From the Archives - James MacMillan

I'm not really an autograph hunter but equally won't forego the opportunity to get a book or programme signed by a much-admired artist if it presents itself. Because I'm a fan and prone to star-struck moments and hope to get in and out of any such encounters without making too much of a fool of myself. It doesn't necessarily always go to plan but meeting James MacMillan, the finest composer of my generation, was one time I just about got away with it.

In the Queen Elizabeth Hall on, as you can see, 11/10/97, we saw among other things a performance of a new work about Iona, called I, and at the interval I saw James several rows behind us and I managed to coincide, by subtle judgement of pace, our arrival in the aisle at the end of his row when he arrived there too. So I produced my programme and asked if he could sign it for me and you've never met a more charming man.

Having more of his music taped from radio concerts than on CD's, partly because it wasn't all available anywhere else, I said I hoped he didn't mind that I taped his music from the radio and he kindly said he was glad that I did without issuing me with a demand for royalties or a copyright writ.

He might not be Beethoven but his Seven Last Words from the Cross and Veni, Veni are among the best things I've heard by a living composer and the hand that wrote them signed my programme.

MacMillan is actually a couple of months younger than me and I suffer from a disorder that seems to admire my elders much more than anyone younger. I can take it if the date of birth goes up to, say, the mid-60's, but after that I start to wonder what kids can know. I know that's wrong but I don't know what I can do about it.

I wish I had never been told to respect my elders or that I had always done just as I was told.