MAROONED ON A DESERT ISLAND:
THE SEQUEL

In the June edition of this newsletter, I wrote an article entitled "Marooned on a desert island: what music would you take?" about the longstanding BBC radio show Desert Island Discs, hosted by freelance broadcaster Roy Plomley. In each one-hour episode, Plomley and a guest would have an informal conversation about eight recordings the guest would take if he or she were marooned on an unpopulated desert island. The reasons often revealed aspects of the guest's character and attitude that were new to listeners. I went on to list the top eight discs I would take to a desert island and why. I also mentioned a few I would never take in a million years, such as Ravel's Bolero or Bernstein's Overture to Candide.

I was totally unprepared for the most encouraging response I received to this piece. In thanking the readers who got in touch in person, by phone, and by email, I should like to address some of their questions and comments directly. It is also necessary for me to make a confession: I increased the readership by sending links to a few people who would not normally see the newsletter, such as Tom Allen, Catherine Robbin, Matthew McFarlane of the CBC, and various acquaintances across the globe, from New Zealand to France, and from British Columbia to Alabama.

Of course, my British friends and relations heard about it, too. Not everyone responded, but I know they all read the article. I did get a phone call from Bill Davies in Normandy, France. He was the old friend I mentioned in the article who sang the Welsh hymn Calon Lan with me in a deserted French church about five years ago. I knew it was him, because he launched into the same hymn before we had even greeted each other. Somewhere over the mid-Atlantic our voices blended once more!

The most common question was: "Where did you get your information from?"

The answer is mostly from the BBC website and its innumerable links, especially to the more reputable British newspapers, aided by my own memories of some of the early shows, of course. I knew that Plomley had written a little book in about 1975, but had never seen it. One week after my essay was published, I was presented with a copy of the book for my birthday by my daughter Sian, who had found it online in Napanee, Ontario! Needless to say, I have read it diligently a few times since, and am relieved to say that it does not contradict my writings at all. Some short excerpts will follow later.

My medical-school classmate Dr. Ron Wawman - psychiatrist, cruciverbalist, biographer, playwright, etc., etc. - sent me the following from his home in Devon, UK:

"I enjoyed your article. My wife would certainly share your wish never to hear again Ravel's Bolero. It does not do much for me, but apart from it acting as quite pleasant wallpaper, I can enjoy watching Margaret's face! Bryn Terfel would also figure on my list. How come he is a friend of yours?"

To which I replied: "He is more of a casual acquaintance than a friend. We first met him in Kingston when he was 19, as guest soloist with the Dunvant Male Voice Choir from Wales. He took off the roof of St. George's Cathedral with his wonderful bass-baritone voice even then. Anyway, I have met him two or three times since then, and reminded him of our early meeting. He really is fantastic."

The other "friends" I named were Emmanuel Ax and Catherine Robbin. Ax, one of the outstanding pianists of today, was an accidental find, on an almost-empty platform at Gare du Nord in Paris, where he, and my wife and I, were awaiting the same train to Tours, in the Loire Valley.

Somewhat disinhibited from jet-lag, I approached him, told him how much we enjoyed his playing, and entered into a conversation which lasted most of the two-hour journey.

He was on his way to perform in a chamber music concert the next night, and he generously offered to leave tickets for us at the venue, "if we wanted to come!" So, the following evening, we found our way to the beautiful restored mediaeval barn in excited anticipation. There were no tickets at the wicket for M. & Mme Williams! In desperation, I told the receptionist in my best French: "Mais nous sommes amis de M. Ax!" whereupon the tickets appeared with a big smile and the explanation "A! Vous êtes invitées, monsieur."

The same tactic got us into the Green Room after the magnificent concert of piano quintets in the exquisite acoustics of the wooden grange. Manny told us there that we should be welcome in the Green Room after any of his performances - so one day we shall try it.

Canadian mezzo-soprano Catherine Robbin is in a different category; she really is a friend of many years' standing. We met when she came and sang many times in Kingston, and we still correspond from time to time. She has been a huge international star with the common touch, and it has been a privilege and a joy to make music with her, and to have shared so much of our joint professional knowledge over many personal meetings. Catherine has expanded her vocation after leaving the concert and opera stages, and is now the respected Director of Classical Vocal Studies at York University. She has read my piece, and this is part of her email to me:

"Dear Malcolm, Thank you for sending me this lovely article! It is beautifully written, informative and entertaining. You are so right about it being most difficult to decide what NOT to take. I found it very difficult when choosing my list for My Music on CBC Radio 2. I made a long list, and the producer, Neil Crory, made the final choices. But he did suggest he might invite me for a second time."

The three great artists mentioned have between them released more than 150 recordings, and all have been awarded prizes and honours worldwide. Several of my other correspondents suggested two or three pieces they might take to a desert island, but only one went further. She read the first page of my column in the June newsletter, and before even turning the page, she sat down and compiled her own list of choices. To her surprise, some of them coincided with mine, and we have had a lively exchange of emails since. We have not met, but many years ago, I knew both of her late parents quite well. Her mother played the viola in the KSO, and her father was a great supporter of the orchestra, too.

Tom Allen, host of Shift on CBC Radio 2, and a guest performer with the KSO this season, sent me the following:

"Malcolm - I read your very engaging piece on Desert Island Discs. I'm embarrassed to say I didn't know that show - it sounds delightful - and clearly the idea has some legs. I'm also looking forward to the Kingston show next spring. Please make sure you say hello at the time. Tom Allen"

I certainly will, Tom!

Finally, a quick peek at Plomley's book. He freely attributes his original idea to a number of sources, although none had suggested the radio interview concept.

He also wrote: "I thought that the first group of 15 shows would also be the last, so I arranged for the 15th castaway to be me - interviewed by my producer." He goes on to say that making his selections made him realize what an impossible task he was giving to others every week. The ultimate irony is that when he looked back on his choices a few years later, he found only two he could still live with.

The book has many interesting anecdotes about his castaways and their idiosyncrasies, and ends with a list of names of the first 1,271 who appeared on the show. I shall dip into it from time to time, but do not think I will dare to write any more on the topic. Mozart did not complete his Requiem, nor Schubert his Symphony No. 8, so I am in distinguished company!

I will still talk about it, though. And I'll await my invitation from the BBC. In the meantime, I might read a little Keats, from his letter to Fanny in August 1919:

"Give me books, fruit, French wine and fine weather / And a little music out-of-doors, played by somebody I do not know."

I wonder if Plomley ever read that?

Malcolm Williams is a retired bass player with the Kingston Symphony. He currently resides on a desert island somewhere off the coast of Kingston.

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