Julian Bream at 80

PHOTO: EAMONN-MCCABE COURTESY: HAZARD CHASE

Julian
Bream
at 80
An Appreciation
By Graham Wade

Julian Bream at 80

Julian Bream began his official career as a

concert player at the Cheltenham Art Gallery on February 17, 1947, at the age of 13,
with the following pieces: Romanza by
Schumann, arranged by Trrega; Prelude
and Minuet by Bach, arr. by Segovia;
Tonadilla by Granados, arr. by Miguel
Llobet; Chanson by Ernest Shand; Sonata
by Paganini; Concert Study by Napolon
Coste; Granada by Albniz, arr. by Trrega: Theme and Variations by Fernando
Sor; and Sonata in A by Terry Usher.
This program encapsulated many of
the directions his career would take, covering Spanish music, English compositions,
the early 19th century repertoire, and, of
course, the works of J.S. Bach.
Just over 55 years later, Bream gave his
final (official) recital at the Maddermarket
Theatre, Norwich, England, on May 6, 2002:
Suite in D minor by Bartolotti; Cello Suite
No 6 in D major, BWV 2012 by Bach; Sonatina (1927) by Cyril Scott; Valses Poticos
by Granados; Muir Woods by Takemitsu;

Hika (In Memoria Toru Takemitsu) by

Brouwer; and two Pieces by Falla: Cancin
del Fuego Fatuo (El Amor Brujo) and Homenaje, Le Tombeau de Claude Debussy.
After that 2002 concert, there would be
occasional recitals in small venues, including a few charity concerts, but the great
career in all its breadth and depth had effectively been brought to a close. As the artist
explained in a lecture to the Lute Society on
September 21 of that year, That day was
the 6th of May 2002. I remember it well, and
will always remember it. The ensuing summer, beautiful though it was, felt strangely
relaxed and open-ended. For the first time in
my life I had nothing to work for.
I shall always remember that May 6th
myself as the moment when Julian Bream
walked into the bar of the hotel after the
concert and quietly commented to my wife
and me that this was a rather sad occasion, as this had been his final professional
recital. Though privileged and honored to
be the first recipients of this message, its

full impact did not immediately sink in.

Every Bream recital I had attended since
1957 had been an extraordinarily exciting
event, whether in Londons major halls or
in a provincial northern church on a snowy
evening in January. As one waited for his
entrance, a true feeling of charismata filled
the hall, the presence of a divinely conferred power or talent.
In the 16th century, the lutenist Francesco Canova da Milano was known as Il
Divino, with the power to hypnotize his
audiences, as a contemporary account
tells us:
Francesco da Milanoa man who is
considered to have attained the end (if
such is possible) of perfection in playing
the lute well. The tables being cleared, he
chose one, and as if tuning his strings, sat
on the end of a table seeking out a fantasia.
He had barely disturbed the air with three
strummed chords when he interrupted
conversation which had started among
the guests. Having constrained them to
face him, he continued with such ravishing
skill that little by little, making the strings
languish under his fingers in his sublime
way, he transported all those who were
listening into so pleasurable a melancholy

Julian Bream at 80

that... they remained deprived of all senses

save that of hearing, as if the spirit, having abandoned all the seats of the senses,
had retired to the ears in order to enjoy
the more so ravishing a harmony; and I
believe... that we would be there still, had
he not himselfI know not howchanging his style of playing with a gentle force,
returned the spirit and the senses to the
place from which he had stolen them, not
without leaving as much astonishment in
each of us as if we had been elevated by an
ecstatic transport of some divine frenzy.
Douglas Alton Smith, A History of the
Lute from Antiquity to the Renaissance, The
Lute Society of America, 2002)
In the 21st century, some may be skeptical
about the power of music to transport us to
a different plane of reality. The many times
we listen to music away from the concert
experience may be more than sufficient to
blunt our aural sensibility and make us less
susceptible to the influence of live music.
Modern critics would often rather commit
hara-kiri than admit that a piece of music
moved them to the core of their being.
But Julian Bream was an artist who could
indeed, whether with lute or guitar, make

Bream did not merely

play these works,
but absorbed them so
utterly that one could
not imagine a superior
way of performing
them. Such excellence
was rare in the guitar
world, more usual in
the realm of the great
pianists.

the strings languish under his fingers in his

sublime way, and take us from the harsh
realities of modern urbanity into realms of
poetic enchantment.
In 1969, Guitar News published the following review of a Bream recital at the Aldeburgh Festival: From the very first notes of
the recital, we were all caught by the spell
makers power, and in a catalytic way as the
recital proceeded the spell grew stronger...
Julian Bream commands his instrument. He
is its complete master, drawing forth at will
a range of colors and dynamic shadings that
few, if any, artists can command. He uses his
colors and light and shade with the exquisite control of a great painter. Surely here is
the Rembrandt of the guitar.
A. Hyde-Clarke, Julian Bream Recital,
Guitar News, September- October 1969)
This particular review communicates similar feelings as the 16th century listeners had
about Francesco da Milanoa sense of the
magical web of sound the great artist creates. But whereas Milano was presumably
performing his own pieces, Julian Bream is
a modern classical artist playing the compositions of others. The miracle of Breams
artistry was always that of close identification with the music chosen, whether Dowland and the Elizabethans, Robert de Vise,
J.S. Bach, Sor, Giuliani and Aguado, Spanish
composers of the 19th and 20th centuries,
and the works of Villa-Lobos, Brouwer, and
Takemitsu, among others.
The process of total identification
reached its zenith with the works written for
Bream. When Benjamin Brittens Nocturnal
After John Dowland was published, several
years passed before other recitalists dared
to attempt the work. The reason was that
Breams interpretation totally represented
the spirit of the music, seemingly authentic in a unique way. The same could be
said of his playing of various pieces dedicated to him including William Waltons
Bagatelles, the Malcolm Arnold Guitar
Concerto, the Richard Rodney Bennett
Impromptus, Alan Rawsthornes Elegy,
and so on. Bream did not merely play
these works, but absorbed them so utterly
that one could not imagine a superior way
of performing them. Such excellence was
rare in the guitar world, and more usual in
the realm of the great pianists, where masters such as Rubinstein, Horowitz, Richter,
Barenboim, Gould, Lipatti, and Brendel
generously stamped their authority on
the work of specific composers and made

Julian Bream at 80

other virtuosi think twice before competing on the same territory.

Moreover Bream kept on moving forward, increasing his range of repertoire,
bringing out at least one new recording
annually, and keeping up with a punishing schedule of recitals world-wide, even
at times of crisis. Nothing kept him off the
stage for long, even though certain misfortunes encountered might have dispirited
lesser mortals to the point of early retirement. The twin constellations of Breams
career can now be viewed as the legacy of
his recordings and the catalog of his concerts. The long-playing albums and compact discs that poured out in glorious profusion were aiming constantly at creating
the finest interpretations that a guitarist
could achieve.
His perfectionism in this area was legendary, with the result that a massive body
of work was laid down for this and future
generations. Bream recorded some 300
works by over 70 composers spanning the
16th century to the present day, extending throughout his career from 1955 to his
final commercial session for EMI Classics
in November 1993. Of course, these recordings were in addition to dozens of others
he made for radio, television, and film. For
a relatively small expenditure, we can now
purchase the entire harvest of Breams
recording years. Indeed, in July 2013 the
Sony Company released a commemorative
set of 40 CDs.
But, in addition, guitarists and the public will look back with awe and admiration
in recollection of Breams recitals. His concertswhether solo guitar, with an orchestra, in duo with John Williams or George
Malcolm, accompanying Peter Pears, Robert Tear, or by the side of Peggy Ashcroft;
as well as the extraordinary lute recitals,
again either solo, with Pears, or with his
Elizabethan consortwill live vividly in my
memory as some of my finest, most wonderful concert experiences. Before a Bream
recital, the auditorium always vibrated
with an eager expectation of great things
to come. When the artist then appeared
with his familiar striding gait, the audience
erupted with affection and excitement. He
never used amplification in solo concerts,
yet the sound from the first note to the last
resonated in every corner of a theater or
concert hall, large or small.
The effect of such musicianship was
electric, stimulating, sometimes so poignant that it elicited tears, whether out-

ward or inward. The extraordinary range

of color, timbre, and emotion was unlike
any other player. Sometimes there could
be an element or two of unpredictability
within the performance, yet such moments
were the price of a precious experience of
concert-making, which only added to the
overall drama.
Above all, Julian Breams concerts
always offered a cup running over and
never stinted. He called them meat and
potatoes programs. At the end of a concert, an audience could seem as emotionally exhausted as the player himself, having passed through a dramatic revelation
of what the guitar repertoire was capable
of, drunk with the headiness of Breams
concentrated inspiration. Bream was never
afraid to expose his audiences to the more
intellectual side of the coinfor example,
the ethereal vagueness of Takemitsu, or
the labyrinth of Henzes compositions.
Yet at the same time, he displayed
immense warmth and passion in his playing of Albniz, Granados, or Malats, without for a single moment cheapening the
music with any sense that these were mere
Spanish postcards. He searched music of
every kind for its hidden secrets and communicated those secrets with integrity and
faith in the creative process.
The celebration of an 80th birthday
causes us to realize that time is indeed
moving on. It is well over 50 years since
I first attended a Bream concert and his
presence and his music have constituted a
huge part in the fabric of my life. My generation of guitar lovers spent the best years
of our youth and middle age straining fingers on his editions, listening to his playing
in concert or on record, talking about and
evaluating his achievements, and counting
our blessings that we lived during such a
glorious golden age of the guitar, The debt
that we owe to Julian Bream can never fully
be expressed in words. He gave us a vision
of artistry and grandeur, of sensitivity and
civilization in an increasingly crass and
commercial world. He changed the way we
thought and felt about music. We can but
register our vote of intense gratitude for
all that he has achieved, and with all our
hearts wish Julian a very, very happy birthday on July 15, 2013.
This article originally appeared in the July 2013
issue of Classical Guitar. Graham Wade is the
author of The Art of Julian Bream and a regular CG
contributor.