Sir Thomas Beecham

Sir Thomas Beecham was one of the most charismatic orchestral conductors of the 20^th century. Not only was he a top-rate musician and creator of orchestras, but he also had a way with words that has cemented his reputation as a great English “character”.

Early life and career

He was born in St Helens, Lancashire, on 29^th April 1879. His grandfather had made the family fortune as the inventor and manufacturer of “Beecham’s pills”, which proved to be an excellent patent remedy for indigestion (parodied as: “Hark the herald angels sing, Beecham’s pills are just the thing …”).

His father had followed in the family business, but was also musical, and it was the latter trait that Thomas inherited. He went to Oxford University, but was frequently absent attending concerts and opera performances, and he left without taking a degree.

His first experience of conducting was with the local St Helens Musical Society, but at the age of 20 he was given the opportunity to guest-conduct the famous Hallé Orchestra, which inspired him to greater things.

He moved to London to seek a career in music, although any hope he had of becoming a concert pianist was ruined by an injury to his hand at the age of 25. He married in 1903, but the marriage was not a happy one. He later had an affair with Lady “Emerald” Cunard that was to last until 1943.

Founder of orchestras and world-renowned conductor

He started a small orchestra, which was later expanded to become the New Symphony Orchestra, and this was followed by the Beecham Symphony Orchestra. He met the composer Frederick Delius and they became firm friends. Beecham was to become the great champion of Delius’s works, bringing many of them to public attention for the first time.

With his father’s help he was able to present operas and ballets at Covent Garden, including working with Diaghilev and Nijinsky.

When war broke out in 1914, Covent Garden was closed, but Beecham was able to renew his association with the Hallé Orchestra, giving many concerts with them, and also with the Royal Philharmonic Society. In 1916 he was knighted in his own right, although he was due to inherit his father’s baronetcy in any case.

His father had bought the Covent Garden estate, with a view to giving his son a home for his Beecham Opera Company. However, he died in October 1916, the day before his will was due to be finalised. This caused huge problems for Thomas, who was forced into virtual retirement from the musical scene for three years while the financial affairs were sorted out.

In the 1920s he guest-conducted a number of orchestras, and spent a short time in New York, but his real wish was to have a full-sized orchestra of his own. He made many approaches to musicians whom he admired, and eventually recruited enough to start a new venture, the London Philharmonic Orchestra, which played its first concert in the Queen’s Hall in 1932. The quality of the orchestra was clear for all to see and hear, and the LPO, and its conductor, were soon recognized as major forces on the British musical scene.

In 1936 he took the LPO on a short tour of Nazi Germany, but engineered things so that he able to avoid having to salute the arrival of Adolf Hitler into the concert hall. After meeting Hitler, he made the percipient remark, “Now I know what’s wrong with Germany”.

In 1941 the Queen’s Hall was bombed and many of the LPO’s instruments were destroyed. However, the players found other instruments and continued to give concerts in the Royal Albert Hall.

Beecham spent much of the war in America, where he not only gave many concerts, especially with the Seattle Orchestra, but arranged a divorce from the first Lady Beecham and married Betty Humby, a pianist.

On his return to Britain after the war, Beecham founded yet another orchestra, the Royal Philharmonic (RPO), which toured both in the UK and abroad to huge acclaim. He continued to champion the works of Delius, and also those of Berlioz, Sibelius and Richard Strauss.

Throughout his career he combined operatic and orchestral work, and was particularly renowned for his interpretations of Wagner. His career coincided with the 20^th century development of music recording, and in his later years he was to produce some of the finest early stereo recordings.

He continued to conduct until ill-health caught up with him in 1960. He died of a thrombosis on 8^th March 1961, at the age of 81. In 1991 his remains were re-buried next to those of Frederick Delius.

Wit and wisdom

No account of Beecham’s life would be complete without mention of his many witticisms and put-downs, that were long remembered by those who first heard them and, indeed, were the victims of them. For example, although Beecham and Malcolm Sargent were good friends who had much mutual respect, that did not stop “Tommy” from referring to Herbert von Karajan as “a kind of musical Malcolm Sargent”.

Here are some of his best one-liners, several of them making very incisive comments on the nature of music and how it is appreciated:

• A musicologist is a man who can read music but can’t hear it
• Brass bands are all very well in their place – outdoors and several miles away
• Composers should write tunes that chauffeurs and errand boys can whistle
• It is quite untrue that the British don’t appreciate music. They may not understand it but they love the noise it makes
• I have just been all round the world and have formed a very poor opinion of it
• There are two golden rules for an orchestra: start together and finish together. The public doesn’t give a damn what goes on in between
• All the arts in America are run by unscrupulous men for unhealthy women
• Great music penetrates the ear with facility and leaves the memory with difficulty. Magical music never leaves the memory
• Film music is just noise … even more painful than my sciatica
• Beethoven’s last quartets were written by a deaf man and should only be listened to by a deaf man
• A harpsichord sounds like two skeletons copulating on a tin roof in a thunderstorm
• Try everything once, except incest and folk dancing
• The function of music is to release us from the tyranny of conscious thought

However, sometimes his remarks were more accidental than intentional. For example, he was once irritated by the performance of a lady cellist whose efforts were not of the best. In all innocence, we must assume, he announced, “Madam, you have between your legs an instrument that is capable of giving pleasure to thousands, and all you can do is scratch it”.

At a social function, he found himself talking to a lady whom he felt he knew from somewhere, but could not quite place. Their conversation went:

He:  How are you? How’s your family?

She: I’m very well, thank you, although my brother has not been well of late.

He: Oh yes, your brother. Is he still doing the same job?

She: Yes, he’s still the King.

© John Welford