From a talk given by Sally Beamish at the Live Music Now international conference on 2 November 2024, at Edinburgh New Club.
Image © Peter Backhouse
I feel honoured to have been invited to speak at this very special conference – the 40th anniversary of Live Music Now Scotland. What a ground-breaking and inspirational initiative it was, and continues to be.
I’m going to begin with a quote from ‘Out of our Minds’ - a book by the educationalist, the late Ken Robinson.
It’s said that the composer Gustav Mahler was sitting in his studio completing a new piano piece. As he was playing, one of his students came into the room and listened quietly. At the end of the piece the student said, “Maestro, that was wonderful. What is it about?” Mahler turned to him and said, “It’s about this,” and he played it again.
What can music do that words can’t? What can a music education do? What can a musician do? What is music for? A lot of questions.
Yehudi Menuhin says:
Music is a communication far more powerful than words, far more immediate, far more efficient.
But when we look at the current priorities of education, we are confronted with
The STEM subjects:
Science
Technology
Engineering
Mathematics
In the information I found about this it says: Many STEM careers need creativity as much as the more analytical skills traditionally associated with STEM subjects. Most STEM roles are about coming up with solutions to problems – and problem solving is often about thinking creatively or ‘outside the box’.
The STEM subjects are considered important as a basis for a career, but are the arts not essential as a basis for life? I’m sure I’m not the first to observe that we should be making these into STEAM subjects, by adding an A for Arts. A stem is a basis for growth, but steam creates power, warmth and energy. Well - I could take that analogy too far…
But how do these STEM subjects enable a person to express how they feel about someone? Or how to resolve a conflict with a work colleague? Or how to negotiate relationships, or negotiate grief? Or how to govern a country with peace and empathy?
Menuhin said: Peace may sound simple – one beautiful word – but it requires everything we have; every quality, every strength, every dream, every ideal.
Menuhin’s work towards peace is well known. Music is an international language and breaks every boundary. I have a vision that education should include at least one period a week on non-violent communication – and this would include communication through music, painting, dance, drama and discussion.
Most people could learn to draw, but most people haven’t. Most people could learn to read music, but most people haven’t. It doesn’t mean they can’t be moved to tears by a painting or a symphony. That capacity is in all of us. But to find a medium that truly sparks our creativity, we have to be offered it, we have to be shown it – and there seems to be less and less opportunity in our education to discover our own expressive language.
How much poorer would we be if Leonard Bernstein’s parents (who weren’t musicians) hadn’t offered to house a piano for friends who were going abroad? Little Lennie opened the piano, and the rest is history.
My brother Christopher has Downs Syndrome and autism. But he grew up in a household where music was all around him. He had a huge collection of records, and a turntable which he could operate himself. He spent hours conducting and singing along. Incidentally, he always sings in the right key, even without the record. He went to rehearsals and concerts with my mother (a professional violinist), and later with me. Music gave him his language and if he doesn’t have access to it, he becomes depressed and withdraws into himself.
Norway has just instigated a scheme of visits from world class musicians to the classroom. They don’t necessarily talk, they just play. When my sons were teenagers I asked a virtuoso Persian setar player to come into their school. He had no English. He just played. He played for 40 minutes, and they have never forgotten it. The power of communication by a superlative artist is something that truly lifts the spirit, and inspires - for life.
Yehudi Menuhin knew this. He understood it in his very being. Hence Live Music Now.
Creativity is a combination of feeling and knowing. The skills enable the expression. A child is naturally creative, but once they start being subjected to judgment and evaluation, creativity becomes fragile. In my opinion this is why the education system in Finland is so outstanding, and produces such astonishingly good results. Children are allowed to be solely creative for much longer, before they start formal learning at 7, and even then, only the mornings are spent in the classroom, and the rest of the day is reserved for arts, sport, and outdoor learning. Playing games teaches children to settle disputes. Team play, drama, and music groups teach us to value each other’s input and to adjust. A cellist friend of mine told me that when traffic gets busy and aggressive, she thinks in terms of playing chamber music to navigate her way through. Responding rather than confronting. Could Brahms sextets be the answer to road rage?
My husband has just been examining drama students in South Africa. He’s been deeply moved by the theatre productions put on by young people from the townships, who are producing outstanding work which explores the reality, injustice and hardships of their own lives. I can imagine that this team work will strengthen their bonds, and their confidence, and enable them to work together as a force for good in their communities.
In a recent study of pupils and teachers*, there was found to be a worldwide trend for the present generation of children to be more troubled emotionally than the last: more lonely and depressed, more angry and unruly, more nervous and prone to worry, more impulsive and aggressive.
There seems to be an emphasis in education on ‘success’: meaning acquisition of wealth, maybe with fame thrown in. Being ‘better’ than the others. But as well as material success and necessary skills, we need emotional intelligence in order to thrive. And if we achieve happiness, who cares about what we do or don’t own. Most of the things that make us happy don’t have a monetary value. One of the most important of these is our communication with each other – friends, family, partners – and that’s not always easy. I believe Peace studies in school could give a good grounding to children in essential life skills.
But what we value is changing all the time. How much does society value good communication? How does society view music? The Arts are seen as utility, and as such, are not valued particularly highly. Everything has to have a monetary value attached to it. We are seen as consumers and there has to be a tangible monetary benefit from every commodity.
Of course, music has never been more accessible. We now have easy access to music. Now you trawl through Spotify and if you don’t immediately like something you move on, and probably never revisit. But in the 70s, if you bought an album and didn’t particularly like it, you listened again and again, because it was expensive. I remember buying the Beatles double album when I was a teenager, because I’d never really discovered any non-classical music. I listened to it the first time and was bitterly disappointed. What was all the fuss about? But because I’d spent all my Christmas money on it, I persevered, and was hooked after about 3 hearings. I’m still hooked. How often do we get that chance with a piece of new classical music?
I have to say in my own work I am thinking more than ever about communication. About getting my ideas over clearly and directly.
I find myself thinking I should write shorter pieces because otherwise they’ll be too long to be chosen for radio slots. Maybe I should divide all my music into movements now, and abandon the much longer spans – 20 or 25 minutes - of my earlier symphonic concertos. I’m aware of trying to capture the attention of the audience immediately. I always ask if I can speak onstage before a performance. Not a pre concert talk, or interview – because the people that come to those are already interested; but onstage, so that an audience who didn’t come to hear the new music – or who came in spite of it – are captive, and can be engaged. Of course music is music and can’t be expressed in words, but an audience who are only going to get one shot at absorbing a piece of music need all the help they can get – whether it’s Beethoven or MacMillan. But also just to be there and be seen – a creator who is flesh and blood and has things to say. I heard saxophonist Jess Gillam say the other day that in a visit to a school, she came across a child who thought that Alexa composes and performs all the music. (I was telling someone that story, in my front room, and my Alexa piped up: ‘I’m not quite sure how to help you with that’!)
In Brave New World, Huxley depicts a scientifically managed dystopian society. The ruling authorities attain mass-compliance not through force, but by supplying the masses with endless streams of distracting entertainment. This is to prevent dangerous creative thinking.
Is this now a reality? What would Menuhin have thought of smart phone addiction? When do our children ever get bored – stare out of the window – invent games – write stories. Even sit and listen to a piece of music for longer than a few minutes? I use my phone as a metronome when I’m practising, and when a message pops up it breaks my concentration, even if I manage not to look at it. We are expected to be available at every moment, and it takes courage to turn the wretched phone off.
Evelyn Glennie says: we need a government that believes in the power of music - that it is a form of medicine. How much would we be saving as a society if music was brought back to the centre of education and our lives? Not just in schools, not just in a crisis, or at a coronation – but as part of our every day living.
Menuhin says: Music is inherent in every human being – a birthright. Music coordinates mind, body and spirit.
I moved to Scotland not because I knew much about it, but because my first husband, from Dennistoun, wanted to raise a family here. He himself had had an outstanding musical education at his state school. The visionary head of music was the composer John Bevan-Baker. As part of the national music education initiative in the 60s, he was given a cello at the age of 12, and was fed up because it was so bulky – his sister was given a clarinet. It was a pretty tough environment – in the east end of Glasgow, but he was glad to be able to avoid the strap by holding up his hands and saying he played the cello. He was also spared by local gangs who for some reason gave him a special status as he walked by with the cello on his back. The National Youth Orchestra of Scotland started soon after, and within four years he’d won a scholarship to the Royal College of Music. He’s now one of the most treasured musicians in the UK, and the friends he made as a teenager, in NYOS, are still among his closest. He told me recently that going into schools and care homes, working with special needs and dementia, gives him more joy and satisfaction than playing at the Wigmore Hall. Incidentally, all our children are singer songwriters – influenced, I would say, not so much by their musician parents, as by the environment which gave them their social life, and peers who shared their passions. Those teenage years are crucial. If you can share music, lifelong friendships are formed.
When I arrived in Scotland I was enthralled not only by the landscape but by the presence of music in every day life. The ceilidh in the village hall, attended by everyone – teenagers, grandparents, babies. It was a leveller, and the dancing was something that brought the whole community together. Children learned the dances in school, and dancing became part of their social vocabulary.
Yehudi Menuhin was also captivated by Scottish culture. He got to know Aly Bain and they played together. He wanted to learn how to make that sound, how to do the ornaments. He loved Scotland, and especially its fiddle music. And its open spaces. He believed that the music came from nature. He believed that trees provided inspiration for music even before they provided wood for violins. Scottish music is out-of-door music - linked always to nature.
I can give you a brief snapshot of the arts in Scotland in the 90s.
I was one of the young composers invited to take part in Maxwell Davies’ Strathclyde Concerto Project, with the SCO (Did Strathclyde Council really commission not 1, but 10 concertos from Peter Maxwell Davies??!). There was an exchange with Iceland, coordinated by the fantastic Scottish Music Centre – (a resource that is unique to Scotland in that it operates both as publisher and archive. I didn’t have a mainstream publisher till I was well into my 50s, and simply could not have functioned without the support of SMC). A team came over from Iceland, looking for a composer who had never written for orchestra, and I got the gig – as being the least qualified! I was invited to write a symphony for the Reykjavik Symphony Orchestra (to be conducted by Gunther Schuller) – never having even written for brass or percussion. That was the point – they were offering opportunities and experience, which I’m quite sure I never would have had, if I’d stayed in London. There was a real buzz in Scotland. As Nigel Osborne said at the time, you had a feeling that you could throw a handful of seeds over your shoulder, and they would all grow and bear fruit. A fertile landscape.
As part of my Strathclyde project, I went into schools in Bute and Argyll and worked with the various school bands to create music for them to play with the SCO. It was the first time I’d encountered bagpipes, bodhrans, fiddle bands, and it was a steep learning curve, but my music was changed forever; and I discovered my own voice. Scottish folk tales, the landscape, the dance, the ballads – all new ingredients for me, which contributed to the language I was developing.
Menuhin again, talking about Scottish music in particular**: This music is living proof that the origins of all music are in our pulse and in our voice and that the true and colourful folk heritage and tradition must always remain at the very source of a culture.
I was drawn into my local community, working with other musicians and poets to create work for the village to perform – tailor-made for friends and family. I was lucky enough to have Nigel Osborne and Max as generous mentors. James MacMillan and I shared ideas and challenges, as well as family holidays, with many small children, on the West Coast.
Through Max, I discovered Orkney – first as his assistant on his Hoy course, then through involvement in the festival, and then at the invitation of Alasdair Nicolson, as co-director of the St Magnus composers’ course. We are both immensely proud to have tutored composers who are now on the international circuit, including Tom Coult, Lawrence Osborn, Angela Slater, Philip Cooke, as well as many who came from Europe and the USA and are now well-established. Sadly, a funding crisis has put a stop to those courses, but at the time it felt like an Orcadian crucible – maybe a bit like the Ness of Brodgar five thousand years ago – which sent ripples out into the world.
There was the visionary Distil course, which continues still – enabling traditional musicians to write for orchestra – a necessity, with commissions flowing in from Celtic Connections for them to write for symphony orchestra. As a tutor there, I met Chris Stout and Catriona McKay, for whom I created Seavaigers – now one of the BBC 10 pieces – with space for them to improvise their own solo lines over a score written for the Scottish Ensemble. This was one of the few pieces that arose simply from an idea of my own, not a commission – something I just wanted to write, and Creative Scotland stepped in to support, along with the Edinburgh Harp Festival, plus a premiere at Celtic Connections.
Live Music Now has been a trailblazer, in taking music to places where it’s most needed. I’ve noticed a change in the presentation of music, with young artists thinking really creatively about how to communicate their passion.
Performances are becoming more interactive. The classical pianist Hanni Liang recently did a tour where she invited the audience to contribute words and thoughts, and she improvised on these. There’s a skill that’s coming back, partly because of the breaking down of boundaries between the genres. Players are becoming composers again – the age-old tradition of improvising is returning, and being taught – not just in jazz, folk and early music, but increasingly as an exciting way to interact with your instrument and with an audience.
During the Covid lockdown, my husband Peter, an excellent singer, persuaded me out onto the doorstep to perform popular songs – forming a backing band of viola with guitar and bass guitar. Suddenly I was learning songs that had completely passed me by in my ‘classical’ youth. And really learning them. There was no space for a music stand. I was learning the chord changes of everything from jazz standards to Cream. Learning to play a blues solo over Sunshine of your Love – which Peter could scarcely believe I had never heard before. What struck me was the new engagement I had with an audience who were standing in the street and leaning out of their windows. There was no sheet music between us and them. Instead there was eye contact and true communication. This in turn fed back into the way I thought about composing.
Young performers are commissioning new work – with real enthusiasm. Having returned to playing relatively recently, I’m experiencing the thrill of commissioning music to play myself, from composers whose voices intrigue me, particularly from other genres – and there’s nothing like the excitement of unpacking a brand new piece!
It’s been an honour to be appointed as the Menuhin School’s first composer in residence and to work with the young performers, playing with them in my own chamber music, as well as mentoring composers in the new composition department, headed by John Cooney. One of the messages I’ve been keen to put over is that you don’t have to be a genius to be a composer. Some of the young composers confided in me that they didn’t feel they had an equivalent gift – they didn’t have perfect pitch, or they weren’t at a high level on an instrument. I do believe that performing on any level is important, not just for composers, but for everyone – a school choir – a steel pan band – but if composition is our language, then we will surmount any difficulties to express ourselves through that. I did. I don’t have a particularly good ear. It’s sometimes quite a challenge for me to get what I’m hearing in my head onto the page, but the fact that I’m hearing it, says to me that I should share it. I’m one of those tiresome people who insists on telling everyone their dreams…
I believe the twin crises of war and environment are a wake-up call and that music will play a crucial role in changing society’s attitude to the arts. I was recently involved in a Quaker initiative to create a bugle call for peace***. An instrument of war transformed into an instrument for peace. Surely now more than ever, we need to see peace and happiness as our goal, rather than material wealth. On the other hand – we in this room all know that music could save the NHS millions, and halve the prison numbers – we just need to get the data out there. Not to mention transforming the seeds of war in our education system, to seeds of peace.
I’m going to finish with another quote from Yehudi Menuhin:
The ultimate aim in life should be to fulfil to the utmost all that is within our ability, and to share that which is good and beautiful.
*Daniel Coleman
**FULL QUOTE:
I salute in my Scottish fiddler friends that innate urge to be audible, visible and recognisable to our clan for what we are and what we feel. Their music knows no detour – it goes straight to our feet if dance we must, to our eyes if cry we must and always directly to our hearts evoking every shade of joy, sorrow or contentment.
This music is living proof that the origins of all music are in our pulse and in our voice and that the true and colorful folk heritage and tradition must always remain at the very source of a culture and of an organised, literate musical life, however erudite and complex the structures may become.
The genuine Scottish fiddler has an infallible sense of rhythm, never plays out of tune and is a master of its distinctive and inimitable style, which is more than can be said of most ‘schooled’ musicians. We classical violinists have too obviously paid a heavy price for being able to play with orchestras and follow a conductor.
May this thorough and well-documented collection of a people’s music serve to keep it alive in the song and dance and, above all, in the hearts of those who will give our civilisation voice, spirit and shape.
