William Sterndale Bennett: Piano Concertos on Lyrita

Readers will doubtless disagree, but since first hearing the opening movement of William Sterndale Bennett’s Piano Concerto No.4 in F minor, op.19, I have regarded it as one of the highlights of the genre written by any Englishman. This was on a recording released in 1990 featuring Malcolm Binns, piano and the Milton Keynes Chamber Orchestra conducted by Hilary Davan Wetton. (UKCD 2032).

Poor Sterndale Bennett has had a chequered career. In his youth he was lionised by both Mendelssohn and Schumann. His early music was seen as fine examples of classical craftmanship that nodded towards Mozart rather than Liszt or Wagner who were soon to dominate the Romantic era. Indeed, there was always a school of thought that suggested he served up reheated Mendelssohn, especially with the cantata The Women of Samaria. His later works were deemed to be stylistically conservative. By the beginning of the 20^th century, as the English Music Renaissance gathered steam, Sterndale Bennett was dismissed as “an uninspired pedant.” There followed decades of neglect. In the 1960’s there began a reappraisal of his early works, especially the piano concerti and the chamber music. Some critics regarded these as a bridge between Beethoven and Brahms. Indeed, there have been several recordings of his work for piano solo, the piano concertos, and the symphonic music, led by Marco Polo, Lyrita and Hyperion.

Sterndale Bennett composed six piano concertos, as well as a single movement Caprice for piano and orchestra. All have now been recorded. The Piano Concerto No. 4 in F minor, op. 19, is usually regarded as his masterpiece. It was premiered in 1839 with the composer as soloist and Mendelssohn conducting and was dedicated to the Bohemian composer, and regular resident in London, Ignaz Moscheles. The Concerto can be characterised as presenting a “refined virtuosity” and “elegant lyricism.”

Robert Schumann, reviewed the score in 1840, and noted that “nothing in the entire concerto is calculated for bravura display and applause, he only cares to display the composition itself.” Nevertheless, as Elizabeth French (Liner Notes Hyperion CDA67595) explains the “first and third movements provide ample opportunity for the composer-pianist to show off his technique, with flowering passagework and some brilliant figuration.” The middle movement is a cool Barcarole: Andante cantabile e con moto, which replaced an earlier discarded movement.

I am indebted to the liner notes for details of the Piano Concerto No.6 in A minor, WO.48 (1848).

William Sterndale Bennett’s final piano concerto faced delays and revisions, before it was premiered in its present form. Originally titled a 'Concert-Stück,' it was heard at a Philharmonic Concert in London on 5 June 1843. Originally planned in two movements, WSB added the central Serenade at the last minute.

Unsatisfied with the orchestration, he revised the first and third movements and changed the title to “Concerto.” The Serenade was replaced with the slow movement from his First Concerto. This version featured substantial changes to the first movement, including extensive rescoring and a thicker orchestral texture. This edition was premiered on 15 June 1848 at the Hanover Square Rooms.

Rosemary Firman, née Williamson, in her remarkable William Sterndale Bennett: A Descriptive Thematic Catalogue (Oxford, 1996) explains that he never felt confident enough to publish the A minor Concerto, and the lapse in time caused it to become stylistically dated. Rediscovered by Firman in 1992, it is characterized by a broadly classical style, and with its refined, delicate orchestration, standing apart from the prevalent large-scale romantic concertos of the period.

The present conductor Martin Yates edited and completed the score for the Piano Concerto No. 6. In the liner notes he explains that the existing manuscript had "three clearly laid out movements," though the piano part was often "more of a sketch than a finished article." He notes that "it was fairly clear where the missing music was" and "reasonably clear as to how these gaps could have potentially been filled in." The missing sections varied: "Sometimes the piano part petered out altogether," or "the right hand was written out whilst the left hand was missing," or "there was the start of an accompanying figure in the left hand which stopped after just a few notes."

Yates acknowledges that his edition was "…partly guesswork based on my knowledge of Sterndale Bennett's style, the music of the period and also the music that was already completed on the manuscript." He concludes, "Unless a more complete score of this concerto materialises, I feel I have done what is possible in helping this concerto come back to life and in doing so hopefully contributing to the remarkable legacy of Sterndale Bennett; a considerable composer of stature and invention."

This concerto, which is stylistically closest to Mozart and Mendelssohn, has echoes of Hummel and Moscheles. It blends classical clarity with Romantic lyricism, avoiding Lisztian bravura in favour of refined craftsmanship. It is a valuable discovery.

The third and final piece on this disc is the eccentric Concerto for Two Pianos in C major, WO.29 (1835), which is, I believe, a premiere recording. The oddness has nothing to do with its sound and progress – it is in the history of its composition. The liner notes explain that this single movement concerto was completed in 1835 as a joint effort between Sterndale Bennett and fellow student at the Royal Academy of Music, George Alexander Macfrarren. The methodology was that “The two men began by taking turns: Bennett wrote the first thirty-seven bars, Macfarren the next fifty, and so on, with the last 125 bars or so apparently a collaboration.”  There is a suggestion that it may have been the first movement of a full-scale concerto that was never completed. Hearing this Concerto, with its “youthful exuberance” and “joie de vivre” it is hard to see this as being a purely academic exercise. Clearly the young men devised this for sheer enjoyment. The Concerto is a little unbalanced. Opening with an impressive tutti, with the conventional exposition of the first subject, the orchestra soon steps back. From that point to the end, the pianos predominate with many technical devices including cascading scales and arpeggios. Simon Callagahan is partnered here by Hiroaki Takenouchi in this Concerto.

Of particular interest to listeners is that Geoffrey Bush, a champion of Sterndale Bennett, arranged the work for two pianos as a Sonata. This version was broadcast on BBC Radio Three in 1969.

Simon Callaghan is a British pianist celebrated for his adventurous repertoire and international performances. He champions neglected composers alongside Romantic classics, recording for Hyperion, Nimbus, and Lyrita. A chamber musician and concerto soloist, he collaborates widely and promotes British music with many important premieres and recordings.

The recording is outstanding, as expected from Lyrita.

As noted, the liner notes by Rosemary Firman are detailed and informative. They include a Daguerreotype of William Sterndale Bennett, and the cover painting is the haunting Yacht Approaching the Coast by W.J. Turner. Web page addresses are given for the performers.

This imaginative Lyrita disc is a crucial continuation of the restoration of Sterndale Bennett’s neglected concertos. It perfectly balances historical curiosity with compelling artistry. Callaghan, Takenouchi, Yates, and the Royal Northern Sinfonia illuminate these forgotten treasures, asserting Sterndale Bennett’s stature and offering listeners a richly rewarding rediscovery of English Romantic piano music.

Track Listing:
William Sterndale Bennett (1816-75)
Piano Concerto No.4 in F minor, op.19 (1838)
Piano Concerto No.6 in A minor, WO.48 (1848) (completed Martin Yates, b.1958)
William Sterndale Bennett/George Alexander Macfarren (1813-87)
Concerto for Two Pianos in C major, WO.29 (1835)
Simon Callaghan (piano), Hiroaki Takenouchi (piano)
Royal Northen Sinfonia/Martin Yates
rec. 20-21 January 2025, The Glasshouse International Centre for Music, Gateshead, UK
Lyrita SRCD 448

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

It's not British, but...Maurice Duruflé: Complete Organ Music

Whenever I encounter a CD purporting to offer a composer’s “Complete” works, I make a point of checking whether that claim holds up. In the case of this disc, the answer is: yes - and no - it depends. All Duruflé’s published organ music is indeed present, following the sequence established in Durand’s Oeuvres pour orgue, which effectively defines the core repertoire. To this, Roberto Marini has added three further pieces now widely accepted as part of the canon. However, several early student efforts remain unpublished and are therefore missing. Notably, are Duruflé’s transcriptions of other composers’ works and, more significantly, the Trois Improvisations, which he later reconstructed from recordings made by him at Notre-Dame.

An effective way to begin exploration of Maurice Duruflé’s opus is with the Prélude et Fugue sur le nom d’Alain, op.7 (1942). It was dedicated to fellow organist and composer, Jehan Alain, who had been killed near Saumur in the Loire Valley. Alain is often regarded as the single greatest loss to French music sustained during the Second World War. Any performance must point up the dichotomy between the sadness and reflection of the impressionistic Prelude and the gradual build up to a fine peroration in the Fugue. Roberto Marini’s account fits the bill with its equilibrium of triumph and meditation.

The Scherzo, op.2, written as a student exercise in 1926 and dedicated to Charles Tournemire, is anything but academic. Since then, it has taken its rightful place as “a prime example of the 20^th century organ repertoire.” It explores Duruflé’s harmonic imagination and technical skill. A miniature rondo, it opens with quiet string stops before launching into intricate, filigree figures. Chorale-based episodes offer contrast, while shifting moods and modulations sustain interest. Its mystical atmosphere and structural clarity make it one of the most captivating numbers on the disc. The magic is certainly present in this recording.

The Prélude, Adagio et Choral varié sur le thème du “Veni Creator,” op.4, dedicated to Louis Vierne, won first prize from Les Amis de l’Orgue in 1930. Drawing on the Gregorian theme for Pentecost, it characterises the musical language that defined Duruflé’s style. The liner notes suggest that this theme is explored “in all its expressive potential and reworked in a synthesis of traditions and modernity.” The Prélude introduces chant fragments in shimmering textures; the Adagio offers a concentrated, meditative chromatic unfolding; and the Choral varié presents the full theme followed by four increasingly intricate variations, culminating in a glowing coda.

The Suite pour orgue, op.5 dating from 1933 concluded with one of Duruflé’s most often performed pieces – the final Toccata, which is technically demanding, and surges with rhythmic energy and contrapuntal brilliance. The opening Prelude is at first brooding and funerial, before a “melancholic recitative” is explored and the opening material returns. The Sicilienne is impressionistic and tender by comparison. Any performance of this Suite must fuse Gregorian modality with Impressionism and sheer virtuosity. Roberto Marini finds this balance in his fascinating account.

The Chant donné (1953) is a short tribute - just over two minutes - offered to his former teacher Jean Gallon on his retirement. It was part of a festschrift, (Soixante-quatre Leçons d’harmonie offertes en hommage à Jean Gallon par ses élèves) devised by sixty-four of his former pupils. Out of interest, a Chant Donné is an exercise in which a tune is to be harmonized.

The Fugue sur le thème du Carillon des heures de la Cathédrale de Soissons, op.12 (1962) may not be the most significant piece on this disc, but the transformation of a pealing bell motif from the eponymous church, into a radiant, rhythmically intricate organ fugue is satisfying.

The Prélude sur l'Introït de l'Épiphanie, op 13 (1961), commissioned by Norbert Dufourcq for his volume Preludes à l’introït, timelessly honours the Gregorian tradition.

Written in 1964 but published posthumously, the Méditation pour orgue, opus posthume shares a spiritual kinship with the Agnus Dei from the Messe cum jubilo (1966). This likely began life as an improvisation. It unfolds through two principal themes: a chant-like opening motif and a more introspective passage voiced on the flute stops. Gradually, the music slows, dissolving into a series of lingering suspensions.

The Stahlhuth/Jann organ at the Church of St Martin of Dudelange, Luxembourg, is a majestic Romantic instrument shaped by the traditions of Germany, France, and England. It was commissioned in 1912 and rebuilt/restored in 2002. Its remarkable versatility now includes four manuals, seventy-eight speaking stops, two swell divisions, and commanding a Chamade, (a set of powerful reed pipes in a pipe organ that are mounted horizontally,) two 32-foot pedal stops, and a rich palette of solo voices.

Born in Italy, Roberto Marini studied under Fernando Germani and Lionel Rogg, gaining top prizes at the Geneva Conservatory. He is especially celebrated for his performances of Max Reger, having recorded the composer’s complete organ works in a monumental 17-CD set for Brilliant Classics. Marini’s discography also includes the complete organ works of Schumann and Brahms, as well as recordings of Liszt, Reubke, and Flor Peeters. He has performed at major international festivals, and his broadcasts have been given on Vatican Radio and other media outlets. A professor at both the Pontifical Institute of Sacred Music in Rome and the Pescara Conservatory, Marini also serves as artistic director of several organ festivals and is the titular organist of Teramo Cathedral.

The liner notes, provided by the soloist, give all the information required for enjoyment of this music. There are illustrations of the organ and recitalist, as well as the all-important organ specification.

This new recording offers a rewarding exploration of Maurice Duruflé’s published organ works, enriched by sensitive and commanding performances and a great recording. Roberto Marini’s interpretations, supported by the imposing Stahlhuth/Jann organ, illustrate both the technical brilliance and spiritual depth of this repertoire. For seasoned admirers and curious newcomers alike, it is a compelling and dignified tribute to one of the greatest French organ composers.

Track Listing:
Maurice Duruflé (1902-86)
Scherzo, op.2 (1926)
Prélude, Adagio et Choral varié sur le thème du “Veni Creator,” op.4 (1930)
Suite pour orgue, op.5: I. Prélude; II. Sicilienne; III Toccata (1933)
Prélude et Fugue sur le nom d’Alain, op.7 (1942)
Chant donné (Hommage à Jean Gallon) (1953)
Fugue sur le thème du Carillon des heures de la Cathédrale de Soissons, op.12 (1962)
Prélude sur l'Introït de l'Épiphanie, op 13 (1961)
Méditation pour orgue, opus posthume (1964)
Roberto Marini (organ)
rec. 6-7 November 2024, Church of St Martin, Dudelange, Luxembourg.
Brilliant Classics 97665
With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.

Thomas Tallis: Spem in Alium

It is not often that I remove myself from my comfort zone of late 19th/mid 20th century music. A recent visit to St Alphege’s Church in Greenwich prompted me to revisit some of Thomas Tallis’s music. And what better way to begin by listening to his undoubted masterpiece, Spem in Alium, written for forty voices.

Tallis is believed to have played the organ at St Alfege’s Church in Greenwich on an ad hoc basis. However, there are no specific surviving records that provide exact dates for a formal appointment as "organist at St Alfege's Greenwich" in the same way he was at Waltham Abbey. His connection to this place of worship was tied to his residence in the area. He was buried in the church in 1585.

Thomas Tallis was born around 1505 and is considered one of the great founding figures of English church music. He served as organist at Waltham Abbey until its dissolution in 1540.

His most important post from around 1542/3 until his death in 1585 was as a Gentleman of the Chapel Royal, a position he held under four monarchs: Henry VIII, Edward VI, Mary I, and Elizabeth I. Alongside William Byrd, he functioned as organist to the Chapel Royal, which was often based at the nearby Greenwich Palace.

In 1575, Tallis and Byrd were granted a royal patent giving them exclusive rights to print music and to sell ruled music paper for 21 years - a remarkable privilege in Tudor England. That same year, they published Cantiones, quae ab argumento sacrae vocantur, a collection of 34 Latin motets (16 by Tallis, eighteen by Byrd).

Tallis's liturgical output was considerable. He composed settings of the daily services - psalms, canticles, and responses - many of which were later reprinted in collections such as Barnard’s First Book of Selected Church Music (1641), Boyce’s Cathedral Music, and the histories of Hawkins and Burney. His shorter service settings (including the Venite, Te Deum, Benedictus, Kyrie, Credo, Sanctus, Gloria, Magnificat, and Nunc Dimittis) became staples of Anglican worship.

His music continued to circulate long after his death. John Day’s Certaine Notes (1560–65) included five of his anthems, while later editors such as Edward F. Rimbault, Novello & Co., and Richard Terry ensured his works remained accessible. In the 20th century, his complete church music was gathered into Tudor Church Music, Volume VI (1928).

Tallis’s most celebrated work is Spem in alium, a monumental motet for forty independent voices arranged into eight choirs of five parts each. It was composed around 1570. This extraordinary work was published in the first reliable printed edition by A. H. Mann in 1888. It remains one of the marvels of Renaissance polyphony. 

The work is cunningly structured for eight choirs of five voices each (soprano, alto, tenor, baritone, and bass). Tallis manipulates these massive forces, creating a continuously shifting soundscape. The music begins with a single voice, gradually adding others in imitation, moving in a "wave" around the choirs, before culminating in moments where all forty voices sing together in a glorious "wall of sound."

Listen to Spem in alium sung by The Tallis Scholars, on YouTube, here.

It's not British, but...Mirrors and Echoes - Ravel and others

The advertising pitch explains that Aïda Lahlou’s debut album offers a striking reimagining of Ravel’s Miroirs, casting new light on its echoes across the global piano repertoire. By interweaving the Suite with overlooked miniatures from diverse traditions, she creates a dialogue that spans continents and centuries. The booklet suggests “[a] journey from innocence toward wisdom and self-actualisation.” I am not sure that this programmatic journey is essential to an enjoyment or appreciation of the music presented here. What is clear is that there are rarities by both well-known and less well-known composers.

The structure for this recital is Maurice Ravel’s well-known Miroirs (1904–05). This five-movement piano suite explores impressionistic and symbolic soundscapes. It was dedicated to members of Les Apaches, a group of avant-garde musicians, authors, and artists. Each piece evokes a vivid image: fluttering moths in Noctuelles, sorrowful birds in Oiseaux tristes, Mediterranean wavelets in Une barque sur l’océan, Iberian rhythms in Alborada del gracioso, and distant bells in La vallée des cloches.

Personal taste will provide a rationale as to whether Miroirs should be heard as a complete suite, or whether movements can be excerpted. Ravel did conceive it as a unified cycle: the outer movements were written after the inner three, suggesting a deliberate framing structure.

The recital opens with a remarkable Polonaise in C Major, op. 89 (1814) by Ludwig van Beethoven. The liner notes refer to it as “theatrical farcicality” – whereas Maurice Hinson, in his invaluable Guide to the Pianists Repertoire, suggests that it is “an interesting forerunner to Chopin’s essays on this dance form two decades later.” I enjoyed this bravura piece that is much more than a frivolous dance.

Armenian composer Alexandr Spendiaryan’s Esquisses de Crimée, op. 9 no.4 Air de danse ‘Kaïtarma’ (1903) is a folk inspired miniature that has a definite Asian resonance.

The present pianist has arranged a couple of numbers, the first being the second of Two Motets op.74 “Heiland, Reiß Die Himmel Auf” by Johannes Brahms dating from 1863/4. The booklet explains that the “vivid, water-based imagery…in which God’s grace is likened to a deluge, pre-empts the fluctuating oceanic shifts and overwhelming elemental power represented in Une barque sur l’océan.” Not sure I get the comparison here.

Polish composer Alexandre Tansman absorbed many influences including his compatriot Chopin, Impressionism, and Jazz. His Four Piano Moods, No. 1: Andante cantabile (1944) epitomises the neo-classical style with its urbane exposition and “gentle syncopation.”

Lancashire-born, Honorary Scot, Ronald Stevenson’s Three Scots Fairy Tales (1967) were written as pedagogical studies for children. Yet they are not dry as dust. Each Tale explores music made by a piper, a harpist, and a fiddler. The first, heard here, is a little march-cum-jig for ‘piper’ vacillates between these two forms. I wish Lahlou had recorded the other two.

Ernesto Lecuona was a Cuban born composer who inherited the Spanish musical idiom. He also wrote popular songs and jazz standards. The Andalucia Suite dating from the mid-twenties, evokes Iberian places. The two numbers heard are second and the last of the set, Andalucía, and Malagueña. They are worthy of Albeniz and Granados.

Gara Garayev is a new name to me. A student and friend of Shostakovich, he was leading Soviet composer. He fused Azerbaijani folk traditions with modernist techniques, across a wide range of genres including ballet, symphony, and film scores. The Prelude No.5 from his 24 Preludes is lugubrious and introspective.

There is no suggestion as to why the Kaddisch from Deux Mélodies hébraïques in an arrangement by Alexander Siloti (1914/1921) is included in this recital. This is a gloomy piece that does not inspire me.

The final track has no commentary in the liner notes. The internet tells me that Lamma Bada Yatathanna is an Arabic “belly-dance” song, which could be anything up to a thousand years old. It is heard here in an arrangement by Aïda Lahlou, which could easily have been written by several of the composers on this disk. It is very lovely and belies its original intention.

Born in Casablanca in 1998, Aïda Lahlou began piano at age five and won her first international competition at age eight. She studied at the Yehudi Menuhin School and later graduated from Cambridge and Guildhall. Lahlou has performed across Europe, North Africa, and Asia, including the Wigmore Hall and the Centre for Fine Arts in Brussels, and collaborated with artists Vadim Repin, Nicola Benedetti, and other high-profile performers. Her repertoire encompasses solo, chamber, and continuo work. She has also directed operas and engaged in environmental activism.

The recording is clean, well-balanced, and sensitive to every subtle detail.

The liner notes do not give any analysis or description of the music on this disc. Dates for most of the pieces are missing, which is disappointing.

Aïda Lahlou’s recital may be framed by Ravel’s Miroirs, but its true strength lies in the breadth and interest of its programming. Whether or not one subscribes to the suggested narrative, the selection of music offers a variety styles, cultures, and moods. Lahlou’s playing is consistently articulate and sensitive, and her arrangements reveal a thoughtful engagement with the repertoire.

Track Listing:

Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) 

Polonaise in C Major, op. 89 (1814)
Alexander Spendiaryan (Spendiarov) (1871-1928)
Esquisses de Crimée, op. 9 no.4 Air de danse ‘Kaïtarma’ (1903)
Maurice Ravel (1875-1937)
Miroirs, M.43 V. La vallée des cloches (1904–05)
Johannes Brahms (1833–1897), arr. Aïda Lahlou (b.1998)
2 Motets, op. 74, no. 2: O Heiland, reiß die Himmel auf (?1863/4)
Maurice Ravel
Miroirs, M.43 III. Une barque sur l'océan (1904–05)
Alexandre Tansman (1897-1986)
Four Piano Moods, No. 1: Andante cantabile (1944)
Maurice Ravel
Miroirs, M.43 7. II. Oiseaux tristes (1904–05)
Ronald Stevenson (1928-2015)
Three Scots Fairy Tales No. 1: What the Fairy Piper Told Me (1967)
Maurice Ravel
Miroirs, M.43I. Noctuelles (1904–05)
Ernesto Lecuona (1895-1963)
Andalucía: Malagueña (c.1923-28)
Gara Garayev (1918-1982)
24 Preludes: V. ‘Moderato’ (1952)
Maurice Ravel
Miroirs, M.43 IV. Alborada del gracioso (1904–05)
Ernesto Lecuona
Andalucía: Andalucía (c.1923-28)
Maurice Ravel, arr. Alexander Siloti (1863-1945)
Deux Mélodies hébraïques, M.22 No. 1: Kaddisch (1914/1922)
Traditional, arr. Aïda Lahlou
Lamma Bada Yatathanna (?)
Aïda Lahlou (piano)
rec. 8-9 June 2025, Wyastone Leys, Monmouth, UK.
Resonus Classics RES10368

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

Gustav Holst and J.S. Bach: Fugue à la Gigue

What better way to herald the New Year than with a work pairing of two musical titans? Prepare to be impressed as the work of the composer widely hailed as the "Greatest" meets the genius of one of the finest English masters. This splendid combination is delivered in Holst’s orchestral/wind band transcription of the vibrant Fugue à la Gigue by JSB.

Commonly known as the "Gigue" Fugue (Fugue à la Gigue), it is a cheerful and energetic organ work often attributed to Johann Sebastian Bach. Written in a lively 6/8-time signature, its defining characteristic is the rhythmic vitality derived from the Baroque gigue (or jig) dance form. This unique, standalone fugue is thought to be an early work, possibly from Bach's Arnstadt period (1703-1707). Its authenticity has been debated due to stylistic irregularities, but recent scholarship generally supports its attribution to Bach. The subject itself is a long, winding melody with a distinctive dotted rhythm that creates a sense of perpetual motion. The piece is noted for its virtuoso pedal passages, which demand great agility from the organist.

The background to Holst’s transcription is given in Michael Short’s biography of Holst (1990, p.271). His arrangement of a Bach fugue was already well advanced in 1927. He had selected the Fugue in G major, BWV 577. On 8 May the following year he entered into a formal agreement with the BBC, designating the work Fugue à la Gigue. Short quotes the composer: “When I was studying the organ some forty years or more ago it struck me that of all Bach’s organ works, just one, this fugue, seemed ineffective on the instrument for which it was composed.”

Upon completing the arrangement, Holst appended the following annotation to the score: “The title “Fugue a la Gigue” describes the work perfectly, but there is no reason to think that it was so named by Bach.” After the wind band score was prepared, Holst made an orchestral version that could be performed by a full symphony orchestra.

The premiere performance of the wind band version may have been on 14 October when Holst conducted the Birmingham City Police Band at the West End Cinema, Birmingham. This concert also included his two military band Suites, and an arrangement of the Nocturne from the Moorside Suite. A review in the Evening Dispatch (15 October 1928, p.14) noted that “the players exerted every nerve to present his works creditably, and the result was very gratifying…Most enjoyable of all…was the Bach Fugue…”

The Birmingham Post (15 October 1928, p.14) declared “[that with his] effective arrangement for wind band of Bach’s jolly Fugue à la Gigue  -  he permitted the only repetition of the evening. Nor was he backward in showing his appreciation of the playing. In some respects, and notably in the matter of tuning, the City Band has in these concerts set standard for the City Orchestra live up to…” 

Reference books record that the premier performance of the orchestral version was given in Cheltenham on 24 February 1930. Short (1990, p.287) writes: The next day [Holst] walked through the Cotswolds to Cheltenham, where he was to conduct the first concert performance of The Golden Goose...Besides the choral ballet, the concert also included the first performance of his orchestral transcription of the Fugue à la Gigue. His performance of this with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra drew demands for an encore from the audience, with which he was obliged to comply.”

However, contrary to this received wisdom, there is a review in the Folkestone, Hythe, Sandgate & Cheriton Herald (22 February 1930, p.9) that refers to a performance by the Folkestone Municipal Orchestra, of the orchestral version on the previous night, at the Leas Cliff Hall in Folkstone. The conductor was [probably] Eldridge Newman. The appraisal recalled that “Lastly we had an arrangement by Holst of an organ fugue in G major by Bach…This started badly, the subject announced by the solo cello was smudgy, nor were the answer (viola) and the beautiful little codetta in two-part counterpoint cleanly played; these faults were made more evident when the violin entered with beautiful clean rhythmic playing and perfect phrasing. From this point all went well, the way in which the conductor built up the final climax was most inspiring.”

The essence of Bach's "Gigue Fugue," is its single, joyful, and relentless theme defined by wide leaps and dotted rhythms in a distinctive, dance-like meter. This theme is characterized by its perpetual motion and light, buoyant energy, adhering to strict four-voice fugal structure.

In its orchestral arrangement this contrapuntal texture is vividly translated. Holst's skill in neo-classical transparency ensures every line is heard, using specific instrumental combinations to highlight the organ's original voices and stops. The fugal subject opens sequentially for instance, from the cellos to the violins - building dynamically to a joyous, full orchestral conclusion.

Listen to Holst’s arrangement of Bach’s "Gigue Fugue," for orchestra on YouTube, here. Leonard Slatkin conducts the BBC Philharmonic.

Bibliography:
Short, Michael, Gustav Holst: The Man and His Music. Oxford University Press, 1990.

 A Happy and Prosperous New Year

To All Readers of

The Land of Lost Content

 Some Significant (and less so) Composer Anniversaries for 2026:

 Bi-Centenaries:

William Thomas Best

Guillaume Ignace Gibsone

Henry Hiles

Henry Lahee

Walter Cecil Macfarren

Charles Steggall

John Thomas

 150 Years:

Havergal Brian

William Yeates Hurlstone

William Gillies Whittaker

 Centenaries:

Brian Brockless

Francis Burt

Anthony Foster

Stanley Glasser

Tony Hewitt-Jones

Arthur Oldham

Denis Wickens

Arthur Wills

 Continental & American Composers Anniversaries

John Alden Carpenter 150 (USA)

Manuel de Falla 150 (Spain)

Carl Ruggles 150 (USA)

Ermano Wolf-Ferrari 150 (Italian)

Earle Brown 100 (USA)

Morton Feldman 100 (USA)

György Kurtág 100 (Hungarian)

Hans Werner Henze 100 (German)e Henze

The most significant (in British Music) event in 2026 is Havergal Brian’s (1876–1972) sesquicentennial anniversary. He was a fiercely independent English composer best known for his monumental Gothic Symphony, one of the largest ever written. Self-taught and prolific, he composed thirty-two symphonies, many in his later years, defying obscurity, and poverty with relentless creativity. His music blends late Romantic grandeur with quirky modernism, often dark, complex, and structurally daring. Though neglected for decades, Brian’s work has gained a niche interest for its originality and ambition. His musical ethos was driven by vision, rather than fashion or fame. Hopefully the Havergal Brian Society will have several events marking his achievement.

The gifted composer William Yeates Hurlstone (1876-1906) died tragically young, aged only thirty years. Charles Villiers Stanford at the Royal College of Music, London considered him to be one of his most talented students. Hurlstone was admired for his lyrical invention, elegant harmony, and chamber music sophistication. Important works include his Piano Concerto, a set of Variations on an Original Theme, the Magic Mirror Suite based on Snow White and a wealth of chamber music. It would be good to have some revivals during this anniversary year.

Born in Newcastle upon Tyne, William Gillies Whittaker (1876-1944) began as a science student before turning to music, eventually teaching at Armstrong College, and founding the Newcastle Bach Choir in 1915. His passion for J.S. Bach led to landmark performances and scholarly work, including his posthumously published The Cantatas of Johann Sebastian. As Principal of the Scottish National Academy of Music and Gardiner Professor at Glasgow University, he revolutionized music education, introducing a Diploma in Music Education and promoted Dalcroze’s Eurhythmics. His compositions often reflected northern English folk elements, and a robust, lyrical style influenced by Gustav Holst. Whittaker edited educational music for Oxford University Press, leaving a lot of accessible choral and orchestral repertoire. I would like to see a performance/recording of Among the Northumbrian Hills, free variations on an original theme for piano and string quartet completed in 1922. His A Lyke-Wake Dirge for chorus and orchestra (1925) is too much to hope for.

It does not look like there are any celebrations planned for Arthur Wills (1926–2020) (Hopefully I am mistaken). He was an eminent English composer, organist, and educator, prominent for his long tenure as Director of Music at Ely Cathedral (1958–1990). He composed extensively for organ, choir, and orchestra, blending a traditional Anglican mood with modern harmonic language. Hopefully, a few of his anthems and organ pieces will be included in recitals and at church services.

Other composers celebrating their centenaries do not appear to have champions. Certainly, music by Brian Brockless (1926-95) and Arthur Oldham (1926-2003) may deserve unearthing. Tony Hewitt-Jones (1926-89) has little on record.

There will be few celebrations of bi-centenary composers. Walter Cecil Macfarren (1826-1905) trained under W.H. Holmes and Cipriani Potter and latterly taught notable pupils like Henry Wood and Tobias Matthay. His compositions - overtures, piano pieces, and vocal works -echoed Mendelssohn and Sterndale Bennett. Presto CDs list two of his compositions on disc – the most significant being the attractive Concertstück in E minor for piano and orchestra on the Hyperion label.

Organists may pull out dusty copies of original music or arrangements by William Thomas Best (1826-1897).

I would like to think that the continental and American composers will be celebrated at home and abroad. Manual De Falla (1876-1946) has retained his place in the British concert hall with works such as the ballet-pantomime El Amor Brujo, the Diaghilev commissioned ballet The Three-Cornered Hat and the evocative Noches en los jardines de España.

It would be disappointing if John Alden Carpenter’s (1876-1951) Skyscrapers and Krazy Kat ballets were not given an airing. And then there are the two rarely encountered Symphonies.

Hopefully, an enterprising orchestra will perform Carl Ruggles’s (1876-1971) dissonant, and uncompromising, Sun-Treader or even the Men and Mountains.

Italian composer Ermanno Wolf-Ferrari (1876-1948) is often heard on Classic fM with his ever-popular Il segreto di Susanna Overture. Sadly, most of his other operas have been sidelined.

Finally, the Avant Garde composers Earle Brown (1926-2002) and Morton Feldman (1926-87), both from the United States will have their enthusiasts. The same applies to the near-centenarian György Kurtág (b.1926) (Hungarian) and Hans Werner Henze (1926-2012) (German).

All the Stars Looked Down: A John Rutter Celebration

Christmas would not be Christmas without The Choir of King’s College, Cambridge. Whether it is the annual service of Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols or one of their numerous records devoted to Seasonal music, they are as significant a part of the celebrations as are Mince Pies, Turkey, and Pigs in Blankets. And what would Yuletide be without Sir John Rutter. Often known as Mr Christmas, he has made a major contribution to carols and hymns with many becoming standard favourites. Nevertheless, this attribution is a little unfair as he has produced much that is secular or pertaining to other dates in the Christian calendar.

The present album is a celebration of John Milford Rutter’s 80^th birthday - he was born on 24 September 1945 – which focuses on his legacy of Carol and Choral traditions. The album features orchestral originals and arrangements, played by the Britten Sinfonia, conducted by the current Director of Music for the Choir of King's College, Cambridge, Daniel Hyde.

The selection of the repertoire includes some well-loved carols alongside lesser-known pieces.

Among the original Rutter carols are the beautiful Dormi, Jesu, written for the Carols from Kings concert in 1998. The tender Nativity Carol is the earliest of his surviving works, completed aged sixteen. The title track, All the stars looked down was composed in 2023 in memory of Stephen Cleobury, who was Director of Music at King’s College from 1982 to 2019. The touching text was penned by English author, journalist, poet, and Christian apologist, G.K. Chesterton. All Bells in Paradise which celebrates Christmas joy, dates from 2012.

Of considerable interest are the two extracts from Rutter’s Five Meditations for orchestra. We hear What Sweeter Music and Candlelight. These are transcriptions made in 2003 of short choral works dating from the nineteen-eighties. He explains that he made these arrangements so that “listeners could allow their imaginations to roam at will as they [heard] the music” rather than be subject to the “specific meanings and references” of the original texts. It is a pleasing conceit. I only wish that all five Meditations could have been included on this disc.

Another aspect of this recording lies in its orchestral treatments of beloved carols - bold, full-blooded reworkings that rekindle familiar tradition with fresh spirit. Among them are gutsy, brilliant takes on David Willcocks’s iconic arrangements of Hark! the Herald Angels Sing and O Come, All Ye Faithful, now clothed in orchestral grandeur.

Carols not from Rutter’s pen, include Philip Ledger’s serene carol A Spotless Rose, the rarely heard O little town of Bethlehem written by Henry Walford Davies, completed by Daniel Hyde, and orchestrated by Stephen Cleobury. Childhood favourite, Away in a Manger is heard in a delicate arrangement by David Hill and Unto us is born a son from Piae Cantiones, has been realised by David Willcocks. This group is concluded with Daniel Hyde’s evocative orchestration of Ralph Vaughan Williams take on the Sussex Carol.

The remainder of the programme features traditional carols arranged by John Rutter. Particularly lovely, is Parisian composer Adolphe Adam’s O Holy Night. One of his most cherished pieces is the Sans Day Carol, realised from an old Cornish song. The collation of texts that make up the Hereford Carol was originally coupled with a traditional tune, arranged by conductor and organist Christopher Robinson, and subsequently orchestrated by Rutter. Child in a Manger was based on a traditional Celtic melody: the music deploys a simple lullaby, developed into an attractive meditation on the Incarnation. Finally, everyone’s well-loved Silent Night by Franz Xaver Gruber is given and almost symphonic treatment, complete with an orchestral interlude.

The performance is impeccable: the singing is perfect, the accompaniments sympathetic and the recording excellent. The liner notes by David Hyde and John Rutter are most helpful. The texts are included. The booklet is beautifully illustrated and includes details of the performers.

A lovely compilation of Christmas Music that features the indisputable talents of John Rutter. It will appeal to his fans, old and new. Happy Birthday Sir John!

Track Listing:
Felix Mendelssohn, arr. David Willcocks - Hark! the herald angels sing.
Philip Ledger - A spotless rose
John Rutter - All bells in paradise
English traditional, arr. Ralph Vaughan Williams, orch. Daniel Hyde - Sussex Carol
Adolphe Adam, arr. John Rutter - O Holy Night
Henry Walford Davies, orch. Stephen Cleobury & Daniel Hyde - O little town of Bethlehem
John Rutter - Five Meditations for Orchestra: III. ‘Candlelight’
Cornish traditional, arr. John Rutter - Sans Day Carol
From ‘Piae Cantiones,’ arr. David Willcocks - Unto us is born a son.
John Rutter - Five Meditations for Orchestra: I. ‘What sweeter music’
Traditional, arr. Christopher Robinson, orch. John Rutter - Hereford Carol
Traditional, arr. John Rutter - Child in a manger
John Rutter - Dormi, Jesu
John Rutter - Nativity Carol
John Rutter - All the stars looked down.
Franz Xaver Gruber, arr. John Rutter - Silent night
English traditional, arr. David Hill - Away in a manger
John Francis Wade, arr. David Willcocks - O come, all ye faithful.
The Choir of King’s College, Cambridge Britten Sinfonia/Daniel Hyde
rec. 2023 and 2025, Chapel of King’s College, Cambridge
Texts included.
King’s College Cambridge KGS0075

 A Merry Christmas

To All Readers and Followers of

'The Land of Lost Content' 

The Star of Bethlehem, by Edward Burne-Jones

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,

His hair was like a light.

O weary, weary were the world,

But here is all aright.

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast,

His hair was like a star.

O stern and cunning are the kings,

But here the true hearts are.

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,

His hair was like a fire.

O weary, weary is the world,

But here the world's desire.

The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee,

His hair was like a crown.

And all the flowers looked up at Him,

And all the stars looked down.

O weary, weary were the world,

But here the world is aright

Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874 – 1936)

This poem presents the Christ-child as a radiant presence - light, star, fire, crown - bringing divine peace to a weary world. Each verse contrasts the brokenness of humanity with the serenity and truth found in Mary’s embrace. Kings may be cunning, the world may be tired, but in this intimate nativity scene, love and hope prevail. The imagery grows from gentle light to regal glory, culminating in a cosmic harmony where nature reveres the child. 

Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874–1936) was an English writer, philosopher, and Christian apologist known for his wit, paradoxes, and literary versatility. He authored essays, novels, poetry, and the beloved Father Brown detective stories. A defender of faith and tradition, Chesterton’s works blend humor, insight, and profound moral and theological reflection.

Charles Williams’s Let's Go Shopping

When I lived in Glasgow, I always enjoyed a Christmas walk as they say, “Up Sauchie, doon Buckie an alang Argyle” – translated as Up Sauchiehall Street, Down Buchanan Street and Along Argyle Street! These were (and to a certain extent still are) the main shopping streets in Glesga.

As a child there was magic in the streets themselves. At dusk, the Christmas lights would come on. There was always a great display at George Square, complete with tree and nativity. Occasionally, the carol singers would be out and about.

The highlight of a Winter Saturday morning was a visit to Lewis’s department store in Argyle Street. This venerable shop (no relation to John Lewis) was a large six story building that sold everything from cheese to lawnmowers. But what most appealed to youngsters was the toy department on the top floor. Not only were there displays of Triang trains and Meccano sets, along with every toy a child could imagine, but Santa’s Grotto beckoned. Sadly, Lewis’s closed in 1991. It became Debenhams, which also shut its doors some thirty years later.

Things have changed since my childhood in Glasgow. For one thing the trams have gone. The three above mentioned streets are partly pedestrianised and George Square has been dug up for remodelling.

Yet one constant remained for many years – House of Fraser’s at the bottom of Buchanan Street. This was formerly McDonalds and Wylie & Lochhead. Every year it was festooned with fairy lights, both inside and outside the store. Sadly, last year this display was missing.

Charles Williams (1893–1978) was a prolific figure in British light music - genre crafted not for the concert hall, but for film, radio, and newsreel. His works, including Devil's Galop and The Dream of Olwen, remain instantly recognizable, even if his name does not. Among his lesser-known gems,

Like many pieces in the 1950s and 1960s, Let's Go Shopping was composed as mood music for sound libraries, possibly Chappell, where Williams conducted the Queen's Hall Light Orchestra. It could have been used by filmmakers and TV producers to accompany scenes of commercial bustle or shopping sprees. It sets the mood for a brisk Saturday’s outing in the days of post-war optimism.

Just because it is classified as light music does not mean that it is carelessly written. Like so much in this genre it is a masterclass in orchestration, catchy melodies and rhythmic vitality. Listen out for the syncopated section in the opening bars which suggests the hurry of a shopper on a mission. The orchestration is bright, with chirpy woodwind, sweeping strings, restrained brass and a battery of percussion, including glockenspiel and triangle.

Let's Go Shopping is not profound. Its charm lies in its ability to conjure a series of evocative images for the mind, a world of pleasant, mundane experiences. Like many of Williams’s pieces, it creates a miniature cinematic scene - no visuals required. It is all in the mind, and, especially for older people, in the memories.

Listen to Charles Williams’s Let's Go Shopping on YouTube, here.  Robert Farnon is conducting the Danish State Radio Orchestra under the pseudonym Melodi Light Orchestra conducted by Ole Jensen.

“From pagan rites to pastoral reveries, Ireland at his best" - Rebeca Omordia

For readers of a certain age, the progress of recordings of piano music by John Ireland has been astonishing. I first heard his piano music on an old Saga album (XID5206) lent to me by an older friend, where Alan Rowlands played the Decorations and the Holy Boy: Prelude. This album had been released in 1962. In the early 1970s I acquired three Lyrita records of Ireland’s piano works, once again played by Rowlands. Since that time there have been another four more or less complete editions of this repertoire - two by Eric Parkin (one Lyrita and the other on Chandos), John Lenehan on Naxos and Mark Bebbington on Somm. All bring their unique talents to this notable music. Rebeca Omordia has chosen a fine conspectus of Ireland’s piano compositions: three major essays and a selection of five more ephemeral, but none the less, important “character pieces.”

The recital gets off to a great start with an outstanding account of the expansive and visionary Piano Sonata in E minor. This is his most significant piano composition. That said, it is certainly not his most popular or oft played. It was written between October 1918 and January 1920. Although not a “war work” as such, its period of gestation coincided with the end of hostilities. The liner notes explain that it is conceived on a “large scale” not so much in temporal terms as “in concentrated intellectual command and expressive ire.”

John Ireland once suggested that the first movement of his Piano Sonata was about “life,” the second was “more ecstatic” and the last was “inspired by a rough autumnal day on Chanctonbury Ring & [the] old British Encampment.” It is a good hermeneutic for appreciating this music.

The opening movement, Allegro moderato, features an “emotional struggle” that is never quite resolved, although it never descends into violence, nor is tranquillity discovered. The slow movement, Non troppo lento, is hardly ecstatic: it is hard won and deeply felt. The finale, Con moto moderato, is the most demanding movement, with a “jubilant” conclusion, that certainly creates a vivid evocation of the South Downs topography. There are references back to earlier themes and motifs bringing the Sonata to a satisfying conclusion. It is given a rewarding performance here, with a remarkable equilibrium between the “mystical,” the “late romantic” and the “passionate” elements.

The three movement Decorations is another one of Ireland’s most significant works. It was completed in the years before the First World War. There is a watery mood to The Island Spell, which may remind the listener of Ravel or Debussy. It is possible that quieter passages from Shakespeare’s The Tempest may have been an inspiration. The actual quotation heading the score is taken from a poem by the Symbolist poet, Arthur Symons. Moon-Glade is a decent evocation of a melancholic poem about “sorrowful dreams,” also by Symons. It is characterised by “subtle dissonance” created using bitonality. The final section, The Scarlet Ceremonies, is the most dramatic and intense. Drawing on a passage from Welsh poet Arthur Machen’s occult tale The White People, the listener is led into a world far removed from the pastoral convention popular at that time. What the Ceremonies were, we must imagine, but Eric Parkin has suggested “forgotten and forbidden pagan rites.” It is certainly not a walk along The Towing Path.

There is a definite impressionistic feel to the first of the Two Pieces (1921), Amberley Wild Brooks which is predicated on “rippling, sparkling sonorities” creating a mood of “rushing, fluttering and trembling of nature, green springing, joyful.” There is the occasional irruption of a melody, but this is about keyboard figurations. On the other hand, Remembrance has been likened to moments in Wagner’s Parsifal in its solemnity and introspection. They are two delightful pieces, which deserve to be better kent.

John Ireland’s Two Pieces for Piano (1925) are often underestimated as mere “character pieces.” This is unfair. April is a gentle miniature, which complements its title. Calmness is balanced by a short but virtuosic climax in the middle section before the recapitulation of the pastoral theme. In contrast, Bergomask could nod to the Italian courtship dance hailing from Bergamo. It is spirited, mischievous and may remind the listener of Ragamuffin from his London Pieces. They are given convincing performances here.

One of the highlights of this disc is Rebeca Omordia’s superb performance of Sarnia: An Island Sequence, which pianist Eric Parkin described as one of Ireland’s “pianistic masterpieces.” The title refers to the Roman name for Guernsey in the Channel Islands, a place of deep personal resonance for the composer.

This suite (or is it a Fantasy-Sonata?) would become Ireland’s final major work for solo piano. He began writing it in Guernsey and completed it upon returning to Banbury, England in 1940, having been evacuated shortly before the German occupation. The three movements - Le Catioroc (named after a Neolithic site), In a May Morning, and Song of the Springtides - form a wonderful tribute to the island he first visited in his late-twenties.

The pianist’s role in Sarnia is to navigate the suite’s complexity with sensitivity, balancing its mystical - at times pagan- nuances with luminous depictions of the island’s landscape. Of importance is the subtle innocence/supressed passion dichotomy in the second movement Song of the Springtides, dedicated to Michael Rayson, the son of a hotel owner, and whom Ireland was infatuated. It is one of the loveliest movements he composed. The final movement, Song of the Springtides, requires that, as Ireland wrote to Clifford Curzon, the performer must “display charm, subtlety, passion, and above all [the] beauty of a high alluring order.”

It is good that the recital ends with a lesser-known number as a kind of encore following Sarnia. Columbine was finished in 1949, late in his career. It appeared in an anthology of pieces, Down the Centuries, edited by English-born Canadian administrator, teacher, pianist, conductor, and arranger Leonard Isaacs. Connoisseurs of Italian commedia dell’arte will recall Columbine as clever, charming, witty, graceful, flirtatious, and resourceful - forever outsmarting masters and lovers with a playful twist of cunning. Ireland’s little Ravelian waltz is full of charm and insight into this engaging lady, notwithstanding a touch of melancholy.

The soloist’s website explains that she was born in Romania to a Romanian mother and Nigerian father. She studied in Bucharest, Birmingham, and London. Her acclaimed recordings include African Pianism and Errollyn Wallen’s Piano Concerto. Omordia’s doctoral thesis is focused on John Ireland’s piano music.

The liner notes by Robert Matthew-Walker are comprehensive and provide a great introduction to the man and the music. The booklet is illustrated with six photographs of the performer, but sadly none of the composer. It is a pity that the quotations that head each movement in the scores of Decorations and Sarnia - they would have enriched the listener’s experience further.

Rebeca Omordia’s recital distils Ireland’s piano legacy with clarity and passion - from mystical movements to sparkling miniatures. An engaging tribute to a composer whose musical imagination continues to inspire and astonish.

Track Listing:
Piano Sonata in E minor (1918-20)
Decorations (1912-13)
Two Pieces for Piano (1921)
Two Pieces for Piano (1925)
Sarnia: An Island Sequence (1940-41)
Columbine (1949)
Rebeca Omordia (piano)
rec. 27-28 January 2025, Potton Hall, Suffolk, UK
Resonus Classics RES10372

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

Music of the Month: John Ireland by H. E. Wortham Part II

This is the second and final part of British biographer, journalist, and music critic Hugh Evelyn Wortham's (1884–1959) portrait of composer John Ireland. It was published in the arts journal; Apollo (August 1928).

THROUGHOUT his work, indeed, one notices a certain insensitiveness to such considerations. Admittedly, the collaboration of piano and violoncello offer difficulties which have been surmounted with entire success by no composers (though Brahms has very nearly done so). Still, the Sonata for ’cello and piano by Ireland is one of his most significant works. [1] It really is what it purports to be - in other words, the composer has expressed himself within the limits and under the restraints which the sonata form imposes. And in spite of this he has avoided any suggestions that the music comes from the head rather than the heart. On the contrary, the whole composition palpitates with life and feeling, with feeling under that restraint which is the mark of the true creative spirit. His control of form is absolutely sure and gives that impression of consciousness which the sonata form, filled with the sense of its own importance, so often fails to produce. As mood follows mood with the beauty of contrast that shows emotion controlled by will one has no doubt of Ireland’s poetic insight. An intense first movement, coloured by a sternness that is never long absent from Ireland’s work, is succeeded by a passionate seven-bar introduction leading to the lovely theme (A) played first by the piano alone.

Cello Sonata: Second Movement

One could hardly believe that so simple and suave a melody could have been written in the stormy years after the war, when music was suffering from just another attack of such convulsions as the Duchesse de Choiseul complained of when Gluck was leading opera into the fields wherein Wagner, nearly a century later, reaped so fruitful a harvest.[2] And with what ingenious beauty of harmonic device does Ireland proceed to elaborate this charming idea! Then in the last movement, in an atmosphere of increased rhythmical tension, he returns to use up material taken from the first and thus rounds off a work in which there is not a redundant bar or an incongruous phrase. There are many other qualities, too, which one might note in this sonata, in particular the solidity of the diatonic idiom (which at the same time is perfectly individual to himself and conveys no suggestion of reminiscence) and the firm control of rhythm, admirably illustrated in the flowing lines of the slow movement. Its weakness in performance - and here I am speaking of my own personal experience - is that the piano part is apt to overbalance that of the ’cello. A passage like this (B) for instance,

Cello Sonata: Third Movement

…comes off ungratefully for the string instrument, and there are many others in the first and third movements where the elaboration of the piano writing detracts from the unity of ensemble. We may ascribe this in part to the special difficulties, already alluded to, that beset the composer writing for piano and ’cello, and also to the fact that Ireland is not primarily a musical colourist and is chiefly interested in other things than timbres. Insensitiveness is perhaps too strong a word to use in this connection. At the same time, it does remain a defect, the outstanding defect in Ireland’s work, appearing in many places, not least in his songs where the beauty of many is clouded by piano accompaniments which obscure the fine drawing of the vocal line.

He seems to have become aware of this in his latest songs, and in settings to such poems as “Friendship in Misfortune ” and “ The One Hope,” [3] both of which echo with deep sincerity the dark moods that inspire the words, he has returned to the simplicity of an earlier manner, though he has now thrown off the influences which that betrayed. In spite of this, his songs, which must number at least sixty, form a remarkable collection for the variety of moods they mirror, as also for the fidelity with which he always treats the poet’s line. Though Ireland belongs to a generation which cannot but be sensible to the current of folksong, against which only our younger composers can successfully struggle, he never definitely surrenders to it. He goes, of course, to the country, but he does not pretend to be a countryman. A song like “The Vagabond” [4] is a good example of the rarely shown picturesque side of his art. “The Land of the Lost Continent,” [5] a cycle of six songs taken from A Shropshire Lad, without being in any way bucolic have a ring about them that is always English and sometimes Purcellian. To this category belongs “Ladslove,” where the long rhythmic curves of the vocal line wonderfully fit the deliberate movement of the poem. Of another sort is “Santa Chiara,” [6] certainly an exception to the generalization that his accompaniments are inclined to be out of perspective with the voice, a song which recaptures in more subtle form the impressionist feelings which ran through his popular piano pieces of 1919, the already mentioned Chelsea Reach and Soho Forenoons.

But the works which have done the most to make Ireland’s reputation as a composer of other things than miniatures are, as I have already said, his two sonatas for piano and violin, though he reverses the usual precedence and puts the violin first. The first is well made and effective to play, and it was this work which raised the enthusiasm of my Viennese friend whose remark I repeated at the head of this article. The second sonata, however, has many more qualities than this, and on the whole, we may take the judgment of English music-lovers, which considers this as easily his best work, to be justified. The first movement has the same grimness that underlies a good deal of the ‘cello and piano sonata and is found in its most undiluted form in the E Minor piano trio. [7] But we must remember, for one thing, that it reflected the war spirit, and for another that music, tending always to the sweetness of insipidity, as the impulse of inspiration leaves it, has been particularly emphatic in avoiding this imputation in its reaction against romanticism. Ireland is inclined to be harsh, rugged, and grim. Sometimes he overdoes it, but not in this violin and piano sonata. The second movement by contrast is a beautiful piece of lyrical writing, strongly felt, richly endowed with melody, and worked out with the utmost nicety of skill. The cadenza-like passage in the middle for the violin alone, climbing to the C an octave above the C in alt and followed by a bar’s silence, is one of those touches that make this movement one of the greatest achievements in contemporary English music. Then comes the finale, where a tonic and dominant theme gives an atmosphere of quite irresistible jollity. The whole of this last movement is a proof of two things - that music can still be unsophisticatedly gay without dropping into banality, and that it is possible for a composer to be as diatonic as you please without suffering the same fate.

Notes:

[1] John Ireland’s Sonata in G minor was completed in 1923 and was premiered on 4 April the following year. The soloists were Beatrice Harrison (cello) and Evelyn Howard-Jones (piano). This is not programme music; however, it is difficult not to sense some of the feeling that imbued works such as The Forgotten Rite. Places associated with this work may include The Devil’s Jump and Chanctonbury Hill, both in Sussex. The Sonata is written in three movements - a ‘moderato e sostenuto,’ a ‘poco largamente’ and a ‘finale, con moto a marcato.’ Musically, this is a tightly constructed work that has cross-referencing of themes across all movements. For me, the highlight is the introverted middle movement –it is one of the loveliest things in the cello/piano literature. The work has been well described by Marion Scott as ‘...beginning quietly for cello alone, is cumulative and [ends] very brilliantly!”

[2] I was unable to find any reference to this anecdote. However, Béatrix de Choiseul, Duchesse de Gramont (1729-94), was a sharp-witted French salonnière and bibliophile. She wielded influence at Louis XV’s court through her brother, the Duke of Choiseul, and famously rivalled Madame du Barry for royal favour. Richard Wagner saw Gluck as an important precursor to his own work, particularly in the area of reform and seriousness of dramatic purpose.

[3] Being the second and third number of Three Songs completed around 1926. Friendship in Misfortune sets an anonymous text, whilst The One Hope was Sonnet 101 from Dante Gabriel Rossetti The House of Life (1881, first published 1870). The first song in the series was Love and Friendship (Emily Bronte).

[4] The Vagabond: Song for voice and piano 1922) Text by John Masefield (1879-1967), from Saltwater Ballads (1902).

[5] John Ireland’s The Land of Lost Content (1920–21) sets six poems by A.E. Housman in a poignant cycle reflecting nostalgia, youth, and transience. With lyrical vocal lines and sensitive piano writing, Ireland evokes pastoral melancholy and emotional restraint, capturing Housman’s elegiac tone with understated beauty and deeply English musical sensibility.

[6] John Ireland’s Santa Chiara (1927) is based on a poem recalling Palm Sunday in Naples. The poet’s spiritual longing and exile infuse the setting. The singer complains that “I have grown tired of all these things, And what is left for me?” The poem was by Arthur Symons (1865-1945), from Images of Good and Evil (1899).

[7] The Trio in E written in 1917, is known as No.2. It is not to be confused with the later example, in the key of E minor, which was completed during 1938.

Concluded.

Music of the Month: John Ireland by H. E. Wortham Part I

John Ireland (1879–1962) was a British composer whose music evokes the introspective spirit of early 20th-century England. Deeply influenced by the landscapes of Sussex and the Channel Islands, his works often blend lyrical melancholy with mystical overtones. Best known for his piano miniatures, songs, and chamber music, Ireland also composed orchestral pieces marked by emotional depth and harmonic richness. A teacher to Benjamin Britten, he bridged Romanticism and emerging modernist currents. Sensitive and reclusive, Ireland found consolation in literature and nature, writing music that resonates with personal reflection and quiet intensity - an artistic voice both rooted and visionary.

Hugh Evelyn Wortham (1884–1959) was a British biographer, journalist, and music critic known for his wide-ranging cultural commentary and historical insight. Educated at King's College, Cambridge, Wortham began his career as a foreign correspondent in Egypt before becoming a prolific author and columnist. His writings spanned biography, politics, and religion, with notable works including A Musical Odyssey (1924), reflecting his deep engagement with music criticism. From 1934 until his death, he penned the "London Day by Day" column in the Daily Telegraph under the pseudonym "Peterborough," blending wit with sharp observation.

The present essay was published in the Apollo journal, published during August 1928. This is a leading monthly art magazine, founded in 1925, covering visual arts from antiquity to contemporary, with scholarly depth. It features exhibition reviews, art-world news, collector profiles, interviews, and expert commentary, serving as a vital resource for art historians, curators, and enthusiasts.

THE remark of a Viennese, to whom I was recently talking about music, that he considered John Ireland to be the most characteristically English of our composers induces me to devote these lines to his work, the more readily since Ireland has never been estimated quite at his true worth. At one time he enjoyed what was perhaps an excessive popularity through some of his songs, which showed the influence of his master, Stanford, [1] himself the greatest song-writer this country has produced, certainly since Arne and probably since Purcell, and through one or two piano pieces - Chelsea Reach [2] being the best known - of an impressionist tendency. Fame, however, which is easily won is as easily lost, and John Ireland, who has not, I think, produced any best-sellers comparable with these written a decade ago, has never escaped association with the rather facile success he then achieved. The result is that an extremely conscientious and painstaking artist has been, to a certain extent, misjudged by the smaller public upon which ultimately rests the responsibility of making reputations. Yet, in many ways there is no more interesting composer in England today. He is more definitely in the main stream of our music than any of his contemporaries, more definitely than Bax, Holst or Vaughan Williams; he is more typically English than any of these, and hence perhaps the growing popularity of his chamber music, of which the two sonatas for piano and violin enjoy already a European reputation. [3] Their melodic freshness, their clear, logical construction, based on a style which in these examples at any rate avoids either intense emotionalism (a German foible) or over-elaboration of craftsmanship (a French weakness), make them attractive to any audience at a first hearing, and further acquaintanceship only strengthens one’s first pleasurable feelings.

One of the reasons why John Ireland is apt to be undervalued is that the bulk of his music is small; he has not a great number of published works above his name. For a man of fifty [4] this may be, and often is, put down to a weakness in the inspirational impulse. Fecundity in the past has always been looked on as a merit, whether the offspring were of a man’s loins or a man’s brains. But when one looks through the catalogues of the masters, and thinks of the long “opus” list, with its consequent lack of self-criticism, that has marked almost every composer, both great and small, one begins to see that birth-control might be as usefully applied in the one case as in the other. How much better it would have been for music if Schubert had halved his work and given nothing to the world that had not the true impress of his genius! What is true of the mightiest is still truer of the second raters, amongst whom move Schumann, and truest of all of the great crowd of composers whose music has returned to the quarry of silence from which they hewed it so easily. How many of Raff’s two hundred odd works [5] have you ever heard? Do you know that Spohr, once the idol of his age, wrote nine symphonies, seventeen violin concertos, and thirty-three string quartets? [6] With these examples before one, the restraint of John Ireland in having suppressed all the work he composed before he was thirty-four seems highly commendable. He understands, at any rate, that self-criticism is a valuable asset in the artist. What he wrote in early manhood his more mature judgment found wanting. So, he withdrew it, and the consequence is that we have practically nothing of his published which was composed more than some sixteen years ago. Amongst this collection there are only two orchestral pieces, a prelude dating from 1913, The Forgotten Rite, [7] which is an example of the “nature-worship mood” that has almost degenerated into a convention amongst modern English composers, and a symphonic rhapsody, Mai-Dun, [8] written eight years ago, that does not often, however, find its way into the programmes of our symphony concerts. Ireland, so far, has not shown himself to have any great interest in the problems of colour and timbres which present themselves to the symphonist, and so he does not take kindly to the orchestra.

Notes:

[1] After some unsuccessful approaches and rejection, Ireland became a pupil of composer, music teacher, and conductor, Sir Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924). Muriel Searle (John Ireland: The Man and his Music, Midas Books, 1979) wrote “Ireland worked with his hero from 1897 to 1901, thus earning the standard biographical entry for his generation, 'studied under Stanford'.” The roll call of Stanford’s pupils from that era is striking. Alongside John Ireland were Frank Bridge, Rutland Boughton, Gustav Holst, George Dyson, and Ralph Vaughan Williams.

[2] Chelsea Reach was the first of John Ireland’s London Pieces. These evoke the capital’s moods with impressionistic charm - wistful, bustling, and poetic. Each movement presents a distinct atmosphere, from foggy introspection to vibrant street scenes and nostalgic reverie. The other two were Ragamuffin and Soho Forenoons.

[3] Ireland’s Sonata No.1 in D minor for violin and piano was completed in 1909. It won the first prize in the important Cobbett Chamber Music Competition of that year. The Sonata No.2 in A minor was written between 1915 and 1917.

[4] Ireland was only 49 years old, just shy of his 50th birthday when this essay was published.

[5] Over recent years, Joachim Raff (1822-82) has been enjoying a modest revival. Once a leading Romantic figure, he was long neglected, but recent recordings and scholarship have renewed interest in his symphonies and chamber works.

[6] Louis Spohr (1784-1859) is currently regarded as a significant but overshadowed figure of early Romanticism. Once celebrated, his music fell into obscurity, though recent scholarship and recordings have prompted a modest revival. His innovations in conducting, chamber music, and performance practice are increasingly recognised, even if his compositions remain selectively appreciated. There was a Spohr Society in Great Britain (now defunct) and one very much active in the USA.

[7] John Ireland’s The Forgotten Rite (1913) summons a misty, ancient atmosphere, inspired by pagan ritual inspired by the Welsh author Arthur Machen’s mysticism. Its haunting harmonies and slow, brooding pace evoke a dreamlike procession through shadowed landscapes and half-remembered spiritual lore.

[8] Mai-Dun (1921) evokes the gloomy power of an ancient hillfort. Inspired by Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, its orchestral textures suggest mythic struggle, windswept grandeur, and a timeless, almost primeval sense of place and memory.

To be concluded…

Natale Veneziano: “Christmas polyphony in the Venice of Monteverdi.”

Sometimes it can be a valuable experience to step outside one’s comfort zone. For me, the Italian and German composers on this beautiful new release from Arcana is a closed book. Over the years, I have heard music by Monteverdi, Schütz, and Gabrielli, but I have never “got into” it. Time has not been taken to explore this rich heritage from the 16th and 17th centuries. I know that the loss is all mine, but one cannot major in everything, far less listen to all genres and periods. So, it has been a pleasure to put Bach, the Romantics, the 12-tone brigade, and the English Pastoral School to one side for a few hours.

The opening paragraph of the booklet explains that all the works on this disc could be used in the “liturgies of the Christmas Festivities,” and that the repertoire will encompass several of the foremost musicians active in Venice during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, spanning from Andrea Gabrieli - whose death in 1585 marked the close of the Renaissance era’s early Venetian school - to Francesco Cavalli, who died in 1676, emblematic of the city’s flourishing Baroque tradition nearly a century later.

The greater portion of this disc is given to the work of Claudio Monteverdi written between 1640 and 1650. Five psalms are heard here. The liner notes explain that these lack “explicit references to the birth of the Redeemer,” however they could certainly have been used in the liturgy at Christmastide. Dixit dominus (Psalm 110) which would have been sung at the commencement of Vespers, provides a “continuous alteration of ripieno (full ensemble or chorus) sections and solo parts” rather than antiphonally. Monteverdi’s dramatic setting of Psalm 111 Confitebor tibi Domine combines an expressive trio in dialogue with a five-part ripieno and continuo. The liner notes give an apposite description of the five-voice Beatus vir (Psalm 112, not 111 as stated in the booklet: 111 is the Vulgate numbering) “which proceeds like a moto perpetuo over which a series of lively motifs are interwoven.” Laudate pueri Dominum, takes its text from Psalm 113. It is in five voices which are instructed to sing “Da Cappella” – In the style of the Chapel – in other words unaccompanied. Monteverdi’s final contribution is Psalm 117, Laudate Dominum. Written for eight voices, it sets two solo sopranos in dialogue with the full ensemble, advancing through a series of sharply contrasting episodes, each marked by its own discrete tempo.

The opening track is Heinrich Schütz’s Hodie Christus natus est, SWV456 (c.1610). Although a German composer, he studied in Venice with Gabrieli between 1609-12. This is a splendid Christmas motet mirroring both the joy and solemnity of the Nativity. The Alleluias are especially exuberant.

Giovanni Bassano’s Quem vidistis pastores? (1598) is an eight-voice motet giving an effective dialogue between the angels and the shepherds. It is part of the collection Motetti per concerti ecclesiastici (1598). Bassano was a music teacher at the seminary of St Mark’s.

The earliest piece on this album comes from Andrea Gabrieli, who was onetime organist at St Mark’s Cathedral in Venice. His 7-part motet, Angelus ad pastores ait (1587), dense in sound but somehow always luminous. An ideal start to the Christmas festivities. His nephew, Giovanni Gabrieli’s O Jesu mi dulcissime (1615) is in eight parts. It is quiet, intimate and a touch melancholic.

Francesco Cavalli was a Venetian Baroque composer, singer, and organist: he was a student of Monteverdi. He is represented on this disc by two pieces, both Marian antiphons – a seasonal hymn sung in honour of the Virgin Mary. The first, Alma redemptoris (1656) is for five voices with “occasional solo” introduced into the typically madrigalian structure. The Salve Regina (1656) is a “madrigal” for four voices that successfully fuses the sacred and the theatrical.

The concert closes with Alessandro Grandi’s Magnificat a 8 voci (1629) which is taken from the collection Salmi a otto brevi published in Venice in 1629, the year before the plague. It is an outstanding setting for double choir and continuo. Sadly, Grandi died during one of the plague epidemics.

Il Pomo d’Oro Choir was founded in 2021. They debuted with the already established orchestra of the same name, with Handel’s Theodora. Directed by Giuseppe Maletto, the choir brings together seasoned specialists in early Italian music. Their first solo album featured Gesualdo’s Sacrae Cantiones I, landmark 17th-century sacred motets. Forthcoming projects include Bach’s St John’s Passion and sacred works by Carissimi, Gabrieli, Monteverdi, and Cavalli. They are supported on this disc by a continuo of organ, harp and violine.

The booklet gives a good introduction to the music: they are printed in English, French, and Italian. The Latin texts are given in translation. Resumes of Il Pomo d’Oro (The Golden Apple) and their director Giuseppe Maletto are included as well as a few black and white photographs. Sadly, the font is small, and I was unable to find an online file.

My only niggle is that this beautiful music was recorded in Turin (wonderful city) and not in La Serenissima itself. But that is being unreasonable on my part...

I was impressed with the purity of the singing, the clarity of the diction, and the deep sense of religious conviction implied by the texts. All this is enhanced by an ideal recording.

“Christmas polyphony in the Venice of Monteverdi” indeed. This beautifully performed programme has opened a window onto a rich, unfamiliar world - one I am grateful to have glimpsed. Il Pomo d’Oro’s precision make a compelling case for this radiant Christmas repertoire.

Track Listing:
Heinrich Schütz (1585-1672)
Hodie Christus natus est, SWV456 (c.1610)
Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643)
Dixit Dominus I, SV191 (1650)
Andrea Gabrieli (1532/33-85)
Angelus ad pastores ait (1587)
Claudio Monteverdi
Confitebor tibi Domine I, SV265 (1640)
Giovanni Bassano (ca.1560-1617)
Quem vidistis pastores? (1598)
Claudio Monteverdi
Beatus vir II, SV269 (1640)
Giovanni Gabrieli (c.1554/57-1612)
O Jesu mi dulcissime (1615)
Claudio Monteverdi
Laudate pueri Dominum, SV196 (1640)
Francesco Cavalli (1602-76)
Alma redemptoris mater (1656)
Claudio Monteverdi
Laudate Dominum III, SV274 (1640)
Francesco Cavalli
Salve Regina (1656)
Alessandro Grandi (1590-1630)
Magnificat a 8 voci (1629)
Il Pomo d’Oro/Giuseppe Maletto
rec. 16-21 June 2024, Confraternita dei Santi Rocco e Sebastiano, Cumiana, Turin, Italy
Arcana A584

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