How do you listen to music?

Many years ago I was asked: ‘Do you have a recording of Brahms’ violin concerto?’ I was suprised by the question as it came from a colleague who had never shown any interest in classical music. I said I had. ‘I want to buy the Nigel Kennedy recording. Have you got it?’ I hadn’t but I offered to make her a copy of the Heifetz recording. She declined, saying she liked the ‘way Nigel Kennedy does it.’ Curious, I asked if she had heard any other recordings. She hadn’t and I couldn’t persuade her to try Heifetz, Oistrakh or whichever other recording I had in my collection at that time. I wonder what that episode said about her view of the music. I suppose image and the publicity machine had help make her mind up. Was that a bad thing? Maybe not, had she been curious to hear the music but she wasn’t – she only wanted to hear that particular recording. The publicity campaign had done a great job for Kennedy (which, in fairness, was their job) but nothing for Brahms.

I introduced a dear friend to classical music and she quickly fell in love with Rachmaninoff’s 2nd Symphony (easily done). I had a cd that had arrived with a magazine and she played it frequently. It was a well-played and conducted performance by the BBC Philharmonic under Sir Edward Downes, leisurely and warmly romantic, a beautiful performance. When a performance was advertised at the Festival Hall, she jumped at the chance to go. It was a thrilling performance, taut and brilliantly played by the Russian National Orchestra under Pletnev – virtuosic and very exciting. My friend was disappointed. It wasn’t like the recording, she said.

How do you listen to music? The radio? From a cd collection? A streaming service? If from a collection, do you have more than one recording of any particular piece? If streaming, do you stick to a favourite recording? For me, one of the joys of streaming is the choice of performances available. If I want to listen to a favourite , let’s say Vaughan Williams’s London Symphony, there are more than twenty recordings to choose from on Spotify. I have heard most of them and definitely prefer some over others but I make a point of not listening to the same recording twice in succession – I may come back at a later date to one that I like but will listen to a different recording in between. Why? Because, loving the piece, I’m keen to hear different approaches, different tempi, details brought out in one performances that I haven’t heard in others. I like to think that I learn something about the piece in this way.

In the past, I was always looking for the ‘perfect’ recording. The better I got to know a piece and the more I came to love it, the more I formed an ideal in my head of how that piece should go. As a result, I might become dissatisfied with a particular performance for being too slow, or too muddy or for not highlighting the horns in a particular passage. And so I’d buy a new LP that might come closer to my vision (those were the days – Cheapo Cheapo Records in Soho, £2 an LP – a gift to a hard-up student). This could take a while – with 9 different versions of Elgar’s First symphony in my collection, I still hadn’t found ‘the one’. These days, although I might have an idea in my head of how I’d conduct a piece (if I was ever allowed to stand in front of an orchestra) I am happy to try different performances and have my vision challenged.

This attitude puzzles some people, who buy one recording and are happy to stick with it. They do not share my need to ‘listen around’. I have no issue with that although I feel they might be missing out. I do question, though, listeners who listen to one recording and refuse to consider any other interpretation of a piece. This recording, they say, is ‘the best’. Or, they contend, ‘no-one else knows how to do it’ (this is particularly common amongst fans of Leonard Bernstein!). This leads me to wonder if they actually love the piece itself, or just a recording.

To take an example, some will be unable to listen to any recording of Mahler’s Resurrection Symphony other than by Bernstein. Bernstein, in his last recording, took 93 minutes over the piece, nearly 15 minutes longer than Otto Klemperer (often labelled a slow-coach), and 10 minutes longer than Bernard Haitink (no speed-merchant). Let me say, hastily, that there is more to interpretation and performance than tempo but these differences do illustrate widely differing approaches. I can and will listen to any of these performances and a good many other in my quest to know the music better. I will like some more than others but, in a good performance, I can be convinced of the musician’s vision however widely it may differ from the last one I heard. Of course, the listener who is wedded to Bernstein’s recording may simply have found their ‘ideal’ recording but, if they cannot listen to any other, what is it that they love? The symphony, or only Bernstein’s vision of it?

When next you listen to a favourite piece, why not try a different performance from your usual choice (if that is not already your practise). Maybe listen to a recording from the latest hot-shot conductor. Or a long-dead one. Or a wild-card – someone you have never heard of or who is normally associated with a different composer. It is surprising how often one will hear a new detail for the first time or a phrase played in a completely fresh way, however well one might know a work. For me, this is as exciting as knowing that I will never run out of new music to listen to.