Tribute to Tasmin Little

Tasmin Little
Photo: Paul Mitchell

Last week Tasmin Little, one of the UK's top violin soloists, announced that she has decided to 'hang up her concert gown' in 2020. Plenty to do, she says, but no more concerts. Here's the story from The Strad.

A flood of tributes has been pouring in and I'm adding to that. But I can't deny that here the news initially came as a shock. It so happens that Tasmin is one of my oldest and dearest friends. We're the same age and got to know each other when we were 17 - long before I had any notion I'd become a journalist. She is the first of our circle - possibly the first of any of my immediate 'peer group' - to hint at the word 'retire'. Not that she's said 'retire' as such - her website says that she will be 'ending her concert career' - but effectively this means retiring from the stage. It pulls one up short: whaddaya mean, 'retire'? We're only 17...aren't we? Heavens. Does time really go this fast?

Oh, yes. It does. And for any international classical soloist it goes faster still. A glance at a random selection of appropriate Twitter feeds will be enough to prove that musicians probably spend more time in airports than they do on the concert platform, that the matter of playing an instrument is highly physical, that the continual round of jet-lag, adrenaline and performance pressure demands great resilience in addition to evident talent.

I decided at the age of 23 to face the fact that I wasn't cut out for a piano career, and though I missed it at first, I've never doubted that stopping then was the right thing to do. Years on, I don't know how anyone does it at all.

I don't blame Tasmin one bit for wanting a change and I have the utmost respect for her decision, which can't have been easy. She is making the choice in a manner that is objective, in control and powered by self-knowledge. And I know she will excel at whatever she turns her hand to next - she has so much to give.

She is also in good company. My second-ever interviewee, when I was 21, was the great Italian violinist Gioconda de Vito. She was turning 80 and I went to talk to her for The Strad. She lived in Rickmansworth in a house surrounded by a beautiful garden full of birds and animals, and her husband translated for her since she had never learned to speak fluent English. She had retired in her fifties at the peak of her career. She played to the Pope. Then decided things couldn't get any better than that. She'd heard a late recital by the elderly Alfred Cortot, a car-crash full of wrong notes, and did not want to follow his example. So she stopped. I was intrigued: didn't she miss it? She didn't. At 21 I was incredulous. Several decades later, I understand it a lot better.

Tasmin has weathered everything magnificently, her zest for life and fun and music sparkling out of that Guadagnini, lighting up with joy and positivity every hall and every room she enters. She is one of the most extraordinarily consistent individuals I've been lucky enough to know: pure gold all the way through.

A lively interview from The Violin Channel


Tasmin and I met for the first time at a private recital by a mutual pianist friend at my (and the friend's) piano teacher's house. It was December 1983. I'd just done A levels, was having what was then called a 'year out' (the term 'gap yaar' was yet to be devised) and was learning to drive. Tasmin had reached the final of the BBC Young Musician of the Year the previous year; now she was fresh out of the Menuhin School, going to the Guildhall, and wanted driving lessons too. It turned out we lived near each other, so she called me the next day to ask for my driving teacher's number and to invite me round for supper.

I was enchanted by the Littles. Tasmin is from a gloriously theatrical family. Her father is the actor George Little, whose splendid performances I enjoyed very much - in particular the one-man show he wrote, Paradise Garden, about growing up during the war in Bradford, culminating with the revelation of local boy Frederick Delius's music on the radio... Charismatic, funny and warm, he was an irresistible presence and Tasmin learned much about public presentation from him, as well as how to turn pre-performance adrenaline to advantage. Jilly, her mother, is just as sunny, extrovert and full of good humour. They could scarcely have been more different from my own parents, who were quiet, academic and somewhat shy, tending to keep themselves to themselves, whether by accident or design.

Vaughan Williams's The Lark Ascending at the Proms in 1995, conducted by Andrew Davis



Living a longish tube ride from my school, I'd been friendly with a circle of girls from another part of the suburbs altogether and did too little socialising out of hours. But to find a friend down the road - well, that was a first. Even today, one of my favourite memories of Tasmin is the time, one afternoon not long after that, she invited me along to a masterclass at the Purcell Room in which she was playing to Michel Schwalbé, the leader of the Berlin Philharmonic under Karajan. I was on the edge of my seat, soaking up all that was going on (he was quite a personality - that's another story). Afterwards we sloped off to unwind. We hopped on the Bakerloo Line to Piccadilly Circus, wandered through Chinatown and feasted royally on red bean buns. Afterwards we went back to my house, where my mum tried to give us a nice healthy supper, but could we eat? Er...

Over the years, friends sometimes vanish. New study environments, moves of house, demanding jobs, marriages, children and so forth, or simply growing apart - everything conspires against keeping in touch. But Tasmin never vanished. She went to study in Canada with Lorand Fenyves, but she always took the trouble to write letters. While I was away at university, she wrote letters (and anyway I wasn't too happy there and used to zip home whenever I could). If one has no kids (I haven't) it can be tricky keeping up with friends who do have them because often their other friends with children are prioritised, quite understandably so. That was never the case here. We followed each others' ups and downs over the years - and we both had plenty - even though life took us in very different directions. I basically sit at home with my husband and cats, writing. She travels the world with her violin, while also bringing up her two wonderful kids. I named the baby who arrives at the end of my first novel Rites of Spring after Tasmin's daughter.

Beethoven's Kreutzer Sonata with Andrey Gugnin at the Sydney International Piano Competition. Andrey went on to win first prize.



I could fill this blog with memories of Tasmin. One that particularly stands out is the time I invited her to go busking at Waterloo as an experiment for The Independent, following Joshua Bell's example in Washington DC. That was an eye-opener for us both and sparked her idea to create the Naked Violin project - free access to a solo recording and plenty of information about it on the internet, which back then was groundbreaking, accompanied by a high quotient of outreach work in schools, shopping malls, oil rigs, homeless shelters and more.

Well before that, there was the time she played the Korngold Concerto in Manchester, about eight months pregnant. Later, Carnegie Hall with Simon Rattle and the Berlin Philharmonic - Tom and I flew there to hear and cheer her and we all went for cocktails at the Rainbow Room. The Proms - lots of them, but especially the Ligeti Concerto with Rattle. I think that was the evening a mobile phone went off a few bars into The Rite of Spring and Rattle stopped and gave the audience a bit of a tirade about it. It's thanks to Tasmin that I got to know Roxanna Panufnik, Piers Lane and a whole galaxy of other marvellous people. And I'll always cherish the countless times we and our little group of friends who meet for lunch every few months have found ourselves falling off our chairs with laughter together, sometimes in rather nice restaurants, to everyone else's amusement.

Those memories will continue to build, but the sound of her playing, at least publicly, will soon have to rely on her recordings for preservation. Fortunately there are plenty of them, and the newest is coming out in February - recorded with the pianist John Lenehan, it's of music by fantastic composers who happen to have been women: Clara Schumann, Dame Ethel Smyth and Amy Beach (more info here from the Chandos website).

Here's a promotional video for it from Chandos: https://www.facebook.com/chandosrecords/videos/2495919247146924/?t=39

In the meantime, we still have a year and a half to enjoy the remaining concerts.

Brava bravissima, Tasmin - and more power to your elbow!

Deeds, Not Words: a guest post by Zerlina Vulliamy

Music student Zerlina Vulliamy was playing the trumpet in the WOW Women of the World Women's Orchestra on Sunday in the annual Mirth Control concert at the RFH, presented by Sandi Toksvig. She was so inspired by the occasion that she wanted to write about it. I couldn't be there myself this time, annoyingly, so I am very grateful to her for covering it for us. 'Mirth Control' is part of the Southbank Centre's year-round work to give a platform to female musicians, artists and more. JD

Sandi and the WOW Orchestra

Deeds Not Words

By Zerlina Vulliamy

I am a self-confessed hypocrite. I realised this on Sunday 11 March, when playing the trumpet as part of the Women of the World Orchestra in the ‘Mirth Control’ event at the Royal Festival Hall, conducted by Alice Farnham. The orchestra was about to play a piece by the British composer Elisabeth Lutyens, titled ‘Overture (En Voyage)’, but before this, the presenter Sandi Toksvig informed the audience of the difficulty the orchestra manager experienced trying to get the score and parts of this music. After contacting many publishers, archives and libraries she finally managed to track it down and distribute the parts to those of us in the orchestra. However, this was on the harsh condition that they were to be used for one performance only and had to be destroyed afterwards. Naturally, those of us on stage and in the audience expressed concern at such a tragedy – first, that the work of an excellent composer was so difficult to find, but also that it might be never be performed again. Sandi herself strongly called on all of us to support this cause of the forgotten women composers, a message that featured prevalently throughout the evening.

Jude Kelly, the WOW Orchestra and some inspiration

Yet whilst I was sitting there, thinking about how limited the representation of women in the arts still is, I suddenly realised that I too was contributing, without realising, to this archaic canon which consists entirely of male composers. I present a weekly show on music called Behind the Classics at the University of Oxford’s student radio station, and I thought I was helping the cause by dedicating an entire episode to raising awareness of relatively unknown female musicians such as Mel Bonis and Melba Liston for International Women’s Day. Yet I too have unknowingly contributed to the tradition of playing music entirely by men in a few episodes. 

This is ridiculous when you think about it, seeing as women make up half the population and there are millions of female musicians throughout history to the present, all with music worth playing to an audience. And yet, because of the music I have been exposed to throughout my life, whether it be classical, jazz, hip hop or others, at the time it seemed normal not to feature a single woman in an episode.

The RFH is decked for the occasion

Well, to quote the slogan appearing on red carpets recently: time’s up. As Sandi Toksvig said herself at ‘Mirth Control’ - it seems absurd that still, in 2018, women are so under-represented in the arts, as well as other fields. She showed the audience many slides which projected shocking statistics, such as the percentages of women composers and conductors who featured at the 2017 BBC Proms, which was 7.5% and 11% respectively. Tragically, women have often been discouraged throughout history from picking up a pen and writing, or from standing on a podium and conducting. 

Perhaps the important work being done by the WOW festival, which encourages women to strive for success in all fields across the globe, will help rectify the situation. The WOW Orchestra consists entirely of excellent women who are students, young professionals or amateurs; we were also joined by the Voicelab choir, conducted by Jessie Maryon Davies for this event. The music that featured was by a large host of female composers such as Dame Ethel Smyth’s ‘Serenade in D’, Nina Simone’s ‘Mississippi Goddamn’ and ‘Revolution’ featuring Josette Bushell-Mingo’s stunning vocals and the song ‘What’s Up’ by 4 Non Blondes.

From my own perspective, it was truly an inspiring night, with some hilariously memorable moments such as Sandi’s masterclass with Marin Alsop, or the conducting relay where students of Alice Farnham’s ‘Women Conductors with the Royal Philharmonic Society’ had the chance to conduct the orchestra for a few bars each. The perfect balance was cast between humour and more earnest moments, such as the profound words Jude Kelly, the founder of WOW and Artistic Director of the Southbank, had to say about her own rather difficult past of being a prominent woman in the arts. Yet more importantly, she proved herself to be an inspiring figure when talking passionately about how optimistic she was for the future. 

Some more of the hand-stitched banners

This message must have been powerful to those in the audience, looking at the huge number of women on stage (over 300) against the backdrop of 50 hand-stitched banners, each inspired by historic Suffragette posters. As a female brass player myself, one of the most empowering moments of the night was playing the ‘Fanfare for the Uncommon Woman’ by Joan Tower, with the brass section of the WOW Orchestra, conducted by Alice Farnham. More often than not I have been the only woman in an all-male brass section, hence why it was most refreshing to play in such a fantastic section made up entirely of women. I hope it proved to those who were watching that women fundamentally deserve equality in music, and perhaps inspired young girls out there to pick up a brass instrument.

After a brilliant evening, there was certainly a positive buzz in the foyer afterwards. Sandi Toksvig managed to leave us all in good spirits, with a fundamental message of hope: that raising awareness is the next step. To quote the slogan of the brave Suffragettes, who achieved a measure of equality exactly 100 years ago with the Representation of the People Act (which gave the vote to men over 21 and women over 30 who owned property), we need ‘Deeds Not Words’. 

So to anyone reading this, I urge you to do something to try and raise the profile of all the wonderful women composers out there, whether it be attending concerts run by organisations who have pledged a 50/50 balance or even by word of mouth – talking about women composers will not only put their names in people’s minds but also will hopefully encourage publishers and concert programmers to promote them to a place where equality exists. I myself will do what I can but the more there are devoted to the cause, the better. To quote Jude Kelly, if you can do anything to promote women musicians: “Pass It On”!

ZV

Zerlina Vulliamy, 19, is a writer, broadcaster, trumpeter/singer and composer from London. She is currently in her first year studying Music at the University of Oxford where she produces and presents a weekly radio show on music called Behind the Classics on Oxide Radio: all episodes are available at www.oxideradio.live/behind-the-classics 

Seven - no, EIGHT - things to do on International Women's Day

1. Go to the eclectic Women of the World Festival at the Southbank. Among musically-oriented treats today are Jessye Norman (yes), speaking at 4.30pm this afternoon; and tonight, the OAE with Marin Alsop and soprano Emma Bell in a delicious programme of Mozart, Beethoven, Weber and Schumann, part of the Queens, Heroines and Ladykillers series.

2. Go to the UK premiere of Written on Skin by composer George Benjamin and librettist Martin Crimp, at the Royal Opera House. It is a contemporary masterpiece and, although it's by two men, the story is very much about the sexual emancipation of a woman in the 13th century. I talked to its director, Katie Mitchell, about that, and the article should hopefully be out tomorrow. (Not going to see it until 18th, but I've heard the recording from Aix and found it absolutely amazing. My chat with George about the music for the ROH website is here.)

3. Spend a little time celebrating the music of women composers over the centuries whose work was discouraged, disguised or suppressed, unless it happened to be cute salon music for the home. And remember the ones who went right on ahead and did their own thing. 



4. Spend a little time remembering the great female performers of the past who knuckled down to work instead of knuckling under.



5. Listen to some music by the increasing raft of gifted, dedicated and proud women composers of today, whether on stage, screen, concert hall or multimedia. A reasonably random example, but one I've much enjoyed, is this mingling of space mission, dance, special effects and music by Errollyn Wallen in Falling.



6. Remember that today's greatest women performers simply cannot be bettered.



7. Reflect that it should not be necessary, in an ideal world, to add extra celebration to the achievements of women - in the classical music world as much as anywhere, and more than some - but with sexism so desperately ingrained in our culture, it is.

8. Remember that International Women's Day is all very well, but next we have to sort out the other 364 days of the year.