of Musicology. As we worked on each piece, she analysed it down to the harmonies, melodies and rhythmic structure of each individual bar. Each trill was broken down into an exact number of finger movements. Together, we gave several enjoyable recitals in the lovely St Cyprians Anglican Cathedral.

When Deanne left Kimberley, she introduced me to another wonderful personality, Frans. He was a Hollander who had come to Kimberley soon after the Second World War with his wife and young family. He lectured in music at the Technical College in Kimberley. In addition to helping me earn my music teacher’s diploma, we worked together on several recitals, also given at St Cyprians Cathedral. While Deanne showed me the minutiae of the music, Frans helped me understand the ‘bigger picture’. Sadly, Deanne and I soon lost touch but Frans and I corresponded regularly until his death about fifteen years later. As accompanists, they each gave me a deeper understanding of the structure, meaning and sheer beauty of the music we performed together.

When I returned to Johannesburg, my brother Roger and I occasionally made music together. The old understanding of each other’s musicianship returned without effort, but public performances weren’t on either of our schedules and we restricted our musical offerings to family gatherings, when we’d perform ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ together, and we’d haul out our old favourites for our own and each other’s enjoyment.

When I occasionally performed in public, it was usually with a wind quintet, playing an occasional solo during which our clarinettist doubled as pianist. Once again, Pat and I enjoyed a natural flow of musical feeling. We played quintets together at least once a week, and this musical communication meant we thought in the same direction, musically speaking.

Later, for several years, Alice was my permanent accompanist. Another Hollander, Alice is in many ways a ‘musical mother’ to me. Together, we gave regular house concerts at her house, our home and the homes of a few of our friends. During those years, with Alice’s encouragement and help with interpretation, I built an enormous repertoire of solo works. We formed a happy and lasting friendship, and still occasionally play together.

My time with Alice was interrupted when Leon and I spent some time in Namibia. There I met a lovely pianist, Salome. She was a busy mother of four young children, participating in exercise and dance classes and chauffeuring her children from one extra-mural activity to another. Salome had recently completed her Performer’s Licentiate on the church organ, gaining a distinction for her final recital. In her lounge, as well as a piano, there was a church-organ with startlingly blue pipes. During the time we worked together, Salome and I achieved that almost metaphysical relationship between soloist and accompanist, and gave two very successful recitals in Oranjemund.

When Leon and I returned to Johannesburg, arthritis in Alice’s fingers was becoming a problem, and with great regret, she ‘resigned’ as my permanent accompanist. But that is a story for next week.

Until next time, ‘here comes Treble!’

By Isabel Bradley © Copyright Reserved