Raymond has a wide range of interests including the sublime (art, literature, film, theatre) to the ridiculous (supernatural phenomena, alien visitation and Ramsgate Football Club). He believes that there is an as yet undiscovered link between all three of the latter.

Raymond's sense of humour has helped make his courses very popular, and reveals why he enjoys performing with his pals Richard Ingrams and Ian Hislop. In fact Raymond's novelty arrangement of a well-known popular song brings the house down in these shows.

Raymond is also established as a journalist, writing articles, interviews and reviews on music for The Oldie and Piano magazines. His love of art has seen him write forewords for exhibition catalogues, including a major exhibition for leading British landscape artist Matthew Alexander.

Some of Raymond's funny experiences

Recording Glitch

I enjoy recording, but find it quite tough. My first experience in the recording studio was rather amusing, although it was also frustrating. I had played the first piece, and was very happy with it, thinking that the take was absolutely fine, and I was in confident fettle for the rest of the programme. However, the producer said “Very good. Such a shame about the squeak.”

I said “What squeak?” Sure enough, when I heard the playback there was a distinct squeak. We reckoned it was the pedal, so the tuner went and got some powder and smothered it on the pedal mechanism. I played the piece again. Same squeak. Perhaps it was the piano stool, so we went and got another stool. Still the squeak. By now, my earlier confidence had given way to anxiety. Having tried everthing, we found it was my shoe. I had to perform the rest of the day’s recording in my socks! I brought slippers along for the following day.

Unbecoming Conducting

I once conducted a concert in Broadstairs, the second half of which was the Fauré Requiem. The choir and orchestra took their places, the leader went out, followed by the two soloists and myself. I faced the audience, took my bow, and turned to open the score - which wasn’t there! The chap responsible, my mate Philip, a fine tenor, was in the choir, so I looked pointedly at him. I have always prided myself on the discipline in my choirs, so that when the conductor appears on the rostrum, every member of the choir is looking at him waiting to be given the sign to stand. They were all dutifully looking at me. Except one: Philip, who, dear chap, was in his own world. The man next to him nudged him sharply, but instead of looking up at me, Philip glared at him. It was no good.

The audience could sense something was up, so I turned back to them and said, “I am sorry for the slight delay, ladies and gentlemen; it is just that I have forgotten the music!" There was laughter. Philip of course, got the message, and went off for the score. Because the score was for choir and orchestra it was large, and, being clothbound, rather heavy, so when Philip appeared he affected a staggered limp as he brought the score to the rostrum. By now both choir and audience were giggling quite hysterically, which was hardly the appropriate setting for such a moving and devotional work! Mind you, it was a fabulous performance. It had relaxed the choir’s diaphragms and they gave a wonderfully committed and sensitive performance.

Schoolteaching howler

I had some very happy years running the music at a secondary modern school in Kent I remember marking a first-year pupil’s work, including answers to questions about The Sorcerer’s Apprentice which we had studied. I still love one of her answers: The broom’s tune was played by a baboon.

The upside-down violinist

After leaving the RCM I gave some concerts with a friend, Maurice Memmott, who was both a fine violinist and pianist. We were performing Beethoven’s Kreutzer at one place. Maurice was a rather flamboyant violinist. In the middle of the first movement, he made a particularly grandiose down bow, and managed to sweep his music off the stand. Fortunately, a gentleman in the front row leaped forward and put Maurice’s music back on the stand. Unfortunately, the gentleman did not have his reading glasses on, and placed the score upside down. I can still see the panic in Maurice’s face as he turned his head to a most uncomfortable angle to read the part. Luckily the rescuer realised his mistake and righted the part. To his credit, Maurice still managed to keep the performance going throughout all this hiatus.

Performing fly

I was giving a recital which included the Liszt Sonata. As you know this is a single-movement work lasting nearly thirty minutes. After about five minutes, a fly landed on my hand. It soon took off, then landed on my head, where it proceeded to crawl down my face and behind my glasses. I thought I would have to stop and swat the little b…...d but I managed to make a broad, theatrical, anguished gesture as the music became impassioned and it flew away. The audience must have thought I was turning into a very affected pianist, making such a flamboyant movement.

In the pit

I used to play the cello at one time in the orchestra for the local operatic society. One year they produced the Desert Song. It was hilarious. On the first night the Red Shadow appeared on stage looking powerful and heroic, undermined by the fact that his flies were undone and we could see his red-and-white spotted boxer shorts on display. Another night, we were waiting for our cue when the voice of the Arab speaking the cue line became strangled. We glanced up and found he had swallowed half of his false beard. On another night, the Red Shadow pronounced, in a terrifying voice “Is there anyone dare fight me in mortal combat?” A little kid in the front row shouted back, “Yeah, I will.” The dress rehearsal was the best bit, though, when the woman playing the lovely Margo appeared on stage in her diaphanous costume. Unfortunately for her - but most fortunately for me - she hadn’t quite realized just how diaphanous her garb would be on stage, and she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath!

Verbal wrong note

When I was a student, I was invited on to the executive committee of an organization dedicated to bringing music to under-privileged communities. I was only nineteen and very flattered to be asked. I went to meet the secretary, a pleasant and rather voluptuous middle-aged lady. Now, what I was trying to say was to thank her for inviting me to the committee because I believed strongly in the aspirations the organization was promoting. What I stammered out, as a nervous, callow youth, was “Thank you very much for asking me, because I have long felt the need for a body like yours!” I felt myself turn a deep scarlet, and she certainly raised an eyebrow. However, I have to say that there was a funny little twinkle in her eye. Perhaps I had made her day!