IAML – Very personal recollections from Pam Thompson
How did that happen? With apologies for making this the only autobiography I shall ever write.
The IAML Archives contain an exhaustive account of members’ contributions to the Association’s work over the decades. Some decades on, it is personal recollections and highlights which seem significant, rather than the day-to-day toil, the mountains of paper in a pre-digital age and an agglomeration of meetings which in retrospect seem to coalesce into but a few, their themes oft repeated, and tangible results and progress sometimes stagnated by bureaucracy and over-zealous debate. If this seems to betray a criticism of IAML, forgive me. IAML has developed from a post-war organisational necessity into an ever more important means of communication – and it changed my life. In fact, two things changed my life: 1) a wonderful teacher of German when I was 16 who advised me to do something different at university, to look beyond French and German and study Russian; and 2) IAML. Who could believe that becoming a librarian would open up such a huge world of opportunities?
The first time that I ever participated in (or, rather, observed) a IAML meeting was at the 1980 conference in Cambridge, at a time when it seemed to be dominated by highly important men (mostly men) with long experience and boundless knowledge of the workings of music libraries. By that time, I had been, to my astonishment, a music librarian for three years, and was indeed a Chief Librarian. The surprise had a variety of root causes. I had been a librarian once before, back in 1964-65, in a temporary job in a library which shall remain nameless, after which I resolved that I would never work in a library again, despite an addiction to books and to reading. There was no training for the temporary job, and much of it involved discarding stock far better than my own books at home, simply because they were a bit marked or torn. To me this was destruction bordering on sacrilege. Beyond that, the work involved selecting books for the local prison. What on earth do you send to a prison? Crime fiction? Cowboy books? Humour? Law? With no criminal friends to ask, I consulted librarian colleagues, but no advice was forthcoming.
My studies were in languages and involved wide reading, only sometimes in original languages, as originals from Soviet Russia and its satellites were in short supply and my own books were more often on completely unrelated subjects. The music which surrounded me in a musical family, as a violinist in school and youth orchestras (and viola player when no others turned up), ranged from Handel to Britten, while our radiogram with 78s and vinyl provided everything from Brahms and Dvořák to pop, dance bands and musicals, and, on radio, we had Children’s Favourites, Radio Luxembourg, and Friday Night is Music Night. The old upright piano was rarely closed, but really came into its own at Christmas accompanying carols and the News Chronicle Songbook. This all faded away in the realisation that solo violin playing in student digs was not much appreciated. But to begin university in the same year as the Beatles’ first hits was an education in itself. Much later I realised that the introduction in Alex Ross’s The Rest is Noise was a basic philosophy in my life. Music is music, and genres are too often artificially imposed. If you haven’t read it, please do.
Short periods of study in Czechoslovakia were followed by an academic year there teaching English in the worst of times after the Soviet invasion and in one of the most polluted steel and mining cities on earth, but they did at least revive some musical enjoyment, even though the opera house was closed for renovation. There were folksongs which everyone seemed able to harmonise instinctively, or bootleg copies of “western” albums, from Abbey Road to Ten Years After. They very likely kept me alive. Reading matter in English was confined largely to the communist Morning Star newspaper and The Times Literary Supplement, miraculously still donated by the British Council and uncensored by the authorities, and the occasional English classic in a second-hand bookshop. This all seems far from the realms of IAML, but was to prove a significant influence.
A move to Oxford brought relief from that sadness and bleakness, but I was now in need of a job. Blackwell’s Music Shop needed a cataloguer with languages. I had never catalogued, but could manage a range of languages. I now had a job in what was then arguably the best music shop in the world, even though the salary was meagre. It was supplemented by over 500 translations for the first New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, mostly from languages I knew, but memorably from Polish, which involved the purchase of Teach Yourself Polish and a good dictionary.
There in the music shop I remained for seven years, there I met my husband David, there I had contact with music librarians from all around the world. It came to an end with a move to London for David to realise his dreams of studying horology. I needed a job – any job – urgently. I applied for everything possible. Did I want to be Librarian at the Royal College of Music? Apparently, it could be a good idea. Apparently, they wanted me. Apparently, experience at Blackwell’s Music Shop, where admittedly one did see everything in print and communicated with music librarians around the world, was just as valuable as any qualification in either music or librarianship. Those were the days when experience was deemed as important as qualifications. And there began my near fraudulent existence as a music librarian. My eternal gratitude goes to Sir David Willcocks, Harold Watkins Shaw and Alec Hyatt King for their trust and encouragement.
It seemed sensible to gain some solid knowledge of music librarianship. A part-time course at the North London Polytechnic was a possibility, but Brian Redfern (soon to be IAML President, later Editor of Fontes, and then a good acquaintance), who lectured in music librarianship there, informed me that I had deprived his qualified students of a job. In the event, there would never have been time to join the course; the RCM Library demanded full attention, as did concerts there and beyond in the metropolis, much missed since the regular Free Trade Hall Halle concerts in Manchester. My musical education was expanding, alongside, self-taught, the art and mystery of music librarianship.
Only when Alan Pope of Blackwell’s Music Shop suggested that I become Treasurer of the UK branch of IAML did I realise that embroiling myself in its work was not an alternative to study, but at least a benefit – and might help to mitigate the sad fact of my unqualified status. So it did, in bushels, but with my accounting experience distinctly meagre there began another phase of what might have been regarded as fraudulent employment, and not a little angst. Looking back, I realise that fundamental advice exists in the song I whistle a happy tune from The King and I. It is still, as my music library head tells me, in copyright, so please find and sing the words. And let’s be honest, a happy tune was often accompanied by another beer or a now so unfashionable cigarette.
I gained lifelong friends and was Treasurer off and on until 1989 when, with the international IAML conference in Oxford, I was yet again a treasurer and thrown headlong into the machinations of “big IAML” and all its international multitudes. I must have been at sessions in Oxford but recall little of them. Overwhelming was the introduction to a world of music libraries and their peoples far beyond our insular concerns, but the week culminated in a UK meeting after which I found myself President of the UK branch, and then succumbed to sleep on the bus all the way back to London.
Yet another learning curve was upon me, not least in constitutional reform, the huge need for the support of colleagues, and how to read, write and doze on a train. As that three-year presidency came to an end there were other responsibilities and yet more meetings, as we established the Music Libraries Trust (firstly the Ermuli Trust, inspired by second-hand music and book dealer and former IAML UK President John May) and determined the need for a Library and Information Plan for Music (Music LIP), in collaboration with other such LIPs and library organisations. Meetings with prominent persons up to government ministerial level were a necessity. It was not the time to take on more, but IAML deemed otherwise and unaccountably invited me to be IAML Treasurer.
Those six years as Treasurer introduced me to all the intricacies of IAML, and I could not have been survived without the support of Don Roberts as President and former Treasurer, and Veslemöy Heintz as Secretary General and then President. I met that Board of people whose predecessors had so intimidated me 12 years before. IAML’s finances operated in three currencies, before the wonders of Excel and before the demise of WordPerfect, and Don had set up wondrous macros to enable mailings of Fontes Artis Musicae. Yes, the Treasurer was basically finance person, membership secretary and postal officer. All could have been destroyed very quickly when I left a bag with all that documentation and computer discs on the floor at the RCM; the bag was whisked away by cleaners and had to be retrieved from mountains of rotting food and paper on a Saturday morning at Westminster’s rubbish tip. But soon began astonishing good luck. A Czech friend visiting London and distrustful of the newly privatising Czech banks wanted a UK bank account. It was soon established that she was entitled to an offshore account. I enquired naively whether IAML, with officers in the USA, Canada and Sweden, might be similarly entitled, and was informed that it was. There followed a short period where interest income reached the dizzying heights of 37%, an achievement wholly unfair to all subsequent treasurers.
I suppose it is inevitable that travel to Board meetings around Europe stands out in memory. An inveterate traveller, I gloried in it, often with David’s support as bag carrier and much, much more (he still, I believe, holds the record for uninterrupted years as an accompanying person at IAML conferences), but also with the RCM’s kind permission and the even more generous cover of library colleagues. Discussions often centred on reforms which might be needed, but perhaps most significant for me in that decade following the collapse of communism was the establishment of IAML’s Outreach Fund, very largely the brainchild of Don Roberts, and long since vital in bringing into IAML’s orbit librarians from countries far beyond Central and Eastern Europe. It led to a time when at last more members from other countries could travel, and it was wonderful to offer them accommodation. It still is.
Several times over the years I was approached by Anders Lönn and Lenore Coral to ask if I wished to be Secretary General when Veslemöy’s term ended. I can only surmise that some familiarity with languages other than English, and that near mythical 37%, somehow recommended me. In 1995, in Denmark, Veslemöy was elected President, a great disappointment to Lenore who after years of service had also been nominated. It had been highly unlikely that another American would follow Don Roberts, and Veslemöy was very well known beyond Sweden. The mid-summer Danish bonfire was accompanied by much distress. I recall telling Lenore that she could be nominated the next time, only to hear from her that I would be next President, a suggestion which utterly shocked me and which I assured her was impossible. In the course of the following year, however, several people did indeed suggest that I should stand for election. In 1996, in Perugia, I determined that it was necessary to consult Lenore, so I plucked up courage and approached Lenore and Anders at the end of a session. I reminded her of what I had said the previous year and explained that I had been asked to consider being nominated. Lenore simply said “I have no problem with that”. This oblique encouragement astonished me, but at the same time I could not but recognise what it might have cost her to give it. It was immensely courageous.
The election result was announced in San Sebastián in 1998. My fellow candidate was Wolfgang Krueger, a good friend and a fine IAML Board member and music library educator. When I was elected, he was generous and magnanimous. But I have always felt that I may have prevented two strong IAML members from becoming President.
So, what do I recall of my new role? Principally avalanches of paper, preparing for meetings and corresponding around the world. I was blessed in that the next meeting was in New Zealand, which unfortunately meant a lower attendance but also fewer members to lambast me. A mixture of jet lag, fear and unexpectedly cold weather kept me awake for most nights, so I must have been a sorry figure, sleep-walking through the entire week. I know that I did hope to begin some reforms to the Association, with more participation from ordinary members, but that would take time – much time.
There continued mid-term Board meetings, hugely appreciated hospitality from Board members, further acquaintance with all their hard work and its outcomes, and a deeper insight into all the invaluable offshoots of IAML – RISM, RILM, RIdIM and RIPM. The day job continued somehow, often complicated by an ever-increasing need to raise money to support the library’s development and to provide research outcomes to raise the College’s – and hence the Library’s – standing and funding. So often it was IAML conferences and invitations from other countries which could ensure conference papers and inspire research articles.
Extraordinary invitations to speak came over the years – in the USA, in Australia, in the Baltic States, in Spain and in Russia, too often in languages in which my ability was much diminished (Russian) or non-existent (Spanish). Fascinating discoveries emerged, especially in Russia, where at conservatoire libraries not so different from the RCM in purpose and range of activities they had a staff of sixty to seventy and found it hard to credit that we had just eight. It gradually occurred to me that the Russian resources were so remarkable that they deserved a special issue of Fontes, never, foolishly, suspecting that I might be responsible for its translation into English; its gestation was, to say the least, sluggardly.
As President, involvement in the work of other organisations is also mandatory. Meetings of the International Music Council took me to Amsterdam, Cairo and, unbelievably, Petra in Jordan, where world music in all its forms and traditions rightly took centre stage, and the existence – or not – of music libraries was a secondary consideration. I was mightily impressed by their constitutional expert who could provide simple answers to complicated issues. But, to be honest, a walk trough the Siq and ever upwards through the archaeological sites and the moonscape land above was mind-blowing, even though the climb was life threatening; and a piano recital at Little Petra, followed by a banquet on carpets under the stars, was simply magical.
In no time, my next IAML conference was upon me: Edinburgh 2000. A meeting on “home” territory is always challenging, but so important when many librarians who cannot normally be there can find the resources to attend for at least a few days. An excellent organising committee bore much of the burden, so there was no excuse for the tiredness which again overwhelmed me. It is at IAML conferences not just the variety of sessions but also the diverse social programmes and the endlessly appealing chance to meet so many who share your interests, concerns and challenges which exhaust.
That was certainly true in Périgueux in 2001. It was the fiftieth anniversary of IAML’s foundation, a time for serious consideration of achievements, for invitations to other organisations, and for celebrations. There was an AGM which lasted hours to accommodate visiting speakers, and had to take into account our three official languages. All credit to the many who lasted the course. The whole week involved speech after speech and there was not a coffee break or a concert where I did not surreptitiously write the next one. A memorable breakfast very foolishly involved translating some lines from Morgenstern’s Der Lattenzaun (The picket fence) into English and French to rhyme and scan, simply because the eponymous fence was broken and became a big house, just as IAML had united broken countries after the war and built a practical, collaborative organisation. Being President in that year was a huge honour, but an even bigger responsibility.
These years have brought so many unexpected honours, culminating in the award in Moscow in 2010 of honorary membership of IAML to both me and Veslemöy. Sadly I could not be there, it being well before the inevitably busy end of the academic year. Recalling all those years now in 2024 it is still incredible, and recalling it all runs the risk of sounding far too self-congratulatory, which is why this account has been so delayed. But one outstanding memory remains. I cannot pinpoint which conference it was, but I remember slipping outside from the final dinner for a sly cigarette. I was followed by a young, new delegate who asked if she could speak to me. “Of course”, I replied. “I just wanted to tell you”, she said, “that you’re this very important person, but you’re also very ordinary”. It was the best compliment ever.
IAML conferences continued, as did our attendance, but there was now a bit more time for reflection on IAML’s achievements and, I guess, on what more might or should be possible. My main regret is how public libraries have suffered in recent decades with universal cuts to funding. I can recall in the UK numerous public and university libraries with dedicated music libraries and their librarians’ involvement in IAML. There are now very few, and even fewer who have time or can be funded to travel far if at all. It could be argued that this has led to IAML’s activities being more and more directed towards research, and left public libraries more than a little in the cold just when their needs are greatest – and when IAML needs their membership. There were once over 2,000 members.
The wonders of library automation and digitisation have provided access once unimaginable, but it needs care to ensure that access to materials from desktops is accompanied by advice and that there is personal contact with a music librarian qualified to ensure that. As Kathy Adamson once wisely said: “They don’t know what they don’t know“. We at least know all too well the extent of what can be known – and what we don’t know.
Can that remain, can personal contact continue to be important or will it drown in a climate of algorithms and artificial intelligence? How do we safeguard library services for all who really need them, and ensure that real information is not skewed or distorted? How do we convince those around and above us of potential dangers? How do we refuse to accept that specialist knowledge is no longer a given? Fine talk from an unqualified librarian, whose whole career has often been tainted by imposter syndrome.
Then there is the dominance of the English language. While English, French and German as official languages long sufficed, there came a time when they did not and when, in parallel, those without English as mother tongue became wonderfully competent in English and ever willing to use it. Maybe something has been lost and the international flavour of meetings has diminished. And, still, just sometimes, some intelligibility and nuance can be missing. In Prague, in 1991, which I had deemed a conference not to be missed, when the cultural dream of Prague was no longer a political nightmare, one meeting was chaired in French, the Czechs gave a paper in English but needed help in Czech with questions, the Russian speaker gave a paper in German, and I played piggy-in-the-middle. The redoubtable Englishman, Tony Hodges of the Royal Northern College of Music in Manchester, suggested that all papers in English would be so much better. For whom? For those who had to grapple with another language to communicate? Heavens, they still do while we native English speakers luxuriate in others’ efforts.
Why have I written so little about music? It is music in the association which unites, inspires and delights. The study, performance and appreciation of music in all its forms is what is fundamental in music librarianship (that old word!). We know music to have an international language, one which renders linguistic differences irrelevant. It sometimes occurs to me that one other activity has its own international language: football (well, all sport). Its enjoyment and intricacies have significance for all ages and many nationalities, as does music. Music, like sport, also appeals in ways which cannot be easily quantified. Both can be participated in by a wide range of people. Both are important to so many economies. Is a music library not important for bringing people into an appreciation and understanding of all the different realms of music, for giving opportunities to their users and revealing the vital role of many different cultures as well as the importance of culture itself in human endeavour? Football as vital as music? Such blasphemy. But maybe music should not be on a pedestal if we are to ensure its humanising and unifying roles, and the value of libraries in consolidating those, whether in digital or other traditional ways.
As we oldies in IAML age, we soon realise that the next generation must take over, that they must have the opportunities which we had, and make their own achievements. I would only hope that our experiences and the achievements of many over the decades are recognised, considered and built upon, but, please, bring on the new. Try to continue building IAML, find ways to reverse the decline in membership largely caused by financial instability and political disinterest. Find ways to meet, as you already are, which are inclusive and which take account of climate change and costs. But, please, also take into account the invaluable benefits of personal contact, socialising, and seeing even from afar the world in its entirety, with all its differences, wonders and foibles.
Legend has it that Barry Brook, founder of RILM, dubbed IAML the International Association of Magnificent Locations. So it was and so it is, but just as valid is the International Association of Marvellous Librarians. Now with Zoom and Skype some of us still talk almost every week. Thank you all for teaching this fraudulent person so much, and for all that friendship.
