C.V. Faction - 2nd Horn
It is with great sadness that we record the demise of C. V. Faction (2nd Horn). His demise was premature and prevented his realising his long held ambition of when he retired, placing his Conn 8D under a steamroller and at a stroke converting it into 2D.
His professional career was long enough to have encompassed the change from BSHN to what might be called the "American Sound" - hence the Conn 8D. It was indeed C.V. who coined the acronym BSHN - British Standard Horn Noise - along with co-conspirators rebelling against the 'Northern' school of playing.
He wrote an autobiography of which a copy is in our possession, called 'From Cheese - Cutter to Potty Trainer', a title esoteric enough to have put off all but immediate family and 133 pupils who were under a compulsory purchase order.
Its well camouflaged modesty led most to believe his initials to stand for curriculum vitae but his autobiography reveals his Christian names to be Caryl Volare, perhaps a tribute to his father's reckless behaviour after the taking of Monte Casino.
C.V. was well remembered as a husband, although there was no issue from his marriage, despite many women testifying that there was an issue about his marriage. His wife was memorably quoted after his demise stopped his involvement in orchestral politics, " He was always prepared to front - up but will be nice to see the back of him."
His headstone starkly records name, date of birth and death. His epitaph was rejected by the monumental mason on the grounds that, "We don't do asterisks."
C.V.'s instrument and other musical effects have been sold on behalf of his two favourite animal charities, 'Save the Sloth' and 'Spanish Bulls, Bon Chance'.
C.V. Faction - 2nd Horn
Let us talk of explosions - particularly at election time.
In 1984 (eat your heart out George Orwell!) the Tory party conference was held in Brighton. John Wells, a contributor to Private Eye, brought his 'Dear Bill' letters to the theatre in Brighton and opened it into a stage piece. For some reason he needed an orchestral accompaniment, and it was provided by the English Chamber Orchestra.
It was a good cabaret performance, well rehearsed, and as second horn I had little to do apart from accepting the money. Typically we finished well after the prescribed time and drove out of Brighton after midnight. I drove back to the Midlands and, listening to the BBC Overseas Service, heard about the IRA bombing the British Cabinet who were all staying at the Grand Hotel in Brighton. Five people were killed and several maimed but Maggie Thatcher was determined that the conference should go on as scheduled. A lucky escape for me from the aftermath.
An explosion I failed to avoid recently happened in the Rheydt, in the supermarket 'Real'. Francis Pressland, recently retired as Solo Horn of the local opera and symphony orchestra, had a flat tyre on his pedal/battery adaption to his wheelchair. I found an aerosol type repair canister and proceeded to inflate the collapsed tyre. I had read the blurb, which said to keep inflating until all the foam was expelled from the canister. About two thirds of the way through this procedure there was an almighty bang which brought the store to a halt and filled the front wheel with a foamy excrescence which proved rather difficult to eradicate.
Never mind, Francis had a call out which rectified matters and I have not heard an unexpected bang since!
Bye!
Let us talk about accidents and damage - to horns I mean.
Paul Sawbridge once had his horn stolen in Liverpool whilst at university. It was found at the bottom of Lime Street Cut, the approach to Lime Street Station. The policeman who returned it obviously did not know what it was or whether it should appear as it did. Well, even an Alex suffers somewhat when it's dropped 80 feet and been run over by a train!
Mike Saxton (2nd in the Halle in the 60's & 70's) had the misfortune to leap onto a Manchester bus as it drove away. The doors closed on the hand that held his Conn 8D - outside! He managed to get his hand back but had to watch as his instrument dropped to the ground, to be run over by the following two buses. Remember, they always come in threes!
Whilst my Knopf was being repaired, I borrowed a brand new Lidl. I failed to notice the case was imperfectly closed and had to watch as it fell open at the top of the steps outside Manchester Cathedral. The horn dropped on to the top step, teetered there for a minute or so, then fell to the bottom, bouncing on each step on the way down. So much expense for a mere schoolboy!
Frank Taylor, 3rd in the BBC Northern, reputedly put his Alex 103 under a steamroller when he retired. Good job he didn't play a Conn 8D - it could have wrecked the steamroller! Or at least been turned into (a) 2D - get it?
Never mind, see you next time!
What is it about horn players and cars? I was prompted to think about this, by one remove, as I flew into and out of Munich airport earlier this month(Jan. 2010) in a snowstorm. It was here on 6th. Feb. 1958 that the plane carrying the Manchester United football team foundered, attempting to take off for the third time in similar weather. My hero, Duncan Edwards, lingered for 15 days before succumbing to his injuries. George Followes, football correspondent of the Daily Herald, was a man I knew - the father of a school friend - and he died instantly.
I say by one remove because just five months earlier my other hero, Dennis Brain, had perished, driving his TR 2. Professor Sydney Coulston blamed himself for Dennis's death by virtue of having turned down the recording that Dennis Brain was driving through the night to honour. Despite not owning a car for as long as I knew him, Syd. squealed to a halt to offer me a lift in his brother's Mk. 2 Jag. I got in and was promptly nearly airlifted into the back seat by the acceleration. He was a maniac driver, as befits someone who had been downed more than once in bombers during the war.
I shared a scary journey from Glasgow to London with John Butterworth in his MGB GT in the early 70's. And I recently renewed acquaintance with another horn player (and excellent counter tenor) with a taste for TR 2's, David Burrowes. And then there is a real petrol head, Patrick Garvey, formerly 2nd Horn in the LPO. I remember, in poorer times, being stopped by a Glasgow policeman when a passenger in Patrick's yellow, re-painted, ex post office mini van. Apparently he had transgressed at a stop sign. In the interests of politeness, civility and oneness, I tried to exit by opening my door - which promptly fell on to the pavement at the constable's feet.
Patrick went through several Alvis's (or is it Alvi?) one of which seized on the Forth road bridge. Once it had cooled, we all took turns jumping on the starting handle to see if it could possibly turn over. Patrick was (and probably still is) a fastish driver who piled his Rover SD1on the M1 with the LPO horn section on board. Mind you, you had to drive those Rovers quickly to get home before they rusted through.
Which reminds me; I don't have a fancy for fast cars, I leave that to my wife. She managed to extract 105 mph from her Rover 90 when we were on our way to Tony Halstead's wedding. Those were the days!
Bye!
Apologies for the overlong hiatus since my last spasm. It's not that I've run out of things to say, but that I have travelled extensively and been out of the loop.
I was talking to a colleague the other day about the only recording I've done which has never been issued. I was Nth Horn/Wagner Tube in Strauss's Alpine Symphony with the London Philharmonic. The above mentioned hiatus reminded me that it was after the summer break and several principals were missing as well as everybody being somewhat rusty after the hols.
The point is that the conductor was (Sir) Andrew Davis who has subsequently gone on to bigger and better things - well, not bigger than the Alpine Symphony, obviously! However, I do remember him as a student at Oxbridge when his then girlfriend was in the Halle Orchestra in Manchester. Her name was Felicity and the gentlemen of the brass had other nicknames for her, the politest of which was 'Velocity'. Periodically he'd turn up and wave her farewell as he went back to Academe and she to a concert in Bradford/Sheffield. The whole orchestra would stare through the coach windows at this rather pitiful scene before she climbed aboard and he ran alongside waving his harpsichordist's digits. He looked like a prototype for those who are now referred to as 'Nerds'.
That boyish streak has never left him and in my subsequent contact with him he's always come out with Goon Show noises that seemed to me to be inappropriate to the job at hand. Never mind, even I shall grow up one day!
Maybe it's because of my age, but many of my friends and former colleagues are passing away. Angela Morley was neither of these but, previously, I promised to say something about her. I say her, but she started out in actual and professional life as Wally Stott. I used to badger my father into allowing me to stay up late (7.30 pm !) to listen to the Goon Show on the radio and it was Wally Stott and his outfit who provided the musical sanity in between the verbal insanity.
Shoot forward twenty or so years and I played in an L.P. recording of British Film Music which included the Waltz from Watership Down by Angela Morley. Same person, different gender. We accept many things in the entertainment profession in general and music in particular but a sex change operation in the 60's and 70's seems particularly brave. Those who know me can ask me for the story about the BBC Big Band's reaction to this but, for now, a story from a former colleague, Frank Ryecroft.
Wally had a wife and children prior to the big event and his domestic set up remained the same afterwards. Frank rang up "Angela Morley" one day and was answered by the son of the house. "May I speak to Angela Morley please?" The phone was put down and Frank could hear the patter of tiny feet as the child went to the foot of the stairs and shouted up, "Dad, telephone"!
Next time, stories about one of the funniest, kindest and most sensible horn players I've ever had the privilege of working with - the late, great Bill Davis.
Tearfully yours, C.V. Faction
Sorry for the hiatus but dental treatment takes precedence over other things.
I've only known two conductors cry. I don't mean genuine emotion in the context of a searing performance; nor do I refer to crocodile tears to which lesser maestri seem fond and prone. I'm talking about after hours succumbing to fears about career and failure.
My political involvement in orchestral administration means that I have been party to these moments of off duty indiscretion but if one is in a position to be confided in, one must respect confidences.
The first was a North American conductor who pitiably failed to deal with an orchestra who reciprocated his bullying manner. A woeful performance in rehearsal led to an equally woeful (and tearful) performance in the green room trying to convince me (!) how difficult the life of an international conductor was!
Next came a similar outpouring from a British conductor who wondered why he was a success abroad but failed to reach the heights at home. Simple explanation, and my great theory - the language. Quite simply, he talked too much. Abroad (and in his case it was Romania and Bulgaria!) he didn't speak the lingo so had to rely on pidgeon iron curtain and waving the stick. Pidgeon talk is entertaining and usually short and waving the stick means that the orchestra is playing - ergo, good rehearsal. The same conductor, working at home and speaking in his native tongue, is prolix and incredibly boring, hence disaffection and boredom in the ranks. Ergo, no gigs. Simple formula, simple solution. Did he take my advice? No! Does he get any gigs now? No!
Sadness continues and what have I started. Another sad departure of an unsung hero - Bill Davis, 2nd, then 4th horn of the BBC Welsh Symphony Orchestra. What a nice man, what a great player and what a sense of humour! He could drop any colleague into paroxysms of laughter at a distance of ten feet, usually just before a solo.
So, I have a tribute to Angela Morley to fit in and a more fulsome tribute to dear old Bill. Be patient until next time dear reader. Oh, additionally, my biography (in cartoon form) will start next time. This is a must for all those who have surmounted the difficulties of playing our beloved instrument - and have lived to tell the tale!
Bye for now - C.V.
Here are two important questions: are apple pips poisonous and has (Sir) Simon Rattle got a sense of humour? Here is the answer - yes and no.
Pips are indeed poisonous but they would have to be eaten in enormous quantities to have an adverse effect. Simon Rattle, when he eats an apple, eats it all, pips included. In a rehearsal for The Rite of Spring, the morning was strings alone, immediately followed by wind and brass. This meant no lunch for Simon. He grabbed an apple as the wind and brass were tuning. Having swallowed the lot, he looked up and noticed an empty chair. "Where's the Cor?" "You've just eaten it," came the reply from the first horn. Not a titter - apart that is from all the players.
I'm tempted to say, "Tootle Pip!" but I have a more serious post script. My last blog was a memory of the deceased maestro, Maurice Handford. What did I trigger? This week my copy of the Musician fell through the door and lo and behold, in the obits. were two colleagues with whom I played occasionally, John Jenkins, Tuba in the Philharmonia until 2006, and Rodney Senior, Principal Trumpet with the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra for many years. The former's obituary was written by an ex- pupil of mine, Christian Jones, whom I started on tenor but then changed to bass trombone on seeing his suitability for that rather specialist instrument. In the early 2000s he was John's immediate colleague, sitting alongside him in the Philharmonia.
A third musician, composer/arranger/band leader Angela Morley, nee Wally Stott, was remembered in the same issue. More of that next time.
For now, R.I.P. Angela Morley, John Jenkins and Rodney Senior.
C.V. Faction
Last time it was how to conquer nerves - part one. Part two dispenses with ethics and morality and uses the simple formula, "Get angry and be bloody minded." There are two ways to do this and the first is to actually be angry.
On the professional audition circuit, ("Oh, it's you again. How are you? The last time, I think, was the freebie to Geneva for the Suisse Romande." Ah! The good old days!) there are those that are certain, some that might, with a following wind, and the overwhelming majority who will never get a job. I mentioned Francis Bradley previously, and I auditioned for him many years ago. He was off-hand and about five foot two. I played the Hindemith Sonata - traditional British audition style, without a pianist. Before I could begin, he lowered the music stand to his height so that he could stand at my side and look on as I played. Didn't he know it?! What he must have known was that I was eight inches taller than he was and I would have to bend double to play.
The sight reading was all the Wagner excerpts in H basso and bass clef. I think I got the message that he didn't want me for the job. I left London feeling angry and a little bit humiliated. Unusually, I had a second audition that same day and though I was still angry, I was icy calm as I went in to play. Same piece - different result. I got the job.
The right mental attitude is paramount if you are to play to your potential. I had the right mental approach fortuitously but it is possible to think yourself into a situation. Remember the auditions you've failed; the occasions you've been humiliated by a partisan solo horn who has his own pupils' interests uppermost;the parking ticket you've just received; and the restaurant you took your girl/boyfriend to last night and the majordomo refused you entry because you looked too like the staff - D.J., tails etc. If you search it out, there is very little difference between controlled anger and being icy cool. As most conductors have the innate ability to make horn players angry, we only have to tap in, to utilise this rich vein of motivation.
One in particular was the late Maurice Handford, Associate Conductor of the Halle Orchestra who, as an ex-hornplayer himself, would proudly announce that split notes went out when he appeared on the scene. His death-ray looks at the horns and his not infrequent insistence that they remain behind to rehearse separately, hardly endeared him to the section.
His first marriage foundered but he appeared a changed man when he re-married and had a bonny child. By then it was too late. What you reap you sow - in Maurice's case, Senior Service untipped. In the late seventies I was waiting for a train with a colleague at Euston Station, when I felt a tap on my sleeve. At first I didn't recognise him. He looked, and was, at death's door. He was pitiable and gave us a smile, not a frequent occurence formerly. A sad end for someone who was of his time; in his attitude towards those he was directing; in his ignorance of the effects of a lifetime's addiction to the weed; and who did go gentle into that good night and did not rage against the dying of the light.
R.I.P. 'Til next time, C.V. Faction
There are two ways to deal with nerves. Sorry, three, if you choose to capitulate and succumb entirely to them. When you reach this point, give up playing altogether and take gardening leave. More of that later!
Psyching up a rugby team is easy, although I don't suppose too many of you out there have done it. Gather round in a circle, linking arms, and then start boot stamping and chanting - anything will do - obscenities are the custom. Get louder and quicker until you hyper-ventilate with the adrenalin flow and short breaths, then leap up in the air and rush out into the mud and rain and kill the opposition. All jolly good fun and nothing to do with horn playing.
Wait a minute though, isn't this rather redolent of the symptoms we experience before a difficult and exposed solo? Not the mud and the rain, but the shortness of breath and the racing pulse? Francis Bradley - Buller of his Ilk reputedly ran up three flights of stairs to replicate the physical state just prior to playing Siegfried's Horn Call. He'd then pick up his horn and gasp his way through it. Presumably, the psychology was to make the actual performance in the opera house relatively easy; he was, after all, for many years solo horn with the English National Opera.
So method one is to bring about the exact opposite symptoms described above. We want regular, sustainable breaths and a slow, steady heartbeat and if we achieve this, then the nerves are under control and we can enjoy the adrenalin flow. Breathe slowly and deeply through the nose just prior to the solo and this will slow the pulse. The last breath before you commence playing should be deep, through the corners of the mouth and in tempo. And there you have it.
Next time - method two.
Incidentally, there is no truth in the rumour that I've been banned from all BBC premises. It was not I who was found in the lift after descending from the hospitality suite standing on my head playing the spoons. It was a much more senior figure of fun - an executive in fact. His garden is looking lovely these days!
Toodle-pip!
C.V. F.