Katy Hamilton

Apparently, yet another series of The Great British Bake Off will be starting later this month. I’d like to say I care, or that I’ll be watching, or that I own a TV, or indeed am remotely interested in spending my evenings cheering and swearing at a group of people frantically making cakes… but I’m afraid I don’t, and I won’t, and I’m not. Still, don’t misunderstand me: I am delighted that there are folk in the world who are so passionate about baking that they want to do it to the very best of their abilities. As in every other field of human endeavour, from atom-splitting and watercolours to long-distance marathons and embroidery, I’m always happy when people find something they love, and at which they wish to excel. That variety and excitement is what makes the world goes round, and here’s to more of it.

What I struggle with, in endeavours such as GBBO, can basically be boiled down into two things: that it has to be a competition, and that we are all supposed to want to watch it.

So you can imagine how delighted I was to see that not only has a recent survey of ‘leading conductors’ classified Beethoven’s ‘Eroica’ Symphony as ‘the greatest symphony of all time’… but also that the BBC, as part of its ‘Get Playing’ campaign, is holding two music competitions: All Together Now: The Great Orchestra Challenge and The UK’s Best Part-time Band. Apparently this means that they are ‘championing amateur music-making like never before’.

I’m not even going to dignify the ‘greatest symphony of all time’ thing with any sort of lengthy or coherent critique, because it’s a completely meaningless exercise. This sort of lazy journalism seems to work on the basis that we’re only supposed to care what conductors think (anyone consider asking the orchestral players who actually, you know, make noise?), that there is such a thing as a greatest ever symphony in the first place, as if a rational scale exists, and that the only way to make readers care about symphonies is to turn it into a competition. Which is, frankly, insulting to readers.

But the ‘Get Playing’ competitions worry me. They worry me because I’ve worked with amateur musicians, on and off, since I was in my teens. And I can see as many people coming out of it feeling worse about their musical acumen as those feeling better.

Here’s the great thing about amateur music-making: it’s not professional. You don’t need to wow critics, you don’t need to offer up flawless recordings of undiscovered works, and you don’t need to hone your craft every minute of the day. Amateur musicians are a tremendously precious breed, who sing and play because they love it – the music, the community, the challenge of a new piece and the familiar shape of an old friend like Fauré’s Requiem or ‘Jupiter’ from The Planets. They give their time, their energy, and their money to being engaged with wonderful repertoire. And yes, if they want to put on a concert, they need to find a way to cover costs. But it’s not there for profit or publicity. They might not even give open concerts. They might just play and sing in peoples’ front rooms, because they love doing so. Amateur music-making is the rich and generous way in which people can have music in their lives, regardless of their professions.

For some amateur musicians, this might lead to a clear sense of mission: I must get better. I must be the best amateur trumpet player I can be, and have lessons, and practise hard, and tell all my friends that I have lessons and practise hard, and aim for a standard so good it’s basically that of a professional. And that is all well and good, and I hope those musicians succeed. But for others – and trust me, I’ve met a lot of them – music-making is something done in private, and at home, and perhaps in front of a few trusted friends or relatives… and the weight of past remarks or negative teachers or just general self-doubt make the ‘I can’t do it’ demon a pretty ferocious creature. These are the people for whom every musical performance in front of a stranger (one unknown person or an audience of 500, it matters not) is a terrifying prospect and a marvellous achievement to carry off. It is a privilege to listen to such performers, regardless of how you’d grade the performance, because however confident they may be at their day job, this is a kind of activity that is hugely courageous and leaves them very vulnerable indeed.

So why, oh why, do we need a competition? I’m sick of competitions on the telly: choral competitions, baking competitions, Masterchef, Britain’s Got Talent, X Factor, and a hundred others I could mention. Why can’t we have a programme which tours the UK and meets amateur groups, and has a participatory angle like the Ten Pieces scheme? Why do we have to take something which most do for pleasure, not merit – and which many (yes, including choirs and orchestras) might only do behind closed doors, because polished performances are not actually their only goal – and take them into a public arena where they will be judged and ranked and dissected? Do we really think that what we will end up with is any kind of realistic insight in to the world of amateur musicianship? Of course not. For that, look at the pages of the Making Music website, or the folks who go and sing and observe at Dartington. Find your local choir or orchestra or brass band. Join a Meetup group and knock together a string quartet. Don’t flop on the sofa passing judgement on other people. Have a go. See for yourself. Make music for yourself.

Goodness, that all got a bit heated, didn’t it? Maybe I’ll go and bake something. That’s bound to make me feel better.