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hear. I also hope that through using this book you will come to feel that music does indeed belong to everyone and that much of this wonderful repertoire can be yours. There’s no instant answer to understanding or knowing about classical music; the first step is building a positive relationship with the music.

      Inexplicably, certain works have a hold on me and refuse to let go. I could listen to Bach’s Mass in B Minor every day without growing tired, whereas some pieces, although fascinating, don’t put down roots in the way that a truly great work does. What appeals to me might not appeal to you and although I do make recommendations in this book I’m aware that my evangelism for a piece may fall on stony ground. This book is not a prescriptive list of works that you should appreciate. The purpose is to give you the tools to make your own discoveries.

      Most people struggle with pieces that are too complex or simply not tuneful enough for their taste. Length and complexity are factors in limiting appreciation of music but there is much to recommend on the musical nursery slopes before you tackle the great summits.

      Music appreciation is as subjective as any other artistic discipline because our brains are changed by any musical experience we have during our lives and that in turn affects how we listen to new pieces. Although I make a case for the importance of a little background research in Chapter 4 there is no right way to listen to Mozart and there never will be. You should not feel that Mozart is somehow superhuman and therefore beyond your comprehension.

      I have seen time and time again how anyone can learn to appreciate music. During my years working for English National Opera’s Baylis Programme (their community and education wing) I was sent to schools in deprived areas of London. From Hackney to the less salubrious parts of Ealing, if there was a school whose pupils knew nothing of opera then I’d be sent there, armed only with a score, an opera singer and a répétiteur (official term for an opera rehearsal pianist). What I observed was the dramatic effect these workshops had on students’ attitudes towards opera.

      One of the most striking examples of the success of this practical approach to learning about music was working with some young homeless people at St Martin-in-the-Fields. We brought a singer from the ENO Chorus to sing ‘Vissi d’Arte’ (‘I lived for art’) from Verdi’s Tosca. For most people it’s rare to get so intimate with a voice that has been trained to fill every corner of an opera house. It’s like standing next to a jumbo jet on a runway (though it does sound a bit better). Huddled round in their slightly shabby canteen, drinking strong, sugary tea from polystyrene cups, these young people were profoundly affected by the physical presence of a large operatic voice: they couldn’t believe it. The voice didn’t belong in that space and it transported us all. We explored the story of Tosca – a bleak and violent opera – and I genuinely believe that their opinion of the art-form was transformed. They spoke with the singer, they heard from us about production at ENO and most importantly they took part by singing sections of the opera.

      I’m not saying that they all became opera fans, but it was clear that until then they had completely the wrong impression of opera: ‘fat ladies screaming’. It’s interesting how many people can carry a vivid – and sometimes prejudiced – impression of what opera is like, having only experienced it from those adverts for ‘Go compare’ or ‘Just one Cornetto’. Within a few hours we started to recalibrate that popular misconception, using a little knowledge of the story, a basic understanding of how some of the music was composed and the unforgettable experience of hearing an opera singer in the flesh. Given this sort of preparation the most unlikely children can sit through up to three hours of opera, something many adults struggle with.

      For me these workshops were a baptism of fire, because in order to prepare I would often be sent the music just a few days in advance and I’d have precious little time to get to know a new opera before being sent into a school as an evangelical advocate. The discipline of sitting with a score (the written musical notes), reading the synopsis (the plot), digging out the programme (if I could find one), reading the director’s production notes (if they’d written any) and living with the music for a few days before being hurled into a school was an excellent cramming course. The job gave me the opportunity to talk to singers from the production, to grapple with the themes during workshops – and finally after all that I’d go to see the opera for the first time. If they’d known then how little I knew about opera, and how much study I was having to do, perhaps they’d have employed someone else. It proved an excellent training for opera appreciation.

      So sometimes, in order to appreciate music, a little homework is required. My dad’s school motto was ‘nil sine labore’ – ‘Nothing without work’ (how I loathed it when he stood over my piano practice quoting this aphorism). I’m afraid it applies here, but it needn’t be a chore. Of course I understand that by some definitions music that requires ‘work’ is an anathema – surely we should love a great piece of music at first listening? But think how often you meet someone and fall in love at first sight – once in a lifetime? Many pieces of music take time to get to know.

      I’m assuming if you’ve bought this book about classical music then you are ready to apply yourself. So let’s move on.

      You know more than you think you do

      Whether you notice it or not, classical music is everywhere, keeping teenagers at bay in train stations,¹ persuading you to buy wine on TV adverts and pulling no punches in film soundtracks. I believe it is the ultimate destination for all true music lovers. Once the sheen has rubbed off lesser forms, the gems of classical music shine even brighter.

      If you’re reading this book, then it probably means that you already feel that you know a little something about classical music. Maybe you’d like to know more. Or perhaps, like Socrates, you know enough to know that you don’t know anything. Hopefully you have been enticed to dip into this strange and wonderful world. This book is intended to build on your tentative enthusiasms; I’m here to help. If, as I hope, you have enjoyed any classical music, there will be something in this book for you. Once you discover an area of music that you like, given the number of composers and over 500 years of Western musical history, there are hundreds of discoveries to be made.

      Don’t panic

      You’ll never get to know every piece of music because there’s just too much out there and you may not like everything you hear, but that doesn’t mean you don’t like classical music. There are pieces of music I haven’t got my head round – either they are too sickly sweet or too bitter, too angular and modern or not modern enough. I think it’s important not to feel that if you don’t like a piece you should give up on it straight away. Having said that, I gave up on Bruckner a few years ago after a spectacularly tiresome concert experience, but who knows, perhaps I’ll grow back into it. And it’s important not to feel overwhelmed by how much music there is to listen to.

      The chief difficulty in learning about any art-form is the ‘emperor’s new clothes’ effect. We’ve all been there – a friend eulogises about a piece of music. ‘You’ve got to hear this! It’s amazing! Listen to that cymbal crash!’ Their face is terrifyingly alive. Their hair is standing on end. They are in the throes of what can only be described as a personal moment. Meanwhile, you are wondering what all the fuss is about. Everybody experiences music differently. Several factors can affect this: the context, how much you know about the piece and how often you have heard it before.

      Try listening to a piece of classical music that you know well in a variety of contexts: (1) while washing up; (2) while looking at cherished photographs; (3) while keeping an eye on the sports result as your favourite team loses/wins. You’ll find that the atmosphere of the piece changes and affects the activity as much as the activity affects the music.

      Technical language

      In this book I will tell you what I consider helpful in understanding how melody, harmony and the structure of music work but without turning this into an A-Level textbook. Terms such as staccato and legato may be alien to you but the concepts they signify will be familiar (they mean ‘short/detached’ and ‘smooth’, respectively). Getting to grips with how music works is a technical business

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