58. 'Parting is hell. But life goes on, so sing as well.'

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Do you think that classical music is not for you and you don't know where to start? Or maybe you're a fan already and would welcome a fresh approach. You've come to the right place. Perfect pitch is for everyone, beginners or experts, whatever your age. Lend Nick Healy Hutchinson your ears for his weekly dose of classical music that will enrich your life.

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Regular listeners to this podcast will know that I don't pass comment on matters of the day. There are plenty more qualified to do so than me. But it would be a strange thing indeed, I think, to carry on as if nothing had happened. The day we all knew was coming nevertheless appeared to happen very suddenly. Be you a monarchist or not, it's impossible not to have been deeply moved by the words the King addressed to the nation at six o'clock on Friday. And I confess that his concluding master stroke of quoting Horatio's heartfelt lines after Hamlet's death left tears in my eyes. Major events like this give rise to all sorts of different responses and, in some cases, hasty knee-jerk reactions. Apart from the day of the funeral for Her Late Majesty, the palace has made it quite clear that it's at the discretion of individual organizers to decide whether certain events go ahead during the mourning period. And in that context, it seems entirely fitting that occasions which are intended to be out and out entertainment should be deferred or cancelled. But having only last week referred to the last night of the prompts, it seems to me a bewildering and highly regrettable decision to have cancelled this occasion. I go to press, as it were, without knowing what took its place. But I do know this the content of the service at St. Paul's Cathedral on Friday may well have been established for a long time. But even that needed very short-term compiling. The point is the music is one of the great uniters the world has at its disposal. And it strikes me that the BBC took a difficult decision, which in the end has turned out to be the easy option for fear of alienating some people who might have taken issue. But a half decent program setter could have adjusted the content of the concert, and we could have shown and seen the remarkable ability of music to bring us together, not just here in the UK, but all around the world. It was quite literally a unique opportunity, and one I think many of us regret. I think of Joyce Grenfell's words at times like this, which I remember reciting at the funeral of an aunt about forty years ago. If I should go before the rest of you, break not a flower nor inscribe a stone, nor when you speak of me, put on your Sunday voices. But be the same dear friends that I have known. Weep if you must, parting is hell. But life goes on. So sing as well. So in that spirit, here then is one piece which could so easily have been included in the last night of the promise, and how apt it would have been. It will be familiar to everyone. But I also think it has one and a half minutes of the most excitingly anticipating introduction. Listen to the way it ebbs and flows. It's almost as if Hanel is teasing us with changes of both volume and key before he finally lets go into an eruption of voices. In this case, the chorus and orchestra of the Academy's Saint Martin in the Fields, conducted by Neville Mariner. People have often referred to the smile which the Queen radiated. There's an annual service, the distribution of Maundy Money, whose history goes back a very long time, but was reinstated in its present format by George V in 1932. The purpose of which is to recognise individuals who have been recommended by the diocese as having made some kind of meaningful voluntary service. For some thirty years, my late father, born just a few months before the Queen, had been a weekly guide at Westminster Abbey, and was rather hoping to be on duty for the royal wedding in April 2011. His disappointment had not been selected was more than compensated for by receiving a letter to inform him that he was to be a recipient of this honour, which is bestowed on as many people as the age of the monarch. Half of them women, half of them men. Especially minted coins are distributed on Maudy Thursday, the day before Good Friday. And it so happens that in 2011 the date fell for the only time in her reign on the Queen's birthday itself. My father was permitted to invite three guests, and my mother, my wife, and I were the lucky ones. I had to wait until I was 53 to hear what I'm about to tell you now. In 1944, the then Princess Elizabeth celebrated her 18th birthday party at Windsor Castle, and word went round that they were four men short. In desperation, they asked a school nearby for some suitable candidates, and my father caught the selector's eye. He and his colleagues were the only ones in black tie, everybody else being in uniform, as the war was not yet over. Being properly brought up, my father did, of course, ask the Queen Consort, his hostess, if she would do him the honour of a dancer. To which she apparently replied, Thank you, but not for a long while. His attention then turned to the princesses. Princess Margaret was in huge demand, so he made for the birthday girl a Princess Elizabeth who accepted his invitation. So when the Queen, dressed in bright blue with a huge aquamarine and diamond brooch, approached my father on his aisle seat, she was introduced to him on her birthday with the words This gentleman danced with you on your eighteenth birthday. I was just feet away. And I shall never forget her reaction, as her whole face with those blue eyes just lit up. There she stood, exchanging words with another eighty-five-year-old, sixty-seven years later to the day since their last and any previous meeting with an anecdote which must surely have been a little more unusual than most. What did you say? What did you say? We asked him eagerly afterwards. I've absolutely no idea, he replied. I was so overwhelmed I couldn't hear a word. Back to the matter in hand. Having said only last week that I don't like to repeat stuff I've already played, I want to demonstrate to you a more unusual example of how classical music has had an influence on modern music. The piece I'm referring to is the second movement of Beethoven's fifth piano concerto, the so-called Emperor, written in the cellar of his brother's house in Vienna while the city was being ransacked by the French. It also happens to be one of my very favourite slow movements in all classical music, so I'm not going to apologize for playing it again. There are so many lovely moments in it. The melody itself, of course, as well as a lovely climbing of the keyboard on trills. Leonard Bernstein, the composer of its music to the lyrics of Stephen Sonnheim, was a huge fan of Beethoven. And I don't think it's a coincidence that the opening bars of the second moment of the concerto are at the heart of the song Somewhere. Ellen Grimo is the soloist of the Frankfurt Radio Orchestra conducted by Pavel Ye. Hold on to those opening bars as we then listen to Marilyn Horne singing Somewhere from West Side Story. Don't tell me they're not connected. And if you're feeling in the slightest bit fragile, a glorious singing might just tip you over the edge. We started today with a British composer, albeit an anglicised one, and I can't really think of a better way in the current circumstances than to finish with another. Edward Elgar, and perhaps the most famous few minutes of music he ever wrote, namely Nimrod, the ninth of 14 of his enigma variations completed in 1899, and an enormous success from its very first performance. The work is dedicated, in Elgarh's words, to my friends within, each variation bearing the initials of the relevant person. Not so much musical portraits of individuals, but more little vignettes with references to either an occasion or particular personal characteristic. In the Old Testament, Nimrod was known as a mighty hunter before the Lord, and the title refers to his friend and London musical editor, Augustus Jaeger. Jaeger being German for hunter. All we know about this particular variation is what Elgar has told us in the words, it relates to something that has happened. The main theme, as I'm sure you know, remains a bit of a mystery, hence its wholly appropriate title, Enigma. But apparently Elgar did mention to somebody that the opening bars of Nimrod pair a small knot to the opening notes of the second movement of Beethoven's Pathetika. I'd not known this until recently, and I definitely think you can hear it. So we'll let to just a few parts of that, played by Vladimir Ashkenazi, and then move straight into the piece. Played here by the English Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Kenneth Woods, in a recording recently made, especially as a tribute to the Queen.

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He'll be back again next week with some more treasures for you. So please do join in then. And you can subscribe to this podcast by clicking on the link below.