What is the first news event you can recall?
I have generalised memories of the first moon landing—I must have been four years old—and more focused ones of the political events of 1973 and 1974: the three-day week, petrol rationing, candles, the two elections (in which I campaigned as a junior Tory). But the first news story that registered was the death of Benjamin Britten on Saturday 4th December 1976. We were having an open day at school, I heard the news on the radio and told the teacher; we sang some of his music in his memory. We did a lot of his stuff at school: Noye’s Fludde, A Ceremony of Carols, Friday Afternoons. It’s one of the miracles of postwar culture that the greatest living composer at the time was British; a miracle brought about, in part, by the Arts Council and the BBC—who are currently busy destroying our musical culture.
What is the biggest problem?
The biggest problem of all is climate change, but it’s a soluble one—if only the oil shock of the mid-1970s had led to a sustained engagement with non-carbon fuels. I remember we were all fascinated by hydrogen and fusion reactors. We’ve lost 50 years, but I’m encouraged to hear the great Myles Allen talk positively about the prospects for carbon capture. This existential concern is understandably overshadowing everything else, but the danger is that in worrying about it we lose sight of other things, big and small, political, social and cultural. If we knew that an asteroid were to collide with the Earth in a year’s time and there was nothing to do about it, what would each of us do? That’s a different sort of existential question.
If you could spend a day in one city or place at one moment in history, what would that be?
I’d like to be in Rome for a day between 1508 and 1512 to watch Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Was he standing up or lying down? There’s a wonderful set of songs to his poems by Britten. My late friend, the composer Hans Werner Henze, had a house outside Rome with an ancient, gnarled olive grove in which Michelangelo and Vittoria Colonna walked and discussed philosophy. Not sure if the dates quite work (she was born in 1492), but maybe we could have dinner there after the Sistine visit.
Which of your ancestors or relatives are you most proud of?
I’m not a football player or fan, but my great-grandfather was the renowned and enormous “Tiny” Joyce, goalie for Spurs before the First World War. He scored a goal from (his own) penalty box with one mighty kick and was struck over the head with an umbrella by an irate German spectator.
What have you changed your mind about?
The Iraq War. It has been and remains a total, shameful disaster, and all of us who supported it (with misgivings) should have known better.
What is the last piece of music, play, novel or film that brought you to tears?
The return of the fugue in the last movement of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No.31, Op.110. Deep emotion meets supreme musical intellect.
The pandemic stopped you performing but gave you time to think about music. Are you a better singer for it?
Definitely. I kept singing through most of it, but doing less was beneficial; I started with a new teacher who has transformed my approach. Only technical assurance can really allow you to do what you want musically—although technical weakness can sometimes, paradoxically, create your identity, your style.
Is western classical music truly timeless?
In an obvious sense, no. It exists in time, and it’s a language that has to be taught or at least absorbed. But it is a brilliant human innovation—a written tradition that has allowed for a plethora of new ways of feeling and thinking, a way of escaping time.
What do you most regret?
Never getting the chance to sing with Edith Piaf. Recently I’ve been singing with the great jazz pianist Brad Mehldau and it’s been a revelation.
Ian Bostridge’s “Song & Self” (Faber) is out now
