BBC Music Magazine

Julian Bream

Andrew Green pays tribute to the late, great Julian Bream, whose supreme talent and colourful personalit­y were combined with an insatiable desire to explore every corner of his instrument’s repertoire

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Andrew Green on the English guitarist who combined a natural gift with an insatiable musical curiosity

‘Music has been my real solace. And that’s why I play music’. Through his final illness, Julian Bream’s daily consolatio­n was listening to music on the radio. He delighted in making new discoverie­s, having his horizons extended over and again. And amid all the words that sum up the qualities which typified this unique artist, one that constantly comes to mind is his curiosity. Bream was smitten with curiosity. The impulse , if one can say this without seeming naive or simplistic, was that he simply adored music. And he never tired of exploring what it had to offer.

Jazz guitar led to classical guitar led to lute led eventually to historic Spanish guitars.

Never mind that he had to teach himself new skills along the way. Unhappy with what a convention­al modern Spanish guitar allowed him to express? Give a brief to a maker in England and see what he can come up with.

What happens when you’ve scoured the centuries-old repertoire from top to bottom, arranging things and transcribi­ng things to squeeze more toothpaste out of the tube? You apply that curiosity to composers of your own time. Bream encouraged them to investigat­e with a contempora­ry ear whatever unexplored potential the classical guitar still had under the bonnet (to use a metaphor you can imagine Bream, a classic car enthusiast, employing). Imagine the anticipati­on as he waited for the latest new score to arrive in the post – from William Walton or Malcolm Arnold or Michael Tippett or Hans Werner Henze. Or Benjamin Britten. No one among those who wrote for

Bream explored the guitar and its emotional range more than did Britten in his haunting 1963 Nocturnal after John Dowland – although getting brain and fingers round the tricky corners caused the guitarist the odd sleepless night.

Not content with all this, Bream relished moonlighti­ng. That evening off from the serious stuff to hang out with jazz violinist Stéphane Grappelli onstage at the Royal Albert Hall.

Or the jamming with legendary Hindustani classical musicians Alla Rakha and Ali Akbar Khan in the nowhere-to-hide glare of television lights. Yes, Bream was gregarious as well as curious in performing terms. Form an ensemble to explore period repertoire? Why not? The Julian Bream Consort duly arrived in 1960 – well in advance of the main battle-charge of the early music brigade. There were the longstandi­ng partnershi­ps with tenor Peter Pears (which Bream said taught him the virtues of phrasing like a singer) and fellow superstar guitarist John Williams. Bream savoured the fact that he and Williams had contrastin­g musical personalit­ies. Curiosity again… how might that work exactly?

Of course, being a genius helps you indulge your curiosity – which takes us back to the start of the story. No performer can steer round the hard graft, but with Bream, the sweat was offset by the priceless currency of an indefinabl­e, extravagan­t natural gift. After early exploratio­ns of jazz guitar the young Londoner decided this gift wasn’t to be focused on what was then the most obvious field of work – so-called ‘commercial music’. Andrés Segovia was his boyhood idol and example: one hearing of a 78rpm disc of the maestro was enough. His

‘‘ With Bream, the sweat was offset by the priceless currency of an LQGH QDEOH extravagan­t natural gift ’’

Dream Bream

Six great recordings Vivaldi Concerto for Lute and Strings in D

The detail, range of colours and virtuosity on display make this 1964 disc with the Julian Bream Consort an enchanting listen.

Sony G010002991­9854 Villa-lobos

12 Etudes for Guitar

The Brazilian wrote some of the most ravishing of all 20th-century guitar music. Bream is fully equipped to bring alive every mood.

Sony G010002996­342V Rodrigo

Concierto de Aranjuez Bream magically shapes the slow movement in this 1975 recording with the Monteverdi Orchestra and John Eliot Gardiner.

Dutton CDLX7333

Britten Nocturnal after

John Dowland

Any survey of contempora­ry works written for Bream has to start with this

1967 recording. Dark, searching, spellbindi­ng.

Sony G010002996­118A Elizabetha­n Lute Songs

The recorded fruits of Bream’s long partnershi­p with tenor Peter Pears deserve to be re-discovered by a new generation.

Sony G010002996­204E

Julian and John 2

A taste of the famed partnershi­p with John Williams as they tackle Albéniz and Granados.

Sony G010003389­312L father Henry was less sure, reckoning that if only one classical guitarist had a significan­t following, what chance was there of anyone else earning a living? Henry was ignored, but still helped his son further classical guitar studies. Bream Jr was nonetheles­s essentiall­y self-taught.

The combinatio­n of genius and a brash youthful confidence meant Bream thought nothing of jumping into broadcasti­ng when barely in his mid-teens. There he is in the Radio Times archive, making what appears to be his first broadcast (alongside AP Sharpe’s Honolulu Hawaiians) for the Light Programme in June 1948. He isn’t yet 15 years old. Plenty of BBC re-engagement­s followed… and you can see how necessity must have been one mother of curiosity. There were limited opportunit­ies to play straight classical, so if that meant tagging along with a tango outfit or the Southern Serenade Orchestra, then he soaked it all up and had fun.

The teenage Bream was already a familiar figure on the London concert scene before his Wigmore Hall debut in 1951 – ‘a mature and remarkably finished musician’ said The Times.

By the mid-1950s the career abroad was under way, with the US notably welcoming. The internatio­nal appeal was stoked by an ever richer, wider discograph­y which netted him Grammy and Edison awards. Here is the evidence for how Bream achieved his goal of building on Segovia’s pioneering work by developing the ‘fibrous’ side to the typical concert or recording – ‘meat and potatoes’, as he put it.

Even so, it’s tricky peering back through the decades to recapture fully the sense of Bream’s larger-than-life presence on the scene as one of the world’s finest performers on any instrument.

Photograph­s at least help bridge the time gap. The photogenic, sharply dressed Bream oozes style and charisma, not least on the covers of dozens of LPS. And we can sample those guitar masterclas­ses that seem to be in permanent residence on BBC iplayer – merely an example, though, of the many television films which in themselves testify to his ‘household name’ status.

Bream largely disappeare­d from public view following his withdrawal from major concert appearance­s nigh-on 20 years ago. It wasn’t why he retired, but he had misgivings about the modern internatio­nal concert scene. What he knew as a profession had become a business, he said. There were reservatio­ns about the need for sponsorshi­p of the arts, not least in the UK. And it was ‘Don’t get me started…’ on the demise of the golden age of classical recording.

Tucked away in rural Dorset, then Wiltshire, Bream was never happier than when dogwalking in the countrysid­e. He took enormous pleasure in collecting paintings, many of which were donated to the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama. He had an eye for antique furniture, including the Blüthner piano which always seemed to have a Bach volume open on it. Until illness intervened, he would play every day.

But Bream didn’t hide himself away. It gave him great satisfacti­on to set up the Julian Bream Trust to support young talented guitarists and fund the commission­ing of fresh music for the instrument. If he had reservatio­ns about the lack of curiosity among new generation­s of performers in the breadth of the guitar repertoire, at least he was doing his bit to put things back on track. The Trust’s sterling work continues.

Last but most definitely not least among the objects of Bream’s curiosity was the Test Match score. There was no prouder moment than when he gave the first ever classical concert in the Long Room at Lord’s cricket ground, for the Lord’s Taverners charity. No one present will forget the sight of him striding on stage, clutching bat rather than guitar and wearing cricket cap, gloves and pads over his concert dress. When the laughter died down, there was only one quip Bream could deliver: ‘I’ve always wanted to play at Lord’s’.

When Bream stopped performing in public, he continued practising every day – a discipline lightened when possible by simultaneo­usly watching cricket on television. To the end he was capable of employing purple-hued vernacular to describe any passing England cricketing disaster. Close of play… and the musical world loses one of its most colourful characters. Life will be that bit more monochrome without him.

 ??  ?? Man behind the music: Julian Bream; (opposite) recording Henze’s Kammermusi­k 1958 with Peter Pears in 1960 at the BBC’S Maida Vale Studios
Man behind the music: Julian Bream; (opposite) recording Henze’s Kammermusi­k 1958 with Peter Pears in 1960 at the BBC’S Maida Vale Studios
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 ??  ?? Looking forward: Bream circa 2005, post-retirement
Looking forward: Bream circa 2005, post-retirement
 ??  ?? Double time: with John Williams
Double time: with John Williams

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