When Tchaikovsky finished his First Piano Concerto, he played it through for his pianist friend Nikolai Rubinstein, who he hoped might premiere the work. Rubinstein sat mute through each movement until the end when he erupted like a Russian volcano in a lava flow of invective. He thought the piece was worthless, unplayable and would need to be completely rewritten to his specifications if he were to perform it. Faced with writing a new concerto, Tchaikovsky decided to just get a new pianist instead, and the concerto went on to achieve great success in the hands of Hans von Bülow.

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It’s very hard to be asked by a friend to read the first draft of their new book or hear a new piece of music they have composed. Each new work of any artistic endeavour comes into the world like a baby giraffe, struggling to stand on its spindly little legs, and the last thing you want is some wise-ass coming along and pushing it over.

I was recently asked by a friend of a friend, an amateur composer, to look at a new musical he had...