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One of the finest orchestral conductors alive, a sovereign interpreter of music old & new, is no solemn priest of tone but the ebullient son of Britain's most celebrated laxative manufacturer. Goateed, 63-year-old Sir Thomas Beecham is also an enthusiastic newlywed, a considerable amateur of the Elizabethan drama (especially Beaumont & Fletcher), an adamant and voluble Tory (though in this role he is really more of a Character than a Colonel Blimp), and a transparent apostle of the
THE GREAT MEDICINE Precocious advertising helped . . . good time. But all these facets of the Beecham personality combined, distracting though they are, cannot hide the fact that in their midst stands a musical artist of the first water.
Last week Sir Thomas was helping Manhattan's Metropolitan Opera make a smashing success in Chicago. Said the Chicago Tribune's discriminating Claudia Cassidy of Sir Thomas' Faust: "Its most persuasive points were Beecham's energetic pursuit of the beauty and brimstone of Gounod's imperishable score. . . . Sometimes the result was so delightful you wished the stars would stop singing." Throughout the winter Sir Thomas has been one of the chief ornaments of the Met's conductorially brilliant season on its home grounds. Between times he has galvanized the young, awkward Brooklyn Symphony into an ensemble which shamed the venerable New York Philharmonic-Symphony across the river. Sir Thomas is too independent, both financially and personally, to bother with the politics that are usually required to get and keep the outstanding symphony conductorships.
Besides, he prefers the lesser orchestras for their eager responsiveness. During the past season he has also directed the symphony orchestras of Seattle, Salt. Lake City, New Orleans and Montreal. A large section of the U.S. concertgoing public has heard Sir Thomas prove beyond question that the first requisite of a fine symphonic performance is not a great orchestra but a conductor of Sir Thomas' own shining ability.
His audiences have seen him jump about the podium like a college cheerleader, stand on one foot, kick up his heels, shake his fists, lunge with his arms, yell at the brass, lose his baton, nearly lose his balance. They have watched this catalogue of gestures bring from the orchestra a beautifully controlled flow of pliant, clearly articulated symphonic sound. No conductor has a more eloquent sign language for encouraging, warning, cajoling or just plain frightening orchestra musicians into giving him what he wants. Sir Thomas, unlike most maestros, seldom bothers to beat time—he seems able to infect musicians with the desired momentum. But always he is about the subtle business of communicating to the orchestra, by the contortions of his face and form, his own profound knowledge of the score, his emotional temperature, from the tender to the explosive, and his exquisite musical taste. Beecham is widely regarded among musicians as an unparalleled interpreter of Mozart and Haydn in particular, and as a conductor, in general, of the order of Toscanini and Koussevitzky.