Gervase Phinn: Farewell to a musical genius

After his first recital I knew that I was in the presence of a genius – and I do not use that word lightly. There was something exhilarating, awe-inspiring, and even mysterious about his playing, a feeling among those who heard him that this extraordinary performer had a rare gift which few in this world possess.

Born into a poor family in Collyhurst near Manchester, Vincent learnt to play the piano at three and his obvious talent gained him a place at the Northern College of Music. He went on to play with the Hall Orchestra and the BBC National Symphony Orchestra and to accompany Max Jaffa and the famous Spa Orchestra.

The first part of the recital on the cruise, comprised of Vincent playing a remarkable range of pieces from Beethoven to Bernstein, Sibelius to Scott Joplin, Mozart to Arthur Sullivan, all performed without any musical score. Then he produced a small black notebook from his pocket and asked the audience for any requests which he noted and then proceeded to play perfectly. Unlike other concert pianists, Vincent had this uncanny gift of hearing a tune and then reproducing it flawlessly.

I spent a deal of time with Vincent on that and on subsequent cruises and he changed my view about the concept of giftedness. I had always believed that genius was God given. You either have it or you have not, that it is in your genes. This, Vincent argued, is really not the case. There is, of course, some innate talent but great artists, writers, sportsmen and thinkers are also great workers with a passion to aim beyond their capabilities. He illustrated this by referring to arguably the greatest composer of all time: Beethoven. Beethoven's sketchbooks, he told me, reveal a slow and arduous process of writing and re-writing, drafting and re-drafting, honing, polishing, perfecting. Sometimes Beethoven would go through 60 or 70 versions of a single phrase before being satisfied with it and settling on the final one.

On another cruise I met the Olympic skating gold medallist Robin Cousins who, in his talk, expressed the same views. To achieve great things, he said, one must be massively dedicated and focused, to be serious and sustained in practising a skill.

One has to aim beyond one's potential, to accept disappointment and failure and keep on trying with a relentless zeal.

On the very last of Vincent Billington's recitals, he espied me sitting in the middle of the front row in the theatre which was packed to bursting. He asked if I might have a request. "I do," I replied, "but I guess this is one piece that even you not are able to play, Mr Billington." "Have I heard it?" he asked. "You will, no doubt, have heard it," I told him, mischievously, "but I fear it is too difficult a piece. Even the great Ashkenazy couldn't play it." "And the title of the piece?" he inquired. "On Ilka Moor bar t'at." Vincent placed himself at the concert grand, cracked his knuckles and gave a bravura performance playing the melody in the style of Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Beethoven and Grieg. There was a well-deserved standing ovation as I guess there will be now from the angels in heaven.

YP MAG 14/8/10