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.
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!
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.
She was a witch!!! Darling, her husband was Walter Legge, head of EMI. Of course every note in my recording was pefect.
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?
Lovely story.
And last para – how true.
Great that you could share that with your Mum. Dear Hoagy – I loved ‘Oh Buttermilk sky.’
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.