Autobiography

My father Minos and his wife Ioustini were typical middle-class Cypriots. He dealt with buying and selling property, and my mother was a capable housewife. They lived in a two storied house together with my grandparents in the capital Nicosia.

My sister Mania was first born during the second World War, though Cyprus did not experience the tragedies and miseries of that War. I was the second child in the middle and later another boy, George, completed the family. My grandparents lived on the ground floor and we on the upper first floor.

This is mother’s account of my birth: I was the first boy to be born after several years of family loss. My father’s brother and sister died young, while studying in Greece. Those days there were no antibiotics, and many youngsters did not survive serious illnesses. My father was deeply traumatised by this as were his parents, having lost two out of their three children. And so, he remained a bachelor, keeping company with his parents for several years.

So, when I came along there was great joy and relief. A BOY in the family once again, who will carry the family name further …… And in our culture this fact gave added weight and importance. But my story unfolds further like this:

Days after my birth one evening while preparing for bed, my mother’s pillow felt uncomfortable and slightly bulging. She lifted it and was startled to find an envelope from my grandfather under her pillow. Inside the envelope were £1.000 in cash! This was the year 1943, so a truly substantial sum, clearly mirroring the great joy of a baby boy. I was then naturally given the Christian name of my grandfather, out of gratitude.

In Nicosia, our house had a front garden which then bordered on the main street, leading towards the football stadium. My sister Mania who was 2/5 years older also played the accordion, like me. One afternoon we both sat on the front window ledge and started playing local songs and melodies. Before long the street was blocked with people, stopping to hear us play and sing. Amongst the gathered crowd also a man selling home-made ice cream from a cart. And seeing my father begged him that we stop our “performance” until the passers by bought his ice cream!

The accordion was a gift from an elder cousin, who had no need for it anymore. So, my sister & I learned to play several popular songs on it, to the amazement of our family and relatives. But one day I approached my father saying: Look, the accordion is not the instrument I want to play. I love the piano and I want you to get me one. His answer was understandable: I’m not going to spend so much money on a piano, just because you say you want one. But I insisted and eventually he purchased a second hand grand from friends of our family.

At the same time, I started piano lessons with a teacher from Athens, George Arvanitakis and made rapid progress. I also started making up my own pieces, influenced by what I heard on the radio and in the street cafes. But of course, I could not write them down then. It took some years before I studied Harmony and mastered musical notation.

At 12 I was in love with a fellow piano student who was older than myself. I would invite her to tea, and we exchanged musical ideas, but also gossiped about our fellow music students. But when she was awarded a scholarship to further her studies in England – I was distraught to lose her. We wrote to each other and exchanged gifts, but the pain of losing her cost me dearly. As I was composing since the age of eight, the only way pf accepting the pain I felt, was to compose. I wrote a mournful Nocturne in f sharp minor for her, but the middle section was upbeat and in the relative major key. The end though fell back into the sad and mournful state of no hope ……. Maybe my first love song at twelve, for a special girl in my life.

When my Greek piano teacher started teaching me at eight, he was quite strict, and his choice of Repertoire carefully selected. But I was obsessed with the works of CHOPIN – specially the Waltz in c sharp minor and even more so with the Fantaisie – Impromptu. So, as he would not let me study these works – I picked them up by ear. And this is what I did: After my piano lesson at home, Mr. Arvanitakis walked back through an open-air parking lot, so I opened the windows of my piano room and played the two Chopin works to annoy him, and to show him that I CAN PLAY THEM! But of course he was right to discipline me, as this paid off later – for which I am most grateful to him.

As I started playing more demanding works, an English examiner from the Associated Board in London asked to hear me play. And his advice to my parents was to send me abroad as soon as possible. But I had not yet finished high school and my parents would not send me alone – age twelve. But when my older sister completed her studies at 17, they took the brave decision to send me abroad together with her, to study music seriously. This was during the time when the guerrilla fighters of the group called EOKA were attacking the British forces, which were sent over from the UK to keep the peace and order on the island. At the same time, we Greeks were asked to boycott all British products as a sign of protest the occupation of Cyprus. They just would not grant us independence. This was the background to the following event:

One evening, our doorbell rang and my father on opening the front door was confronted by three masked men, belonging to the EOKA group. They said to him: We hear that you are planning to send two of your children to Britain. He answered: Yes, that is so, and I already have the tickets for the boat trip. They said: Don’t you know that all British products are being boycotted? He replied: Yes, but I don’t care. They finally warned him that if he did send his children to Britain there could be repercussions on his family. They left.

When he returned upstairs to my mother and told her what occurred, they realized that this trip was a mistake and could cost them dearly. So, trying to find alternative solutions he asked my mother for advice. My mother had a good friend from Austria, with whom she would gather and play cards. By chance this lady suggested a well-known musician in Vienna by the name of Professor Ferdinand Grossmann. He oversaw the famous boys’ choir called “Wiener Saenger Knaben” who toured the whole world. And so, it was suddenly arranged that my sister and I would travel to Vienna, instead of London.

Professor Grossmann asked me to play something on the piano and also some of my own compositions. I understand that he was impressed and spoke to Professor Bruno Seidlhofer, one of the most eminent piano pedagogues at the “Akademie fuer Musik und Darstellende Kunst” – who accepted me in his class, while I was still fourteen. In this class there were three or four other talented youngsters including Rudolf Buchbinder, who eventually had a brilliant career worldwide.

Like so many other talented youngsters, arriving in Vienna – a large city with an enormous tradition – I fell from the clouds. What was happening was that I played instinctively and from the heart. But Viennese tradition required also thinking, shaping, discipline and total adherence to the URTEXT = the composer’s autograph. I stumbled on the discipline aspect and I also found it hard to combine head and heart, while performing. Little did I know that this could take years of effort, sometimes the heart winning and other times the head. It seemed impossible to get the balance right and my two piano teachers, Bruno Seidlhofer and Dieter Weber, showed no real mercy or understanding in the personal struggle I was experiencing. After two years of study, I was “worse” than when I came from Cyprus as a fourteen-year-old! My natural sense of music – making became inhibited, and the extreme demand on discipline choked me. Looking back, I was amazed that my teachers did not notice this and continued “hammer and tongs” in their treatment of getting me to understand the traditional approach to the classical style. Basically, in the works of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven.

In the mean time I was growing up without my parents and away from my homeland. But I tried to adjust and learn what was on offer, as I could sense that this would prove beneficial on the long run. I took part in student concerts, went to hear orchestral works and gradually started feeling comfortable with the German language. And together with a boy and two girls from my class, we formed a little quartet, which gave us the freedom to go for picnics together, meet their families, go to discos and balls, and generally have a good time.

In 1965, four young pianists from Vienna went to compete in the International Chopin Competition in Warsaw. I was the only one who came through to the second round and was awarded an honorary Diploma. This was the year when Martha Argerich won the first prize, though not to the audience’s approval! But when I found out that I failed to pass into the third round, I was totally distraught and cried the entire night …………

Preparing for my “Reifeprufung” back in Vienna (the final Diploma for a soloist) I overdid the practice and strained my right hand. So, I needed treatment and had to postpone this exam for six months. The treatment consisted of placing two metallic plates – one on my shoulder and the other under my hand and sending mild electrical impulses from one to the other. The second method was wearing a kind of loop round my neck and then pulling me gradually up, so as to improve my back posture. They did help and so I finally took the exam. This came in two parts: First you had to pass the initial test by playing in front of the whole piano department and if they approved, you gave a 45-minute recital in public. I managed to pass and even got a distinction! That also included a gift from the rector which was a book on the life of Schubert.

The assistant teacher I had in Vienna Dieter Weber told me that any further studies in Europe would be fruitless, after finishing in Vienna. Paris, Munich, London would have nothing new to offer me by way of music. But Moscow – YES!  So, I set my mind on going there to find out more.

As a Cypriot citizen, I applied in Cyprus to be given the chance of a scholarship to study at the Tchaikovsky Conservatory as a post graduate. To my astonishment, the Cyprus Government turned me down, but why?  There was an explanation which read like this: as your father does not belong to the communist party here, you are not “worthy” of this opportunity. I knew that around 200 students were given this chance each year, but in my case they refused. Needless to say, this infuriated me and spurned me on to succeed by another way. What I did was I travelled to Moscow on a tourist visa, went through an audition, and hoped to receive the chance to study there later.

Months passed by and no answer came forth. In 1967 a good friend and pianist from Vienna now living in Canada, invited me to visit him and his family. The other attraction was EXPO, which was at that time held in Canada. I had hardly arrived when I suddenly got a telegram from my parents in Cyprus: Come back quickly, you have been accepted to study in Moscow and are receiving a music scholarship from them – not the Cypriot Government.

Of course, as I had heard nothing for nearly six months, I gave up hope and didn’t bother learning Russian. So, I quickly flew back via London for two reasons: firstly, to pick up some basic Russian at the Berlitz School of languages and more importantly – to buy some woollen underwear!

When I finally got to Moscow, I felt quite helpless the secretary at the Conservatory spoke only Russian, so my knowledge of Greek, English and German proved quite useless. I had requested to study under Professor Jakov Zak, but he sent me to his lady assistant instead. After having two lessons with her on a Beethoven Sonata, I went to the secretary and said that I was unhappy under her tutelage. She had nothing new or interesting to offer me, and if they would not change my teacher – I was prepared to leave. They asked me with whom I wanted to study? I knew of Professor Rudolf Kerer, because his student Artur Moreira Lima won second prize at the Chopin competition in 1965. So, I auditioned for Kerer who said he would take me on trial for six months, on the understanding that I work hard.

I succeeded and stayed two years with him and learned a huge amount during this time. We spoke German together and he often performed parts of the pieces I was studying. He was fantastic, truly awe inspiring. Plus, he could explain the underlying emotions in each piece, even each phrase, in contrast to my Austrian teachers who mostly spoke of tradition and the dreaded Urtext! This approach suited me down to the ground, coming as I did from the Mediterranean and having a more emotional response to all music.

Of course, living in a Hostel with four hundred other musicians, made you feel you were in a type of lunatic asylum! Every room was shared with another music student (a Russian if you came from the decadent West) and each room had an upright piano in it. Plus, if you got up at the crack of dawn you got a chance to practice in the “dungeons”. The basement possessed 8 to 10 lousy grand pianos, which you had to reserve each day at sunrise.

In my room we had radiators under the window ledge. As the winter temperature often dropped to minus 25C, the bottle of milk inside the room froze to ice. And when I begged the house master for a second blanket (as I came from the south) he refused to make any exceptions. But we made good friends with all the foreign students, at first owing to the difficulty of the language, and then helped each other in the day to day living.

We had communal shower rooms on the ground floor and washbasins at the far end of each of the four flours. One day the shower rooms were locked. Why was this? The answer:  a drunken youth had made a filthy mess on the floor the previous night and so all the 200 young men had to be punished! Plus, the showers would remain closed for 14 days. So we had to find alternatives – which we did, by going to the Turkish baths, and catching all sorts of skin problems. Ah! What a life!

Along with the daily six hourly piano practice, we attended Russian language classes. Our charming teacher Tatiana Grigorievna spoke no word of any other language, and I was put together with three Hungarians, trying to master the difficult grammar, which seemed quite odd to us Europeans. My one advantage was my knowledge of Greek, which in the past gave Russia their basic alphabet through two monks – Cyril and Methodius.

Once during Easter, I wanted to go to church. There were only very few that were allowed to operate in Moscow during those years. When I arrived, there was police guarding the entrance. They interrogated me asking why I wanted to visit the church. I explained that I was a musician and wanted to listen to the chanting. They unwillingly let me through, and when I entered the small church there were only old people there, mostly women. But I felt at home as a Greek Orthodox, because so much of the liturgy was identical to ours.

It was common that the foreign students would congregate in each other’s rooms – to party! This was a great relief after all those hours of work during the day. And myself I met a lovely girl from Chile, who worked for her Embassy in Moscow. Amongst the many advantages! she was able to acquire tickets for the opera, the famous Russian Circus and other attractions, for which you normally had to queue for weeks. So, we had good company and also some food treats, as there was nearly nothing to buy in the shops. If you forgot to purchase bread or milk in the morning, by the afternoon there was nothing left. And even simple items like spoons, pens even toilet paper were in short supply. A real adventure for us, coming from the West.

A big plus for me, was the fact that my father gave me some dollars to spend. Having this currency, you were like A TSAR!  In the special Beriozka shop (only open to foreigners) you could find everything under the sun, but nowhere else. I tasted my first fresh pineapple there coming from Cuba no less. As for the caviar it came in large wooden buckets, where as in the normal shops it was unknown.

After two years I requested to stay for a third but was refused. Earlier around 1964, I had met the Greek composer Manos Hadjidakis in Athens. The reason was that I chose one of his piano works for my final exam in Vienna. Now it was 1970 and he was in New York. He asked me to come and study with him there. I asked my father if he would support me financially, and when he agreed, I left Moscow for New York.

What a contrast – from Communism to Capitalism! From poverty to affluence. From Authoritarianism to Liberalism ……… And yet when I started meeting the locals, there were many similarities: the basic need for survival, family values, the worry about the future etc. But on the whole “materialism” reigned supreme. On meeting several Americans later, they would often offer you keys to their homes (of course not in the big cities) and show interest in your life and profession. And after 3 or 4 questions the inevitable: How much do you earn? Well such dialogues were not at all “au fait “in Europe, not even amongst Greeks, whose manners are often questionable!

Anyway, my year there was an amazing time of discovery. Manos Hadjidakis lived on 57th Street W and so did I, but in a grotty dilapidated Hotel. They put me at the back of the building, in a dark & miserable looking room, but allowed me to bring an upright piano into my room. And I could practice up until 7.00pm – that was indeed a great advantage for me. Living in central New York which was safe and at the same time opposite my teacher’s flat.

Hadjidakis’ s reputation was a mixed one. He was half exiled to the US, having had Tax queries earlier in Greece. He was “famous” as the composer of the film music to Never on Sunday, starring Melina Mercouri. His sexual orientation was unusual for that time though no one even blinked in the art World. And he was hoping to work in Hollywood, as he had already composed much for the theatre, the stage and film. But he discovered to his amazement, that to do business in the film industry in America you had to belong to the M.

So, I was very lucky as he had time, and I could meet him on a daily basis. After completing my daily practice, we listened together to all sorts of music – nearly never his own. And he was unlike other musicians I knew – he listened to music all day long. He loved the music of Kurt Weil (which reminded him of the years of occupation in Greece) and particularly Mahler. He would say dreamily: what a pity one cannot compose like that anymore.  When it came to discuss great composers, he felt that Mendelssohn was quite “mediocre” and even Brahms overrated. But he spoke to me about Jazz and Indian music, 20C music and in between we listened to Haydn Quartets, following the score.

No one would have imagined that this was the same man who wrote all those easy and melodious “schlagers” a few years back. His success winning an Oscar for “Never on Sunday” gave him a popular image, which he hated. This was a passing phase in his creative output – not the end. And it was truly remarkable how much his style developed through the years, unlike other popular composers, who serve up the same type of music again and again, producing the sort of “product” that brought them fame and especially MONEY.

During my time in N.Y. Hadjidakis recommended that I study with his pianist friend Eugene Istomin. I went and played for him but unfortunately Istomin took no interest in me. Either I was not good enough, or he disliked my musical personality. At the same time, he offered Hadjidakis some surplus studio recording time – which he could not use himself. And so, Manos asked me to record his well-known piano piece” For a little white seashell” which I had previously played in my Diploma exam in Vienna. I had little time to prepare for this, as it came suddenly upon me, but I tried my best.

Our days ended by going out for dinner. It could be with three or four friends, visitors from Greece, other well-known artists, writers, even dancers. He would always invite everyone, and the discussions were highly interesting. One evening I went to see “Ilya darling” a re-working of Never on Sunday with Mercouri singing and dancing. This was a new show on Broadway, but it did not have the same success as the film.

Often after dinner we would listen to more recordings and discuss, even disagree about music and performers. He had a strict and rather “aristocratic” taste in music and frowned on musicians who would sell their souls – for success. Amongst his favourites were Alicia de Larocha, Dinu Lipatti, Toscanini, Eugene Istomin, Thomas Beecham and others.

One of his main ambitions for me was to convince me to look at the “music of our time”. Modern music to me until then was Debussy and Ravel! In my student years in Vienna, a few brave pianists played some Prokofiev and some even the sonata by Alban Berg! My teacher Seidlhofer had studied privately with Berg. So, he now took me to a music store and bought me several works piano works by the Greek composer Nikos Skalkottas and also Iannis Xenakis. I had not even heard of their names! He spoke to me about the importance of knowing the music (and Art) of your time. Because he maintained that one should study these first, before going back to works by Bartok, Stravinsky or Prokofiev. Only this way one would discover the “living elements” in music, & disregard all the accumulated mannerisms, “the dust of the centuries” – as he called it.

And so, on leaving New York at the end of 1970, his advice to me was this:

• Study the Sonatas of Haydn, the architect of the Sonata form.
• Stop working on romantic Repertoire. (he put it so well: when the music is so sick, you must be very healthy yourself, when touching it !!)
• Learn how to sing on the piano studying works by Schubert.
• Get to grips with 20C music and work on it.
• Stop playing in public, until you are safe as a musician.

By this he meant to go deeply into the essence of a score, overcoming your petty narcissism, which forces you to do anything and everything – so as to be liked!

On leaving New York I knew that I could not make my home in Cyprus. In Greece I was afraid of fellow musicians, who often behaved like sharks to one another! Vienna again felt slightly “provincial” – tucked away between the Alps and not really worried about the rest of the world. Another reason for choosing London was that I had a friendly cousin who lived there with her family. And finally, we Cypriots were a British colony for over 80 years, so the English way of life was quite familiar to us.

I arrived in London and settled in the London Musical Club – where in the past several well-known artists resided i.e. Stephen Bishop, Julius Katchen and others. I was given a large room and we all had our meals there too. Around the kitchen which was in the basement, we often noticed large cockroaches running around ……. But our common interest in our music kept us going regardless.

One big event was the arrival of my C grand Steinway piano to the club. My father promised to buy me a decent instrument, once I knew where I wanted to settle. So, I went to Steinways and chose a beautiful Hamburg C Grand model. And when it arrived in my room, just about every pianist in the club came to try it out. I think I was the last to have a go at it.

On the walls of my room I had positioned some Greek icons, but on the piano sitting on a black velvet cushion, I laid a real white skull ……… then these contrasts made absolute sense.

On my arrival in London, a group of friends and fellow artists I knew from before, insisted I join their weekly meditation group. Earlier in New York I attended an introductory talk from the Scientology mission, so now I decided I would try meditation too. The gatherings took place at our “teacher’s” flat every Tuesday evening, and could last up to two hours. This was something totally new for me, and I was curious to find out more and understand what the ultimate aim was. One evening I shyly approached our GURU with the question: How would one know when someone had reached “enlightenment?  His reply: you could not miss it – it would be the equivalent of 1.000 orgasms!

I must describe one experience here: Our goal in meditating was to first still the body, then the mind. We would all twelve of us sit cross-legged on the floor and try to achieve this state of absolute stillness. Naturally trying to sit still for 1 – 2 hours without moving, produced serious pain in your thighs. But of course, you were forbidden to move under any circumstance. Our teacher warned us about this and added: when the pain arrives – ABSORB IT. And so, one evening after sitting quietly for circa 40 minutes, the pain arrived. God, what to do? If only I could move slightly, the pain would diminish. But I remembered what our teacher told us and believe it or not, once I was able to accept and absorb the pain I felt – it vanished totally in a second. Was this mind over matter? I could hardly believe it. Anyway, by the time our teacher moved back to Canada, he advised us to discontinue meditating. In his words: No one of you is destined to become a saint, so go back to your music.

The other thing I followed were sessions with an “Alexander” teacher. Jean Gibson was a very gifted and intuitive teacher, who worked with many different musicians and dancers. After having a few sessions with her, learning about posture and how best to sit at the piano I asked her:  What sort of exercises shall I do at home? She answered: none, just be aware of your movements 24 hours a day! I remember one special occasion with her: I was improvising on her piano and she was as usual sticking her knee in the back of my spine. Suddenly, the sound I was producing on the piano became luminous and extremely beautiful. I cried – Jean what have you done with me? She said: did you hear that? “THIS IS YOUR SOUND” Needless to say, that I did not often manage to recreate that luminous sound again, though I tried hard to do so.

Now having followed the “Diet Regime” Hadjidakis had recommended in N.Y for me, I was beginning to understand the reason for it, even the intended goal. In this pursuit I bought for myself the scores of the 9 Beethoven Symphonies and listened to them while reading the score. It soon dawned on me that while piano music is written on two staves, the orchestra uses many more than that …. and therefore, the melody does not always carry the whole importance of the music. What a revelation for a typical pianist who always projected the right-hand melody – above all else. WAGNER has a rude quote about Chopin’s music:
A composer for the right hand!!

A few years later Hadjidakis was back in Athens, leading Radios’ third programme, directing the Athens State Orchestra and the Opera house, called Lyriki Skini. Having followed his advice, he now invited me to perform again, offering me several opportunities. I recorded solo Recitals for the ERT radio, collaborated with other instrumentalists, played Concertos with the orchestra, and made my first CD. In fact, I had to buy a CD player, to hear my own performance!

Amongst my 20C Repertoire, I gave the first performance of the Skalkottas Concertino at the Athens open air Festival and also performed “Herma” by Xenakis. I think I was the first Greek pianist to attempt this, after two years of preparation. “Herma” made unusually difficult demands on the performer – both technical and rhythmical. And the duration was only seven minutes, but boy did I sweat!  Gone were the days when I was only able to perform works by 3 or 4 composers. Now, I felt capable of presenting any style of music and doing a good job of it.

I was by now 35 and single, and had not met a soul mate …… A distant acquaintance invited me to a theatre performance at London’s south Bank. We were all together eight in the group. During the interval we went to the bar to get some drinks, some had Gin and tonic others a glass of wine — I chose a glass of milk! This it seems impressed one of the young girls in our group. Realising this, I invited her out to supper together with another couple. We seemed to like each other and met again to go to a concert. But the decisive moment came days later: We were enjoying a leisurely walk on Hampstead Heath. Her name was unusual – PETA, and she was proud to be a fast runner at school. So, as we walked, she challenged me to a race up to the next tree. I won easily and beat her to it and I think this convinced her that I might make a good husband!

We married in 1980 at the Registry Office in Kings Cross, on a Friday June 13th and at 13.00 hours! As a Greek, I was not going to live my life with all those superstitions we feared, and so I combined all of them on our wedding day. Later in August we had a church wedding in Nicosia, which at that time was the only way we could have a “legitimate” child. (Registry office marriage was not considered legal enough by the Greek Orthodox church) Our only son ANTHEMOS – PAUL  was born in 1982 to our own and our parents’ great joy. He was a beautiful blue-eyed boy, sociable, and fun to be with. It was to be our only child.

I continued travelling and performing in several countries, my career took me to Kuwait, Hong Kong, Mexico, Greece, Cyprus, the UK and North America. My wife Peta stayed at home for five solid years to bring up Anthemos & to give him a good start. When he started primary school she also went back to work. I also had a group of 25 students which I taught once a week, as this gave us a much-needed regular income.

Being in London and witnessing the huge musical activities, I felt I should audition for the BBC. I applied and was given a date. The hall was empty, except for the three Steinway grand pianos, which were there to chose from. The panel of judges listened to your performance from another room. I failed and received a letter to that end. But at the bottom of the letter it said: Try next year again. I went a second time and failed again. My friends explained to me not to take this too seriously, as people like Yehudi Menuhin had also failed. (Not sure if this was really true) Anyway in my third attempt playing worse than ever – I passed! What a joy to be accepted amongst thousands of other fine pianists. And for my first Recital broadcast I earned £60 – enough to pay the dry cleaners and a taxi. I was dumb struck at the financial reward given to artists, after so many years of hard work.

Having passed the BBC audition, I was ready to record some more music. My first vinyl recording was devoted to five works by Nikos Skalkottas. He together with Iannis Xenakis were the most significant Greek composers to date. And had it not been for Hadjidakis’ advice, I would have opted for works by Chopin or Scriabin. He advised me to make my debut with some serious Greek repertoire – something original of course but obviously not the most popular. But it gave me a good start, as some of the Skalkottas works were not yet recorded by anyone else. And so, Libraries and other Institutions favoured this collection as an interesting addition to the piano Repertoire.

Skalkottas had studied with Arnold Schoenberg in Berlin (though he was also a brilliant violinist) but on returning to Athens discovered that audiences were just beginning to listen to Brahms, Mahler, and Bruckner. His 12 – tone music were far too difficult and advanced for their ears.  And although he studied side by side with Webern and Berg, Greece never realised his importance. In London people like Lina Lalandi ( a Greek harpsichordist ) sponsored several performances of  Skalkottas, Christou and Xenakis – using her husband’s fortunes!

But somehow these efforts came too late for Skalkottas, as the others in that group, Schoenberg, Webern, and Berg had been established, partly with the help of their own countries, whereas Greece took no notice of her talented sons. An exception to this was the knowledgeable musicologist, John Papaioannou. He tried hard both to preserve the works which numbered circa 300, and also made a great effort to have them published abroad. But to date little has seen the light of day and very few musicians include his works in their Repertoire. As I write in 2018, more works are being performed and recorded finally.

Another vinyl disc which I recorded with Meridian, grouped all four 12- tone composers together. I also recorded several other works by Greek composers for the BBC like Yannis Constantinides, M. Hadjidakis and more Skalkottas including a first performance of his Piano Sonata, given to me by the well-known Skalkottas scholar John Thornley. In Greece EMI released one more CD with a mixed programme, including works by G. Frescobaldi, R. Schumann, F. Poulenc, and M. Hadjidakis.

Much earlier as a child during my six years of study, I had composed around 18 short piano pieces. My father had them recorded on tape so as to preserve them for me. A friend of his suggested to transfer them onto a small disc, but in this process, everything was lost. But later on, I was taught how to write music, and all later works I jotted down on paper myself. Going to Vienna to study in 1959, my whole energy was channelled into perfecting my piano playing, and so composing went out of the window. I convinced myself that those early works I composed in Cyprus, were due to my longing at not being able to play the works I loved. So, nine years passed like this. Then in Moscow (1967 – 1969) small little pieces came to light, but again I felt this was a side line.

Now it was 1989 and I was in London, and amongst my students was a well-known British painter called Polly Hope. One day as we were playing Faure’s duet Dolly Suite, she turned around to me and said: I don’t always want to play “old stuff”. Can you not compose something new for me to play? I went home, sat at the piano, and without much ado wrote “Five easy Dances” for her. I was surprised myself how the music flowed out of me with ease and at speed. So why was I not composing all these years? For nearly 30 years I was silent and never contemplated that something was still inside me – since the age of eight.

Polly and her husband Theo Crosby were most generous in their praise of this short work, and indirectly gave me the green light to continue. Fortunately, it was not too late to start again, and by encouraging me they uncovered that part of me which lay dormant for so long. And they insisted I should compose more right away. Polly had written several books earlier on (she was multi-talented – a painter, a sculptor, a novelist, a textile artist, and a creative cook too!) and now handed me a story she had written about a barren Greek island – which took place in the 1960’s. Its title was DIONYSIAN RITES and had 5 main characters, a chorus, and other minor roles. I was suddenly “propelled” into composing quite a large work, having never written anything for voices before. But I was tremendously excited, firstly because I was unfolding musically and secondly because the collaboration with my English piano student was real fun. Theo Crosby (her second husband and an eminent architect and sculptor) was building the Globe Theatre in London and also joined in the project. In their island home in Lindos (Rodos) we spent a summer sketching out the dramatic line of the plot, with its interesting double story evolving on parallel lines. The end culminated in a gruesome, albeit awesome and archaic finale. We worked on this project on and off for five years, and I produced 40 different musical numbers.

Once embarked on composing again, I stopped performing other 20C works which I had done previously. It seemed that from now onwards my own music would take centre stage. As a pianist, even looking at Chopin’s output, I felt inhibited composing only for the piano. I of course adored the instrument but felt that if I had something to say in music, it could also speak through other instruments too. And so, I wrote works for the flute, the clarinet, the Cello, violin, harp, and the voice. But I was quite hesitant when it came to orchestrating my first Piano Concerto. I gave this to a fellow composer to complete, though I made many instrumental suggestions for him to follow. By the time I had written my second and third concertos – I was ready to undertake this task myself.

As I had not formally studied composition in Vienna, I realized that I needed some help. And so, I approached the composer David Matthews, asking him if he would initiate me into the art of orchestration and also teach me counterpoint. He replied that he would guide me in orchestral writing, but not in counterpoint. I therefore bought some books on this subject and also realized that performing such a diverse Repertoire as a pianist – gave me a good insight into contrapuntal and polyphonic writing. To quote Leonard Bernstein: many composers can discover beautiful melodies, but it is only Beethoven who knows how to continue a melodic phrase and build it into a great work. He is the supreme architect in music.

We have several fascinating examples from the past, seeing how the great composers worked: Mozart, for instance would start a work, and without completing it would decide exactly how many bars his piece would have. Whereas Beethoven claims that he saw a whole work “In einem Guss” – my translation from the German: He saw the whole work poured out into one complete slab, from start to finish, before writing a single note on paper. Chopin on the other hand would improvise on the piano and in those inspired moments give birth to a new work.

I compose always at the piano, which is considered a weakness by some. My reason is that I must hear every chord, every dissonance, every clashing of the differing voices, before I feel satisfied to write it down. And although I nearly have perfect pitch, it does not guide me enough without hearing the final result on the piano. Even in my orchestral works, I sit at the piano to write them, unlike young composers of today who use electronic technologies.

Coming back to composing in 1989 opened up a whole new perspective into my musical personality. Unlike other European Nations, Greece (including Cyprus) remained somewhat “backward” as far as Western classical music is concerned. For those who do not know our past history – Greece attained independence from the Ottoman empire only in 1821, after years of struggle. Artistically speaking this meant that western influences & trends were indeed minimal, and the only exception came via Italy by way of popular songs, operettas to the Ionian islands. Therefore, Greece’s major output remained rooted in the folk idiom – something extremely rich, especially in irregular rhythms and in Byzantine chant. This liturgy which goes back centuries was always sung without any instruments in church.

And of course, after having the Ottomans occupy Greece for over 300 years, something of their music seeped into Greek popular music, as was inevitable. A well-known writer Nicos Demou puts it this way:” Greece is the most European county of the Orient, but the most Oriental land in Europe.”

Having traced this aspect a little, you can understand my doubts and queries as to where I could position myself musically? Greek musicians started studying abroad at the end of the 19th century going to Russia, Germany, France, and other countries. What they brought back was a medley of European high Romanticism mixed in with their own “oriental flavoured” folk music. Only much later around 1950 did Greek composers “catch up” with newer trends like electronic music and questioned whether this really represented them.

All this in order to highlight my own doubts, queries and identity. Where was I going to position myself?  A Greek Cypriot living in London, having studied in Vienna, Moscow, and New York? What was my genuine background now, in the 20th century? Where do I belong and how to respond with honesty and loyalty to my origins?

In the end the answer came of its own accord: ROOTS – yes, those early influences (like your physical characteristics) are there dormant and deeply embedded in your psyche. Denouncing them would be a great loss, even a betrayal. So, as I continued composing, the traits of my origin together with the diversity of my personality forged into my very own style. My musical voice included western but also oriental harmonies, rhythms, and colours, which were all part of my native country, instilled in me during those early years.

I slowly started branching out of the piano idiom – so familiar to me and experimented with the sound worlds of other important instruments. I wrote music for violin, clarinet, flute, oboe, cello and even voice. Living in the West made it feel awkward writing song cycles to Greek texts. I did search for suitable poetry but remained undecided.

One major problem for all musicians using a text is the following: Words can move quite quickly to convey their story, whereas music needs much more time to express a possible reaction to the text. This fact creates huge difficulties, in particular for Opera composers exactly for this reason. And the best results come from Librettists who are aware of this difference & work realistically with composers to find useful solutions. At times I have composed works for voice but without a text i.e. my VOCALISES for soprano and the TROPARION for a cappella choir.

As for the piano works – where to position myself? I discovered that much new music lacked humour, and so I tried my hand at that. Then I realised that a grand piano has 88 keys, so why not use them all? Xenakis of course makes good use of them all, but in a very different context in his work Herma. This is not my way, but while exploring further, I found out that the very top register of the piano is only equalled by the piccolo flute in orchestral scores. So, I made use of this top register and delighted using it to achieve new colour sounds. Another possibility was to use the interval of the ninth – something Scriabin initiated first. This interval gives both a new twist to the underlying harmony but also offers a tonal compromise between traditional octaves, thirds, and sixths. I also often used the bass pedal point, something used in all music to create tension and excitement working towards a climax. I admit this is nothing new, but it always works.

When it came to orchestral writing, my feeling was that the “very clever mix “of several instruments simultaneously, diluted the genuine colours of the various groups. Because if you use the whole potential of an orchestra all the time, the individual voices are literally “drowned” by the vast force of so many players. I therefore often opted for giving melodic lines to individual instruments, making them stand out and letting them perform several solo parts.

Returning to family life, I now have two lovely grandchildren, Theo and Phoenix, who live in Florida with their parents. We all travel so as to be together and especially during the Christmas holidays. I have remained on my own after the passing of my wife several years ago. Somehow, I have reverted to being self – sufficient once again. Many of my friends ask me: But are you not lonely like this on your own? I reply that I am content in my own company. Of course, it is not the same if you cannot share your joys and sorrows with someone else. But being a creative musician fills my daily life with interest in all things, Art, nature, and certainly human beings. Even Beethoven spent his life alone!

To be quite frank, living on one’s own also has advantages. If you feel tired, you can go and rest. If you are hungry, you can go and eat whenever and whatever you want. And most importantly when the Muse comes and takes me by the hand and leads me into those amazing celestial landscapes, I can follow her without hesitating. No house chores to be done, no school run, no family commitments – this is also a valuable gift offered to many artists who chose this way of life. They are really married to their ART.

Regarding criticism, I often get irritated when mediocre woks are pronounced as “masterpieces” by critics, radio announcers and even musicologists. Real masterpieces are rare and not in abundance, but the commercial side of today’s living demands elevating many works to the pinnacle of excellence. My own opinion is that a work like a Liszt Rhapsody might be a very successful piano piece, full of vigour, arrogance, and virtuosity, but this does not make it necessarily a masterwork, nor a proof of genius. It is a pity that the business aspect of music – making today treats everything like a commodity: You cannot really compare a Donizetti opera to Nescafe!!

One topic that still occupies my thinking and decision making is the following: We are blessed with an intellect and a head, but we also have a heart and feelings. How to bring these two strange bed fellows together and to try to make sense of them both? When we discuss Art, and particularly Music – we often stumble upon these two most important aspects. Some will say that BACH expresses too little emotion, while others claim that TCHAIKOVSKY rants like a prostitute! Where is the truth? Who is going to decide what each composer’s contribution is?  And what is its value for us today? Finally, how much heart or brain is contained in each work? An endless topic of discussion amongst musicians, with a never-ending conflict of interest in the value of a great work.

But maybe the great pianist Horowitz has the answer to this conundrum. He says the following about the performance of music:

Too much technique is no good.

Too much heart is no good.

Too much brain is no good.

YOU NEED IT ALL.