There is good music and bad music, not old music or new music.

Whatever might be said of Leopold Stokowski, his story is one that abounds with an intrigue that would certainly titillate readers of today's tabloid press. At the height of his fame, he could boast one of the most prominent careers of his generation; as either a maestro or a movie star, his career centred on what has been described as an almost narcissistic, though in reality unnecessary, need for recognition and self-promotion. Public image was important; a phoney mid-European accent hid his upbringing and he claimed to have been born in Krakow, a city far removed from his true cockney roots, on a date several years later than his birth certificate records. His recordings speak for themselves, cleanly executed with rich sonorities, articulate phrasing and above all, artistic interpretations that should live on into the 21st century.

	Stokowski's birth certificate, bearing his real name, one that that was later to become a contentious issue.

Born in Marylebone, London in April 1882, he was the son of a cabinetmaker of Polish descent, Kopernik Stokowski, and Irish immigrant, Annie (née Moore). As a boy, he sang in the choir of St Marylebone Parish Church, not far from the Royal Academy of Music and went to orchestral concerts where he heard the likes of Arthur Nikisch and his preferred Hans Richter. By the age of thirteen, he had entered the Royal College of Music where he was to become a Fellow of the Royal College of Organists and take the prestigious B.Mus. from Queen's College, Oxford. At the age of just 20, he was appointed organist and choirmaster at the fashionable city-centre church of St James, Piccadilly, but his tenure was short-lived, since in 1905, a visiting cleric from the well-heeled St Bartholomew's in Manhattan lured him stateside with an annual salary of $3,500. There a wealthy socialite introduced him to the first of his three wives, concert pianist Olga Samaroff, otherwise known as the Texas-born Lucie Hickenlooper.

With a musical budget that far exceeded his annual salary, Stokowski admirably staged Bach passions, his first real forays as a conductor, but despite his attraction to the American way, he did not entirely sever his connections with Europe, where he returned annually to study conducting. His official debut as a conductor occurred in 1909, not in America, but in Paris, where alongside Nikisch he presided over the Colonne Orchestra. The following week saw a further appearance in London, at the Queen's Hall with the New Symphony Orchestra. Both were successes and that same year saw his appointment with the almost entirely German Cincinnati Orchestra, but not without the help of the star-struck Olga, whose cousin was head of the Cincinnati gas and electric company; others favoured for the position included the more experienced Bruno Walter. Stokowski was just 27 years old at the time, and his three-year tenure was to attract much national attention with several US premières, including Elgar's second symphony. His much-publicised marriage to Olga finally occurred in 1911; at Stokowski's insistence, she retired from her own career to devote her time to him and later, their daughter, Sonia. A year later, he took up an appointment with the Philadelphia Orchestra, one that was to last for the next quarter of a century, and one that was to provide him with countless other career opportunities.