THE BIRTHDAY TRIBUTES to Sir Thomas Beecham (eighty last Wednesday)
do right to bring out the richness and diversity of the man, since that is one secret of his greatness as a conductor. But some of the press is offering a poor ha'porth of serious assessment to an intolerable deal of chat, much of it quite untrue. All this emphasis on 'character' is misleading, especially when the hoary old fallacies about his lack of academic training are trotted out
all over again. From a lot of what is being written about him one would imagine that his entire career had been a succession of wisecracks (the best of which cannot be printed), indiscretions, practical jokes at the expense of singers, and dazzling audacities without foundation in tech- nique and musicianship. Even his professed admirers tend to babble away about an 'inspired amateur,' an 'amateur of genius.' The man who, of all English musicians, can truly be called a professional through and through is decried as a conjuror or canonised as the patron saint of last- minute improvisation; this is an irony that Beecham himself must surely appreciate. It is the penalty of greatness in a country where genius is unsafe and mediocrity solid and reliable. It took a national disaster on a gigantic scale (brought about by reliable mediocrities) before the country could bring itself to put Churchill in power. Beecham is the Churchill of English music, in his wit, industry, uninhibited love of life, wide read- ing, histrionic sense, courage to make mistakes, perpetual cigar, and in the ability to combine seignorial grandeur with the common touch. But musical disasters do not unfortunately provoke the same sense of urgency; which is why he only conducted twice at Covent Garden during the lean years after the war. Some people complain that Beecham is 'difficult.' A man who has done more than any Englishman alive or dead to raise orchestral standards, promote the cause of opera and bring good music to the provinces, has a right to be difficult. Mentioning the common touch reminds me of a characteristic episode which I have not seen quoted anywhere. Late in the war, Beecham was conducting in Leicester at a time when the local delicacy, pork pie, was very hard to come by. At the end of the concert Beecham agreed to play an encore only on condition that someone presented him afterwards with 'one Mel- ton Mowbray pork pie.' The condition was ful- filled. A few months later he again conducted in Leicester. At the conclusion of the concert he turned round without a word, extended a fore- finger and solemnly traced a circle in the air. The audience got their encore and Sir Thomas his pie.
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