
DESPITE having loved classical music since boyhood, I have never been much drawn to the music of the late Sir Michael Tippett. I suspect the fault lies in me, not in the composer the BBC Music Magazine ranked at number seven in a list of the 25 greatest British composers of all time, ahead of Gustav Holst and Thomas Tallis and even the German-born but anglicised Handel. I much prefer the music of his contemporaries William Walton and Benjamin Britten, not to mention the prolific and accessible Malcolm Arnold and the incomparable Ralph Vaughan Williams, with Britten being, in my opinion, the greatest musical genius to emerge from the British Isles.
Until recently, I knew very little about Tippett, except that, like Britten, he was an avowed pacifist who served time in Wormwood Scrubs as a conscientious objector during World War II; and, also like Britten, was a homosexual, but much more openly so, unashamedly presenting as camp in later life, unlike the reticent and almost puritanical Britten.













