|A New Zealand concert pianist
making her professional life in New Zealand playing with some of the
world's greatest artists, a professor at Auckland University exacting
precision, articulation, rhythm and colour from a great bunch of pupils, a
pair of ears of the highest discernment, an inveterate traveller devoted
to Europe. Janetta McStay has had a unique position in New Zealand music,
and is now a loved and influential person in the music community in
Auckland and the whole country. Just a little of the trepidation of the
pupil visiting the teacher still remains as I arrive at the house of this
cultivated and energetic woman, though laughter aplenty quickly dispels
any old nerves. It is just a few days after her 84th birthday. Her Parnell
cottage with its views past the bare winter trees to the triangles of the
yachts in front of North Head and Rangitoto is a place known to so many
friends and to countless guests at post- concert occasions. Everything in
it is attentively appreciated, as much as are the concerts, galleries and
favourite eateries of Auckland, and the precisely-recalled memories both
of her husband Frank Newhook and of the career we are to talk about for
this article. We started with her early days in the South:
JANETTA McSTAY: I was brought up in Invercargill, and I still have
vivid memories of biking into what always seemed to be a headwind to and
from Southland Girls High School. My parents were extremely musical,
particularly my father, though quite untutored, and they were very anxious
that their children should have access to what they had missed. When I
began to learn the piano at the age of five, I had a marvellous teacher,
an inspiration. I think it is so important that your first teacher should
be someone who captures your imagination. When she moved away to be
married I felt quite betrayed, but along came May O'Byrne (May Jones as
she later became), also an incredibly good teacher. These two have
remained for me the illustration that you don't have to go to the other
side of the world to find a great teacher.
Alex Lindsay and I were both members of a little orchestra there, and I
can still see Alex leading the group, often in his Southland Boys High
School uniform. I played from the 'Piano-Conductor', and often had to
supply a trombone here or a tuba there. If Alex were still alive, I'm sure
he would vouch for the fact that we lived in a wonderfully supportive
community. Older and very talented musicians gave me many opportunities to
play chamber music in their homes. And one of the highlights of my life
then was to take part in country concerts. It was a valuable training and
there was an air of mystery about travelling to an unknown district along
dark country roads with hapless rabbits caught in the car's headlights.
There were generally a couple of singers, perhaps a violinist, even a
recitation, and I played a solo or two, often on an indescribably bad
piano. I can remember sawdust coming out, or having someone beside me
picking up the keys and that sort of thing. But the audiences were so
welcoming and the culmination of the evenings for me were the gargantuan
suppers prepared by the farmers' wives. At that time I just did an exam
every year, as young people do, and I expected to finish up by teaching
music in Invercargill. But after my final exam the examiner told my
teacher that he would like to recommend me for an Associated Board
Scholarship to London.
DAVID GUERIN: How old were you then?
J.M.: Seventeen. My father had died when I was fourteen but my mother
was amazing at taking things in her stride. A great-uncle had recently
bequeathed her his worldly wealth of £250, and she gave that money to me.
D.G.: Did you have any other support?
J.M.: The Editor of the Southland Times, Mr J.J.W. Pollard, was a great
encouragement to me, and through his paper he opened a subscription fund.
With the proceeds from that and a heart-warming benefit concert, I set off
to England, by sea of course. That was in 1935 and I remember that the
fare via the Suez Canal was £36. I had always longed to travel, and I can
still remember so vividly all those exciting ports of call. It was like a
dream come true.
||Janetta McStay, Auckland, late 1950s
(Photograph: Clifton Firth)
D.G.: Did you like your teachers? What was it like after your special
relationships with May Jones and your first teacher?
J.M.: Well, my Invercargill teachers were special. I think it is very
important when you go away, to research as thoroughly as possible to whom
you go, and if you feel you've made a mistake, to have the courage to do
something about it. My teacher at the Royal Academy of Music was a
splendid man, he was very good to me, and I felt a loyalty to him, but I
don't think he was the best teacher for me.
With hindsight, I realise that one has to try and overcome any feelings
of inadequacy. For the first year or two I would go into the Academy
thinking 'what am I doing here?'. It was only from my third year when I
began to win prizes, and in my fourth year when things got even better,
that I began to feel more confident.
D.G.: Did there come a 'choice-point' at any time for you, facing up to
a career choice?
J.M.: Only the thought that I might have to give it all up. The
scholarship provided only the tuition, and we overseas students were a
pretty impoverished lot. But there was a great camaraderie amongst us and
sometimes we could bail one another out. I used to play for the London
County Council 'keep fit' evening classes, but payments were always in
arrears, so I was often behind with my rent. One of the pivotal influences
at the Academy was playing for some of the pupils of the most eminent
violin teacher there at that time. His name was Rowsby Woof and his
temperament was as fiery as his name, but I acquired from him many
valuable tips about ensemble playing.
||David Guerin and Janetta McStay,
Cologne, c. 1982
D.G.: Did you have contact with any great musicians teaching at the
J.M.: I remember most vividly Rachmaninoff's visit to play his Second
Concerto with the student orchestra. The revelation of his sound remains
with me still. Sir Henry Wood used to conduct the Academy orchestra, and
he was such a kindly encouraging influence.
D.G.: Did you play a concerto with him?
J.M.: A movement of the Grieg, and probably very badly! Oh! And the
Bach D Minor and a couple of obscure works I prefer to forget.
Subsequently I became acquainted with his daughter Averil who was Head of
Music for the British Council and she became one of my greatest friends
until her death.
D.G.: And concert going?
J.M.: Oh yes. Sometimes we could go to rehearsals at the Queen's Hall,
and so I heard Bruno Walter, Toscanini, and Furtwangler. And amongst the
pianists were Backhaus, Kempff, Gieseking, Rachmaninoff, Moiseiwitsch,
Alfred Cortot and the young Horowitz. I couldn't afford opera, but I
remember scraping up the money for a seat in the gods at Covent Garden for
the Ring Cycle conducted by Sir Thomas Beecham. And then there was London
itself. Can you imagine its impact? I had never been north of Dunedin, but
London seemed immediately familiar and I loved it all, the streets, the
parks, the galleries, and the lovely old London theatres when one could
afford it. Sadler's Wells too; I remember Terry Vaughan taking me to see
an early performance there of Walton's Facade. And my love of
walking dates from those early days when friends introduced me to the joys
of the English countryside around London.
D.G.: One of the things I learnt from your Who's Who entry was
about your time spent playing for the armed services, the concert parties.
J.M.: I finished my studies in July of 1939, and I was offered a post
at a very attractive girls school in Winchester called St Swithuns. About
two years later it was suggested that I should audition for Entertainments
National Service Association (ENSA), a vast organisation catering for all
kinds of entertainment for the armed services and for factory workers. The
classical music division was run by Walter Legge, later the founder of the
Philharmonia. I remember presenting myself to audition at Drury Lane
Theatre after a bitterly cold foggy trip from Winchester. I was accepted
and not long after we began our touring, playing for the navy, the army,
and the air force from as far north as the Orkneys, Shetlands and the
Western Isles to the extreme south of England.
||Janetta McStay during her
ENSA days, London 1944
D.G.: Did you have a rigorous schedule, concerts every day?
J.M.: Yes, it was rigorous, but we were young and very keen. Most of us
had just finished our studies, and we knew how fortunate we were when so
many of our contemporaries were drafted into uncongenial occupations.
Walter Legge rehearsed us, and we played really fine music you know,
because we were actually assigned only to those camps that wanted to hear
classical music, and we knew we weren't in too much danger of 'getting the
bird' as they said, people whistling or stamping or groaning in the middle
of the performance. Conditions were pretty stark as far as concert halls
or huts were concerned, and you can imagine the pianos, but it gave me an
amazing training in adapting to so many varied circumstances.
D.G.: Did you go further afield than just Britain?
J.M.: Yes. After the invasion of Europe we were the first classical
music party to play for our armed forces. We were issued khaki uniforms
with a rather dashing cap and we travelled in army transport through
Holland, Belgium, and France. The suffering in the occupied countries,
especially Holland, haunts me still. When the war ended, we toured in an
area of Germany occupied by the British Army of the Rhine. I know you've
seen a good deal of the restored Germany so it would be hard for you to
reconcile that with the indescribable devastation then.
I was still based in London, but in 1947 I went for the first time to
Spain to join a Spanish dancer whom I'd met during my years with ENSA. She
was forming a small company for performances in Holland and Britain.
Spain, then ravaged by its Civil War and its isolation, was a very
different country from the one the tourists know now. Its landscape and
people had a profound influence on me and I have returned many times
since, many remarkable car journeys with Frank through magical places.
D.G.: But you decided to return to New Zealand.
J.M.: In London I was scratching along, doing things like Arts Council
tours, some of the music club circuit, a little BBC work, all rather
precarious. Despite that, I never really wanted to leave London. However,
I'd been away from New Zealand for 18 years and I wanted to see my mother.
I planned to come back for six months, but when I returned, in 1954, I was
based in Wellington and the music scene was very lively. I gave some
performances with the Alex Lindsay String Orchestra and that led to my
long association with the splendid and formidable Ruth Pearl who led the
orchestra, and with Marie Vanderwart, principal of the cello section, who
later became my colleague at Auckland University. The New Zealand Wind
Quintet was drawn from the ranks of the NZSO, and I had a lot of musical
pleasure-an~ fun-working with them. James Whitehead was in New Zealand for
a short time then too. He was a splendid English cellist, and he, Ruth,
and I recorded trios together and we played a number of sonatas. I
remember Jimmy especially because he was one of those colleagues who could
somehow induce you to play better than you ever believed you were capable
of. And there were concerto performances with the Symphony Orchestra in
the days of James Robertson and John Hopkins, and with visiting conductors
like Karel Ancerl and Alceo Galliera. The Broadcasting Corporation really
opened doors for me, and so did the Chamber Music Federation.
When I look back, I've had an unexpectedly vivid life, I would never
have envisaged all the opportunities that came. I had given a concert in
1954 in Auckland with the visiting violinist Maurice Clare whose name will
be very familiar to my generation. He invited me to join him on a
three-month tour of Japan which I was foolhardy enough to accept.
Foolhardy because it was all at very short notice and at that time I knew
so much less of the violin repertoire. There were four, perhaps five
programmes, and the schedule was punishing. I remember that in Osaka for
instance, we gave 27 consecutive concerts in three weeks, "and we
travelled the length and breadth of the country, always playing to packed
halls. But the pluses were enormous. It opened up for me the diversity of
Japanese culture, the Kabuki theatre, the fine arts, the temples and
gardens, the exquisite presentation of their food, and the wonderful inns
in the less populated areas. So, despite the tremendous pressures, the
rewards have been great; the time spent in Indonesia in the 1950s, still
under Dutch occupation, and in Korea. And in 1960, in the time of Mao Tse
Tung and Chou En Lai, Frederick Page and I were invited to China to their
October celebrations. All that based in Wellington, and very different
from what might have happened had I returned to London!
||Henryk Szering, Auckland October 1968,
with the inscription 'To Janetta McStay with many thanks for her
outstanding artistic co-operation! Fondly, Henryk Szering'
D.G.: And later on there was so much other travelling.
J.M.: Yes, so many trips to Europe, especially Switzerland, but
exploring Turkey too, many places around the world. And the travelling on
sabbatical leave to go to piano teaching institutions, which was so
valuable, from San Francisco to Moscow!
D.G.: I can't imagine your musical associations were all unalloyed joy.
There must have been some trepidation with certain people?
J.M.: Trepidation played a big part. I can still remember that sinking
feeling before meeting a new colleague, especially a famous one. Another
short notice association comes to mind. Henryk Szyering had a big tour of
Australia, and his pianist fell ill. John Hopkins was then with the ABC
and asked me to come over. By then I was at the university and I really
couldn't contemplate such an undertaking. But finally John rang me in the
early hours one morning and said 'Janetta, I think you'll have to come'.
Well, I arranged to go, but it was a most hair-raising tour, crossing
backwards and forwards across the Tasman every time Henryk had a concerto
engagement so I could fulfil my teaching commitments and a staff concert
Henryk had been accustomed to bringing his own pianist and he enjoyed
the social aspect of his life, engagements with Lady So-and-So or Sir
Something Else, and finding time to rehearse with a strange pianist didn't
really fit into his agenda. He also had some quirks like wanting to board
the planes long before anyone else, which meant my sitting there fretting
about the time I could have spent practising all those many different
programmes. Finally the ABC arranged for me to go to the airport in a
separate car. And he liked to arrive for the concert with just enough time
to unpack his violin and walk out onto the platform, whereas I often
needed time to discuss matters with the page turner. These are aspects the
public doesn't know about, and why should they?; but it was all very
nerve-wracking. Nevertheless he was really very charming and, indeed,
flattering, and he was a wonderful violinist. I could appreciate the
beauty of his playing but, in the circumstances, fitting with him needed
all my nerve and concentration.
It was a different matter with someone like Ruggiero Ricci. After our
first tour together for the New Zealand Chamber Music Society, he asked
for me to tour Australia with him, so I had the reassurance of knowing he
wanted me there. He would say 'You do what you want to do, and I'll be
listening'. And he watched your hands. Such a situation allows for a
flexibility that makes chamber music such a joy. And Jimmy Whitehead once
said to me 'One rehearses to allow for something different to happen on
D.G.: You played with the Borodin Quartet when they toured here?
J.M.: Yes, the Shostakovitch Trio and the Quintet. The sound they made
was unforgettable. I remember so well our first rehearsal. When they began
the opening bars of the Quintet, I was too overcome to play at all! That
tour was the greatest joy. Except for the leader, their English was
minimal, but we managed to communicate so well, and it was a tearful
farewell when they departed.
One of the most beautiful collaborations I ever had was with the
violinist Szymon Goldberg. I had heard him at the Festival Hall in London
playing all the Mozart Violin Sonatas with a pianist I revere, Radu Lupu;
I never could have expected to be associated with him. I was really in awe
of Szymon Goldberg but he turned out to be one of the greatest, most
considerate musicians one could work with. He didn't have a big sound but
his musicianship was exquisite and he made the most beautiful
pianissilI1oo you could imagine, pianissimos of real quality.
D.G.: I remember Norbert Brainin of the Amadeus Quartet telling me 'If
you want to make sure everyone listens to you, play more quietly'.
J .M.: Yes, these pieces of advice you get on the way are something you
don't forget. There's nothing more arresting than a beautiful pianissimo.
We had a striking example of that recently with the visit of the Ysaye
D.G.: Did Szymon Goldberg like to rehearse?
J .M.: He was happy to rehearse, but you know sometimes things just
gell without much discussion. With him I felt musically airborne.
||Janetta McStay with Karel Ancerl,
rehearsing for an NZSO concert, Wellington 1961
D.G.: You came to Auckland University in 1963.
J.M.: Yes, after I had been living in Wellington for eight years,
Charles Nalden approached me in 1963 to begin a piano department at
Auckland University. There was already a strong group there including
Marie [Vanderwart], Michael Wieck from Germany, and Winifred Stiles, a
distinguished violist on the point of retirement.
I didn't see myself at all in a university role and my teaching
experience had been confined to two years in Winchester at the beginning
of the war, and later on a term at a girls' school in Switzerland. So I
had considerable misgivings. I began very modestly with only a handful of
students but I was fortunate that they included Christine Cuming and Bryan
Sayer and I received a lot of support from the two outstanding private
teachers, Olwen Burton (now deceased) and Mary Nathan who remains my
friend and continues to teach with that integrity we all respected. She
brings me a bag of persimmons every year.
D.G.: You told me once you came to the University as a performer, and
found yourself being a teacher.
J.M.: I had to teach. I began teaching on one o( those little Knight
uprights with the short strings, and after some years I graduated to a
very second-hand Steinway medium grand. Looking back on the procession of
students in those 20 years, it was a richly rewarding time for me, but I
can honestly say that right until my retirement I worried greatly.
Teaching is such a responsible and demanding profession. Trying to nurture
talents (greater and lesser ones), dealing with young people on a
one-to-one basis, their aspirations and problems. It's a little like being
a parent, and I still feel apprehension when after all these years one of
them says to me 'I remember you saying so and so'. I often think I taught
too hard, but there seemed to be so much to get through. It wasn't a
course designed for people just to play around. Being a professional is
very hard and they were students, they had a responsibility, and so did I.
I realised too that there was quite a lot of the vast literature for the
piano that I didn't know, and they knew even less, so I began a piano
repertoire class which is really a subject on its own, as you know.
Choosing repertoire for the students always worried me-seeing that they
had a balanced diet. But I also realised before long that if a student
showed a passion for a work, even if you thought it beyond their present
stage, they could achieve miracles.
D.G.: But your being tough was the right thing for many. Your
requirements were up there at a professional life.
J.M.: I didn't think of myself as tough, and I hope I never discouraged
anyone who was really making an effort. I suppose I could deal somewhat
tensely with an arrogant or hostile attitude, but that happened so rarely,
and the serious students appreciated the demands I seemed to make.
Otherwise I wouldn't have so many life-long friends from my earliest days
in Auckland. I think the ones who have gone on have appreciated the detail
they were exposed to.
D.G.: Yes, the detail. Articulation. You have a great pair of ears.
J.M.: We all listen differently don't we, I'm not aware of anything
special! I just listen. Perhaps that's a reason why I find most concerts
D.G.: I guess quite a lot of your time had to go for teaching which you
would have wanted to be using for playing.
|Janetta McStay with the Borodin
Quartet, Auckland 1968
(Photograph: Frank Hofmann)
J .M.: That was an almost constant conflict trying to do justice to
both. It's an almost impossible balancing act, and many don't attempt
both. But I think the students did get something from their teacher being
able to get up and deliver-more or less! I may say that playing to one's
students and fellow staff members was for me one of the most frightening
of all experiences.
D.G.: You have a very large repertoire. All the Beethoven chamber
J .M.: Yes, all the cello and violin sonatas. And the Brahms, the
Prokofievs, the Schubert works including the Fantasy, the two Bartoks.
They were a big learn for me but so wonderful finally to play. Oh and the
Cesar Frank which I never enjoyed because of the stretches. As a chamber
music player you'd be expected to have these and more under your belt.
While he was at the University, I did all the Beethoven violin sonatas
with Ladislav Jasek. He was a lovely violinist with the silvery tone and
the pure intonation of the Czech school. But he never wanted to rehearse,
'I think it is not necessary Janetta' when I suggested more time. Ladja
was a very good pianist and that helped make playing with him so easy.
Another pleasure of those years was to do all the Schubert song cycles
with Philip Todd. Since ENSA days I had done almost no vocal
accompaniment, but what a joy and a privilege to be exposed to those
D.G.: Trios, quartets?
J.M.: Schubert, Beethoven, Dumky, Arensky, Mendelssohn D minor.
I even played that back in Invercargill if you can imagine! The first
concerto I ever did in New Zealand was the Mendelssohn G minor, a really
nerve-wracking experience, because Solomon was to come, and he developed a
heart problem and had to cancel. Can you imagine my substituting for
Solomon, ever, even for one bar? I liked playing Mendelssohn, it's lovely
music, and the clarity of the writing, I always enjoyed that.
||Szymon Goldberg and Janetta McStay,
D.G.: A harpsichord player too?
J.M.: [Laughter] We should draw a veil over that... When that
harpsichord came to Wellington; I think it was James Robertson who
initiated that, I remember it being assembled. How I came to play a number
of the Handel Suites I don't know, but I had the temerity to do some of
them. I'm sure if I heard them now I'd want to bury myself. Of course it's
wonderful music. Keith Jarrett plays them with great enthusiasm.
D.G.: Were you in any sense lonely as a piano soloist?
J.M.: Indeed I was. To be honest, I never had the temperament for
public performance. I was so nervous and fallible, especially in solo
work. You might ask why I didn't give up playing altogether, but then I
would have missed the rewards of all those wonderful rehearsals with such
great musicians, and just every now and then there was the public
performance that made it all seem worthwhile.
D.G.: Did you feel the same about concerto performances?
J.M.: Yes, but there again one or two emerged better than expectations.
I'm thinking of the third Bartok Concerto. I did it several times, but
once in Wellington with John Hopkins it worked especially.
D.G.: Were you the first performer to tackle that in New Zealand?
J.M.: No. Eva Bernathova from Czechoslovakia had played it not long
before. Somebody told me I gave the first performance of Prokofiev Three
in this country.
||Ladislav Jasek and Janetta McStay,
Auckland, early 1970s
(Photograph: Frank Hofmann)
D.G.: That's a wonderful thought, you premiering Prokofiev Three!
J .M.: Well, it may be now! I loved the work, but I never played it
really as I should have liked, and there have been so many wonderful
performances of that work since then.
D.G.: You did so many new works with orchestra- Hindemith for example.
J.M.: Yes. One of them was The Four Temperaments which I played
a number of times, especially with Dobbs Franks conducting the Lindsay
Orchestra. I did quite a lot of work with Dobbs. A Bernstein work, some
Mozart, the Bach Brandenburg with Ruth Pearl. With the Symphony Orchestra
I played Nights in the Gardens of Spain many times, but that wasn't
a first performance. I believe Richard Farrell did it before I did. Oh
yes. Another first performance was Shostakovitch Number Two. I had played
No.1 with Albert McKinnon who was such a beautiful trumpet player. Then I
read that the Shostakovitch Second Concerto had just appeared so I
wrote away to the Moscow State Music Publishers. For a long time I heard
nothing but then one day I arrived home to find a brown paper parcel at my
front door. No note, no message, but when I opened it, there was the
Concerto with a message inside inscribed by Shostakovitch himself. So I
did it several times with John Hopkins, and it was a very good Prom work.
D.G.: I'm interested in this great repertoire that you played, of new
J.M.: I suppose I should have kept a list, because I did do a lot of
new works. It didn't come easily as it seems to come to younger musicians.
I remember doing works of Gillian Whitehead and Ross Harris that I found
D.G.: Yes. They remain so.
J.M.: Well, I'm glad to hear you say that because, although I felt
totally inadequate, I wanted to do them justice. One of the most wonderful
more recent chamber works has been Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time,
one of those works where the source of the work so inspires you that it
transcends one's own feelings.
D.G.: This is an interview for Music in New Zealand so perhaps we
should talk more of New Zealand music. Edwin Carr?
J .M.: Yes, I played a two piano version of his Electra back in
the '50s with David Galbraith, and his Piano Concerto. That is a
very unhappy memory as I am sure it is for Ted. I found it extremely
difficult, and added to that, on the day of the concert I had a most
dreadful migraine and arose from my sick-bed for the performance. Even now
I don't care to think what it sounded like. But other experiences playing
and teaching New Zealand music were more happy. David Farquhar, Douglas
Lilbum, John Rimmer who was such a good colleague at the University. I
admire so many of my successors who cope so well with the rhythms and
notation of newer music. In Auckland, I very much support what the
Karlheinz Company is doing, the diversity of their programmes and the
opportunities young students have to become acquainted with new techniques
of writing and playing.
D.G.: An important part of your life were the events after concerts,
some of the world's great musicians visiting here.
J.M.: That was part of the chamber music scene then, we took turns at
entertaining people in different homes, but it doesn't happen now. I
remember Marie and Alfons had the Borodin Quartet on their last night in
New Zealand, and it was a wonderful evening. The cellist Berlinsky had a
most beautiful voice, speaking and singing. He sang some Tchaikovsky songs
at Marie's party, it was just wonderful. You know that lovely song, After
the Ball, and I can remember I was playing and the tears of emotion
were pouring down, partly because they Were leaving the next day. I think
he cried a little too.
||Janetta McStay, Auckland early 1970s
(Photograph: Frank Hofmann)
D.G.: Other visitors here? Brendel.
J.M.: He was here briefly. So many. One with whom I became friendly was
Alicia de Laroccha. Were you here on the night we had a party and the
place was so crowded with people, and she was so gracious? I had that old
Bechstein in the other room and she used to come and practise on it.
D.G.: I remember her concert in Wellington, all of Iberia, and
you could hear ten things happening at once.
J.M.: Absolutely. And with her tiny hands, you remember how she
extracted all those different voices, defined all those different areas.
She is an amazing pianist, especially in certain areas like Spanish music.
Talking about being fastidious in one's playing, when you listen really
attentively to someone like Alfred Brendel, you realise just how many
components there are to a marvellous performance. The articulation is
immaculate, the balance of sounds, the whole thing is riveting. I think
his approach to the keyboard is quite miraculous really, the way he
articulates each sound. Especially when he is playing Mozart Concertos and
the classical repertoire. There's something about Brendel and the
relationship of one note to the next that is quite spell-binding. Frank
and I went in many successive years to the Schubertiade in Feldkirchen in
Austria. Alfred Brendel was a regular visitor there, and of course Andras
Schiff, Peter Schreier, Fischer- Dieskau, Christa Ludwig, Brigitte
Fassbinder, all these great great names. And now younger singers, people
like Ian Bostridge, the marvellous Thomas Quasthoff, wonderful baritone,
and Robert Holl.
D.G.: You've received a few honours for your work too?
J.M.: Yes, but when you're doing it, you're not thinking about that,
you're just doing the work. One of the things that gives me most happiness
now about anything I've ever done is when somebody says they remember my
playing. I think as I look back that there must have been something in my
playing that meant something to quite a lot of people. Well, I think it's
getting time to have a glass of wine. And a little pasta??