Nearly 60 years after embarking on one of the more noble and unusual musical ventures of this century, Eric Fenby remains devoted to the cause.
In fact, at 81, Fenby seems as passionate about his work as he must have been in 1928, when he rejuvenated a blind, paralyzed composer named Frederick Delius. Though Fenby coaxed from Delius exquisite music that would have been lost to us otherwise, he modestly counts himself ”a very lucky man” who just happens to have altered the course of musical history.
”I would love to take all the credit, but it was pure chance that I was able to strike such an unusual relationship with Delius,” says Fenby from his home in London, where he recently completed his latest ode to Delius-a new recording of Delius` ”Songs of Sunset,” ”Second Dance Rhapsody” and
”Arabesque” (with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and the Ambrosian Singers), to be released later this year.
”Others, such as the composer Percy Grainger, had tried to help Delius compose-I just happened to succeed.
”Nevertheless, the memory of Delius, and what we did together, was the most extraordinary thing that happened in my entire life-it was the pinnacle,” says Fenby, in explaining why he has dedicated himself to Delius` art ever since. ”Neither of us realized at the time that we were doing something quite extraordinary in musical history.”
Though classical music has no shortage of heroic tales, none is quite like Fenby`s. As a self-taught musician living in Yorkshire, England, the young Fenby was ”obsessed” with Delius` music.
”I had known on first hearing it that the music of this man was no ordinary music, it had moved me so strangely and unaccountably,” wrote Fenby in ”Delius as I Knew Him” (Greenwood Press, Westport, Conn.). ”When, at last, after weeks of inquiries and disappointments, I was able to peruse the vocal score of Delius` `Mass of Life,` I had stood spellbound in the little music shop in the main street of my native town . . . . The music struck me to the heart so that I could scarcely think of anything else for days.”
Thus Fenby dispatched a letter to Delius, offering to help the composer
(who, due to the effects of syphilis, no longer could put pen to paper). Delius accepted, but when Fenby arrived at Delius` home in Grez-sur-Loing, France, the young musician immediately felt ”that perhaps this was one of the worst things that I had assayed in my life,” recalls Fenby.
”When Delius asked me to try and take down a simple tune, I was appalled by the way he hackled the thing. I couldn`t make heads or tails of what he was trying to convey, and then I broke down: The sight of this man, who was a genius in his art, stumbling to vocalize very simple phrases absolutely shattered me.
”As I ran out of the music room, I heard Delius say to his wife, `Helka, this boy is no good, he cannot even take down a simple tune.` ”
Yet Delius and Fenby eventually honed a bizarre and utterly unique method for notating the composer`s musical thoughts. Painstakingly, Delius would sing one note after another, Fenby shouting back the names of the pitches as he wrote them. They did this for each instrument in the orchestra, often completing no more than two or three bars in a day`s work.
”It was extraordinarily complicated,” says Fenby. ”Sometimes, when Delius would shout out a note, I would have to say, `You can`t do that, sir, because the trombones have got so-and-so, you see, and that chord will not be balanced if you do that, so you must double that particular note, and so on.` ”Eventually, though, I got the feel of what he wanted to do. He used to say, `Eric, you could finish my sentences for me.` It was quite uncanny.”
In that way Fenby spent five arduous years serving as the instrument for Delius` art. As such, he helped pen some of Delius` most beloved works, among them the `Songs of Farewell,` `Song of Summer` and the Third Sonata for Violin and Piano. Yet for all the musical glories, life with Delius was never easy.
”When we used to go out in the evening, I would push him up the road, and very little conversation ever passed between us,” says Fenby. ”Many a day, he wouldn`t so much as say `good morning.` There would be no conversation at meals, and then he would say, `Good night, lad,` and that was it.
”If people who came to visit were chattering, he would shout, `Take me away, wheel me down the hall and away from this wretched conversation.` ”
And while Fenby`s peers were forging ahead with careers and romances, Fenby was, in a way, disappearing as an individual.
”Delius was an extremely possessive man,” he says, ”and he wouldn`t let me make friendships with anyone in the village. He made it very difficult if I wanted to go to Paris or anywhere else.
”In fact, I never heard a single concert during my years with the Deliuses, because the moment I said I was going out for a trip, Delius always responded by saying, `I have a wonderful (musical) idea, but I`m afraid there won`t be anyone to write it down.`
”I went months and months at times without speaking to a soul outside that household.”
Little wonder, then, that by the end of Fenby`s tenure he suffered a nervous breakdown.
”When I finally came back to England (in 1933),” recalls Fenby, ”I was absolutely worn out. I went to a party with my sister, and I suddenly realized what I had missed in life. And I think that sort of triggered off some nervous problem from which, in fact, I lost my bearings. I couldn`t walk, I was in a terrible state.
”The doctors hadn`t a clue what on Earth to do about it.”
After a few months out of Delius` spell, however, Fenby regained his equilibrium, and a year later (1934) Delius was dead. Fenby went on with his life, serving a term in the British army, marrying, joining the composition faculty of the Royal Academy of Music, from which he retired in 1978.
All the while, he spent every spare moment writing about and performing Delius` works. His remarkable devotion has been chronicled in film, most notably in Ken Russell`s 1968 movie ”Song of Summer” (”a striking portrait, if somewhat exaggerated,” says Fenby).
Today, Fenby`s remaining goal is a simple one: to attend an annual Delius Festival in Britain once more.
”I can`t go every year anymore because I`m an old man,” says Fenby,
”but I would like to attend just once more. I would love to see
(Russell`s) Delius film one more time.”
Not for a minute, says Fenby, does he regret having merged his life and talent so thoroughly with Delius`.
”You can`t know what an extraordinary experience it was,” says Fenby.
”Yes, it was a difficult time. But Delius was the most singular of all musicians I have met, alone unto himself, fearless in pursuing his own lonely path, serenely confident of his power and utterly indifferent to the opinions of others.
”I can say quite frankly that there has been one person in my life, and that has been Delius.
”So you see, when I conduct the music that I worked on with Delius, it is, in large part, to repair memory of those most wonderful years.”
