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he would listen endlessly to the same two recordings of the tenor Beniamino Gigli. When I was a child growing up in south London in the 1970s and ’80s I had a record of Peter and the Wolf narrated by Peter Ustinov with the Philharmonia Orchestra (recorded in 1960); my version played at 33 rpm and had to be turned over halfway (remember that?). And now I have the complete symphonies of Beethoven on my mobile phone recorded at a quality that would have stunned people even ten years ago.

      So where are we now? Surely anyone can access this music? With the CD-buying public as benefactors, classical music has bifurcated into the mainstream and the specialist. More complex forms are available for those interested in musical self-improvement or expanding their knowledge (maybe that’s you …) and simpler, more accessible forms are there for those looking for a less bumpy musical ride. This can be seen clearly in the difference between BBC Radio 3 and Classic FM, where one offers in-depth analysis of a broad range of specialist works and the other caters well for a more populist palate, offering more easily digestible bite-size chunks.

      Those who are more affluent can afford the tickets to see music at the more complicated end of the spectrum. At the best international venues with the finest orchestras, music is painstakingly pored over by professional musicians at the height of their powers. Gaining an introduction to the more complex forms of music tends to require an investment of three things: some musical education, time to go to concerts and the money to pay for tickets. It’s little wonder that the people who attend the best concerts have these three in abundance.

      “In Europe, when a rich woman has an affair with a conductor, they have a baby. In America, she endows an orchestra for him.”

      EDGARD VARÈSE, composer

      Today, American orchestras rely on donations from private sources. In Europe too it’s more likely that a lawyer, businessman or banker with a passion for music will be the ‘angel’ behind a concert, since royal patronages have all but finished. These investors can be a godsend for arts organisations but the situation is not without its problems when venues require large injections of liquid cash for upgrades. When the Royal Court Theatre fell into disrepair in 1994 the Jerwood Foundation were on hand with a large amount of money, but one of their requests was that the theatre should be renamed ‘The Jerwood Royal Court Theatre’. Thankfully the theatre resisted and the historic name remains above the door. It’s a tightrope between getting money and not surrendering your artistic independence.

      In 1999 the Cuban-American philanthropist Alberto Vilar promised £10 million towards the regeneration of the Royal Opera House in London. Vilar was fêted as the most generous man in opera; the ROH named its Vilar Floral Hall after him and the Vilar Grand Tier at the Metropolitan Opera in New York was a testament to the influence of his chequebook. But this relationship turned sour in 2005 when he failed to make the final payments (he was rumoured to be around £5 million short, a not insubstantial sum for the opera house). A further shock was in store for the opera community when Vilar was jailed for fraud in 2008. It’s easy to see how this situation arose because without these sorts of donations organisations would simply not survive. Nobody could have predicted that Vilar would turn villain. His name has long since been scrubbed off the ROH’s walls and replaced with the names of other generous (and unimpeachable) organisations – the Paul Hamlyn Foundation gave its name to the Floral Hall and the Oak Foundation’s vice-chair Jette Parker gave her name to the young artist programme. Though the name of Vilar has been excised, it’s a salutary lesson for the arts world which walks a tightrope between artistic independence and financial dependence.

      Music itself is, I believe, essentially classless, requiring no more than a pair of ears and a brain to comprehend it. However, to write or play this music professionally requires years of study at the best conservatoires. Who but the wealthy can afford to pay for the necessary sort of private tuition? Even if a child begins lessons at school there will come a point when somebody needs to buy an instrument and pay for music festival entries or youth orchestra subscriptions. It’s under fairly exceptional circumstances that somebody becomes a professional classical musician without any financial support from their parents.

      The more complex the music, the more expensive. A 100-piece orchestra means 100 player fees, 100 chairs to set out, 100 scores to print, 100 shirts to press, etc. In orchestral circles the pay is quite modest. It’s certainly not equivalent to a professional footballer and yet the training and skill required is equivalent to that needed for brain surgery. That is what your ticket is paying for: it’s not going into the coffers of plutocrats.

      Until we educate everybody in the country to the same musical standard (lovely in theory but expensive in practice) and convince schools that classical music is important regardless of class (an uphill battle in some institutions) it will remain the preserve of those who are introduced to it in the correct way.

      What is a key?

      This is straight in at the deep end, but we may as well get this out of the way. No way of explaining the key of a piece captures all of its subtleties, but that’s part of the beauty of music: you can’t put it into words. It’s an important concept to get your head round because it’s central to the development of classical music.

      My father tells a story of entering a singing competition at a holiday camp in 1964.

      ‘Do you know “Always Something There to Remind Me” by Sandie Shaw?’ he asked of the resident pianist.

      ‘Er. Yes I think so,’ came the reply, although with a worrying hesitation.

      The moment came and they faced the audience. Now if you know the song then you might recall that the tune begins low in Miss Shaw’s voice and then builds up to the high notes of the chorus. My dad was just a few notes in when he realised the song was quite simply far too high for him (a bass-baritone) – the pianist was playing in the wrong key. Family legend has it that he stood on a table to try to reach the top notes; I doubt that helped.

      Many famous songs build to similar perilous climaxes: songs like Bon Jovi’s ‘Living on a Prayer’, Liverpool FC’s ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ and anything by Michael Jackson have busted many a larynx when sung at a karaoke bar. These songs are written in a key that is comfortable for the original performer but which may not suit lesser mortals. Also we are born with a particular voice, either high – soprano/tenor; medium – mezzo-soprano/ baritone; or low – alto/bass. There’s nothing you can do to change this.

      It wouldn’t matter if you were only singing in the shower, but if you have foolishly agreed to perform at your friend’s wedding you need to work out a way of being able to hit those high notes. Mel Brooks used to tell a story of a singer who started a song on a key note that was too high and ended with a gut-wrenching high note and a hernia. Beware – singing can damage your health. If you start a bit lower in pitch, that will allow you to hit that high note at the end of the tune (which will also be correspondingly lower). Problem is, when it comes to the wedding, how will you remember which note you have to start on? You could sing the note, find the note on the piano that sounds the same, and that will help you find the ‘key’. The ‘key’ is the musical area where your tune lies.

      KEYS, SCHMEES

      Each note on the piano has a name and that can be the name of a key. So we name C major after the note ‘C’ because pieces in that key feel related to that note. They seem to orbit around that tonal centre (another way of describing key) like planets orbiting the Sun. In the key of C major the note ‘C’ is the Sun and all the other notes are still there but in orbit. If we change to the key of G then the note ‘G’ becomes the Sun, and the centre of the Solar System. Keys are held together by natural forces like gravity. There are twelve keys in total named after all the notes of the scale.

      But hang on, you say, there are 88 keys on a piano, not 12. Yes, but if you look at a piano keyboard it has a pattern that repeats as you go from left to right. It’s a bit like a clock face, returning to the same starting point: C, D, E, F, G, A, B … then you are back to C. So there are lots of Cs on the piano, but there is only one ‘key’ of C.

      The thing to remember is the idea of labelling the starting notes of your tune. At the risk of sounding like the late great

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