Memoirs

MANNHEIM

In 1978 I was commissioned to write a flute quartet (flute & string trio) by Canada's Galliard Quartet. The work, "Three Plus One", was a success so, when they toured Europe, they featured the quartet in their program. One of the audience members in Germany happened to be the German Cultural Attaché who was in charge of putting together a concert of Canadian music in the City of Mannheim. The result was that I was commissioned by the City of Mannheim to write an orchestral work for the event.

I set about writing the commission, called "Baroque Diversions" and, after completion, duly set off for Germany to attend rehearsals and the premiere. During my stay in Mannheim I was astounded to find I was treated with great respect. In Canada, when asked what my occupation was, my answer was often met with blank looks. "You say you are a composer, but what do you DO?" (To some a composer was one who worked setting type in a print shop!) I got so used to this response that I was absolutely thunderstruck when, finding out I was a composer of classical music, the response in Germany was that I was some sort of "special person". I began to realize that the Germans regarded classical composers as unique and "something to be treasured". This all came home to me when, at the premiere, I was placed at the front of the hall in, what seemed to me, like some kind of throne. This, along with the fact that the musicians and the audience treated me with great reverence, made me feel like I was some kind of god. Little did they realize that I was, myself, awestruck at the realization that I was having my music performed in the very same salon where Mozart performed HIS music! Along with all these mixed feelings was the suspicion that my German hosts couldn't quite believe I was educated -- in the academic sense. I was asked, on a number of occasions, by the conductor and musicians if I knew the music of Mozart, Beethoven and Bach. Learning that I came from a place called British Columbia, it was my impression they thought I lived in the jungle. (No doubt, to them "Columbia" and "Colombia" were one and the same!) They would comment, with amazement, the fact that I lived so many thousands of kilometers away.

That I knew all about famous German composers and could actually write music which reflected past musical practice ("Baroque Diversions" is full of counterpoint) seemed hardly believable to them. (Now I know how Tarzan felt when he showed that he could speak and write the "King's English".)

After the concert I was treated as the guest of honour at a special luncheon with the mayor of Mannheim. Later that afternoon I was asked to "attend to some business." I was taken to a room and, again with great deference, asked to be seated at a table. An attendant appeared carrying a box. To my amazement the box contained my commission - in cash! The whole amount, some thousands of marks, was carefully counted out and pushed across the table. I stammered that, perhaps, it would be better if the commission was paid by check. "No, no, maestro, we always pay our artists in cash". Not wishing to argue or insult my hosts, I stuffed the money into my pockets, thanked them all profusely, and rushed back to my hotel convinced I would be robbed on the way. Nothing happened. I duly returned to my homeland where I was treated by my fellow Canadians with the usual indifference. Perhaps a good thing because special treatment can sometimes go to one's head.