Hasta La Creative!

The moment Radiohead gave away their CD for next to nothing and Prince gave his away for literally nothing, you knew it would be only a matter of time before a classical musician followed suit. In the event Tasmin Little – one of Britain’s most distinguished violinists – trumped the pair of them last month by making her latest recording, The Naked Violin, available for download completely free from her website (www.tasminlittle.net).

Both of the rock giants’ publicity-grabbing initiatives came with strings attached: Prince’s CD was soon on sale in shops, while Radiohead’s “honesty box” approach encouraged punters to download the album for whatever they thought it was worth, which was nearer pounds 2.90 than the pounds 13 store price.

Yet Little’s experiment also comes at a price – or rather it doesn’t. On the plus side, her website presents her recording of solo works by Bach, Ysaÿe and Patterson beautifully. This is imaginative programming of the kind that few record companies, who prefer single-composer discs or collections of artist-orientated “lollipops”, would encourage. And Little uses the internet intelligently by providing the option of hearing her introductions to the music and offering suggestions that might inspire teachers to plan lessons around the pieces.

But, although Little’s innovative project could hardly have been better delivered, I still feel that recordings should not come for nothing. The day the public believes that it shouldn’t have to pay for recorded music, the physical product is doomed and, especially for those of us brought up in the era of the LP, that would be a sad day indeed.

There was a thrill of anticipation around a new release by a favourite artist or of music by a favourite composer. There was the lovingly produced art work, the erudite sleeve notes and, best of all, the mystery that lay within those vinyl grooves. And somehow, despite their tacky plastic cases, diminutive artwork and barely legible sleeve notes, the magic persisted with the arrival of CDs – although there were those who found their digitised sound too clinical and antiseptic.

But what could be more antiseptic and, ultimately, antisocial than music received via the internet – with no sleeve notes, no art work: in short, no romance? The logical conclusion of Little’s endeavour removes the need for a physical product but there is also no denying that, from her point of view, it has been a conspicuous success. Faced with the choice of making money or having their music heard, most musicians would choose the latter, and in a matter of weeks The Naked Violin has received more than 200,000 downloads – an inconceivable figure for the average classical CD.

But Little is an established artist who has benefited previously from record company investment. An unknown could never make such waves and would almost certainly be unable to afford the cost of the recording.

Ironically, on her new recording, Little plays two different, incredibly expensive, violins, one of which – a 1757 Guadagnini – she owns. Little knows the rhythm of life that, for all but a very few, beats with monotonous regularity: “You work to get paid” not “You pay to work” – which is effectively what she has done.

So, the next time a musician is tempted to get naked with their instrument, could I suggest that they offer the public a glimpse, rather than the full monty?