Memoirs

MEMORIES OF MALCOLM

By Michael Conway Baker, O.B.C.

Yesterday, September 25, 2006 I learned from a friend that British composer Sir Malcolm Arnold, had died at the age of 85.

I first met Malcolm, as he insisted on being called, in 1971 at a summer music camp at Shawnigan Lake on Vancouver Island. I was urged to attend this extraordinary camp by Sir William Walton's brother, Alex, who happened to be a neighbour of my ex in-laws. As a young composer I was daunted by Malcolm's world renowned reputation. Never-the-less, I traveled to meet and study with him.

My first glimpse of Malcolm was astonishing. It was a very hot day in late July and the class was held in a cabin in the woods. I came upon a very large, florid man sitting in the sun and sweating profusely. He introduced himself as "Malcolm" and beamed at me. Of course, I knew immediately who he was. I introduced myself and asked why he was sitting in the sun on such a hot day. "My boy", he said in his broad Yorkshire accent, "when you come from a place as dark and dank as I do, you sit in the sun whenever possible. Mad dogs and English men, and all that, you know." Thus began my relationship with my mentor, Malcolm Arnold.

I was very fortunate in my timing. I was at the stage in my development as a composer when I was ready to interact with a master composer like Malcolm. He loved orchestral music and was a marvelous orchestrator. At the time, I was working on a very large piece for choir and orchestra and he was delighted to have a student who he could relate to at an advanced level. ( He didn't seem very interested in the other students, who brought small scale pieces to him. )

Just after my second lesson, Malcolm announced he was changing the venue of our lessons. Henceforth, we met at the Shawnigan Inn, which had a "jolly good pub". Malcolm would begin with double Bloody Marys. (I would have tea and toast.) By 3:00 p.m. Malcolm would be zonked. Often, in the afternoon, he could be found asleep in the faculty lounge. During one of his naps, two faculty members, a 'cellist and a violinist, were having a heated argument. Just at the moment when the argument turned particularly nasty, Malcolm rose to his feet and announced: "I think I shall remove my trousers". The sight of the over 300 pound Malcolm removing his trousers was too much for the arguing musicians. They immediately stopped arguing, begged Malcolm to keep his trousers on and offered to take him to the pub. Of course he graciously accepted!

At the time of my attending Shawnigan Lake, I hadn't heard any of Malcolm's concert music. Needless to say, I was more than eager to attend rehearsals of him conducting his own music: A new work for two violins and string orchestra. I was just knocked out. What a wonderful work! He was gracious with the orchestra and seemed more than pleased at my heart-felt compliments. After, of course, we all had to adjourn to the pub.

During the time I was there, there would be chamber music concerts in the chapel of the school. At one of these events a two guitar work of Malcolm's was performed. At the end, the enthusiastic audience called for the composer to take a bow. I looked over at Malcolm, who was sitting next to me - he was sound asleep. I roused him, explaining the audience wanted him to go up and take a bow. He staggered to his feet, found his way to the stage, hugged the female guitarist, shook hands with the male guitarist, bowed, and made his way back to his seat. Only he didn't take his seat. He staggered forth, out the door, and into the pitch black night. As he left, a student, listening outside, commented on how much he liked the music, and also that he liked Malcolm's flowing green shirt. At that point, Malcolm began removing his shirt saying, "Well, then, you shall have it!" The poor student protested and Malcolm, keeping his shirt on, continued down the road. Of course his destination was the pub.

Malcolm commissioned two works from me: A concerto and a work for viola and strings. He wrote me a wonderful letter of recommendation, promoted me to the CBC and the BBC and sent me to England to study with Sir Lennox Berkeley. The last time I saw him was in England at a concert given by the same duo guitarists who had played his work at Shawnigan Lake. He took everyone to a very expensive restaurant located on the top floor his Mayfair hotel; spent huge sums of money on Champaign, and finally sank beneath the table singing "Rule Britannia". It took three of us to ambulate him to his room.

I once asked Malcolm about his Academy Award for "The Bridge on the River Kwai." He said he didn't put much stock in it and used his Oscar as a door stop. Although he did a lot of film scoring and earned a lot of money from royalties, he really wanted to be remembered for his concert music.

Sir Malcolm Arnold was an extraordinary man. He could write music like you or I could write a letter - even when he was inebriated. He had his demons, like we all do, but the thing I remember most about him was his wonderful sense of humour, his good cheer, and his limitless generosity. I shall miss him.