The Music that Changed Nancy Riley's World
In response to our ongoing series, The Music That Changed Your World, Nancy Riley of Toronto sent us a note about a series of records that had a big effect on her life.
She writes:
One day however, I stumbled upon the cache of records, and picked one with a nice looking face on it, to play on the little suitcase record player in our playroom that I already knew how to work.
The composer I had chosen on the basis of his cover picture (not knowing how to read yet) was Hector Berlioz. Right from the beginning of the record - a stirring rendition of the opening of the overture to Benvenuto Cellini - I was entranced.
As the music faded, the narrator intoned emphatically, "This is the story of Louis Hector Berlioz, who was supposed to be a doctor, but so loved music, that he overcame all the difficulties put in his way, and grew up to be one of the most famous composers of the past century."
As no-one else in my family appeared to be interested in Berlioz, the record-player went into my bedroom and I memorized the entire narration, much of which dealt with Hector's early adversity, in particular in convincing his doctor-father to allow him to have a life in music.
The second extract that I can truly say set my life on a musical path, was the Rákóczy March.
There must have been some discussion on the record about this piece's inclusion in Berlioz's large-scale work, "The Damnation of Faust". One morning (I was still four years old at the time), I came down to breakfast and heard the radio on in the kitchen.
I recognized the music, and cheerily said to all and sundry that it was from "the Damnation of Faust". My mother, somewhat surprised by my pronouncement, made sure she was in the kitchen to listen to the announcer after the music had ended. Sure enough, I had correctly identified it. This was not such a feat, as I had been listening to the record over and over, but it impressed her enough to set about finding me a piano teacher, and to let me listen to all the other records that she had put away for later.
I should say that my allegiance swiftly turned to the child prodigy, Mozart. I desperately wanted to be a child prodigy myself and spent many hours with my legs dangling off a low chest of drawers (much as the young Mozart's legs did off the harpsichord bench), pretending to play along with him as the narrator described how he and his sister Nannerl were fêted in concerts across Europe.
At the time, I was consumed with the fact that Mozart was also composing by the age of six. It was then that I wrote my one composition - a "Concerto for Hopsicles" (my spelling of harpsichord) - which in fact is quite a minimalist work, taking up just one stave - to which I signed my name and age (5). I still have it.
Apart from Mozart and Berlioz, I also immediately liked Johann Strauss - another composer who had had to struggle against a father who was adamant that he not become a musician - and I came to like Beethoven, whose music I found initially a little overpowering, although that was understandable as he too had had to overcome much adversity.
Having two older brothers whose interactions with me veered between teasing and ignoring, I myself happen to know something about adversity.
And so it was Beethoven's music that I began to listen to at times when I was at odds with the world around me, as I sensed a defiance in his music that matched my own, and reinforced me in whatever contrarian position I was taking at the time.
To this day, the imprint of my early listening remains. If I hear a certain passage from Beethoven's Seventh Symphony, I think to myself that this is when Beethoven left his home in Bonn for Vienna and would never see his mother again.
Or, if I hear the opening of the "Serenade from Harold in Italy" by Berlioz, I remember that this is when Berlioz found out that he had finally (on the third try) won the Prix de Rome!
And here is what I want to say about all of these extra-musical references that remain with me. What did I know about Bonn, Vienna, Harold in Italy or the Prix de Rome at the age of four? Or for that matter, about Benvenuto Cellini or Faust and his damnation?
What did it matter? I've come to understand that I didn't really need to know everything that was being said to get something out of the music, and I commend the makers of the series for not trying to limit the contextual references to things that would be within the knowledge of their junior listeners.
It seems to me, that children are prepared to accept that there is a lot of information floating around in the adult world as yet beyond their grasp, and that the simple exposure to such unknown information perhaps makes them more susceptible to grabbing hold of it when the opportunity to learn more presents itself.
There is a saying that "Interest follows knowledge". In my experience, I think it was a case of "Interest follows name recognition".
That was certainly how I felt when I later came across the autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, or finally learned of the literary significance of the story of Faust, amongst so many other bits of information that I first ran across on the VOX records.
Much as I liked some of the life stories of the composers better than others, I later came to realize that what was really important to me w as the music alone which, in some way or another, had the power to transport me and to elevate my mood.
Over time, I have discovered this power in the music of many other composers, whether classical or of other genres. Music unfailingly can bring me joy, clarity, empowerment or solace.
It was the Vox Music Master life of Berlioz, in all its monophonic glory, that opened up the world of music to me."
Our thanks to Nancy Riley for her letter, and for kindly agreeing to come into our studio to read it for us. By the way, when Ms. Riley retired from a career as a corporate lawyer, she returned to the University of Toronto to earn a Ph.D. in musicology.
Click the button above to hear Nancy Riley's letter and accompanying music.