A Final Injustice
Leonard Salzedo 1921-2000
Jennifer Paull reveals the brouhaha surrounding Leonard Salzedo’s
final composition on the second anniversary of his death.
Leonard Salzedo was quite simply one of the kindest, most decent human
beings I ever had the honour to know. I really think that not only did
no unkind word ever escape his lips, but also, no unfair, unjust or
ignoble thought ever entered his head.
I met him at the Harrogate Festival in 1966 when I was playing in the
Harrogate Festival Orchestra for the premiere of his Paean to
the Sun.. I fell beneath the charm of his vital rhythmical pulls
and mixings; his haunting melodies and stabs of prismatic light cutting
through soft backdrops of tone colour.
Leonard had been a violinist, a member of Sir Thomas Beecham’s Royal
Philharmonic Orchestra, and eventually Sir Thomas’ assistant. Beecham
conducted several of Leonard’s scores with much success. But it is not
about the brilliant prize-winning composition student, or the brilliant
violinist or pianist, all of whom were Leonard Salzedo, that I wish
to write. For me, he was a close personal friend with a vast culture
and understanding of his Spanish, Jewish heritage, and many other arts
and horizons too. He was a musical idea mine, and a man of loyalty and
logic. His brain was razor sharp and he was totally unpretentious.
I used to smile to myself sometimes. One could start out with trepidation
upon a very difficult, long explanation of something complex. Not only
did he get the point before one had finished painting the picture and
all its possible ramifications, permutations, and combinations of dramatic
scenarios, A, B and C, but his summing up was invariably one word. "Quite!"
It was a Leonard "Quite!" which I think was 50% of the English
meaning, and 50% of the Latin QED (quod erat demonstrandum).
To illustrate his direct, laser brain, I recall once having asked him
about going to and from Glyndebourne during his playing career. He took
the seasonal, daily travel chore as a challenge. He drew a straight
line from his house to Glyndebourne on a map with a coloured crayon,
and simply drove along it as closely as he could. Direct – to the point
– no frills, just common sense and modesty. That was Leonard, with a
ton of kindness thrown in for good measure.
Leonard’s many successes included Divertimento for Three Trumpets
and Three Trombones, written for and recorded by the Philip
Jones Brass Ensemble. This was broadcast thousands of times as the theme
for the Open University on television for well over twenty years. His
ballet score, Witch Boy, now boasts over a thousand performances
in more than thirty countries. Leonard Salzedo was an important figure
in 20th Century, British music. His rightful place will be
seen in retrospection with the passing of time. I am convinced that
he will become more and more popular.
I could list pages of his compositions and those famous musicians who
have premiered, performed, exported, loved, enjoyed and carried his
music within them. I use the last phrase deliberately. To play, sing,
or dance Leonard’s music, is simply to be invaded by it. Not only are
his melodies haunting, but his rhythms, cross-rhythms and poly-rhythms
are totally intoxicating.
One cannot disassociate Leonard Salzedo from Dance. Pat Clover, his
wife, was a dancer. They were both members of the Ballet Nègres,
for whom Leonard wrote four ballets during 1946/7. I played in the Mercury
Ensemble that accompanied the Ballet Rambert, of which he was Musical
Director (1967-72). I remember well taking part in the premiere of Hazard,
one of his many, exciting ballet scores. He went on to become the principal
conductor of the Scottish Ballet (1972-73) and Musical Director of the
London City Ballet (1982-86). After this, he devoted himself exclusively
to composition.
During all of this time, we remained firm friends. Life separated us,
particularly as I came to live abroad and finally settled in Switzerland.
Yet during all of those years, he listened to me and my pleadings for
more repertoire for my rarely-heard love, the oboe d’amore. I premiered
the first piece he wrote for me, Cantiga Mozárabe,
at the Nottingham Festival in 1970. It is a beautiful, haunting melody,
which portrays the nostalgic soul of a musician doomed to exile, crying
out for his lost roots and origins. In a way, it was a self-portrait
of Leonard himself.
Twenty years later, there was Leonard again, in Montreux, Switzerland,
as I premiered his Sonata a Tré a delicious piece
for the "dark chocolate oboes, wrapped in silver paper." That’s
what I asked for, and what I received was a superb trio sonata for oboe
d’amore, cor anglais, and harpsichord. The slow movement in 5/4 time
has to be one of his most inspired, ever!
By this time, I had spent many years trying to amass repertoire for
the oboe d’amore, and wanted to form a quartet of players specialising
in the five voices of the oboe family of instruments. The musette’s
role would be doubled with that of the oboe player. There would have
been many simpler goals in life, many that would have been more lucrative
and less uphill. After all, most people simply do not know that there
are five different types of oboe, so why should they feel drawn to come
to a concert of the relatively unknown? "Commercial activity"
is not suitable as a description for my life’s mission.
I had decided, however, to publish the repertoire that I had been collecting
since the mid-1960’s. I had fought to keep the oboe d’amore alive and
expand it’s use as a solo instrument as well as in contemporary orchestration.
In a nutshell, that was everything musical I was trying to achieve in
life. Leonard had always been there, was always ready to compose and
give of his work, knowing that I believed in it, would perform it, record
it, cherish and one day, eventually publish it.
In 1996, I premiered Leonard’s Bailables for oboe, oboe
d’amore, cor anglais and bass oboe. This première took place
at the 25th International Double Reed Society Conference
at the Florida State University, Tallahassee. Few were those in
Europe who had ever heard of this town then. The Bush/Gore election
was to work wonders for its PR.
Whilst I was there, I met a doctoral student who was very interested
in working with me in the publishing of my repertoire, and in becoming
a member of the projected, permanent quartet. He had never heard of
the musette – the piccolo member of the oboe family. However, I needed
someone to play in a recording I had set up, and I arranged with Lorée,
a celebrated manufacturer in Paris, to borrow an instrument for him.
I returned to Switzerland after this conference to find that Leonard
had written Canto de Sibila for oboe d’amore and
string quartet as a complete surprise and "thank you". I was
delighted!
For the CD I was about to make, I had asked Leonard to arrange the
fun piano dances by Matyas Seiber, Leichte Tänze for
my ensemble. This he did with full written permission from Schott’s,
Seiber’s publisher.
The recording was one of those nightmares that would make a perfect
Fawlty Towers episode. We were perched up a mountain in a chapel with
miles of cables strewn all over the floor, and although it was August,
there prevailed the absolute necessity to wear sheepskin coats and scarves.
It brought back the distant memory of a Bach Magnificat
in Ripon Cathedral one August, for which I had to wear sheepskin wrist
muffs and cut off the fingers from the knuckles upwards of a pair of
woollen gloves.
Oboes are very temperamental things. We tried turning on the heating,
which was a further disaster. It sounded like the sea breaking on Dover
beach on a windy day in November. The show had to go on. Booked sound
engineers do not grow on trees, Alpine-evergreen, or otherwise.
However, the warmth of the condensation gathering in the instruments
from our warm breath and the cold of the stone chapel at such high altitude,
produced the nightmare known to every wind player. Water flooded the
tone holes, octave keys and crooks (bocals). These are the metallic
extensions that reach from the instrument to the reed and bend it into
the mouth on all double reed instruments with the exception of the oboe
and musette. The bass oboe was beginning to sound like a dishwasher
as water churned inside its crook. Tempers frayed. The American lady
playing the cor anglais and the French gentleman playing the bass oboe
had what I can only term, an instant Teflon effect, upon one another.
Somehow in the middle of this we managed to record Leonard’s beautiful
Bailables and his Seiber dances arrangement. I
also recorded the Sonata a Tré with the harpsichord
slipping in pitch with every gust of icy wind through the pine needles,
and much stopping and starting as a result.
Leonard, true to his form, sent me another
gift. It was Quatro Canciónes
Españolas for
oboe d’amore and piano. I was deeply touched yet again! I felt the moment
had arrived. Somehow, I had to find a way to start publishing this music
so that other people with these rare oboes could enjoy the beauty of
what he and a faithful few had so generously written for me.
I drove to visit him in London with the doctoral student after the
recording, and talked about plans. As I had worked many years to obtain
my repertoire and had the intention of financing what a student could
not, we would start out on the publishing venture with my existing,
relatively healthy quantity of original repertoire and my financial
backing. The doctoral student’s computer music copying was his valuable
input, and we would work on a mutual half share of any benefit resulting
from sales of scores.
As I retired, and this younger enthusiast continued, my initial, greater
input would gradually be compensated, and matters would equal themselves
out. After all, in terms of computers, I knew as little then as this
doctoral student knew about the musette or any other rare oboe come
to that. I had experience of publishing in general and promotion in
particular. This had all the makings of a complimentary team.
I was working on the idea of concerts, which would enable a group of
four oboists to play as a quartet at the beginning and end of a lecture
recital, branching into solos, duos and trios (with and without keyboard)
as the lecture progressed. I would introduce every musical illustration
as I gave an historical overview, demonstrating and performing repertoire
and discussing the background of these beautiful, seldom-heard instruments.
University Music Departments and Conservatories were ideal locations
for such lecture-recitals.
I asked Leonard if he felt he could write me another piece for these,
my ensemble projects. By this time, his heart, that one so full of goodness,
was not behaving itself as it should, in other more basic ways. Of course,
he said he’d be delighted.
I had solo works for bass oboe and piano thanks to Derek Bell, that
wonderful harpist of the Chieftains who is also an oboist.
In his own time had also promoted the rare oboes. He kindly gave me
all of his scores. What I really needed, was a piece to illustrate the
musette.
We agreed that this new work I was asking Leonard, to compose, would
therefore be for musette and piano. True to his word, Leonard sent it
to me not very long afterwards. It was the last work he ever composed
for me, or for anyone else. It also made Leonard one of a rare world-fraternity,
and probably the very first British composer ever to have written for
the entire range of oboes; musette, oboe, oboe d’amore, cor anglais
and bass oboe.
Before copying a work into the computer, one must have a contractual
agreement between publisher and composer. This had not yet been drawn
up and signed, but the doctoral student copied the musette work telling
neither the composer nor myself that he had done so. He performed it
as part of his doctoral recital requirements at the Florida State University.
The printed programme, details for which were his responsibility to
provide, claimed a ‘World Premiere’.
The taping of the recital included his spoken comments that the work
had been written for him personally and dedicated to him as well. Not
only had he never seen a musette a few months previously, but Leonard
did not write for people he did not know, who did not own or have more
than a passing acquaintance with the instrument in question. This work
was intended as part of my endeavours for the complete oboe family and
composed for me to use to those ends.
Of course, as soon as I discovered what had happened; purely by chance
and because the programme was faxed to me by a friend at the university;
Leonard contacted The Composers’ Guild of Great Britain
which underwent a restructuring process and name change at just this
precise moment. The Guild became The British Academy of Composers
and Songwriters, but Martin Dalby, ex-Director of BBC Scotland,
remained at his post in a newly defined capacity. With the help of their
lawyer, Martin wrote to the Florida State University as the doctoral
student himself chose to reply to no one.
Leonard wrote letters of complaint. The world premiere of this piece
and the dedication belonged to the dedicatee – and that was I. The Florida
State University replied eventually, much feet dragging going on. They
asked Leonard if he was "really sure" that he had written
the work for me and not their student!
Monty Python sprang to mind again. It would have been laughable had
it not been for the fact that false claims were being made during stipulated,
doctoral requirements, (which do include a truth clause); that everybody
was procrastinating hoping that the problem would simply go away by
itself; and Leonard’s life was running through the hourglass, like sand.
Derek Bell was fast to complain. The doctoral student had asked to
borrow Derek’s musette as he did not have an instrument of his own.
Derek never agrees to lend instruments on principal, however, he was
led somehow to believe that this was for a concert, which included me
in some way. He sent the instrument from Ireland not wishing to let
me down, agreeing to collect it when the Chieftains came
through Florida after this recital.
Derek and the Chieftains went to Florida, but the instrument
and the doctoral student never materialised. Derek is a dear friend.
He contacted me in a panic. We all applied pressure on the Florida State
University, and the instrument was eventually returned. The case did
not contain either the refund of the original shipping costs as had
been stipulated, one word of excuse for the delay, or even a simple
‘thank you’.
In the summer of 1997, two works had seen the light of day from the
joint publishing venture. One was by Derek Bell, the other, Cantiga
Mozárabe, Leonard’s first, and my most adored oboe d’amore
piece. I have played it in every recital I have given. This was twenty-seven
years after it had been written it for me, and my reaction at seeing
it in print, not manuscript for the first time, was one of sheer joy
and deep satisfaction. Sadly, this was to be short lived for Leonard
and myself. Of the two hundred and fifty copies printed of each one
of these two works, the Police discovered 6 of one and 11 of the other
in a lock up storage unit where this doctoral student had dumped them
as he left the State without informing me. I was half a world away and
thirty-four years of my work and what it had cost to produce in every
way were being dispersed in the wind. What I write here is documented
fact. and was a great source of frustration to Leonard.
We both agreed to change the name of the musette composition to Iberian
Improvisations so that it’s life could be reborn away
from the bad taste left in the wake of all the brouhaha.
The Florida State University did not cover itself with dignity in the
whole sordid affair. They took six months to finally decide to disallow
the student the credits for this one recital, and destroy the tapes
and copies of the printed programme. That is virtually an impossible
mission. It is enough for one copy to remain for many more to be cloned.
I try to envisage the identical thing happening at Princeton, La Sorbonne
or Oxford, and I simply cannot imagine the same results.
Leonard was shown no respect by Steven Nelson who simply helped himself
without permission, and with false claims concerning dedications and
world premieres, to Leonard’s final composition. The Florida State University’s
Music Department seemed not to realise or care how bad they were looking
in the eyes of those well-known figures who, backed by a well-respected
British institution (The Composers’ Guild of Great Britain), were writing
in constant complaint.
Leonard didn’t live to see Iberian Improvisations come
to life. I cherish it as I do the other works that this gentle man wrote
for me with affection that I return to him in gratitude, with every
note of his I ever play.
Leonard Salzedo was quite simply one of the kindest, most decent human
beings I ever had the honour to know. I really think that not only did
no unkind word ever escape his lips, but also, no unfair, unjust or
ignoble thought ever entered his head.
C, Jennifer Paull 9.4.02
Vouvry, Switzerland
See also
http://www.amoris.com/jennifer_paull/
http://www.di-arezzo.com/uk/jennifer_paull1.php
and
JENNIFER
PAULL writes about her love affair with the Oboe d'Amore
Paul Conway's
Biography of Salzedo
