Nostalgia can
be a very powerful emotion. It is a yearning for something – or
anything - from the past, and is more often than not irrational,
or steadfastly based on a belief system that has gone the way of
the typewriter and dial telephone. With the profusion of choices
that we have today, it is not surprising that the natural
instinct is to home in onto qualities that are familiar or
integral to our formative years. These define our very being and
values, and that’s where nostalgia returns – like a boomerang -
to hit you.
I
grew up in the era of the LP record and black & white
television, when Singaporeans frequented Magnolia Snack Bar (left) on Orchard Road, bought cakes from Mont d’Or, and
shopped at Robinson’s at Raffles Place. (To the Editor, all
these institutions would no doubt be from a different planet! Ed: Tou Liang, you're right! ) Broadcast news on Radio and
Television Singapore included short 2-minute segments called
newsreels that will invariably be accompanied by “mood music” -
slow music for serious (political, diplomatic, bad news) issues
and upbeat music for lighter (social, sports, good news) issues.
Short works by composers like Albert Ketelbey, George Gershwin,
Albert Coates, Leroy Anderson were part of the fare, no doubt
creeping into my subconscious.
In the era before
synthesisers and electric guitars, mood music was often
performed by orchestras of strings and winds, augmented by brass
and percussion (for the jazz band effect). These would later
become the pops orchestras of today. Hence this music sounds
like classical orchestral music as we know it, and people are
still confused as to which is which. (Symphony 92.4, Singapore’s
only classical radio station never tires of this music during
its lunch hour broadcasts).
As one might have
guessed, I am not as old as the pieces revived in The Golden
Age of Light Music series by Guild, an invaluable
retrospective series that transports me back in time on a press
of a button to my grandparents’ heyday. But how could one resist
these 3-minute morsels (custom-made for a single side of a 78
rpm disc), which are in effect miniature time capsules? When I
hear these, I think of B&W movies, cartoons on the telly, and
what my long-retired housemaid referred to as “lan-sing” (Singlish
for “dancing”).
Imitation
is the sincerest form of flattery. How else would Gypsy
Fiddler by Raphael (a nom-de-plume?) sound like a
3-minute condensed version of Georges Enesco’s Romanian
Rhapsody No.1? Or why would John Holliday’s Frontier
March resemble a watered-down Pomp and Circumstance March
by Elgar? I am also checking my dictionaries as to which came
first: Robert Farnon’s Goodwood Galop or Kabalevsky’s Galop
from The Comedians? Was it also a coincidence
that Charles Williams and Richard Addinsell were among composers
who penned pseudo-Rachmaninov movements for piano and orchestra
that evoked love Hollywood style?
The quality of many of
the arrangements suggests that these have written by
well-schooled and totally adroit arrangers who obviously knew
all the classics by heart. I can imagine a violinist like
Kreisler or Elman in the solo violin part of Frank Cordell’s
arrangement of the children’s song Oh, Dear What Can The
Matter Be had they not been the millionaire fiddlers they
were. There is a sense of obsolescence in these short pieces;
they could not have come from any other era and that infinitely
adds to the music’s charm.
The disc Great British
Light Orchestras makes
an excellent introduction to this genre of bygone years. Some of
these, which lasted well into the 1960s and 70s – led by Aldo
Mantovani, Frank Chacksfield, Stanley Black and the recently
departed Ron Goodwin (who was a big hit in Singapore) - are
still well known among listeners of today. Others have slipped
through the cracks; Cyril Stapleton, Ray Martin, George
Melachrino, Peter Yorke and Louis Voss are all new to my ears,
but making their acquaintance has been a pleasure. A suite from
Rodgers & Hammerstein’s Oklahoma! closes this selection.
The melodies will no doubt be very familiar but how many of us
have actually seen the musical in recent years?
All the recordings in
the disc Charles Williams and the Queen’s Hall Light
Orchestra (QHLO) were made during the War years, between
1942 and 1945. There is a sense of escapism hearing these. I
imagine a London that had come through the Blitz (which totally
destroyed Queen’s Hall on Regent’s Street); this music
symbolises the resilience of a people who try to smile while
keeping a stiff upper lip. There are seven of Charles Williams’
own compositions here – the most familiar being Rhythm on
Rails (thanks to Symphony 92.4) and Tom Tom The Piper’s
Son (thanks to cartoons), while Witches’ Ride
demonstrates a flair in orchestral writing more associated with
Liadov or Puccini. For a sheer wallow, try Kenneth
Leslie-Smith’s Always or Montague Phillips’ Forest
Melody.
There have been
recordings issued on Hyperion, Marco Polo and ASV White Line by
modern orchestral groups reviving the “light music” genre. Those
no doubt sound more polished than the Great British Light
Orchestras performing on the eponymous disc, but they don’t
capture the innocence and insouciance of the era. When I hear
modern recordings, I think of Singapore’s Esplanade Concert Hall
– spick and span, sterile and devoid of spirit (and spirits).
When I hear the QHLO or Charles Williams and his Orchestra, I
dream of Victoria Concert Hall (soon to be 100 years old) and
the slow ceiling fans of the old Raffles Hotel (before its
multi-million dollar refurbishment).
To be certain, there’s
no turning back the clock but one could do far worse that
spending a couple of hours with these golden oldies.
The Light
Music Hall of Fame
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