Letters of Note: Music
Page 4
THE LETTER
American Airlines
In Flight . . . yes
Altitude . . . puzzled.
Location . . . yes.
14th Sep. 71.
Dear Craig McGregor
‘Money’, ‘Twist ’n’ Shout’, ‘You really got a hold on me’ etc, were all numbers we (the Beatles) used to sing in the dancehalls around Britain, mainly Liverpool. It was only natural that we tried to do it as near to the record as we could – i always wished we could have done them even closer to the original. We didn’t sing our own songs in the early days – really weren’t good enough – the one thing we always did was to make it known that there were black originals, we loved the music and wanted to spread it in any way we could. In the ’50s there were few people listening to blues – R & B – rock and roll, in America as well as Britain. People like – Eric Burdon’s Animals – Mick’s Stones – and us drank ate and slept the music, and also recorded it, many kids were turned on to black music by us.
It wasnt a rip off
it was a love in
John + Yennon
P.S. what about the ‘B’ side of ‘Money’?
P.P.S. even the black kids didn’t dig blues etc, it wasn’t ‘sharp’ or something.
‘WE LOVED THE MUSIC AND WANTED TO SPREAD IT IN ANY WAY WE COULD.’
– John Lennon
LETTER 13
A GRAND SUCCESS
Lillian Nordica to her father
13 May 1879
In April 1879, at the Teatro Guillaume in Brescia, Italy, American soprano Lillian Nordica made her operatic debut in Giuseppe Verdi’s La traviata, in the lead role of Violetta. The next month, buoyed enormously by the rave reviews that had met her first foray into the world of opera, Nordica proudly wrote home to her father.
THE LETTER
May 3, 1879
Dear Father:
Mother has written, I suppose at some length, on my great success in opera. Well, she cannot say too much. I have had a grand success and no mistake. Such yelling and shouting you never heard. The theatre is packed. I put right into the acting, and you would not know me. It makes me laugh to see men and women cry and wipe their noses in the last act . . .
I am going to sing Faust in September at Monza, which I hope will go well. Do send the papers oftener. Sometimes it does seem as if I should die off with nothing to read in English. I am obliged to read French and Italian.
I shall hurry home as soon as possible. It is rather lonesome sometimes, I assure you . . .
Next Saturday night is my benefit. I shall sing the Mad Scene from Lucia extra. My dresses are all very nice, and I cut a swell. Well, good-night.
It was one o’clock last night when I got to bed.
Lillie
LETTER 14
DO YOU STILL REMEMBER ME?
Yo-Yo Ma to Leonard Bernstein
21 December 1965
At a fundraising event in Washington D.C. on 29 November 1962, in front of a 5,000-strong audience that included President John F. Kennedy, First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy and Dwight D. Eisenhower, an impossibly talented seven-year-old cellist and his sister were introduced as follows by a master of ceremonies who just happened to be the great composer Leonard Bernstein.
An aspect of that double stream of art I mentioned earlier flowing into and out of America, has long been the attraction of our country to foreign artists, and scientists and thinkers, who have come not only to visit us, but often to join us as Americans, to become citizens of what to some has historically been the land of opportunity and to others the land of freedom. And in this great tradition, there has come to us, this year, a young man aged seven, bearing the name Yo-Yo Ma. Now Yo-Yo came to our attention through the great master Pablo Casals who had recently heard the boy play the cello. Yo-Yo is, as you may have guessed, Chinese, and has lived up to now in France – a highly international type. But he and his family are now here. His father is teaching school in New York, and his eleven-year-old sister, Yeou-Cheng Ma, is pursuing her musical studies, and they are all hoping to become American citizens. We shall now have the pleasure of hearing Yo-Yo Ma, accompanied by his sister Yeou-Cheng Ma, play the first movement of the Concertino No. 3 in A Major by Jean-Baptiste Bréval, who played, taught, and composed for the cello 150 years ago in France. Now, here’s a cultural image for you to ponder as you listen. A seven-year-old Chinese cellist, playing old French music, for his new American compatriots. Welcome Yo-Yo Ma and Yeou-Cheng Ma.
Three years later, Yo-Yo Ma wrote a letter to Bernstein. He then went on to become one of the most successful cellists of all time.
THE LETTER
21 December 1965
Dear Mr. Bernstein,
Do you still remember me? Now I am ten years old. This year I learned with Prof. Leonard Rose three concertos: Saint-Saëns’, Boccherini’s and Lalo’s. Last week my sister and I played in a Christmas Concert in Juilliard School. We are invited to give a joint recital in Brearley School on January 19, 1966 at 1:45 p.m.
If you have time, I would be glad to play for you.
Yo-Yo Ma
‘IF YOU HAVE TIME, I WOULD BE GLAD TO PLAY FOR YOU’
– Yo-Yo Ma
LETTER 15
GET AT THE VERY HEART OF IT
Ludwig van Beethoven to Emilie H.
17 July 1812
It was at the beginning of July 1812 that forty-two-year-old German composer Ludwig van Beethoven wrote one of his best known missives: a passionate, ten-page declaration of love to his ‘Immortal Beloved’ which still to this day provokes discussion, not least due to a recipient whose identity remains a mystery and whom it seems Beethoven was unwilling to live without. A week later, in the wake of such anguish, he was writing an altogether different kind of letter, this time to an eight-year-old girl. Emilie H. was an admirer and aspiring pianist from Hamburg who, with help from her governess, had recently sent to her musical idol a hand-embroidered pocketbook as a thank you for his work. In return, young Emilie received a letter of advice far more honest than one would expect, and a generous invitation to write again.
THE LETTER
Teplitz, 17th July, 1812.
My Dear Good Emilie, My Dear Friend!
I am sending a late answer to your letter; a mass of business, constant illness must be my excuse. That I am here for the restoration of my health proves the truth of my excuse. Do not snatch the laurel wreaths from Händel, Haydn, Mozart; they are entitled to them; as yet I am not.
Your pocket-book shall be preserved among other tokens of the esteem of many people, which I do not deserve.
Continue, do not only practise art, but get at the very heart of it; this it deserves, for only art and science raise men to the God-head. If, my dear Emilie, you at any time wish to know something, write without hesitation to me. The true artist is not proud, he unfortunately sees that art has no limits; he feels darkly how far he is from the goal; and though he may be admired by others, he is sad not to have reached that point to which his better genius only appears as a distant, guiding sun. I would, perhaps, rather come to you and your people, than to many rich folk who display inward poverty. If one day I should come to H., I will come to you, to your house; I know no other excellences in man than those which causes him to rank among better men; where I find this, there is my home.
If you wish, dear Emilie, to write to me, only address straight here where I shall still be for the next four weeks, or to Vienna; it is all one. Look upon me as your friend, and as the friend of your family.
LUDWIG V. BEETHOVEN
‘DO NOT ONLY PRACTISE ART, BUT GET AT THE VERY HEART OF IT; THIS IT DESERVES, FOR ONLY ART AND SCIENCE RAISE MEN TO THE GOD-HEAD.’
– Ludwig van Beethoven
LETTER 16
I DON’T EVEN WRITE TO MY MOTHER
Roger Taylor to Rolling Stone magazine
1981
In June 1980, British rock band Queen embarked on The Game Tour, a five-leg, eighty-one-gig world tour th
at lasted until November the next year and included the band’s first live shows in South America. It was after one particular show in Buenos Aires that a highly unflattering report appeared in Rolling Stone magazine that stooped so low as to feature a review not of the concert itself, but of the ‘simply awful’ sound check. Journalist James Henke also accused the rhythm section of being ‘sloppy and sluggish’, Brian May’s guitar playing as ‘boring’ and Freddie Mercury’s singing ‘lackadaisical and without conviction’. The next month, the following letter – originally written in a fit of rage by the band’s drummer Roger Taylor on an airline sickness bag – was reprinted in the offending publication.
THE LETTER
Rolling Stone,
Stunned, shocked, amazed and asleep upon perusal of your “in-depth” story of Queen in South America (“Queen Holds Court in South America,” RS 345). I am a member of said group and extremely fucking proud of its music (not all) and its achievements. I don’t even write to my mother, since the written word seems worth less in this day of the telephone and publications such as yours and the National Enquirer.
Your peculiar 1970-time-warp attitude, coupled with an innate, congenital miscomprehension of rock & roll, continues to fascinate and annoy. Thank you, oh thank you, for the pseudopolitical slant and personal dishonesty that you continue to peddle in your outdated, opinionated, down-home rag.
Thanks also for the finely tuned musical assessment of my group from our sound check! Grow up. You invented the bitterness. I pity you. You suck. You are boring and you try to infect us.
Awaiting your charming review of my current album in about eight months!
ROGER TAYLOR
London, England
LETTER 17
AIDA WILL GATHER DUST IN THE ARCHIVES
May 1872
Giuseppe Verdi, Prospero Bertani and Giulio Ricordi
Since its delayed premiere in 1870 at Cairo’s newly-built Khedivial Opera House, Giuseppe Verdi’s enduring masterpiece, Aida, has wowed audiences around the globe in numerous incarnations. But, as with all things, the reaction hasn’t always been positive. In May of 1872, having recently travelled twice to watch the opera, a disappointed Italian gentleman named Prospero Bertani decided to write a letter of complaint to Verdi himself and ask for his money back – not just for the show, but for his expenses, too. Amused, Verdi responded by forwarding the letter to his publisher, Giulio Ricordi, with instructions. The end result, as can be seen, was a written promise from Bertani never to watch the opera again. Much to Bertani’s dismay, Verdi later arranged for his letter of complaint to be published in a number of Italian newspapers.
THE LETTERS
Verdi to his publisher, Giulio Ricordi:
St. Agata, 10 May 1872
Dear Giulio,
Yesterday I received from Reggio a letter which is so amusing that I am sending it to you, asking you to carry out the commission I am about to give you. Here is the letter:
Reggio, 7 May 1872
Much honored Signor Verdi,
On the second of this month, attracted by the sensation your opera, “Aida”, was making, I went to Parma. Half an hour before the performance began I was already in my seat, No. 120. I admired the scenery, listened with great pleasure to the excellent singers, and took great pains to let nothing escape me. After the performance was over, I asked myself whether I was satisfied. The answer was in the negative. I returned to Reggio and, on the way back in the railroad carriage, I listened to the verdicts of my fellow travellers. Nearly all of them agreed that “Aida” was a work of the highest rank.
Thereupon I conceived a desire to hear it again, and so on the fourth I returned to Parma. I made the most desperate efforts to obtain a reserved seat, and there was such a crowd that I had to spend 5 lire to see the performance in comfort.
I came to the following conclusion: the opera contains absolutely nothing thrilling or electrifying, and if it were not for the magnificent scenery, the audience would not sit through it to the end. It will fill the theatre a few more times and then gather dust in the archives. Now, my dear Signor Verdi, you can imagine my regret at having spent 32 lire for these two performances. Add to this the aggravating circumstance that I am dependent on my family, and you will understand that this money preys on my mind like a terrible spectre. Therefore I address myself frankly and openly to you so that you may send me this sum. Here is the account:
Railroad, going: 2.60
Railroad, returning: 3.30
Theatre: 8.00
Disgustingly bad dinner: 2.00
Twice: 15.90
Total: 31.80
In the hope that you will extricate me from this dilemma,
I am yours sincerely,
Bertani
My address: Bertani, Prospero; Via St. Domenico, No. 5.
Imagine, if to protect a child of a family from the horrible spectres that disturb his peace, I should not be disposed to pay that little bill he has brought to my attention! Therefore by means of your representative or a bank, please reimburse 27.80 lire in my name to this Signor Prospero Bertani, 5 Via St. Domenico. This isn’t the entire sum for which he asks me, but . . . to pay for his dinner too! No. He could very well have eaten at home!!! Of course he will send you a receipt for that sum and a note, by which he promises never again to go to hear my new operas, to avoid for himself the danger of other spectres and for me the farce of paying him for another trip [. . .]
Ricordi to Verdi:
Milan, 16 May 1872
Dear Giuseppe,
As soon as I received your last letter I wrote to our correspondent in Reggio, who found the famous Signor Bertani, paid the money, and got the proper receipt! I am copying the letter and receipt for the newspaper, and I shall return everything to you tomorrow. Oh, what fools there are in this world! But this is the best one yet!
The correspondent in Reggio writes me: “I sent immediately for Bertani, who came to me right away. Advised of the reason for my invitation, he first showed surprise, but then said: ‘If Maestro Verdi reimburses me, this means that he has found what I wrote him to be correct. It’s my duty to thank him, however, and I ask you to do it for me.’”
This one is even better!
Pleased to have discovered this rarity of the species, I send the most cordial greetings to you and Signora Peppina.
Giulio
Prospero Bertani to Verdi:
15 May 1872
I, the undersigned, certify herewith that I have received the sum of 27.80 lire from Maestro Giuseppe Verdi, as reimbursement of my expenses for a trip to Parma to hear the opera Aida. The Maestro felt it was fair that this sum should be restored to me, since I did not find his opera to my taste. At the same time it is agreed that I shall undertake no trip to hear any of the Maestro’s new operas in the future, unless he takes all the expenses upon himself, whatever my opinion of his work may be.
In confirmation whereof I have affixed my signature.
Bertani, Prospero
LETTER 18
PLEASE ADVISE
Teo Macero to various at Columbia Records
14 November 1969
Up until the moment this anxious memo from record producer Teo Macero sped through the offices of Columbia Records in November of 1969, everyone involved in the production of Miles Davis’s ground-breaking, genre-redefining, boundary-pushing new album was quite happily under the impression that upon its release it would bear the admittedly bland but mercifully inoffensive name ‘Listen To This’. And then Miles Davis called. Presumably the memo’s recipients advised Macero to simply accept the demand, for Davis’s jazz opus was indeed released to huge fanfare and acclaim four months later, its packaging proudly emblazoned with Davis’s inarguably less forgettable title. It is difficult to imagine it any other way.
THE LETTER
CBS MEMORANDUM
FROM: Teo Macero
TO: JOHN BERG, JOE AGRESTI, PHYLLIS MASON
DATE: November 14, 1969
RE: MILES DAVIS CS 9961 XSM 151732/3 PROJECT # 03802
Miles just called and said he wants this album to be titled:
“BITCHES BREW”
Please advise.
Teo
LETTER 19
DON’T LET ANYONE DEFINE WHO YOU ARE
Angélique Kidjo to Girls of the World
2013
Angélique Kidjo was born in 1960 in the West African city of Ouidah, Benin, and from an early age was immersed in the world of music and dance thanks to her mother, an acclaimed choreographer and theatre director. Influenced largely by traditional folk songs but also by the slices of American rock ’n’ roll that made their way across the Atlantic Ocean, in 1989 she released her debut solo album Parakou. In 1983 she escaped the turbulence of her communist-ruled home country and moved to Paris to study at jazz school, on arrival instantly feasting on all the music she could possibly absorb. In 2013, with thirteen albums under her belt, a Grammy Award to her name, and numerous plaudits for her continued activism, Kidjo chose to impart some hard-earned wisdom to the girls of the world by way of an open letter.
THE LETTER