Remembering André Previn

In those pre-historic days of the late 1970’s, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and when serious music was very much part of television programming, I came upon this wonderful series of programmes called “Previn and the Pittsburgh”. I watched those shows and marveled not only at the beauty of the music being presented, but also at the incredible talents of André Previn.

When I learned of the death of Mr. Previn, I realized that even though I had never seen him perform in person, his music making loomed large over my formative years as a music lover and student of music.

Other than Leonard Bernstein, I cannot think of a musician who was so multi-talented, and whose career touched upon so many facets of music – composer, conductor, pianist (classical and jazz), educator, and presenter of music. 

Previn started in Hollywood as an arranger and composer when he was sixteen, out of economic necessity more than anything else, and ended up composing and arranging music for some fine (and some not so fine) films – Invitation to the Dance,Gigi, Porgy and Bess, Irma La Douce,My Fair Lady, and Thoroughly Modern Mille, to name just a few – winning four Oscars for his work. 

At the same time, he discovered jazz, and became a fine pianist in that genre. One of my favourite Previn albums includes the “My Fair Lady” record, made within a single evening, and became a very big seller (for a jazz record). He “jammed” with such luminaries as Ray Brown, Red Mitchell, Bill Perkins, Jerry Mulligan and Shelly Manne.

He played chamber music with musicians from the MGM studio orchestra, and studied conducting with Pierre Monteux. He conducted the studio orchestra in his own film compositions, but also had the occasional opportunity to conduct “serious” repertoire. In one of his first rehearsals with the studio orchestra, the musicians decided to test him by tuning a semitone lower. Previn heard it and said nothing. Right before he gave the downbeat, he said, “Everyone, transpose a semitone up.” The musicians were impressed.

When he tired of the lack of challenge in film work, and began to shift his focus to conducting full time, all the critics held his years in Hollywood against him. Previn said that all the reviews would begin with the words, “Last night, Hollywood’s André Previn conducted….” He often said that critics would have forgiven him if he had been a serial killer, but not for having been a “film composer”. 

Gradually, Previn won them over as he gained experience as a conductor. He took over the Houston Symphony Orchestra briefly, and then there were those honeymoon years as principal conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra, where he made some of his finest and most memorable recordings. Then there were tenures in Pittsburgh and Los Angeles, both of which ended unhappily. In his last years, he devoted his time mostly to the occasional guest conducting stints, and to composing. I was very much looking forward to his scheduled appearance with the Seattle Symphony, but he had to cancel that concert because of ill health. 

I believe his television programmes on music can be judged the same way as Bernstein’s work on television. He talked about music intelligently, without talking down to the audience. I am certain that many people owed their interest in music because of Previn’s programmes. His one appearance on the British television show of Morecambe and Wise (“Mr. Preview!”) is still remembered and talked about today.

Previn often talked about composing as something he could do easily, because of his training in Hollywood. He often said that he could compose “with the World Series on”, but that he didn't expect his music to last. I believe he underestimated his work as a composer. His film scores rank along those of Korngold, Rózsa, Walton, and Hermann. And I particularly love his guitar concerto, written for John Williams, and his piano concerto, written for Vladimir Ashkenazy. In his later years, his operatic adaptation of “A Streetcar Named Desire” contains some truly memorable music. 

I will always be grateful to Previn for his many wonderful recordings, introducing me to works that remain close to me today. I love Rachmaninoff’s second symphony because of his great recording with the London Symphony Orchestra, the first time the work was recorded uncut. His recording of Elgar’s Enigma Variationsis still one of the finest in the catalogue. I still adore his Vaughan Williams records, especially the one of the fifth symphony, where the feeling of “Englishness” overflows in the slow movement. His Mahler fourth introduced me to that charming work; I wore out the LP listening to his recording of the incidental music to Mendelssohn’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” There were also albums where Previn doubled as pianist and conductor – Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue and Concert in F, many Mozart concerti, and lots of chamber music. 

In his witty and clever memoirs, No Minor Chords – My Days in Hollywood, Previn said, “Since leaving Hollywood, I have had the healthy and sobering experience of constantly working with music that is invariably better than any performance of it can be.” Using that as a yardstick, I think Previn had had a pretty rewarding life.

So rest in peace, André Previn. Thank you for all you had done for music, and, as Bob Hope said, “Thanks for the memories.”

Patrick May

Music for Movies

Who can forget the impact of watching the first Star Wars movie in 1977?

A black screen with the words, “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…” Then the now famous music of John Williams burst forth with the opening sequence, filling the audience in on the background of the story. That opening sequence, I think, is pure cinematic magic, and a stroke of genius on the part of filmmaker George Lucas. The music promises the great adventures that are to come.

Now imagine watching the same opening to the same movie, but without any music at all. Much of the impact is gone, isn’t it? To make a film without music is to take away an entire dimension of filmmaking. What I said above about Star Wars can be said about most of the movies that we have grown to love. Can we really imagine the opening of The Godfather without that famous trumpet solo? And can we see James Bond entering a scene without that taunt and suspenseful theme by John Barry?

In the wonderful Alfred Hitchcock film I Confess, a Catholic priest, played by Montgomery Clift, walks into a church into the middle of the night because he heard a noise. He is about to encounter a man who is about to confess that he had committed murder. Composer Dimitri Tiomkin, who wrote the musical score, quotes the Dies Irae (Day of Wrath), the sequence from the Roman Catholic Requiem Mass. By using this sombre 13^th century music, the composer immediately creates the tension and atmosphere that is to pervade throughout the film.

If music is such an integral part of films, why are composers who write music for film being held in such low esteem by critics and Classical music cognoscenti? Other than the fact that many people, especially critics, tend to like to label musicians into easily definable categories – he is a showman, she is a scholarly player, and so forth. Another reason may be that movies are viewed by many as entertainment and not art.

Conductor, composer and pianist André Previn, who spent his teenage and young adult years as composer and arranger for MGM Studios, had to fight against the labelling of “Hollywood composer” when he later embarked upon his career as a symphonic conductor. Early reviews for his concerts would, he said, inevitably begin with the phrase, “Last night, Hollywood’s André Previn…” He quipped that people would more likely forgive him for being a mass murderer, but not for having written music for films.

If we were to look at some of the “famous” composers who had written film music, the list is pretty impressive – Shostakovich, Prokofiev, Honegger, Richard Rodney Bennett, Aaron Copland, Phillip Glass and Sir William Walton. Hardly any of the men listed above would neatly fall under the labelling of “Hollywood composer”. Copland’s music for the movie The Red Pony is in a class of its own, and would even occasionally show up in concert programmes. The same can be said for Sir William Walton’s music for Battle of Britain. And John Williams’ moving music for Schindler’s List has entered the active repertoire for many of today’s great violinists.

There have been composers who managed to straddle the world of films and the concert hall. Miklós Rózsa’s violin concerto was written for Jascha Heifetz and his viola concerto for Pinchas Zuckerman. John Williams wrote concert music as well as his music for many memorable films. Nino Rota wrote two beautiful piano concerti. And the operas and symphonic music of Erich Wolfgang Korngold is slowly making their way back into concert halls, opera houses and recording studios. And yet, to quote Previn again, “Music critics have made it quite clear that any composer who ever contributed a four-bar jingle to a film was to be referred to as a “Hollywood composer” from then on.”

After a performance of a symphonic work by Sergei Rachmaninoff who, incidentally, never wrote a film score, a critic refers to the work as “music for Doctor Zhivago”. A few years back, cellist Yo-Yo Ma, who has consistently tried to extend himself as a performer, made a recording of the film music of Ennio Morricone. The music as well as the performance is beautiful and moving. Yet I am quite certain there are those who would accuse Mr. Ma as being a sell-out, and pandering to popular taste.

When will the distinguished writers of the press stop categorizing music and musicians and judge performance and musical works purely in terms of their merit, and help rather than hinder listeners in truly enjoying music?