I grew up in a working class household where music was the means of escape from the ordinariness of life. My father sang and played the drums. He adored Al Jolson and Gene Krupka. My mother loved opera. She had heard Beniamino Gigli live. She adored Renata Tebaldi, hated Maria Callas. My dad and I sang in the church choir, where I, being blessed with a pleasant treble voice, did my best with solos from Mozart and Mendelssohn. I loved to sing.

And in 1964, quite by chance, I discovered the amazing voice of Cleo Laine, sensual and acrobatic, covering, it was said, four octaves. At that very moment I was involved in a perhaps foolhardy initiative led by our gentle and inspiring English teacher, Mr Harrison to perform the Seven Ages of Man, a Shakespearean medley created by the legendary actor. John Gielgud. There were four of us Grammar School boys covering the various speeches and sonnets. One of my contributions was the heart-rending piece from Act Four of the bizarre play, Cymbeline, ”Fear no more the heat of the sun’. I tried again to do my declamatory best, earning the praise of one of the school’s cleaners at a particular rehearsal in our impressive assembly hall. Clapping politely as I finished, she declared I had a lovely chocolate voice. A compliment I’ve treasured over the years.

At about that time I had started a record collection of almost entirely classical music. Being romantically inclined, Brahms and Dvorak were favourites. I could only afford the budget labels, Ace of Clubs and Golden Guinea and had to travel on the number 26 bus into Manchester to find a classical-minded store. The hour’s journey through the suburbs, some even leafy, was well worth it. The joy of rifling through the stacked LPs in alphabetical order under the brotherly eye of an enthusiast, only too willing to discuss the ins and outs of interpretations of great masterpieces. I didn’t always understand what he was going on about but he showered sophistication upon me. And, then, one day there in my clutches was the stereo Fontana LP, ‘Shakespeare and all that Jazz’ featuring Cleo Laine and Johnny Dankworth and one track leapt off the cover, ‘Fear No More’. Thanks to the kindly owner I bought the record on instalments. I played it to death. She did possess the most wondrous of voices from contralto to coloratura. To me, she was to jazz what Callas was to opera. I lent the LP never to see it again. As best I know it was never released on CD.

Moving forward half a century and more, I renewed my desire to sing under the guidance of Ian Brothwood. Through our love for English art song we found Gerald Finzi’s moving setting of ‘Fear No More’. I did my best to do its beauty justice at a number of private soirees. To my shame I’d forgotten Dankworth’s version and Cleo’s interpretation. Such is age.

Thus sadly I have rediscovered Cleo with her death. I hope she will have ‘quiet consummation’ and know that ‘renowned will be her grave’. Much joy and sorrow awaits me as I journey afresh through her amazing career.

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun;
Nor the furious winter’s rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers come to dust.

Fear no more the frown of the great,
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dread thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan;
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

And isn’t this a wonderful rendition of ‘Killing Me Softly’

CLEO LAINE 1922 -2025

Obituary: CLEO LAINE (Jazz Singer and Theatre Actress)