Thursday, 3 August 2006

Elisabeth Schwartzkopf

I heard on the radio that Elisabeth Schwartzkopf, the singer, has died at the age of 90. I will always hold a particular affection for her, because she, unknowingly, helped me and my mother through a dreadful year.

1970 - in brief, my father died suddenly in January, all his possessions were valued for death duties* and a few weeks later a company he had invested many thousands of pounds in lost its entire value (tax still payable), then my sister was involved in a serious and agonising accident, which nearly killed her. And then my mother was badly scalded. Me? Oh, I was fine, accidents never happen to me.

*Inheritance tax is still charged - at 40% - but nowadays you are not expected to pay tax on your spouse's effects. In those days, furthermore, a house and capital was often in the husband's name - so he was deemed to own everything.

On an impulse, my mother bought a record called 'Elisabeth Schwartzkopf Sings Operetta' - I knew nothing about opera, or the operatic style of singing .. it seemed a bit screechy to me. Growing up in the town of Benjamin Britten's birth - his father was my father's dentist and my dad used to hear young Ben practising the fiddle during the school holidays - this seems wrong, but hey, it was the 60s, think of the music. I didn't need opera.

But this record struck a chord (as it were) with us both. We played it over and over, daily, more than daily - when it ended we would lift the needle and start it again. It kept us going, uplifted us and somehow enabled us to carry on. The music was quite light - late 19th Century Viennese operetta; Lehar, that sort of thing. It was very low-brow for her, but it was just what we needed then and, for the future, provided me with a light introduction to the sort of sung classical music that I have loved since.

When my mother was terminally ill I couldn't listen to music that challenged me. The three CDs I listened to most were Prokofiev (particularly the Lieutenant Kije suite), Hoagy Carmichael and Bix Beiderbecke. Don't know why. But they helped me through a difficult time too.

Music is an arrow straight into one's memory. Like a scent, it goes beyond conscious remembering and takes you back, vividly, to a time or a place. And it hits your emotions, where words and deeds can't always reach.

7 comments:

JoAnne said...

Hi Z - You visited me at Porch Lady a while back, I don't know when...it's been months. I was the one who wondered why I couldn't just slap people and tell them to shut up and do it my way.

I've let it lag, I know. Computer issues, time issues... in the end, a project that's been delayed for a while. I will pick it back up again, though. In the meantime, enjoying what I've read here at the razor's edge and I'll be back!

Z said...

Hi JoAnne, good to hear from you, and thanks. Yes, I liked your blog and was sorry you had stopped writing. It can be hard to pick it up again, even after a week of two.

Life of a Banana said...

She was a witch!!! Darling, her husband was Walter Legge, head of EMI. Of course every note in my recording was pefect.

Z said...

I've heard she wasn't the easiest person to work with. But you can't have everything.
How about a recording of you singing on your blog?

Blue Witch said...

Lovely story.
And last para - how true.

PI said...

Great that you could share that with your Mum. Dear Hoagy - I loved 'Oh Buttermilk sky.'

Z said...

Thank you both.
When my mum died I realised that there were a few things that we shared that no one else could quite feel in the same way.
One of my favourite films is 'To Have and Have Not' - partly for the pleasure of watching Bogey and Lauren Bacall falling so obviously in love, but also for Hoagy playing and singing Hong Kong Blues.