Roderick Williams, 58, born in London in 1965 to a Welsh father and Jamaican mother, is one of the country’s best-loved baritones, singing all over the world, featuring on many recordings and appearing at the king’s coronation as both soloist and composer. He is married with three children and lives in Warwickshire. On 11 October he will perform Schubert’s final songs, Schwanengesang, with the pianist Natalie Burch, to open the Oxford international song festival.
When did you know you could sing?
Pretty early. When I was primary school age there was a lovely local music teacher who taught piano, recorder and singing. Singing was one of those things we did, like football or maths. Even as a tiny boy I saw it as part of life, not least because my older brother was a chorister at Christ Church Cathedral school, Oxford, where I would soon go too. But it wasn’t until much later, in my mid 20s when I’d become a teacher, that I thought about being a professional singer.
What was home life, growing up in Barnet, north London, like?
I was very lucky, almost blissfully unaware how fortunate I was to be part of a stable, loving family, with two parents, two brothers – I’m the middle one – and lots of music-making. My dad was a management consultant but not at all a typical one. He taught himself classical guitar and sang at home for his own entertainment; he can still quote long tracts of Shakespeare and his study was full of books of poetry and plays, some of it very contemporary. So that was all available to me from childhood. My mother had come from Jamaica in the 1960s. She was – is – a modern, intelligent woman who wanted to pursue her intellectual interests as a linguist. She and my dad met on a train in France. He noticed she was reading a novel in English. That was it.
Were your parents ambitious for you, or pushy?
Not at all. They were extremely supportive to all of us, but never helicopter parents. They let us get on with it. At the same time they were tireless in taxi-ing us around, never complaining, always encouraging.
Did you encounter racism?
No. I hasten to say this was my own lived experience and I have been fortunate. School was always friendly. One boy sometimes called me Sambo but I don’t think he or I really understood what that meant, so it sounded like a term of affection and never worried me. When I was a student at Oxford, I remember waiting at traffic lights on the high street when the driver of a passing van wound down his window and shouted the N-word. I laughed. It was a barb that had no effect. I thought it was funny he’d taken the trouble to wind down the window just to yell a single word at me… I guess I was fortunate at the time to be just as ignorant as these people, which meant I didn’t understand what was being said to me; their words failed to impact on me.
You benefited from the cathedral choral tradition. Do boys still want to sing? Is there a risk that girls, now allowed in many collegiate choirs, will dominate in future?
I don’t know for sure but I’ve heard anecdotally some instances where, as more girls enter these choirs, so boys slip away. But if girls dominate for a while, why not? It’s about time, after so many centuries of having been ignored. What I do regret is that there seems to be so much less communal singing of the kind that used to be part of school assemblies, for example. At weddings or funerals now, people only seem to know the same small handful of hymns…
How do you deal with the physical fragility of the voice?
I’m a human being first and a singer second. I don’t want to wrap myself in cotton wool. I think I once did hear a singer at a party say: “No peanuts for me. I’m singing in three days!” So I try not to be precious. That said, I wouldn’t drink a pint of milk before a concert. Some food, especially dairy, is said to increase mucus and basically feels like it coats the vocal cords in gunge. I attempt to make sensible decisions and look after myself as anyone might. And I avoid noisy restaurants or parties where you have to shout to be heard. That’s a voice killer. I guess I can be super aware of what state my vocal cords are in. First thing every morning I wake up, clear my throat, and see what’s what…
Can doctors help if you lose your voice?
I don’t know. I’ve never been to see a specialist about my voice – thank goodness I’ve not yet needed it. I’ve heard stories of people who have, in an emergency, got a shot of something like steroids to get them through a show. But it sounds like a bit of a Faustian pact, a dark art: apparently the next day you can really pay for it, physically. As solo singers we’re all freelance. If we don’t sing we don’t get paid. There’s no sick pay. So there’s an incentive to battle on if we can…
There are multiple problems in classical music – cuts, caution about programming, lack of music education…
One of the big issues, or fears, currently, is that classical music – capital C – is not relevant. The most powerful message is when a politician, especially the prime minister himself, goes to a concert because they like music. I hope the old days when a song recital would mean someone coming in, white tie and black tails, never speaking to the audience, just “showcasing the art”, are over. Recitals feel so different now. When I sing Schubert’s song cycles – like Winterreise – I like to talk to the audience a little first. I may talk about mental health, or something that’s in my mind on that day. It’s not a musical analysis, but a way to share my perspective about what we’re about to experience.
In between all your performing commitments you’re a composer too…
Growing up with a lot of amateur music-making at home, there were limitless chances to make arrangements for my family, say, three descant recorders (a pretty terrible noise!) or voice and guitar. It was always a wonderful opportunity when there were people around who needed musical arrangements or new pieces to perform – at home, school, university and when I became a teacher. The difference now is that some serious people are asking me to write music for them. I’m so pleased to be asked! So I just have to find the time… often, now, on trains or planes or in hotel rooms between concerts.
You’ve talked about the idea of playlists for the dying – prompted by your own choral composition, Cusp… What are your own choices?
There’s no shortage of music for funerals, but what about for those nearing the end of life? When I was writing Cusp I talked to a palliative care nurse who told me about the idea, and I have thought about it a lot since. My own choices might be Mahler’s Symphony No 2 and Duruflé’s Requiem – not for religious reasons but because it’s music that made a huge impact on me when I was a teenager and I have never forgotten the emotions they bring out in me.
Current favourite song?
Right now I’d have to say it’s one by the English composer Madeleine Dring. Take, O Take Those Lips Away – words by Shakespeare. It’s an absolute banger.
• The Oxford international song festival runs 11-26 October
