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Nigel Broadbent


Elgar country


From the house where I was born you can look across the fields and in the distance see the Malvern Hills.  Elgar country.

On 10th January 1903 Edward Elgar took delivery of a new bicycle. This bicycle was fitted with the latest thing.  A freewheel.

If you lived in or around Malvern the ability to swoop down those hills without holding your feet in mid air must have been a dream.

For his first trip he decided to go to Gloucester to visit the cathedral.

He got as far as Newent and was caught in a downpour and aborted the trip, returning by train.

Can you imagine his excitement when he set out that day?  A day out on his new bike. Wooly tweed jacket, plus fours, saddle bag of sandwiches and his handlebar moustache waving in the wind, freewheeling for the first time!

The steam train that Edward travelled on has long since gone.  As a boy I sometimes went on it to Gloucester. I also watched the last train as it slowly left Newent for the last time, pulling up the track behind it. 

As Maurice Handford once said, with tears in his eyes, when we got to the last page of Elgar's Symphony No 1, "Not just the end of a symphony, more, the end of an era."

I have several colleagues who are also biking enthusiasts. Who also love the latest thing. 

From impossibly light frames with carbon fibre widgets to spray on leggings, air slicing wheels and day glow underpants.

There is a problem with such keenness.  It requires endless perusal of bike magazines, leaving little time for composition. 


Ps. If you find yourself in the Malvern Hills don't forget to look out for the road sign:  






LSO French Revolution


The Théâtre des Champs-Élysées is a theatre at 15 avenue Montaigne in Paris.  It's where they threw rotten tomatoes at the first performance of the Rite Of Spring by Stravinsky.

My story is about a concert that happened shortly after I joined the orchestra in 1979. 

The first half of the concert had passed quietly enough.  But when we were leaving the stage for the interval someone called out "Mahler".  And then someone else, then another. By the time we had returned to the stage after the interval the Parisien audience had turned into a mob.  They were chanting like a football crowd.  Mahler! Mahler! Mahler!  There was no stopping them.


Claudio Abbado came on stage and defiantly, we started to play. The mob still shouting. 

Tchaikovsky's Fourth Symphony has a fanfare opening. Our trumpets raised their bells and didn't hold back.  The mob still wanted Mahler! Mahler!.

For the first 20 bars or so, it was no competition.   Heckles raised, I've never heard our brass play louder. The audience didn't stand a chance. We drowned them out.

... but then there's a diminuendo ... and the mob took over.

Eventually Claudio Abbado gave up, put his baton down, left the stage and beckoned us follow.

The mob were in full flood now.  They had won ... Mahler! Mahler! Mahler! Mahler!

Years later I became friends with the composer Bechara El Khoury.  He was in the audience that night and continues the story from his seat in the stalls. Apparently the impresario came onto the empty stage to plead with the crowd.  Claudio also came on and sat with his legs dangling over the edge.

Six weeks prior to the concert the programme had been changed from the advertised Mahler 5 to Tchaikovsky 4.  He said he quite understood if people were upset.  He was prepared to give them a full refund but only if they left the auditorium. Six people left.

Eventually we all came back on stage.  There was a hush.  Yes we started at the beginning again.  (Sid Coulter, our first violin section comedian in residence, had asked if we would be continuing from Bar 26.)

It was an emotionally charged performance. Energies were high and we got through it without further interruption.

The audience went mad and were all on their feet for the applause.

As an impromptu encore we then and only then played some Mahler.  It was the Adagio from the fifth symphony

After the concert Claudio took the entire orchestra out to dinner.  Unfortunately I missed it as John Lawley and I took a sleeper down to the south west of France to call in on my wife's grandparents near Bordeaux.


They get Le Canard enchainé a french satirical newspaper.  The review of the previous night's concert ... "Sometimes one goes to the theatre and hears music.  Last night I went to a concert and saw theatre!". It continued " ... they obviously knew they were going to play Mahler because the harp was already on stage."

Wrong. There's a harp in our other encore Stravinsky's Firebird too.


Today's Flight to Korea

Today's Flight to Korea

Who's First?

There's a lot of flying involved with this job and over the years, in the background, a devious game is being played. It takes place in departure lounges all over the world. The players involved can be seen positioning themselves for any advantage they can get. Its like watching a chess game.


The game: Who's first onto the plane.

The players: LSO Leader Carmine Lauri and LSO Fourth Horn Jonathan Lipton.

The Rules:  Anything goes. Limited only by ingenuity.

When did it begin? I wanted to interview them separately.

"Carmine, as a leader of the LSO, I notice that you're often last onto stage.  How does this feel being last given your passion to be first on to an aeroplane?"

Carmine. One move ahead today? 

Carmine. One move ahead today? 

Carmine.  "Strange, but at least on the platform I know that there's a seat reserved."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Maybe over 15 years."

It started with Warwick Hill and Mike Humphrey. They worked as a pair. Cunning.  One on each side of the shuttle bus so that one could be first up the steps onto the plane and save seats; usually by the emergency exit for the extra leg room.

The problem was with charter flights.  The free seating.  First come first served.

Jonathan. Today's winner?  

Jonathan. Today's winner?  

Our 10 hour flight today is from London Heathrow to Seoul in Korea. I'm talking with Carmine who sitting across the aisle in row 32. Nobody has seen Jonathan. Perhaps he's booked himself on another flight.

No he's been spotted up the front in seat 1D. Business class!

One nil to Jonathan?

Carmine "He's fritted away his airmiles!!"

Four more flights on this tour. Game on..  




Misty in Abbey Road

Saturday 11 February 2017

Snowing outside and thankfully its warm in Abbey Road Studio One.

It doesn't get much better than this.   Recording tracks with Ella Fitzgerald.   Orchestrated and conducted by Jorge Calandrelli. 

Old standards that were originally recorded with a jazz trio now given an orchestral make-over. Fabulous.  

Ella Fitzgerald

Ella Fitzgerald

We have Ella in our cans ... Jorge's arrangement are a delight.  A classy combination.  It doesn't get much better than this

Four tracks in the afternoon: Bewitched, Misty, What Is There To Say and There's A Song In My Heart.

The evening session: I Get A Kick Out Of You, Let's Do It - Let's Fall In Love.

And then when I thought it couldn't get any better ... some duets with Louis Armstrong.

Let's Call The Whole Thing Off and They Can't Take That Away From Me.   

Tomorrow's session is going to be Somebody To Watch Over Me, These Foolish Things, Making Whoopee,  People Will Say We're In Love. ...

Can't wait. 

Malkie and Colin listening to playback.

Malkie and Colin listening to playback.

Produced by Juliette Pochin the CD is due out on the Verve label on April 8th to celebrate Ella's 100th birthday.  

Christmas sorted early this year!



Why didn't you play?

Every one is obsessed with watching a maestro. At least all people in the audience. Observing the audience from the stage when the maestro enters  and takes a bow you can see that all eyes are absolutely glued on him/her.  

Georg Solti.  

Georg Solti.  

I often sit on the stage edge in full view and on more than one occasion have dropped my trousers at this point but I swear nobody has ever noticed. 

Chatting with members of the audience during the interval or sometimes after concerts I'm often asked what do I think of the maestro. And the answer ... "marvellous" ... of course.

But what do you see when you watch a maestro?  As a player one occasionally finds oneself looking up to see what's going on. 

People often ask, "how do you follow that? I didn't see a beat".  Well guess what?  If a maestro stops beating, does the orchestra stop?  No.  The orchestra spends its life playing together whatever is going on on the podium.  

The only problem comes when just one section/player decides to follow the beat.  As long as the orchestra universally has decided that the beat isn't being particularly useful then there is no problem. 

At the end of the day if the orchestra isn't together, nobody is going to blame the maestro, because he/she doesn't actually make a sound.   It amuses me when someone from the audience says that they heard such and such a maestro.

A few years ago, during an encore, a maestro having started the piece, then left the stage. The audience went into raptures. What a clever chap.

One of the frustrations of being a maestro must be when the orchestra doesn't follow your nuance of  change of tempo.  What does he/she do at that point? Go his/her own sweet way, parting company.  Or ... follow the music?

When that relationship is established it's difficult to change. 

Seriously though.  Where do you see the beat?  

Of course in the arms and hands.  But next time you look, just see if the nodding of the head is doing the same as the arms. Often that is ahead or behind what the arms are doing.  And then have a look to see if his/her foot isn't in fact even further in front or behind that.  You start to see his/her trichotomy.

Case study

Salzburg festival.  The maestro was Sir Georg Solti.  The piece Mahler Symphony 5. The Adagietto. The hall full. The most elegantly dressed audience you have ever seen.

It's a slow movement. It got slower and slower.  We waited for him .... he waited for us.  Sir Georg was famous for his huge almost animal drive when conducting. ... he  couldn't use it here.  

The rehearsal the next day he was furious. "What happened", he screamed. He was famous for screaming. "Why didn't you play?", he asked.  "I waited and waited and you didn't play!"

Well what a give away.  He was waiting for us to play so that he could follow.  


Don't worry maestri. All is not for nothing You give something for the audience to look at. They can see what a maestro is feeling about the music.  

And, hey, have a look here ... the violas are about to come in ... as if they didn't know.

Yes it's to let you the audience know. What a clever chap.





Sinking feeling

There's always a sinking feeling when you get to a venue and you realise you made a mistake. Approaching, you realise that you've not seen any colleagues yet, and there's no sound of anyone warming up.  Damn, wrong venue.

It happens to most people sooner or later. A quick phone call.  I'm going to be late.  Henry Wood Hall, not LSO St Luke's.  Even worse if it's Walthamstow. Assembly Halls or Watford Town Hall.

This week it was my turn .... again.  Arrived in good time, sounds of warming up, lots of colleagues.  But wait.  Why were they all looking so smart?

I'd checked.  It was a schools concert.  Schools concerts for us is to wear a brightly coloured shirt with black trousers.  Yes I was wearing black trousers with a purple shirt.  But there was something wrong.   

Then I noticed.  Yes everyone was looking smart because they all had black shirts. Oh no.

Why?  This wasn't a usual children's concert. It was a performance of Stravinsky's Rite Of Spring using projected images, and a darkened stage with stand lights.

Not to worry. Carmine our leader said I wasn't the only one.  There would be 30 minutes between the rehearsal and the show and time to nip down to M&S at Moorgate.

It was wet and trying to snow outside.  The assistant in the men's department on the second floor said unfortunately he had sold the last 17 inch black shirt. Yes I would take the last remaining black shirt even if it were a 18 1/2 inch collar.  Even if it would look like a tent. That was when Andrew Marriner our principal clarinet came out of the fitting room.  Yes his 17 inch was fine.


Yet another black shirt.  The author with  Andrew Marriner    

Yet another black shirt.

The author with Andrew Marriner




Eddie Waters nearly fell out of his seat.

Eddie, a long time friend of the LSO had always the same seat at the front of the stalls. in fact Eddie was so keen he often turned up when we were on tour.  New York, Florida, Paris, Berlin and even Tokyo. He like to sit near the front; he said he liked to see the whites of the players eyes. Always very elegant with his long flowing hair and bottle green velvet jacket.

On this particular morning we were rehearsing William Tell Overture. I’d invited Eddie to the rehearsal. The Barbican Concert Hall was empty except for a solitary Eddie sitting in the mid stalls. Not the usual place for him, but then its not everyday that you get a whole symphony orchestra to yourself.

The overture starts off serenely and Eddie looked suitably dreamy and away on some internal journey. After quite a while the music kicks off with the trumpets then comes the famous Lone Ranger gallop. No time here notice Eddie as its a bit busy in the fiddles.  We crossed several prairies and then exactly 8 bars from the end is the final hurdle …. a bars rest. Yes nobody, nobody plays and there is silence for one bar and then comes the final 8 bars chase to the end.  (It comes at 3 mins 11 secs on this video)

But for Eddie wasn’t to know. Its been long time tradition for orchestras (in rehearsals only) to stamp their feet twice in the bars rest. of course. if you’ve only ever heard a concert performance or listened to a recording you will have never heard this. Poor Eddie nearly fell out of his seat. 

barbican hall stalls

barbican hall stalls

view from Eddie's usual seat

view from Eddie's usual seat


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When one door closes ....

.... another opens?

I joined the LSO on the 24th April 1979. Keen and eager and sitting near the front of the first violin section. On 25th November this year I'll be 65 years old, sitting nearer the back, and under the terms of the membership I'll be leaving the orchestra. Perhaps not quite so keen and eager, but hopefully a better musician. But as my long time friend and colleague Claire Parfitt keeps saying ... "there's many a good tune played on an old fiddle".

At the end of this year I'll be retiring to Tavernes, a small village in Provence. 

Its a massive change going from a full time job in the LSO to a life in France.   Someone said, it's like going from being a small fish in a big pond to being a big fish in a small pond. I'd like to explain that Flaque is french for puddle. Secheresse is when there's no water at all. ..... I thought it might help to write about it.

Its got to the stage now where most concerts Im playing pieces for the last time. And after 38 years, most pieces have a personal history to them. Some funny moments, some challenges, some delights and some train crashes too.

Playing in this band evokes profound feelings. I'm grateful for having had the privilege of playing with such great musicians and for having many as friends. I have been apprehensive about how to approach these final months. I'd like to treat it as a celebration.

cables at Abbey Road Studio this morning

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