What is That For? 13 November 1981

Trevor Leggett was head of the Japanese Department of the BBC.

Leggett At Bbc1969

This is one of his broadcasts to Japan

ZUBARI for 13 November 1981

What is That For?

Hello listeners! Today’s talk is called, ‘What is That For?’ It seems to be a simple question.  We see a cup, and we know that is to drink from. We see a pen, and we know that is to write with. We see a tape recorder, and we know it has the two functions: to record speech or music, and then to play it back.

But things can get more complicated.  We see the speakers for quadraphonic sound, and it has to be explained to us just how they work. The purpose is, in this case, to get the actual impression of ‘being there’: to get the experience of being at a concert with the violins on the conductor’s left, and the cellos on his right, and the other instruments distributed in space.  Listening to the loud speakers, we get the impression – if we shut our eyes – that we are actually hearing an orchestra which is in front of us.

That is the purpose.  But have you noticed how sometimes the owners of such elaborate equipment seem to forget the purpose?

One hi-fi enthusiast whom I know offered to let me hear his equipment, and asked what I would like to hear. I chose out of his records – the Caprice Espagnol, written by Rimsky Korsakov, because that is a very brilliantly orchestrated suite. I thought it would give me the chance to hear his equipment at its very best.  One part of this suite, called ‘Variations’, has a great range of contrasts not only in loudness, but in orchestral ‘colour’.

It begins very quietly.  After a few bars, he jumped up and said something about the bass.  He adjusted one of the knobs, and then sat down again.  He was quiet for a few seconds, while the horns played the melody. Then it changes to the violins, and he soon jumped up again, and again made a small adjustment.

One of the characteristics of ‘Variations’ in the Caprice Espagnol suite of Rimsky-Korsakov is just this, that the same melody keeps coming in, but played by different combinations of instruments.  It is marvellously dramatic in its contrasts.

But my friend kept jumping up every time the orchestration changed, and adjusted his equipment.  He was always just a little dissatisfied with the way the music was being reproduced, though I could hardly tell any difference when he made his adjustments.

After it was over, he said, “It’s wonderful listening to music with really good equipment.” I said to him, “You are not listening to the music at all. You are listening to your equipment.  And you spoil your enjoyment by continually getting up to make some tiny alteration.  That is not what the equipment is for.  Its purpose is to let you hear music in peace and relaxation, not in constant tension.”

It is the same thing when people buy a new car.  They try to think of journeys which they can make in it.  Instead of the car being for the sake of necessary journeys, they have to invent journeys for the sake of using the car.

I have been seeing on the Japanese TV, when I was there this spring, how some elite staff in big companies get a feeling of depression, because they begin to think, ‘What am I for?’ They feel there must be some further purpose in life beyond working for a company.  Not finding one, they are liable to get depressed.

This can happen however rich and well-placed socially one may be.  There is a famous joke about the Eton-Harrow yearly cricket match, which is often attended by rich or aristocratic men who were at one of the schools. The whole atmosphere is very old-fashioned.

There are many officials, collecting tickets, verifying places in the seats, providing programmes and so on.  One small girl was fascinated by their various old-fashioned uniforms; she had been taken by her father, an OB of Eton.  She kept asking, “What is that man for?” and she would be told, “He is collecting orders for teas” or “He is to check the tickets” and so on.

Then she saw a dignified gentleman, with a top hat and frock coat, who was standing looking out on to the cricket pitch.  She said in a loud voice, “What’s that man for?” Her father said afterwards, “I felt so embarrassed.  He heard her and he was embarrassed too.  It was obvious that he and I were thinking the same thing: what was he for? And it was obvious that neither of us could think of any answer.”

It is a dangerous question, isn’t it? Well, I have just finished a broadcast, so I can think, ‘That is what I am for!’

© Trevor Leggett

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