Charles Villiers Stanford: Rondo in F for cello and orchestra (1869

I recently [re] discovered one of Charles Villiers Stanford’s (1852-1924) rarer compostions. The Rondo in F major for cello and orchestra was completed on 17 August 1869, when the composer was only seventeen years old. The work was dedicated to one Wilhelm Elsner.

Wilhelm Elsner (1826-84) was a celebrated cellist and Professor of Music at Dublin Academy of Music (Later the Royal Irish Academy of Music). He was principle Violoncellist of the Philharmonic & Antient Concerts, Dublin by 1857. Jeremy Dibble (Liner Notes Hyperion CDA67859) reminds the listener that although Stanford did not study at the RIAM, he did know members of the staff, including Elsner. Sadly, Wilhelm Elsner drowned in the Irish Sea on 15 July 1884, when he fell overboard from the SS Lily bound from Dún Laoghaire to Holyhead. He was travelling to Germany with his wife for a holiday. His body later washed ashore at Port Erin Bay, Isle of Man.

At least two numbers were written by Stanford for Elsner. The first was a song, O Domine Jesu which was given in Dublin on 23 September 1870. The soloist was the operatic soprano, Thérèse Tietjens, with the cellist playing an obligato part. The second was the present Rondo in F major.

Dibble (2024, p.44) notes that this Rondo belongs “to the genre of short, independent bravura pieces by those such as Mendelssohn, Moscheles, Hummel, Litolff, Weber, Herz and Thalberg that flourished in the nineteenth century.”

The piece opens with a slow introduction, typical of the era. The work is formally correct with an ABACADA design. Dibble notes the “deft touches” such as the “central lyrical episode which incorporates a cadenza” and the final episode displays a “quasi-operatic interlude before launching into the coda.” This is marked ‘come recitativo.’

Paul Rodmell, (2002, p.41) states that in the Rondo, “Stanford’s approach to harmony is based on a classical simplicity with modulations to the predictable keys of D minor and C major, and this lack of complication is emphasised by a strong preference for four-and eight-bar phrases, and clearly delineated closures.” He insists that “These two factors in particular imbue [the work] with a simplicity almost as if one could see the cogs turning in Stanford’s mind, as he employed rules of form, phrasing and harmony which were learnt and generally understood but then applied without question.” This criticism is a little harsh. The Rondo may not be an early masterpiece, but it progresses well, offers interesting melodies, and is surprisingly subtle for a young composer.

In 2011, Hyperion records issued a remarkable album in The Romantic Cello Concerto series. This CD featured Stanford’s Cello Concerto in D minor, the Irish Rhapsody No.3, op.137, the late Ballata and Ballabile, op.160 and the Rondo in F major. The cellist was Gemma Rosefield, and the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra was conducted by Andrew Manze.

Andrew Achenbach (The Gramophone, December 2011, p.66) considered that the entire album was “Another Hyperion winner!”  As for the Rondo, he stated that it was a “conspicuously precocious achievement for a 16-year-old.”

It is not known if the Rondo was performed prior to the Hyperion recording. However, Chirstopher Howell (MusicWeb International, 12 March 2012) suggests that if “Dubliners of the day did hear it, they might have found it a little disconcerting. Each return of the rondo comes, not so much with classical inevitability, but slyly creeping in after an episode that has attempted to lead elsewhere. Today this is all rather disarming.”

So perhaps the piece is not as textbook as Paul Rodmell suggests.

Bibliography:
Dibble, Jeremy, Charles Villiers Stanford: Man and Musician, revised and expanded edition, Boydell Press, 2002, 2024.

Rodmell, Paul, Charles Villiers Stanford, Ashgate, Aldershot, 2002.

Listen to the Hyperion recording of Stanford’s Rondo in F major for cello and orchestra on YouTube, here.

It's not British, but...Bach's A Musical Offering for organ

At the back of my mind, I have always thought of Bach’s Musikalisches Opfer (A Musical Offering) BWV 1079 (1747) as being an academic work that may be an “Everest” in technique but lacked a sense of enjoyment and pleasure, and dare I say, cohesion. In fact, I would have agreed with Hubert Parry that it “is not of very great musical interest, but its general interest in connection with the personality of the composer is supreme.” This CD has allowed me to see this masterpiece in a different light that has given me a new enthusiasm for it. Up until this release my “go-to” edition was the Karl Richter 1963 recording on the Archiv Label (reissued as a part of the magnificent 1975 “complete” edition).

The story of the creation, performance, and interpretation of J.S. Bach’s A Musical Offering is a little convoluted to say the least. Essentially, it is a series of canons and ricercares (an early type of fugue) based on a single theme. Whilst JSB was visiting his son Carl Philip Emanuel, Kapellmeister at the court of Frederick the Great, the monarch invited Bach père to his palace in Potsdam, where he showed him a theme that he had devised. Bach was asked to improvise a six-part fugue on this subject and declined. But he did immediately invent a three-part fugue instead. On returning home, he decided to revisit the theme and created a large-scale work which did indeed include a six-part ricercare or fugue. It also contained a Trio Sonata originally scored for flute, violin, and continuo. The score was duly engraved by Schübler and was presented to Frederick. There have been several attempts at producing a definitive interpretation.

The advertising for the current CD explains that although scholars have solved the problem of instrumentation, there have been other “realisations” including Anton Webern’s orchestration of the Ricercar a 6 and Leslie Howard’s orchestral version of the entire work produced in 1990. What is heard on this disc is Cindy Castillo’s ‘take’ on A Musical Offering, which she has realized for the organ. She has reimagined the work to mark the completion of the Dominique Thomas instrument in Eglise Saint-Loup, Namur. This organ has been rebuilt in the Baroque style prevalent in Saxony and Thuringia in Bach’s day.

The most important feature of this new recording is the order of the movements. There have been various re-orderings, but it has been common for the canons to be played one after the other. This is what has always put me off this composition.

The record producer, Jérôme Lejeune, explains that they adopted “a very daring formula” which he suggests “will no doubt provoke a great number of reactions.”  They created a “flow that integrates what appears to be irreconcilable elements. This includes the Italian Sonata, the two ricercares, and the canons. To this end they open the recital with the Ricercar s 3 and close it with the monumental Ricercar a 6. And then they split up the Sonata into its four discreet movements, interspersed with the canons acting as a “commentary” on the proceedings.

The sound quality is perfect, with remarkable clarity throughout. The progress of the extraordinary counterpoint is crystal clear. The registrations are often magical. Even the “Canons” which I have always regarded as dry and dusty, find their valued place in this restructuring.

Cindy Castillo is a distinguished organist, known for her innovative cross-genre performances combining organ music with dance, video, and electronic music. She has won numerous awards, including first prize at the National Axion Classics competition and has been an artist-in-residence at the Sapporo Concert Hall in Japan. Castillo teaches at the Higher Institute of Music and Pedagogy in Namur and is the titular organist at the National Basilica of the Sacred Heart in Brussels.

The liner notes are in three parts, with a general introduction by Cindy Castillo and a discussion of the playing order by Jérôme Lejeune. There is a note on the instrument as well as the organ specification. No details of the organist are given. They are printed in English, German and French.

A Musical Offering remains a testament to Bach's ingenuity and his ability to transform a relatively simple musical idea into a profound and elaborate work. The present edition is set fair to make this “Offering” a more approachable and satisfying experience.

Track Listing:
Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)
Musikalisches Opfer BWV 1079 (1747)
Cindy Castillo (organ)
rec. April 2024, Église Saint-Loup, Namur, France
Ricercar RIC472

The Rich Heritage Left by William Baines Part II

The second and final part of A. Walter Kramer’s article on the English composer William Baines. It was published in Musical America (September 1933 p.24).

PARADISE GARDENS gives us pause. Here is a ten-page work, the most extended of Baines’s pieces an unrivalled expression of pure poesy. From the most natural thematic fragment, with which the piece opens, Baines has built up a structure that has organic feeling, just proportion, and a fetching undertone. John Rennie, in an article in Musical Opinion, [1] tells us that “the grandeur of York Minster and the limpid river bathed in a flood of golden glory from the setting sun inspired Baines to write this arresting composition.” [2] I can well believe it. Technically it demands a gifted player and is truly a concert piece in every detail Baines was himself an accomplished pianist and gave recitals in the North of England even after his long confinement in hospital. Of the other difficult pieces I would speak of the Three Concert Studies, in which the spirit of poesy is wonderfully mated with the spirit of the piano. The idiom is new, the treatment of the instrument similarly so.

The two pieces called Tides; the first The Lone Wreck with its vast and vague sense of wandering, in sombre E Flat Minor, is a Lento assai and the second Goodnight to Flamboro.’ an Andante affettuoso in C, both superbly fashioned, making a substantial program number. I doubt whether the composer’s meaning in them reveals itself as definitely as in some of his other pieces: yet they are undoubtedly worthwhile. In the set of three Milestones there is a two-page Angelus, dedicated to the composer’s mother, which falls like a benediction on the ear. Here, over an ostinato A flat in octaves in the left hand, Baines has uttered a prayer, so tender and fragile, so unmistakably the still small voice that whispers of immortality, that player and listener are both caught in its spell. There is a most penetrating simultaneous use of D and D Flat Major in the final line. One recalls what Strauss has done with the same unrelated tonalities in Don Quixote. I find it impossible not to mention the Ave! Imperator and Milestones (A Walking Tune), which last also gives this set its collective title. They are worthy companions of the Angelus. Some will come nearest to understanding the language of Baines in his Silverpoints, in which the first, Labyrinth, is communicative by its architectonic design, Water-Pearls by its pianistic delicacy, The Burning Joss-Stick by its serene Orientalism, [and] Floralia by its joyous rhythmic traceries.

But the Seven Preludes seems to be the work that reveals the heart of Baines to more of us than any single set of pieces. Here in two-page, three-page pieces and one of four pages he has spoken with an eloquence and a variety that stamp him the creative musician There is one Prelude, No. 3, marked Very slowly, with devotion, which is only two lines long. But it is a complete story none the less. Warmly inflected, it suggests the lofty slow music of Elgar and there is a phrase in the third measure from the end that makes me think of a measure in Hugo Wolf's Verborgenheit. [3] But let there be no mis understanding of my mention of this Baines is always himself. Like Wolf, he is a composer of restraint, of that small band which disdains the flourish, which goes its own way. This tiny prelude is a true expression of an intimate mood, filled with contemplative English beauty. It follows No. 2 of the set, which suggests, as the poetic lines placed at the beginning state, the peace of a convent garden “only broken by the love-song of a blackbird as he sang to the lilies.” The motive on which it is built is, note for note, identical with that of the once much played Communion in G for organ by Batiste. [4] But Baines’s prelude is a thrilling example of how little the notes themselves count; for he has made of this motive a thing ft rare beauty, so unlike the banal organ piece mentioned, that few listening to it would even note the curious coincidence of the thematic basis. There are two other sets, Pictures of Light, and Twilight Pieces. I have not seen them. But I dare say they are admirable, too. [5]

The Three Concert Studies were the last to be issued in the composer’s lifetime. Baines was unable, on account of illness, to correct the proofs of these Mr. Dawson, to whom he dedicated his Silverpoints, did that for him. Over a long period of reviewing, | do not know when I have been more deeply impressed than with this virtually unknown music of William Baines. I am not proclaiming him a genius, nor issuing a call of “Hats off!” But I would ask that those, who look for the finer utterances in contemporary piano music, give his music their serious consideration, and if they find in it, as have, that true sense of beauty, that they bring it before their audiences, so that a young British musician, who wrote with high ideals, will neither be for gotten nor remain unknown. The idiom is mew, yes, even after fifteen or more years have passed. It is not the easiest idiom to penetrate. But a loving approach will aid in the unfoldment and there will be seen the flame that burned brightly for so short a time, and which, to my mind, left its mark indelibly on these few but precious pages.

Notes:

[1] Rennie, John, William Baines, a tone poet of the piano, Musical Opinion January 1930. Reprinted in booklet form by Elkin & Co. Ltd.

[2] Baines wrote: "there was a lovely view, overlooking the gardens of the Station Hotel [in York]. You looked through thick green foliage on to the grounds, which were beautifully laid out with flowers - and in the centre a little fountain was playing. A perfect blue sky, and the sun shining low - made indeed a grand picture." Sadly, much of the ‘Paradise Gardens’ has been turned into a car park.

[3] Hugo Wolf's (1860-1903) "Verborgenheit" (1888-89) is a lyrical and introspective song, expressing longing and desire for seclusion, set to Eduard Mörike's poetry.

[4] Communion in G by French composer and organist, Antoine Édouard Batiste (1826) is a serene and contemplative organ piece, reflecting the composer's Romantic style. It is part of his "50 Pièces d'Orgue."

[5] Both Pictures of Light and Twilight Pieces were published posthumously by Elkin, in 1927 and 1923, respectively.

Concluded

 

The Rich Heritage Left by William Baines Part I

William Baines (1899-1922) was an English composer and pianist known for his prolific output despite his short life. Born in Horbury, Yorkshire, he came from a musical family; his father was a cinema pianist and organist. Baines began piano lessons at an early age and composed his first pieces, aged twelve. He studied at the Yorkshire Training College of Music in Leeds and later moved to York, where he gave his first public piano recital at 18. His compositions, numbering over 150, were mostly piano miniatures inspired by the natural world. Notable works include "Chimes," "The Coloured Leaves," and "Dreaming Little Imps." Baines' career was cut short by tuberculosis, and he passed away at 23. His Symphony in C Minor was composed at 17 and premiered posthumously in 1991.

A. Walter Kramer, born Arthur Walter Kramer on September 23, 1890, in New York City, was an American music critic, music publisher, and composer. He was taught music by his father and took violin lessons from Carl Hauser and Richard Arnold. Kramer graduated from the College of the City of New York in 1910. He contributed to Musical America from 1910 to 1922 and served as its editor from 1929 to 1936.

The following article by A. Walter Kramer appeared in Musical America (September 1933 p.24)

ONE day, several years ago, while reading an English musical magazine, I was attracted by an advertisement which listed some compositions by a composer whose name was quite new to me. It was not only the name but the dates of his birth and death, printed under the name, which made me pause, subject, like most of us, to the sympathy aroused for those whose life is cut off almost before it has begun. Those dates were 1899-1922. Here clearly, I thought, was another victim of that bitter chapter in world history, the war, which those who promulgated, but not those who fought it, insist on calling ‘great.’ I read in the announcement that he had composed principally for the piano: just a sheaf of works were listed, their titles in no way unusual, yet something about them held me. Due to the press of more immediate duties, I was unable then to look at this music. But a year later I returned to it and had his published music sent to me, also as much about him as could be available on one whose biography was at most a brochure. I knew, from the moment I saw the advertisement mentioned above, that I would give some attention to this young British composer. Something indefinable assured me of what turned out to be a very definite interest. I asked his publisher, W. W. A. Elkin, [1] one of the ablest men in the field in England, who throughout his long and distinguished career has shown his idealism and sportsmanship in taking up composers of rare talent, to send me a photograph of this young composer. And when I saw the face, I knew that in this wistful countenance was mirrored a poet’s soul.

Then one day I sat down to read the music. I sensed something of disappointment. I was not surprised; it was but natural. It had occurred to me, and to many others before, to be expectant, only to be let down. To be sure, I had not in this case been told that the composer was “the most important talent since,” or anything like that to impress me. Nevertheless, I had led myself to expect, which was in its way just as bad and, also, I was on my guard not to allow to influence me the fact that two decades and three years were all the time allotted to him on this sphere. I am of those who will never forgive the literary critics, who in 1914 made the grave error of hailing Rupert Brooke a Thomas Chatterton! Who is the young English composer? you will ask. A simple name, William Baines, known, I am almost certain, to but a few of those who read these lines. From the material which I have assembled I learn that he was born at Horbury, in Yorkshire, on March 26, 1899, that his father was musical director of a moving picture theatre, what they call a cinema in England, that he enlisted in the British Army, was taken ill after three weeks of military training, spent eight months in a hospital, but never regained his health. He died on Nov. 6, 1922. What a brief span for composing! In spite of this, Baines was able to leave behind a small amount of individual music, for the piano, all of it that I have seen published by Elkin & Co. Ltd., in London. (New York: Galaxy Music Corporation). There are Silverpoints, four pieces, Tides (The Lone Wreck, Goodnight to Flamboro’), Seven Preludes, Milestones (Three Pieces), Paradise Gardens and the Three Concert Studies (Exaltation, The Naiad and Radiance). [2] Examining these, in the main, brief pieces, one is impressed perhaps most strikingly by two qualities, which all of them exhibit. These are their extraordinarily personal harmonic garb and their never-failing vitality. To me these constitute a claim to attention. Add to this that they are music indisputably conceived for the piano, that they could have been planned for no other instrument and would have little point, or at least would lose much of their real character, if transcribed for other media, and there is all the more wonder that the contemporary world of music is not better acquainted with them.

Let me make clear that there has been a certain recognition of the music of William Baines in his native England. There the concert pianist, Frederick Dawson sponsored this music, which was first championed by the late Dr A. Eaglefield Hull [3] in an article in The Bookman in April 1922. L. Dunton Green [4] had also praised him about that time. But the general public has not responded as it should to the finely integrated productions of a youth who, I am almost certain, was touched with the Promethean fire. There have been many who have felt a Scriabin influence in Baines’s music, witnessed, they hold, by his harmonic scheme bearing points of similarity to the music of the gifted, and still unappreciated, Russian, who labored so tirelessly with his theories of sight and sound. But we have it on excellent authority that Baines lived and died without having known a page of Scriabin’s music! Were there time and space I would feel it a privilege to discuss every one of these superb piano compositions, to point to the inevitably sure impress of conspicuous talent that one finds in them. But I can only speak of a few, those which are an ornament to British contemporary piano music.

Notes:

[1] William W. A. Elkin (1861-1937). Elkin & Co was a small family-owned London music publisher that was started in 1903 by Robert Elkin. The Elkin family sold their catalogue and company to Novello & Co in the 1960's. During the first four decades of the 20th century Elkin was a prolific publisher of mainly short works by contemporary British composers for piano or voice and piano. Major composers in their listings were Cyril Scott, William Baines, Geoffrey Bush, C.S. Lang, and Roger Quilter. (From IMSLP)

[2] Silverpoints (1921), Tides (1920) Seven Preludes (1919), Milestones (1920), Paradise Gardens (1918-19) and the Three Concert Studies (1919-20)

[3] Arthur Eaglefield Hull (1876-1928) was an English music critic, writer, composer, and organist. He founded the British Music Society and edited several music publications. He wrote biographies of the composers Scriabin and Cyril Scott.

[4] From the Times obituary 1 January 1934: Mr. Louis Grein, who lost his life in the aeroplane disaster, was the brother of Mr. J. T. Grein, the dramatic critic, and was well known in London musical circles as "Dunton Green," the music critic. He contributed regularly to The Chesterian and occasionally to other musical periodicals; he was London Correspondent for. important musical reviews in Berlin, Paris, and Turin…He was a good linguist and a man of wide culture and experience, open-minded, judicious, and of genial personality.

 

To be continued…

Bliss Conducts Bliss

There have been several reissues of Arthur Bliss’s Violin Concerto and A Colour Symphony, conducted by the composer, over the years. On a personal note, I was introduced to both on the old Decca Eclipse label which had remarkable covers, usually depicting a National Trust property. These date from the early 1970s. The original recordings were made during November 1955, in monaural.

A Colour Symphony was Bliss’s first major orchestral work which was completed between 1921 and 1922 and was later revised in 1932. It was premiered at the Gloucester Three Choirs Festival on 7 September 1922, where it received mixed reviews.

Inspired by the symbolic meanings of colours in heraldry, the symphony consists of four movements: Purple, Red, Blue, and Green. Each embodies characteristics associated with its respective color, such as royalty and death for Purple, and courage and magic for Red. On the issue of the “colours” and their connection to the listener’s enjoyment of the symphony, I think that they can be safely ignored. Just enjoy it as a symphony with four contrasting movements that are “full of vitality and beauty.” Bliss and the LSO give an authoritative account. It holds the attention from the first note to the last.

One contemporary critic of the original LP (Decca, LXT 5170) was impressed by the “exhilarating performance” and considered that “the time is long overdue for this full-blooded music to take its proper place in the concert hall beside Elgar and Vaughan Williams.” His prophecy was never to be. The last time it was played at a Promenade Concert was in 2006.

To be sure there are other outstanding recordings of A Colour Symphony, such as Vernon Handley and the Ulster Orchestra, (Chan 8503, 1987), David Lloyd-Jones and the English Northern Philharmonic Orchestra (Naxos 8.533460, 1996) and most recently, Richard Hickox and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales (Chan 10380, 2006). But there is an inherent value in having Bliss’s own interpretation to hand.

Also in November 1955, Arthur Bliss recorded his Violin Concerto and the now largely forgotten Theme and Cadenza. This time the orchestra was the London Philharmonic with the violin soloist, the Italian-born, Alfredo Campoli. The LP was issued in April 1956 on Decca LXT 5166.

Bliss's Violin Concerto was written during 1938. It was completed at a time of considerable political tension in Europe. There are three movements: Allegro ma non troppo, Vivo – tranquillo and Introduzione (Andante); Allegro deciso (In Modo Zingaro). The overall mood of the piece is a studied contrast between lyrical beauty and dramatic passion, which seems to echo the age. It lasts for about forty minutes.

Campoli gives a splendid account of this concerto which gives him little opportunity for relaxation. He dominates the proceedings from the first to the last playing with refinement and proficiency. There is a warmth of tone that is often beguiling. The concerto was premiered in 1939 by the present soloist with the BBC Symphony Orchestra.

Another recording of Bliss’s Violin Concerto, was made in 1968, once again featuring Campoli and the composer but with the BBC Symphony Orchestra (BBC Classics 15656 91842, 1996). I have not heard this album. Two other CDs of this concerto have been released: Lydia Mordkovitch with the BBC National Orchestra of Wales under Richard Hickox (Chan 10380, 2006) and Lorraine McAslan and the BBC Concert Orchestra conducted by Martin Yates (Dutton Epoch, CDLX 7342, 2017).

This work is a significant contribution to the genre. Coupled with Edward Elgar’s (1910) and William Walton’s (1939), Bliss’s essay forms the third pillar of the triumvirate of great Violin Concertos composed by an Englishman. Sadly, it is rarely heard in the concert hall. Its last outing at the Proms was on 3 August 1955.

The present remastering was produced by Andrew Rose, who took the original monoaural edits and “dusted them down a little, [to] bring greater space and finer tone to both recordings, further enhancing two excellent examples of Decca’s mid-fifties output.”

Andrew Rose also provided the liner notes, which, if I am honest, are a little bit lacking. Basically, it is a concatenation of two contemporary reviews from The Gramophone magazine, with a concluding comment.

This disc is worthy addition to the Bliss catalogue of two important works, performed under the baton of the composer. Enthusiasts will be delighted to possess this superb restoration.

Track Listing:
Arthur Bliss (1891-1975)
Concerto for violin and orchestra, F111 (1955)
Campoli (violin), London Philharmonic Orchestra/Arthur Bliss
A Colour Symphony, F.106 (1921-22, rev. 1932)
London Symphony Orchestra/Arthur Bliss
rec. 9-11 November 1955 (Concerto); 23-24 November 1955 (Colour Symphony), Kingsway Hall London (Monoaural)
Pristine Audio PASC 727

With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published. 

 

Arthur Bliss’s A Colour Symphony on Decca Vinyl Part II

Bliss’s recording of A Colour Symphony and the Introduction and Allegro were reissued on the popular Ace of Clubs label (ACL 239) during 1964. The sleeve photo is of Gloucester Cathedral and the rear cover replicates the original programme notes.

Edward Greenfield gave a detailed appraisal in The Gramophone (December 1964, p.293). His overview deserves to be quoted in full: “[A] Colour Symphony was the work that first gave Bliss an international reputation in his early thirties. In this country at least it also gave him the reputation of being an enfant terrible, something so absurd in retrospect [that] one can only attribute it to the fact that the first performance was at the 1922 Three Choirs Festival and that the superannuated organists in Gloucester Cathedral must have bristled with alarm at even the most fetching of Bliss's dissonances. For this is very much the work of a young Elgarian who knew his Debussy and who quite honestly did not seem to trouble overmuch about anything after that. Comparatively few hints of Stravinsky's influence, for example, let alone of Schoenberg or Bartók.”

It seems that Greenfield was most impressed by the Finale, which “after opening on a dauntingly angular fugue [it] quickly resolves itself into something quite close to an Elgar march, and the added-note dissonances of the climax need not worry anyone who has gloried in [Rimsky Korsakov’s] The Golden Cockerel. As for the final multiple chord which takes the place of a conventional tonic (could that conceivably have been what worried the organists?), it now sounds like an old-hat jazz ending of the kind Stravinsky aped in the Symphony in Three Movements.”

It is disingenuous for Greenfield to suggest that lack of memorability hindered the Symphony becoming as popular as Holst’s The Planets. Both are characterized by imagination and ‘colourful’ orchestration. Sadly, this critic also considers that the Introduction and Allegro “is another really skillful composition, again failing to achieve the highest distinction merely through comparative lack of memorability in the material.”

Edward Greenfield considered that Bliss’s conducting is “wonderfully convincing” and that this was enhanced by “the recording [that] still sounds extremely well.”

As noted above, in 1971, Decca released A Colour Symphony on their popular Eclipse label (ECS 625). It was coupled with Anthony Collin’s magisterial performance of Edward Elgar’s Falstaff Symphonic Study op. 68. Both works had been ‘re-mastered’ in ‘electronic stereo,’ which was really an attempt at making the old monaural recordings sound better by adding reverberation and ‘tinkering’ with frequency levels. Some commentators felt that the originals were ruined by this ‘Electronically Reprocessed Stereo.’

Trevor Harvey commenting in The Gramophone (July 1971, p.232), considered that the “most valuable contribution of this disc is the reissue of Bliss’s very fine Colour Symphony.” Rashly, but maybe wisely, he recommends that the listener “Take no notice of the colours each movement is headed with and just enjoy it as a symphony.” He concludes his review by stating that this is “a finely original work, full of vitality and beauty…The performance is authoritative, obviously: while the sound is excellent.” As for Elgar’s Falstaff, Harvey considered that Anthony Collins “judges his performance very well indeed, and I found myself as enthralled as ever by Elgar’s masterpiece.”

There was a lowering picture of Great Mell Fell in Cumberland on the record cover. This, like many photographs on Decca Eclipse sleeves was a National Trust property.

Note that the Introduction and Allegro was included on the fourth volume of Decca Eclipse’s Festival of English Music, ECS 649 (1972) and, later ECS 783 (1976), where it was coupled with Bliss’s Violin Concerto and Theme and Cadenza.

Since the final vinyl issue, there have been several reissues of Bliss conducting his Colour Symphony on CD. Twenty-four years later, Dutton Laboratories released Bliss conducts Bliss (CDLXT 2501), remastered by Michael J Dutton. It also featured Baraza from the film Men of Two Worlds, the Introduction and Allegro, the Things to Come Suite recorded by the composer in 1957, as well as some extracts from that film score dating from 1935. Lionel Salter, who appraised the original LP, now writing for The Gramophone (August 1995, p.134) considered that Bliss’s recording was “thrusting and vigorous, dramatic and romantic, [but] it tends at times to outgrow its strength, as it were; but the tension of the scherzo and the finale's double-fugue… point forward to his maturity.” He felt that the Introduction and Allegro was “leaner and more sinewy but just as vigorous” as A Colour Symphony. Finally, Salter considered that the “remastering of the original records is nothing short of amazing” sounding as “if it had been made yesterday.”

In 2013 both works were packaged on the two-CD compilation of Bliss’s music (Vocalion, 2CDBO 9818). This also contained The Beatitudes, the Pastoral: Lie Strewn the White Flocks and the rarely heard March: The Phoenix (In Honour of France).

Heritage Records had one more go at repristinating A Colour Symphony and the Introduction and Allegro. This time it was also coupled with the undoubted, but forgotten, masterwork, Music for Strings. (HTGCD 221, 2011). John Whitmore (MusicWeb International 13 October 2013), states that “this is a gripping, tuneful and uplifting symphony containing some warm hearted and melancholic moments along with flashes of youthful exuberance. The performance given here by the LSO is still the best available on disc and the sound, despite being a transfer from a mono LP, is perfectly enjoyable. This is classic early Decca.” Turning to the Introduction and Allegro, Whitmore states that “I’ve seen this described in some of our esteemed music guides as being a professionally written but unmemorable work. I beg to differ. It’s a cracking piece, bristling with good ideas, pages of elegiac repose and some tremendously exciting climaxes. The music never gets bogged down or threatens to outstay its welcome. It’s always moving forward, and the levels of invention and craftsmanship are high…”

Finally, A Colour Symphony and the Introduction and Allegro were included in the massive 53-disc boxed set, Decca Sound: The Mono Years 1944-1956 (478 7946). The 1955 recording of both pieces are also listed in the Naxos catalogue (9.80004): they are coupled with Paul Hindemith’s Symphony, "Mathis der Maler".

For reference, five other important recordings of Arthur Bliss’s Colour Symphony have been made since 1955. These are the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Charles Groves (HMV ASD 3416, 1977), the Ulster Orchestra/Vernon Handley (Chandos ABRD 1213, 1987), the BBC Welsh Symphony Orchestra/Barry Wordsworth (Nimbus NI 5294, 1991), the English Northern Philharmonia/David Lloyd-Jones (Naxos 8.553460, 1996) and finally the BBC National Orchestra of Wales/Richard Hickox (Chandos CHAN 10380, 2006).

Concluded

My next post will be a review of the latest repristination of Bliss's A Colour Symphony, on the Pristine Audio label. This has been released after the original essay was published.

With thanks to the The Arthur Bliss Society Journal where this essay was first published.

Arthur Bliss’s A Colour Symphony on Decca Vinyl Part I

Arthur Bliss’s (1891-1975) recording of his A Colour Symphony (1921-22) was the first album of his music that I owned. This was included on the Decca Eclipse release (ECS 625) dating from 1971. I purchased it in the long-gone record department of Cuthbertson’s music shop in Cambridge Street, Glasgow. If I am truthful, I bought it for Elgar’s Falstaff: Symphonic Study in C minor, op.68, (1913) rather than for the Bliss. Since reading Henry V during ‘O’ Level English lessons, I had been attracted to this larger-than-life character that Hostess Quickly movingly eulogised in Act 2 Scene 3 of the play. Soon, I was reading more of Falstaff’s adventures in The Merry Wives of Windsor. At the same time, I had discovered Walton’s Two Pieces from Henry V: Touch her soft lips and part and the moving passacaglia, The Death of Falstaff.

All this was around 1972. When I got the LP home, I listened to both works. Surprisingly, it was Bliss’s Symphony that really impressed me. Especially so, was the powerful, sparkling, Scherzo (red) and the evocation of water lapping against a stone jetty in the slow movement (blue). A Colour Symphony remains one of my favourite pieces of English music. That said, although I understand the “theory” behind the composer’s colour scheme, I never really “got it” as a listener.

Bliss had been largely ignored by the record firms during the mid-1950s. All that was available at that date on LP or 78rpm disc was the Piano Concerto, Music for Strings, the ballet suites Miracle in the Gorbals and Checkmate, as well as the String Quartet No.2, and Welcome the Queen.

On 23 November 1955, Sir Arthur Bliss walked into the Kingsway Hall, Holborn, London to record two of his most popular works: A Colour Symphony and the Introduction and Allegro. It was the first of a two-day session with the London Symphony Orchestra (LSO). Seven months later, both pieces were released on Decca LXT 5170 (mono). The cover presented a striking abstraction of the four “colours” of the movements in order, top to bottom – Purple, Red, Blue and Green. On the rear of the sleeve were printed programme notes devised by the composer, and which incorporated musical examples.

Two weeks previously, (9-11 November 1955) Bliss had made a recording of his Violin Concerto and the now largely forgotten Theme and Cadenza, at the same venue. The soloist was Alfredo Campoli. This was issued during April 1956 on Decca LXT 5166 (mono). Both albums were to have been the first instalment of Decca’s ‘Bliss by Bliss’ series.

Lionel Salter (The Gramophone, August 1956, p.81) noted that in “this full-blooded performance under [Bliss], one is conscious of his disciplined exuberance at thirty years old, and of the distance he has travelled since: there are moments nevertheless – the dissonant syncopated passage in Red, [and] the optimistic second fugue in Green which point to his fully mature style.” Interestingly, Salter considers that if Bliss were writing it today, he would “probably thin out the scoring.” This tendency was also seen in the other work on this album, Introduction and Allegro, which was written for Leopold Stokowski in 1926. Sadly, this had all but disappeared from the concert repertoire during the mid-1950s. It is a situation that it has not recovered from, nearly 70 years later. Salter wonders if the Introduction and Allegro has simply been eclipsed because “Elgar has made the title peculiarly his own.”  Overall, the critic considered that Bliss “secures a convincing performance from the LSO” despite some moments when the “ensemble could have been better.” Finally, he is impressed by the “perfectly respectable” recording.

Edward Greenfield, (The Manchester Guardian 13 August 1956, p.3) began by wondering if it “is the fate of Masters of the Queen’s (or King’s) Music that something (perhaps their cloaks of respectability?) apparently conceals them from the eyes of the record companies.” Fortunately, Decca had “at last made up for any neglect…with [the present disk] and the recent Violin Concerto and the Theme and Cadenza…” He concludes by stating that “this is all finely wrought music with many exciting moments.” If one occasionally loses concentration during the performance, “it is partly due to the similarity of idiom to film-music.” Greenfield’s sting in the tale is that “Sir Arthur’s part in establishing this genre may have done a nasty trick on him.” This is not a sentiment that would be levelled against Bliss in 2023.

Other notices included Desmond Shawe-Taylor’s review in the Observer (23 September 1956, p.10) where he notes the “flamboyant” performance and the “fine recordings with the composer at the desk.” The Truth’s (28 September 1956, p.1118) newspaper correspondent, Trevor Gee reported that “Sir Arthur Bliss is another of our composers who has been making headway in the gramophone repertory lately…” He commended the “exhilarating performance of his early Colour Symphony…The time is long overdue for this full-blooded music to take its proper place in the concert hall beside Elgar and Vaughan Williams.” Sadly, in the 2020s Bliss’s orchestral works are rarely heard ‘live.’ Finally, Percy Cater in the Daily Mail (3 October 1956, p.8) stated that the “symphony shows that even back in 1922, Bliss could sustain ideas through rich textures.” Another back-handed comment, perhaps?

Listeners had to wait until the following year for The Times critic (possibly Frank Howes) to pass judgement on this record (June 8, 1957, p.9). This was a major assessment of several important recordings of British symphonies, which encompassed Edward Elgar’s Second, Robert Simpson’s First, and Ralph Vaughan Williams’s Eighth. Turning to Bliss, he reminds readers that A Colour Symphony was a commission for the Three Choirs Festival and “was received with some doubts at its first performance in 1922.” It was revived at the Hereford Festival in 1955, “when it caused no head shaking, but was recognized as a work as rich in imagination as in orchestral colours.” Examining the new LP, he suggests that “it was high time that a symphony so characteristic of Bliss in its mettlesome but disciplined exuberance should be recorded.” The result is good with “depth and transparency” obtained in the performance and by the engineers. That said, he felt that the “colours come up well, though the scoring is heavy and the texture thick.”

To be continued…

With thanks to The Arthur Bliss Society Journal where this essay was first published

British Cello Works: Volume 3

Despite his short life, English composer William Hurlstone left behind a small but outstanding catalogue, including pieces like Variations on a Swedish Air, the Piano Concerto in D major and the Magic Mirror Suite, based on the fairy tale of Snow White. Hurlstone displayed an extraordinary talent, which was recognized early on by his teacher, Sir Charles Villiers Stanford, who considered him the most gifted of his students. Sadly, his music is rarely performed today.

Although not well received by the Times critic at its premiere performance, the Cello Sonata in D major has come to be regarded as a minor masterpiece, the Sonata was written for the cellist May Mukle. With four well balanced movements, the slow movement and the “playful” Scherzo stand out as highlights. The ‘refrain’ of the concluding Rondo has features that Thomas Dunhill regarded as being “unmistakably English in spirit.”  Certainly, this sweeping theme provides a good foil to some of the more reflective moments as the movement progresses. The impact of Brahms is keenly felt as the sonata unfolds. Other stylistic influences include Schumann and Elgar. Yet, the overall impact is none the worse for these debts.

Most pianists of a certain age will have come across Felix Swinstead in their studies. Swinstead was an English pianist and composer, known for his educational piano music. He studied at the Royal Academy of Music and later became a professor there. He produced around two hundred pieces, mainly for the piano, including Fancy Free and Work and Play. He was known for his recitals and international tours.

The liner notes explain that the present Cello Sonata is undated but may well have been written shortly before Swinstead’s death. There are no details of any performances or even a “run-through.” After a dramatic opening flourish, the first movement Allegro devolves into a charming “strolling tune.” Much of the succeeding music is warm hearted and downright lyrical. The Adagio is a different matter. Dusk shrouds the proceedings with the main theme being “a wistful, folk-like tune with a decidedly Celtic lilt.” The finale, an Allegro deciso, has all the hallmarks of English light music, as the two main themes explore moods of happiness and of “Elgarian radiance.” This is a delightful Cello Sonata that makes no demands on the listener and is thoroughly enjoyable from the first note to the last. It should be in every duo’s repertoire.

Doreen Carwithen has made a remarkable impact on the record scene in recent years. Most of her orchestral works have been issued on CD. There are albums featuring her chamber music and a few songs. I am guessing that this is the premiere recording of her Cello Sonatina, although this is not stated on the cover.

Carwithen’s Sonata was completed around 1946. The form is in three movements, with the central one being the fast one. The opening Andante is melancholy and sometimes troubled. The Allegro is a breath of fresh air, with lots of questions and answers between instruments. It sounds technically demanding. The final movement returns to the melancholic mood, as the cello weaves a tender and serene melody. It is another example of a work which begs the question, “Why is it not heard in the recital rooms?”

Unfortunately, the track listing gives this as Sonata in E minor for cello and piano, op.132 (1951). These are the details of an example by Cecil Armstrong Gibbs!

Two other short numbers by Carwithen are included: the introspective Nocturne and the energetic Humoresque. They date from 1943.

The English composer, violist, and conductor, Frank Bridge needs little introduction in these pages. Save to say he is well remembered for his chamber music and orchestral works. The fact that he was a mentor to Benjamin Britten, tends to detract from the appreciation of his own work. Bridge's compositions evolved from romanticism to a more modernist style, reflecting the emotional and societal shifts of his time.

Since hearing the Rostropovich/Britten recording (Decca SLX 6426) of Bridge’s Sonata in D minor for cello and piano, back in the early 1970s, this has been one of my Desert Island works. It has everything: from high romanticism to hints of Bergian “modernism.”

The Sonata took four years to finish, being started in 1913 and concluded in 1917. Its gestation thus spans the years of the First World War. Other major chamber works from Bridge’s pen during this period includes the Sextet (1912) and the String Quartet No. 2 in G Minor (1915).

The clue to appreciating Bridge’s Cello Sonata is to see the “fundamental dichotomy between a pre-war pastoralism and the angry reaction to the horrors of the conflict. It is presented in two movements: Allegro ben moderato and Adagio ma non troppo. The first is a celebration of the high-water mark of Edwardian triumphalism and has echoes of Brahms and even Rachmaninov. The second, is fraught with grief and angst, but comes to a surprisingly optimistic conclusion. It is given a superb performance here by Handy and Walsh.

The track listing on the rear cover of the CD states that Frank Bridge’s dates are (1913-76) and that the cello sonata dates from 1961! It is not the Sonata in C for cello and piano, op.60 (1961). This one belongs to Benjamin Britten.

The liner notes by Paul Conway are to the usual high standard, forming an essay-long introduction to the composers and the music. No resume of the two soloists is included.

All this music is played with obvious skill and enthusiasm. The Swinstead is my discovery on this album, but the Bridge is the highlight (for me), and I will certainly listen to this version many times in the future.

Track Listing:
William Hurlstone (1876-1906)
Cello Sonata in D major (1899)
Felix Swinstead (1880-1959)
Cello Sonata (date unknown)
Doreen Carwithen (1922-2003)
Cello Sonatina (1946)
Nocturne (1943)
Humoresque (1943)
Frank Bridge (1879-1941)
Sonata in D minor for cello and piano, H.125 (1913-17)
Lionel Handy (cello), Jennifer Walsh (piano)
rec. 23-24 March 2024, Winchester College.
Lyrita SRCD.441

Alun Hoddinott: Intrada for organ 1967

In my accumulation of organ music, I have two volumes of Oxford University Press’s Easy Modern Organ Music. I remember buying them in a Glasgow store about fifty-years ago. I wanted to impress my friends with something a little “spikier” than the Henry Smart and Caleb Simper scores that always were lying around the organ loft. There was only one number I could get my feet and fingers round - and that was Alun Hoddinott’s Intrada. And here was a piece of organ music that sounded impressive – even on the small two manual church organ that I regarded as my own! I tried it out at an evening service - and no one was really impressed: “A bit too long-haired for our time of life, laddie.”

Alun Hoddinott (1929-2008) was a Welsh composer and teacher, known for his significant contributions to classical music. Born in Bargoed, Glamorganshire, he studied at University College, Cardiff, and later took private lessons with Arthur Benjamin. His first major success came with the premiere of his Clarinet Concerto at the Cheltenham Festival in 1954. Hoddinott was a prolific composer, producing symphonies, concertos, operas, and chamber works. His music is characterised by lyrical intensity and complex rhythms. He was also a teacher and served as Professor of Music at Cardiff University, where he helped expand the music department. His contributions to his discipline were recognised with several awards, including a CBE in 1981 and the Glyndwr Award for outstanding contribution to the arts in Wales in 1997.

The Intrada, op.37 no.2 was written in 1966. It was a commission from OUP for the first of the two volumes, which was duly published in 1967. Other works in this album included Kenneth Leighton’s Fanfare, William Mathias’s Chorale, Christopher Brown’s Nocturne, John McCabe’s Pastorale sostenuto and Arnold Cooke’s Impromptu.

Intrada was first performed at Cambridge on 15 July 1967. The organist of the day is not known. It does not appear to have been recorded.

Of added interest is op.37 no.1, which was a Toccata alla Giga, written in 1964 and published in Modern Organ Music, Book 1, in 1965. For details of this work see this blog, here.

Intrada is a noun that means a musical introduction or prelude, especially popular in the 16th and 17th century. The word comes from the Italian word intrata, which means "entrance" or "introduction". The earliest evidence of the word "intrada" in English is from 1664.

Hoddinott’s piece is straightforward in its construction. The opening two bars contains virtually all the material used in the entire work. It proceeds with contrasting panels of sound: reeds, string tone, flutes, and lastly reeds. Various imaginative stop registrations add colour to the limited melodic and harmonic texture. It can be played on a two manual organ, if there is a reed stop on the Great and the Swell. The composer calls for a “soft 8ft” stop on the pedal, but this could be faked with a pedal coupler.

In a review of Easy Modern Organ Music printed in the American Music Teacher (February/March 1968), E.J. Hilty pointed out that “All of these compositions have one thing in common: dissonance! Dissonance can be fun if you will not give up at first trial.”

Listen to Alun Hoddinott’s Intrada, op.37 no.2 on YouTube, here. Zach Neufeld is playing the organ of St. John's Cathedral, Los Angeles.

Ronald Stevenson: Piano Music, Volume 7: Folksong with Grainger

The advertising material for this CD explains that Percy Grainger and Ronald Stevenson, who were both composer-pianists of the Golden Age of keyboard virtuosity, were deeply interested in folksong especially from the “modal Celtic melodies from the fringes of the British Isles.” Importantly, these two men never met but corresponded with each other for many years. (I wonder if these letters will ever be published?). This seventh volume of Christopher Guild’s ongoing survey of Stevenson’s piano music “uncorks the exultant good humour that he and Grainger found on that common Celtic ground.” And there are a couple of pieces from slightly further afield too.

For details of the composer’s life and times, see the biography published on the Ronald Stevenson Society Website.

The album gets off to a flying start with Green Bushes, a passacaglia written by Percy Grainger, based on a folk song popular in England, Ireland, and the Appalachian Mountains. Grainger noted that "My Passacaglia was composed for small orchestra in 1905-1906, re-scored in January 1921, for 22 single instruments or orchestra, in 1919 I arranged it for 2 pianos, 6 hands.” So, it is not surprising that in 1963 Ronald Stevenson decided to transcribe it for piano solo. The original theme is heard some thirty-six times (I did not count them) and is supported by counter melodies. Boredom is avoided by an ongoing suspense of building up to a vibrant peroration, Bolero like. Christoper Guild is correct in thinking that this “is one of the best kept secrets of Ronald Stevenson’s oeuvre. Here’s hoping pianists will take up its cause in concert…”

The Irish Folksong Suite (1965) is an original Stevenson arrangement. It was initially conceived for solo piano but was reworked as a piano duet. Both versions have been published. The songs chosen all reflect tragic, but brave love. Each exhibit the spirit of Percy Grainger. The liner notes give a précis of each ballad, to help the listener’s understanding. Unsurprisingly, they are all touched with melancholy but are always quite lovely.

Away from the Celtic Twilight, Guild has included Stevenson’s Two Chinese Folksongs (1966) which are arrangements for duet of two of five pieces originally for solo piano, the Chinese Folk-Song Suite (1965). This is not cod-oriental such as Albert Ketèlbey would have devised, but there is no doubt that this music hails from China. The first, the Song for New Year’s Day, has onomatopoeic gongs and tam-tams in the background, whilst the Song of the Crab-fisher is quite energetic and captures the mood of a fish market, as seen through Western eyes.

The liner notes explain that of the Manx Melodies (1985) only one appears to be extant. Mannin Veen (Dear Mona) is a perfectly formed little number, sadly over all too soon.

The Variation on ‘Coolun’ (in late 18th century style) was originally conceived for harp. It may have been written for Stevenson’s daughter who was an accomplished player of the clarsach, the Celtic Harp.

It was George Frideric Handel who jotted down the tune to The Poor Irish Boy when he was staying in Dublin in 1742. Stevenson has provided a sympathetic harmonisation for this short, but quite beautiful setting.

The Skye Boat Song was originally transcribed by Percy Grainger in 1900 and was arranged by Stevenson in 1983. To what extent he has tinkered with this piece, I do not know, but I agree with the booklet essay that this is a very modern sounding adaptation.

It could be argued that Ronald Stevenson’s The Young Person’s Solo Album (1966) provides a “Boys Own” introduction to Percy Grainger’s Greatest Hits. A glance at the track listing below, will reveal that well known pieces are included. And there are several that are not so popular. What Stevenson has done to these tunes is quite remarkable. He has made “simplified arrangements,” “abridged versions,” included Grainger’s own “Easy arrangements[!],” “edited numbers” and one…that is “freely set for piano.”  Most of them are noticeably short. I feel that at a recital, the entire Album should be played in order, however one or two of them would make ideal encores.

The Queen’s Maries is based on an old Scottish ballad of uncertain provenance. The history of who these Marys were is convoluted but would appear to refer to Mary Queen of Scots’ ladies in waiting, who were all called by that forename. The ballad's narrative centres around the love, loyalty, and ultimate sorrow experienced by these devoted companions. It is a charming, reflective miniature that moves from a straightforward evocation of the melody to a Busoni-like conclusion – all in under three minutes.

The final track on this rewarding album is Jamboree for Grainger, for two pianos. The liner notes describe it as a “pot-pourri” or using a Scots word “stramash.” Honorary Scot Ronald Stevenson would have certainly known what this latter word meant. Its primary definition is “An uproar, commotion or row.” It can also be construed as “a state of great excitement” or something being “smashed or shattered.” All these meanings can be read into this work. Several of PG’s best-known tunes are crushed together in a riot of sound. Listen out for the inevitable Country Gardens, then Molly on the Shore and Over the Hills and Far Away. Softer moments appear with To a Nordic Princess and The Only Son. The only problem with identifying the melodies, is that Stevenson mixes them up, plays two, three and four off against each other and recaps them in short order. And then there is a passage of Stevenson’s own which he declared was “suggested by Grainger’s vigorous style.”  Jamboree was completed in 1960, the year before Grainger’s death.

This is a remarkable addition to Ronald Stevenson’s discography. Two great composers, innovators and larger than life characters meet in this thoroughly enjoyable repertoire. Christopher Guild brings a huge enthusiasm and sympathy for this music. He is ably assisted by Marcel Zidani as the second pianist in the Irish Folksong Suite, the Two Chinese Folksongs, and the Jamboree for Grainger. The quality of the recording is clear and bright, bringing added value to this CD. The booklet once again is a masterclass of analysis, history, and description.

For all Percy Grainger enthusiasts, and for the (hopefully) growing numbers of Ronald Stevenson fans, this is an essential purchase. It allows the listener the opportunity to witness two significant arrangers and transcribers at work.

Track Listing:
Percy Grainger (1882–1961)
Green Bushes (1905-6) arr. Ronald Stevenson (1928-2015) (1963)
Ronald Stevenson
Irish Folksong Suite (1965): I. The Mantle so Green: II. Luvlie Willie; III. Grá geal mo chroi; IV. Mary from Dungloe
Two Chinese Folk Songs (1966): No. 1, Song for New Year’s Day; No. 2, Song of the Crab-fisher
Manx Melodies: ‘i. Mannin Veen’ (1985)
Variation on ‘Coolun’ (in late 18th century style) (Date unknown)
The Poor Irish Boy (Date unknown)
Transcr. Percy Grainger
Skye Boat Song (1900) arr. Ronald Stevenson (1983)
Percy Grainger/ Ronald Stevenson
The Young Person’s Solo Album (1966): No.1, Country Gardens; No.2, Shepherd’s Hey; No.3, Molly on the Shore; No.4, Mock Morris; No.5, Beautiful Fresh Flower; No.6, Australian Up-Country Song; No.7, Irish Tune from County Derry; No.8, Walking Tune; No.9, Hill-Song; No.10, To a Nordic Princess (Bridal Song); No.11, One More Day, My John; No.12, Spoon River; No.13, Blithe Bells; No.14, Children’s March “Over the Hills and Far Away”; No.15, Now, O Now, I Needs Must Part
Ronald Stevenson
The Queen’s Maries (1967, rev.1975 and 2005)
Jamboree for Grainger for two pianos (1960)
Christopher Guild (piano), Marcel Zidani (piano)
rec. 24 February and 2 April 2023, Wyastone Hall, Monmouthshire, UK
Toccata Classics TOCC 0748

Minor Masterpieces of Organ Music No.1: Ralph Vaughan Williams’s Rhosymedre

So often when eulogising about organ music we tend to think of the warhorses – Bach (of course), Widor, Reger, Messiaen et al. Sometimes the smaller, more intimate pieces that are regularly heard at organ recitals and during church services are taken for granted. Examples may include exquisite works of art such as Louis Vierne’s Berceuse, Percy Whitlock’s Salix, and George Thalben Ball’s Elegy.

Ralph Vaughan Williams wrote comparatively few works for the organ - or piano for that matter. The most important and impressive is the Prelude and Fugue in C minor composed in the early nineteen-twenties. However, his Prelude on ‘Rhosymedre’ is the most popular and best known. It sounds surprisingly easy to play (it is not), but this simplicity belies a subtlety and poise that is near perfect.

It is useful to recall that RVW was only a church organist between 1895 and 1899, at St Barnabas, Lambeth. Although still standing, this church is now redundant and serves as social housing. The organ was built by Messrs Hill and Son of London. Hugh Bentham (RVW Society Journal, October 2012) has suggested that RVW “found the experience unsympathetic, which may help to explain why he…wrote no music for organ in those years.” Despite averring that he “never could play the organ” it must be recalled that he held the diploma of Fellow of the Royal College of Organists (1898).

Vaughan Williams completed the Three Preludes founded on Welsh Hymn Tunes in 1920, the same year as The Lark Ascending (in its violin and piano version) was premiered. Their titles were ‘Bryn Calfaria,’ ‘Rhosymedre,’ and ‘Hyfrydol.’ They were originally meant to be played as a set, but organists often tend to play them individually, most especially the second. The Preludes were dedicated to his former organ teacher, Alan Gray (1855-1935). RVW stated that “our friendship survived his despair at my playing.”

The village of Rhosymedre is situated in the Dee Valley in the borough of Wrexham in Wales. The hymn-tune used by Vaughan Williams as the basis for this present prelude was written by John David Edwards (1805-1885), vicar of the parish from 1843 until his death. It is on occasion known as ‘Lovely’: this refers to its use as an alternative to John Ireland’s ‘Love Unknown’ in the Samuel Crossman hymn ‘My Song is Love Unknown.’ It is not a translation of the word ‘Rhosymedre.’ 

Vaughan Williams has chosen to use a 4/2-time signature here which replicates the original tune. It makes the score easier to read than if he had used Common time. The entire number is signed ‘Andantino’ and is played quietly on soft stops and ends pianissimo: 

The form of ‘Rhosymedre’ is based on that of the chorale prelude, popular with the German baroque organ composers such as Pachelbel and Bach. The texture of the prelude is largely polyphonic. After a brief introduction, which defines the accompanying motive, allusions to the hymn-tune are heard on the left hand. In the first ‘verse,’ the melody is given by the left-hand, in the tenor register, played on a stopped diapason. In the second, it is heard in the soprano with three-part counterpoint below:

Part of the pleasure of ‘Rhosymedre’ is the glorious counter melodies which seem to evolve naturally from the tune or possibly the other way round. The actual harmonic scheme is simple with only a few accidentals. There are subtle diatonic dissonances throughout. In this miniature, RVW’s enduring interest in English folk songs is clearly present.

Peter Hardwick in his British Organ Music of the 20th Century (The Scarecrow Press, 2003) notes “the smooth, undulating counterpoint saturated by chains of sweet thirds, sixths, and, less often triads, which form the backdrop against which the hymn tune heard, [it] is characteristic of Vaughan Williams’s music in general in the interwar more years.” Hardwick further suggests that “the perfect matching of the composer's newly composed accompanimental material with a truly beautiful tune have made this probably the best loved of the [set of three Preludes].”

In 1938, the composer/conductor and pupil of RVW, Arnold Foster (1898-1963) published an edition of the second and third Preludes for small or string orchestra. ‘Rhosymedre’ has often been recorded in this edition.

Percy Young, in his 1953 study of RVW, recalled how an organist had concluded a service at which he was present with ‘Rhosymedre.’ He concluded that “Innocence concluded that this was from the Orgelbüchlein, where it would not, in fact, be inhospitably received.” 

Finally, ‘Rhosymedre’ was played at Vaughan Williams’s funeral at Westminster Abbey on 19 September 1958. It was also heard at Princess Diana’s funeral, at Prince William’s wedding, Prince Harry’s wedding and at the Coronation of King Charles III.

With thanks to the Glasgow Society of Organist where this essay was first published. 

John Ireland: February’s Child for piano (1929)

February’s Child is often described as a musical depiction of a child's innocent and playful nature. It is characterized by its light, delicate melody and gentle, flowing accompaniment, capturing a sense of tenderness and simplicity. 

This short work was written during 1929 to celebrate the 24^th birthday of the former St Luke’s choirboy Arthur Miller. The score was inscribed “To AGM [Arthur G. Miller] for 22 February 1929”. Miller (1905-1986) was the son of a Chelsea antique dealer. He was one of the witnesses at Ireland’s ill-fated wedding to Dorothy Phillips in 1926. Miller became such a valued friend that around 1932 the composer made a will leaving all his estate to him.

In 1922, Ireland had bestowed his On a Birthday Morning to the same lad. Other works dedicated to AGM include ‘Love and Friendship’ from the Three Songs (1926), the song cycle We’ll to the Woods no more (1927) and Bergomask (1925).

In a short programme note for the Alan Rowland’s Lyrita (REAM.3112) recording of Ireland’s piano music, Julian Herbage wrote that the “piece is built on a two-bar phrase that the composer happily marks Allegretto amabile, which is treated in the manner of a passacaglia and with characteristic harmonic complexity.” 

Christopher Palmer has suggested that this piece has “more than a hint of wildflower freshness. Despite the title, winter is banished: the music ripples and laughs in the sunny warmth of spring.”  Building on Rowland’s conception of the work as a passacaglia, Palmer notes the “essentially symphonic nature of Ireland’s thought even in a miniature context.”  The main climax is devised by repeating the opening phrase “over and over again, against a constantly shifting background of harmonic colours:” (Liner Note, Chandos SRCD.2277)

February's Child was premiered on the BBC, London National Programme, on 7 July 1930 by Ireland's composition pupil Helen Perkin. It was published by B. Schott (Mainz) in 1931 and was printed with companion piece Aubade. Both were available separately. At the same time, the Ballade (1928-29) was issued. The Musical Times (December 1931, p.1097) was suitably complimentary: “February’s Child…looks back to an earlier, more lyrical manner. This is more the Ireland of Amberley Wild Brooks and April, and it is pleasant to find the composer in this genial mood again.” This contrasted with the Ballade which looked back to the acerbity and despair of the Sonatina.

Bora Ryu, in their thesis, Comparative Study of Frank Bridge's Character Pieces for Piano from the 1910s and 1920s and Character Pieces of His Contemporaries Arnold Bax, Cyril Scott, and John Ireland, 2019, writes that “February’s Child from the Two Pieces for Piano (1929-30) has been aptly described as an “example of a heart-easing lyricism which often sounds like an improvisation.” Ireland’s improvisatory style is heard in the reappearances of the main melody in different keys and harmonic progressions. Transitions between statements of the melody present his modulation technique using chromatic harmony. Chords with an altered note or added note are another reminder of the sonority of late-romantic harmony.”

In his essay Elgar and other British Composers in Sussex, Ian Lace quoted Eric Parkin: He recalled how he was first attracted to the work:- “I remember playing a piece called February’s Child by John Ireland for a diploma when I was in my teens and I immediately fell in love with it and, of course, I tried to find as much of his music as I could. It’s difficult to say what I felt about the writing, I just loved the feel of it at the keyboard. I later discovered that I had a similar north-country temperament, background, and upbringing to Ireland himself so this may have had something to do with it.”

Listen to pianist John Lenehan playing John Ireland’s February’s Child on YouTube, here. (Naxos 8.553889, 1999) 

Endless Fascination: The Life and Work of Thomas Pitfield, Composer, Artist, Craftsman, Poet

Endless Fascination is a celebration of the life and labour of composer, artist, craftsman and poet, Thomas Pitfield. It is a sumptuous volume that goes well beyond mere biography and analysis. It is not a book to through read, although that is possible, but one to dip into, absorb slowly and learn. A cast of dozens contribute to this extensive and unique study of an overlooked British Composer. The book is conceived in five “Parts”: ‘Thomas Pitfield’s Autobiographical Writings,’ his ‘Work,’ ‘Recollections, Appreciations,’ ‘Worklists,’ and finally details of the accompanying CD.

A few words about the book’s subject. Thomas Pitfield (1903-1999) was a versatile British musician, poet, artist, and craftsman. Born in Bolton, Lancashire, he was self-taught as a composer, studying piano, cello, and harmony at the Royal Manchester College of Music (RMCM). His works are known for their often light-hearted, folk influenced sound world. The orchestrations are masterly. His catalogue includes concertos for piano, violin, recorder, and percussion, as well as chamber music, cantatas, and opera. He held academic positions at the RMCM and the Royal Northern College of Music, where he taught notable pupils including John Ogdon, Ronald Stevenson, and John McCabe.

Pitfield was also a prolific poet and artist, authoring sundry poems and producing numerous illustrations and graphics. His four autobiographies provide insights into his life and creative process. He continued to compose and create art until his nineties, leaving behind a rich legacy.

Thomas Pitfield has not been the subject of detailed study by musicologists. Neither is his name a household one, even amongst habitues of Manchester’s concert halls and recital rooms. Until now, the interested listener has had to explore him through a limited selection of disparate sources, often tricky to consult. The current Grove’s Dictionary entry runs to just over three hundred words. Most important are four autobiographical studies. There are a couple of important articles in the Composer journal and Musical Opinion. Apart from that, the student relies on articles, reviews and obituaries in various newspapers and magazines. In the prestigious Manchester Sounds (Volume 4 2003-4) John Turner published ‘The Music of Thomas Pitfield: A Working Catalogue.’ This was a comprehensive list, along with details of some twenty publications that he had written, contributed to, or provided the illustrations for.

The first tranche of the book features the three of the four entertaining autobiographical texts.

No Song, No Supper is the first volume of Thomas Pitfield's autobiography, published in 1986. In this memoir, he recounts his early life and career. It details his experiences as an apprentice engineer, his self-taught musical journey, and his eventual studies at the RMCM. The narrative is filled with personal anecdotes, reflecting his modesty and dedication to his craft. It could be argued that this memoir exposes a deal of self-pity, reflected on seventy years after the events. He was brought up in a household devoid of cultural interests. Old age did give him a more stoical view on his youth than he must have felt at the time. Despite being the first of four volumes of autobiography, this covers much of his life until after the Second World War. The progress of the text appears as a series of vignettes, often unrelated to time, as limited dates are given. I do not have an original copy of this book in front of me, but it had various illustrations and photographs that have not been included here.

The second volume of Thomas Pitfield's autobiography, A Song After Supper, was issued in 1990, when he was 77 years old. The book investigates his experiences as a musician, educator, examiner, and visual artist, providing insights into his creative processes and the influences that shaped his art. There is more information here about his musical activities as well as his recollections about a galaxy of fellow musicians and artists.

According to the editors, Incidents from a Sixty Year Holiday Diary, the final volume of autobiography was published in 1998 by Kall Kwik, Altringham. I was unable to find any record of this book in the usual library catalogues. This is not a conventional ‘travel diary’ as such, but is about “a journey for most of their lives of two partners – man and wife, though with selected incidents from numerous holiday journeys…” These range from their first day of marriage to the time of publication. They are not printed chronologically, but as Pitfield seems to recall them. Places visited include Grange-Over-Sands, Hastings, Bath, and Cheshire. There are a few notes on foreign travel to France and Italy. This section included his poem “The Dee at Night” which was set by him as part of his song cycle, By the Dee, for voice, string quartet and piano.

The third volume of autobiography, A Cotton Town Boyhood has not been included in this present volume.

The heart of Endless Fascination are academic assessments of Pitfield’s accomplishment in the various artistic endeavours that interested him. The longest essay is ‘The Spontaneous Expression of a Direct and Simple Man: The Music of Thomas Pitfield.’ This is authored by Jeremy Dibble, a British musicologist and professor at Durham University. He specializes in British and Irish music from the 19th and 20th centuries, with a focus on composers like Charles Villiers Stanford and Hubert Parry.

Dibble investigates three chief topics: His ‘Life as a Composer,’ ‘The BBC broadcasting, and a brief encounter with film,’ and finally ‘Aspects of Pitfield’s Music.’ Considerable use is made of the autobiographical studies which have been supplemented with citations of letters to and from Pitfield, journal articles, reviews, and programme notes. This study is illustrated by select musical examples. Various stylistic influences are majored on, including his love of folksong, collected from Cheshire and Staffordshire, and folk dances, which featured in many pieces. Dibble investigates Pitfield’s contribution to ‘Solo art song.’ His poetic aesthetic was influenced by the Georgian Poets, promulgated by Harold Monro and his London based Poetry Bookshop. The last section of this essay is devoted to ‘Large-scale form and variation,’ which explores the Piano Concertos, the Concerto Lirico for violin and the Theme and Variations for String Orchestra. Dibble regards this as one of his finest compositions.

Stephen Whittle, a museum and gallery professional, discovers ‘Thomas Baron Pitfield: Artist and Craftsman.’ He explains that although having an “irrepressible determination to study music,” he had earlier “pleaded unsuccessfully” with his parents to allow him to take drawing lessons. In fact, cultural pursuits were discouraged in the young man’s household. As a teenager he discovered the writings of John Ruskin. He began to fill his early sketchbooks with landscapes and “fragments of pastoral poetry.” It was a rebellion against his parents. The chapter then looks at Pitfield’s contribution to carpentry and craft. He had been trained in woodworking by his father, who was a joiner and builder by trade. In 1930, he won a scholarship to the Bolton School of Art, where he studied the history of furniture making. The text includes photographs of items that he made. But then his interest developed towards textile designs, which he created with his wife, Alice.

The section continues with a discussion of Pitfield’s published volume of poetry and illustrated with reproductions of his linocuts. This interest in books extended to graphic designs for a wide range of products, including booklets, greetings cards for the Vegetarian Society, and posters for the Peace Pledge Union. He also designed sheet music covers, and examples are given of John Brydson’s Noah’s Ark and Benjamin Britten’s Simple Symphony. The concluding sub-section examines Pitfield’s achievement in water colour medium. This was taken up slightly later in life as a “pleasant foil and relaxation.” Wonderful examples are given of scenes in an around Cheshire and Manchester. Typically pastoral in mood, there is a melancholy watercolour of Farnworth (actually Prestolee) Locks near Bolton.

Professional librarian, formerly at the RNCM and then Hereford Cathedral, Rosemary Firman, has contributed an important chapter on Pitfield’s literary work. ‘Crafting Books, Weaving Word: Thomas Pitfield’s Books and Poetry’ explores different facets of his authorship. His approach to book production was a Morrisonian one: “Such a book contained it maker’s own words, written out, decorated, illustrated and bound by them.” Furthermore, the “ideal book was made from honest materials, using traditional skills, and was made with sincerity and joy.” In Firman’s opinion this very nearly matched the “best” of Pitfield’s books, whether published or hand-crafted. The “Serious Poetry” is then examined. Readers who warm to A.E. Housman and the Georgian Poets will appreciate Pitfield’s verse. Examples are quoted in the text. It is certainly not innovative poetry, nor is it confessional. For a North Countryman, it has none of the grittiness of Ted Hughes. “Book Arts” are then discussed in detail, with numerous examples of Pitfield’s calligraphy and bookbinding.

Stuart Scott’s brief discussion of ‘Thomas Pitfield and the Arts and Crafts Movement’ is essential reading. The artist “identified closely with this movement’s disenchantment with the impersonal, mechanisation direction of society and the seeking of a simpler, more fulfilling way of living.” This seems to have influenced the wide range of his artistic endeavour, which included “paintings, illustrations, prints, posters, cards, calendars, leaflets, music covers…and much more.” Scott declares that the book The Poetry of Trees “brought together all his interests, crafts, and skills. Here he declares himself the all-rounder, or complete artist.” Even Pitfield’s house in Bowden, Cheshire, conformed to William Morris’s Arts and Crafts dictum: “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.”

The treatise ‘Archive of the Future: Wood in Thomas Pitfield’s The Poetry of Trees (1942)’ by Frederik Van Dam and Ghidy de Koning was originally published in a book Materials of Culture, published in 2023. I did find the entire paper a little bit new-agey. It is illustrated with photographs of the front cover and endpapers of this book. 

In the sixth chapter of ‘Section Two,’ John Turner discusses ‘Thomas Pitfield, Pacifist Composer.’ Whilst studying at Tettenhall College, Wolverhampton, he signed up to the Peace Pledge Union. This was at a time of rising dictatorships in Germany, Italy, and Spain. During the Second World War he registered as a conscientious objector but avoided prison by agreeing to continue teaching. Turner also explores Pitfield’s relationship with Peter Pears and Benjamin Britten. The latter was not a happy one. That said, he did design the cover for the full score of Benjamin Britten’s Sinfonia da Requiem and his Simple Symphony. Pitfield was a vegetarian and wrote the Parkdale Song for the Vegetarian Society.

Manchester-based photographer Michael Pollard has assembled a first-rate photographic gallery of Thomas Pitfield’s creations. This includes drawings and pencil sketches, design of embroidery, several pages from his extensive notebooks, as well as a broad selection of sheet music covers. I enjoyed the early watercolours of two Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway steam locomotives. Perhaps the most evocative images are his landscape watercolours, with my favourite being a sketch of Morecambe Bay dating from 1992. Even the briefest of glances at these pages reveal a remarkable diversity of talent in a wide range of media.

The third part of this volume is hard to summarise. It consists of more than thirty ‘Recollections and Appreciations’ from a wide variety of individuals.

The section opens with a charming memoir by Tom Pitfield’s niece, Norma Pitfield. She describes regular visits to her uncle and aunt’s house, their impact on her reading and her “artistic prowess." The memoir closes with the age-old regret – “…that I didn’t take more notice of all the things that my uncle said, played, made…”

There is a key essay by Max Paddison, Emeritus Professor of Music, and Aesthetics at Durham University. Paddison studied at the RMCM with Pitfield between 1964 and 68. Not having kept a diary at the time, he is writing (he says) with the benefit of hindsight. Paddison considers the ambience of the college at that date, Pitfield as a teacher and composer, including certain stylistic traits. And then there was impact of the “New Music” on himself and his educator. The introduction by John McCabe to Pitfield’s Selected Songs, Manchester Forsyth, 1989 is included. In this McCabe remarks that the perception that his style was “an agreeable kind of 18^th century pastiche” was both “inaccurate and unjust.” It is in the English pastoral school that he “stands much more clearly...” Other names will be familiar to listeners such as the pianist Peter Donohoe and the conductor Andrew Penny, who recorded Pitfield’s piano concertos for the Naxos label.

Well known personalities include Ronald Stevenson, Arthur Butterworth, David Ellis, and Anthony Gilbert. These four gentlemen, sadly all now passed away, were amongst a baker’s dozen who contributed their thoughts to the programme published for a celebratory concert at the Royal Northern College of Music, held on 20 November 2000.

I noted above the earlier version of the worklist prepared by John Turner. It has been updated for this volume.

One very telling chapter in Part 4 is a compilation by Stuart Scott of the ‘BBC Broadcasts of Music by Thomas Pitfield: A Chronological List.’ It is clear from these lists that performances have declined over the years. The first broadcast was in 1936, in a series featuring ‘Contemporary Composers of the North.’ There was a steady stream of concerts and recitals throughout the following four decades, with the ‘fifties and ‘sixties being particularly fruitful. Sadly, in the 1990s and the present century these transmissions have fallen by the wayside: between 1995 and 2024 there has only been four broadcasts. This reflects the fate of divers North Country composer such as John McCabe, David Ellis, Anthony Gilbert, and Alan Rawsthorne.

Equally unsatisfactory is the meagre sum of records and CDs dedicated to Pitfield noted in the Discography created by John Turner. Out of hundreds of pieces of music, only a couple of dozen have been recorded. The Lyrita CD of the Sonata No.1 in A for violin and piano was issued on SRCD359, and not SRCD 45 as shown in the text.

The concluding Part 5 consists of programme notes for Flying Kites: A Trafford Miscellany, the CD which accompanies the book. This disc was released in 2005 on the Campion Records label (Campion Cameo 2044). It featured numbers by Tom Pitfield and his “friends and acquaintances.” These included Martin Ellerby, Robin Walker, and John Ireland. The performers include Richard Baker (reciter), John Turner (recorder), Damien Harrison (percussion) and Keith Swallow (piano). MusicWeb International published evaluations by Rob Barnett, Colin Scott-Sutherland and Jonathan Woolf, here and here.

Finally, there is an essential index, which gives references to names cited in the text and to Pitfield’s achievement in all categories. It is extremely helpful.

The most striking thing about this remarkable book are the plethora of illustrations. Certainly, there are various photographs of Pitfield, his wife, and friends, but the bulk of the graphics are made up of designs and paintings by the man himself. Some of these have been noted above, especially in Michael Pollard’s ‘Photographic Gallery’ chapter. But from first opening the book the reader is captivated by Pitfield’s artwork, even extending to the endpapers and the book cover. Dr Rosemary Firman has done a sterling job in assembling the graphics for this project. She added the illustrations into the text. Examples can be seen here. The text was edited by John Turner, the doyen of North Country classical music, and chairman of the Pitfield Trust. Overall, the book was designed and realised by Simon Patterson. It is a fitting tribute to a remarkable polymath.

The production is outstanding. It is a large, heavy book, not to be taken on a train trip, flight, or a cruise; in fact, I studied most of it propped up on my desk. The paper is of the highest quality, complimenting the text and illustrations. The text is large, making it easy to read.

The book will be of immense value to several distinct types of reader. Most significantly, historians of British twentieth century music will find abundant information, which goes well beyond usual composer biographies and studies. Then, in the autobiographical sections there is significant material that will interest the social historian of the period, with an especial emphasis on the North Country of England. Art lovers will be impressed by the sheer volume of illustrations included.

I doubt that there are many forthcoming books about Pitfield “on the stocks” and I imagine that “stocks” of this wonderful book will not last forever. So, invest now!

Bibliographical Details:

Endless Fascination: The Life and Work of Thomas Pitfield, Composer, Artist, Craftsman, Poet
ed. Rosemary Firman and John Turner
ISBN 978-0-9514795-4-4
£40
Forsyth Brothers Limited (2024)