Incomplete And Utter History Of Classical Music

BERLIOZ'S STRANGE RUN-IN

aganini was, by now, a bit of a megastar.

If you remember, apart from a passing reference, when we last really came across Paganini, he was only eleven and both he and his acne had just made their first public appearance. Well, the fiddling had gone well for Mr P. He'd spent virtually all his teens practising and fi Correction - Lucia di Lammermoor. Lucia di Ilkley Moor was one of a triptych of operas, only ever sketched, out, following a brief stay in Yorkshire, ana" was, along with its sister operas, II Barbiere di Odey and The Italian Girl in 'alifax, never actually finished!^ performing and, financially, it had paid off. He did blow a great deal of it on gambling, but, ever since he'd landed the job of violinist to Princess Elise - Napoleon's sister - in Lucca, his pizzicato prowess had led to fame and fortune.

In fact, in our age of manufactured pop and even manufactured classical, it's hard to put into perspective quite how much of a star Paganini was. He had, as I mentioned, toured just Italy for most of his life, only venturing abroad when he was well into his forties. When he did, though, he became the toast of every venue - London, Vienna, Berlin - you name it. And, of course, Paris too. Wherever he went, he was hailed as a truly miraculous player. The now famous legend that he had sold his soul to the devil in return for his playing skills - which really were beyond any performer that had gone before - was something which he himself did nothing to disprove. For Paganini, he had nothing to lose from the story - people simply flocked more and more to his concerts to hear the 'devil' playing in person. One critic even swore he had seen a small devil, perched on the fiddler's shoulder during a concert, helping him reach notes beyond the grasp of mere mortals. Some even came to simply try and touch the man himself, to see if he was genuinely human. Whatever the reason they came, Paganini lapped it up and continually raised his ticket fees - occasionally quite simply doubling them.

Over the years, then, Paganini made an absolute fortune from his performing and he spent the last few years of his life wondering quite what to do with it. He'd kicked up a bit of a stink already, trying to open up a gambling house, the 'Casino Paganini', in Paris. He clearly had money to burn. Which is why, when he acquired a beautiful - and, let's not forget it, expensive - viola, he ended up on the doorstep of one Hector Berlioz with a request for a new work. He commissioned the composer - who was, after all, the shock jock of 1830s music, the Damien Hirst of romantics - to provide him with a viola concerto. What Paganini had in mind was something that would allow him to do with the viola what he already did with the violin. Quite why he didn't just write one himself, as he had done till now, is anybody's guess. Maybe he had lost his muse, a little. Whatever. He asked Screaming Lord Berlioz to write the dots for him.

What Berlioz had in mind, however, came out as the 1834 work Harold en Italie, which he subtitled Symphony in G for Viola and Orchestra. In this piece, the viola was more of a parallel commentator, an ethereal, often melancholic will-o-the-wisp, giving off all manner of molten impressions. It was not quite the 'TEEPERS, this is so BLOODY hard to play it makes me look FANTASTIC for pulling it off showstopper that Paganini had hoped for. As a result, he threw a luwie fit, and he refused to play it. In the end, the premiere fell to someone else, a performance which Berlioz himself conducted. Amazingly, Mr P attended the concert. He ended up being so overcome by die work he had rejected, he went on stage at the end, walked over to Berlioz, and knelt down in homage in front of him.

The very next day, Paganini had a message delivered to the French composer's door. It read: 'Beethoven is dead and Berlioz alone can revive him!' Inside the letter was a cheque - for 20,000 francs! WAS PAGANINI LOADED OR WHAT?

Ironically, the strange run-in with Paganini, which I've now told you about, was to prove invaluable to barmy Berlioz. The 20,000 francs made for a much easier time of it while he was writing not only his Romeo and Juliet, but also his headbanging, Ozzy Osbourne of a work, the Grande Messe des Morts.