The sound of a harpsichord – two skeletons copulating on a tin roof in a thunderstorm
Sir Thomas Beecham (1879–1961) is perhaps best remembered today as the great punster of 20th-century classical music. Most classical music enthusiasts have likely heard at least one of his famously witty – and sometimes sharply acerbic – remarks, preserved for posterity (whether or not he actually said them is another matter). Unfortunately, his reputation as a raconteur has often overshadowed his identity as a serious and influential musician. In truth, Beecham was a formidable musical force: the founder of two of London’s leading symphony orchestras, a visionary conductor, and a man of remarkably wide-ranging repertoire.
Born into considerable wealth, Beecham defied his industrialist father early on, choosing music over business. Even in his youth, he showed a natural flair for leadership, organizing orchestras of his own in London – a brand of musical entrepreneurship that would define his entire career. He often championed lesser-known works, and in 1910 alone, he conducted 34 operas at Covent Garden and His Majesty’s Theatre, many of which were rarely performed at the time. He also helped modernize opera in Britain by staging the first London performances of Strauss’ Salome, Elektra, and Der Rosenkavalier, hiring international stars, and raising the standard of orchestral playing.
A fiercely independent figure, Beecham insisted on full control over his orchestras—but was, at the same time, widely loved by musicians for his humor and the respect he showed them in rehearsal. He was a masterful orchestra builder. When founding the London Philharmonic Orchestra and later the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, he handpicked young, hungry talent—many of whom went on to become celebrated soloists. Under his leadership, these ensembles developed a distinctive sound, marked by lively and almost improvisational woodwind solos, a hallmark of the Beecham style. His recordings often radiate a contagious “joie de vivre,” making them a joy to experience.
Beecham held Mozart above all other composers, conducting and recording his music extensively throughout his career. His 1938 Berlin recording of Die Zauberflöte was the first of its kind. Although he was known for his ironic remarks about the Austro-German greats, these were often more jabs at the musical establishment than at the composers themselves. In reality, he conducted all nine Beethoven symphonies and frequently staged Wagner’s monumental operas (with the exception of Parsifal). He was also a personal friend of Richard Strauss and promoted his music for over fifty years.
Yet it was in French music that Beecham truly excelled. He had a clear affinity for certain composers – Bizet, Gounod, Berlioz, Saint-Saëns, Franck, and Chabrier among them – and interpreted their works with unmistakable Gallic flair. He was a tireless advocate for Berlioz and recorded a deeply personal and colorful Symphonie fantastique in Paris in 1959. His interpretations of Franck’s symphony and Bizet’s Symphony in C remain benchmarks, and his reading of the Bacchanale from Samson et Dalila is wild, ecstatic, and unforgettable.
When it came to English music, Beecham’s relationship was more ambivalent. He did premiere a number of British works, but his greatest native allegiance was to Frederick Delius. It’s hard to think of another conductor who championed a single composer so fervently. Beecham premiered several of Delius’s works, staged festivals dedicated to his music, brought his operas to wider attention, and made numerous recordings that remain definitive.
Beecham could be baffling at times. In surviving film clips, he often appears almost as a caricature of himself – playing to the spotlight with exaggerated flair. Yet that same man could deliver searing intensity when conducting, as in his electrifying performance of Sibelius’s Seventh Symphony with the RPO (Warner). He was, in many ways, the archetypal British eccentric aristocrat. There may be conductors with more analytical depth, but one would hardly want to be without Beecham’s Haydn symphonies, his Puccini La Bohème, or his Bizet Carmen. He brought them to life with irresistible charm, flair, and vitality.
