Handel, who new research suggests has invested in the slave trade. Photo: YouTube screengrab
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In Search of the Black Mozart: A revealing look at Handel's investment in the slave trade

The programme slowed palpably to accept the age-old information that people who create beauty aren’t always good and frequently don’t even come close.

In Search of the Black Mozart
BBC Radio 4

Two programmes talked about Handel in shockingly opposing ways. On 30 May The Tokens and the Foundlings (8pm), about the Foundling Hospital (the Holborn home for deserted infants, 1741 to 1953), assured us that Handel had been a very generous governor, donating an original score of Messiah to the Hospital choir and committedly conducting benefit concerts. In fact, had it not been for a successful second performance of Messiah in the Hospital chapel, the composer – known for unsentimentally ditching work that hadn’t immediately ignited public and critical enthusiasm – may well have shelved the cherished oratorio indefinitely.

But In Search of the Black Mozart (26 May, 11.30am), about 18th-century black composers and performers, turned up something far less palatable: that Handel invested not just once in the slave trade, but repeatedly. A music librarian at the University of Texas made the discovery: “It was quite by chance that I came across Handel’s name in the ­investors of the Royal Africa Company – the main slave traders in the 1710s.” Then to a list of investors in the national archives at Kew; four of the stock transfer ledgers had been signed by Handel. In fact, a third of the board of the Royal Academy of Music had invested. Encouraged by Handel? He was master of the orchestra at the time.

It was stressed that no music historian had ever looked into this. For the presenter, the double bassist Chi-chi Nwanoku, it all came as such a shock that she had to go over it several times. We’re talking about the Handel, right? George Frideric? Not some rotten cousin. Was he aware of the implications, the conditions on the plantations? But how widespread was such knowledge, bearing in mind that the anti-slavery movement at that time was still only nascent?

The programme slowed palpably to accept the age-old information – of a kind we are particularly reluctant to let penetrate our ivory domes – that people who create beauty aren’t always good and frequently don’t even come close. The fierceness with which we long for our great artists to be separate, isolated by a kind of sanity not available to the rest of us! Yet here Handel is, signing misery on the dotted line. And then (very possibly, I calculate, given the dates) sitting down to write The Water Music.

Antonia Quirke is an author and journalist. She is a presenter on The Film Programme and Pick of the Week (Radio 4) and Film 2015 and The One Show (BBC 1). She writes a column on radio for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 04 June 2015 issue of the New Statesman, The myths of Magna Carta

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Would the BBC's Nazi drama SS-GB have felt half so resonant a year ago?

This alternate history is freighted with meaning now we're facing the wurst-case scenario. 

Would SS-GB have felt half so resonant a year ago? Though the clever-after-the-fact Nostradamus types out there might disagree, I can’t believe that it would. When it comes to the Second World War, after all, the present has helpfully stepped in where memory is just beginning to leave off. The EU, in the process of fragmenting, is now more than ever powerless to act in the matter of rogue states, even among its own membership. In case you hadn’t noticed, Hungary, for instance, is already operating as a kind of proto-fascist state, led by Viktor Orbán, a man whom Jean-Claude Juncker, the president of the European Commission, jokingly likes to call “the dictator” – and where it goes, doubtless others will soon follow.

The series (Sundays, 9pm), adapted from Len Deighton’s novel, is set in 1941 in a Britain under Nazi occupation; Winston Churchill has been executed and the resistance is struggling to hold on to its last strongholds in the countryside. Sam Riley plays Douglas Archer, a detective at Scotland Yard, now under the control of the SS, and a character who appears in almost every scene. Riley has, for an actor, a somewhat unexpressive face, beautiful but unreadable. Here, however, his downturned mouth and impassive cheekbones are perfect: Archer, after all, operates (by which I mean, barely operates) in a world in which no one wants to give their true feelings away, whether to their landlady, their lover, or their boss, newly arrived from Himmler’s office and as Protestant as all hell (he hasn’t used the word “degenerate” yet, but he will, he will).

Archer is, of course, an ambiguous figure, neither (at present) a member of the resistance nor (we gather) a fully committed collaborator. He is – or so he tells himself – merely doing his job, biding his time until those braver or more foolhardy do something to restore the old order. Widowed, he has a small boy to bring up. Yet how long he can inhabit this dubious middle ground remains to be seen. Oskar Huth (Lars Eidinger), the new boss, is keen to finish off the resistance; the resistance, in turn, is determined to persuade Archer to join its cause.

It’s hard to find fault with the series; for the next month, I am going to look forward to Sunday nights mightily. I would, I suppose, have hoped for a slightly more charismatic actress than Kate Bosworth to play Barbara Barga, the American journalist who may or may not be involved with the British resistance. But everything else seems pretty perfect to me. London looks suitably dirty and its inhabitants’ meals suitably exiguous. Happiness is an extra egg for tea, smoking is practically a profession, and
the likes of Archer wear thick, white vests.

Swastikas adorn everything from the Palace of Westminster to Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace is half ruined, a memorial to what the Germans regard as Churchill’s folly, and the CGI is good enough for the sight of all these things to induce your heart to ache briefly. Nazi brutality is depicted here as almost quotidian – and doubtless it once was to some. Huth’s determination to have four new telephone lines installed in his office within the hour is at one end of this horrible ordinariness. At the other is the box in which Archer’s mutinous secretary Sylvia (Maeve Dermody) furiously stubs out her fag, full to the brim with yellow stars.

When I first heard about The Kettering Incident (Tuesdays, 12.20am; repeated Wednesdays, 10pm) I thought someone must have found out about that thing that happened one time I was driving north on the M1 with a more-than-usually terrible hangover. Turns out it’s a new Australian drama, which comes to us on Sky Atlantic. Anna (Elizabeth Debicki), a doctor working in London, pitches up back in Tasmania many years after her teenage friend Gillian disappeared into its Kettering forest, having seen a load of mysterious bright lights. Was Gillian abducted by aliens or was she, as some local people believe, murdered by Anna? To be honest, she could be working as a roadie for Kylie, for all I care. This ponderous, derivative show is what happens when a writer sacrifices character on the altar of plot. The more the plot thickens, the more jaw-achingly tedious it becomes.

Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.

This article first appeared in the 24 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The world after Brexit