Arthur Butterworth's Three Nocturnes: ‘Northern Summer Nights’ for orchestra are a particularly impressive contribution to the ‘music of landscape’. In 1948 Arthur Butterworth composed one of his few piano pieces – Lakeland Summer Nights. The Nocturnes later developed from ideas contained in the piano piece and was completed in 1958.
The opening movement, ‘Midsummer Midnight’ owed its inspiration to a landscape remote from the North of England. It was based on a memory of being alone somewhere on the Sutherland coast in the far reaches of Scotland, although it could refer to some of the wilder parts of the Lake District or the Pennines. The woodwind explore a number of themes and there is the occasional romantic sweep of strings. There is even a hint of Webern-like ‘pointillism’. This introverted music is at times disturbing, occasionally melancholic, but always inspiring. The middle movement ‘Rain,’ was a literal transcription of the piano music. It is once again the orchestration that makes this piece interesting and fresh. This is often an edgy piece that reflects not only the rain but torrents of water running down the hillsides. Towards the end there is a glint of sunshine, but the sky is still dark. The third movement, ‘The eerie, silent forest in the stealthy darkness’ was also inspired by Scotland, this time by the Rothiemurchus Forest in Inverness-shire. This is an awe-inspiring essay in writing dark, lugubrious music that paints the perfect image of the scene. The movement opens with a distant brass fanfare, followed by slowly rising and falling strings and flute. Small snatches of themes on the cor anglais, flute and horn try to emerge. A contrapuntal passage for strings and woodwind presents a picture of near desolation. The pace of the music is always slow, typically quiet, except for a final outburst of brass-band size proportions, before the music dies away.
There are many influences in these three nocturnes: the tone-poems of Sibelius, the music of Debussy and even some more ‘progressive’ sounds that may be inspired by Berg or Webern. However, it is Butterworth’s individual voice that fuses these trajectories into a satisfying, if sometimes unsettling piece of music.
I asked Arthur Butterworth how The Quiet Tarn (Malham) for orchestra, op.21 1961 work evolved. He told me that the inspiration came on 1st June 1959 when he decided to have a walk into the Yorkshire Dales. It was a perfect summer’s day. Butterworth was born and bred in Manchester, so the Pennines to the east of that city were well-known to him but the area round Malham was then new territory. Although he did not tell me, I presume that he had use of a motor car that day; as he mentioned that he had also visited Top Withen’s, the legendary ruin of Wuthering Heights on Haworth Moor. He recalled that:
‘Even then, more than fifty years ago it was quite a desolate ruin. A heavy shower came on and I sheltered as best one could, under the few slates still on the roof, and shared this with a shepherd and his dog for ten minutes or so. He seemed to be the living incarnation of Heathcliffe, taciturn, un-smiling and very much a loner.’
Later
that day he motored (presumably) up to Malham which is some thirty miles to the
north of Haworth. The day turned out to be ‘gorgeously sunny and very hot.’
Butterworth explained to me that,
‘At Malham one could go on almost endlessly northwards; there is no further industrial region to come up against; no twinkling town lights, just the light of the stars. Indeed, that is, I suppose, one of the fascinations that Malham had for me that June day - the realisation that this marked the beginning, as it were, of some vast tract of truly wild and almost unending landscape, stretching to the Scottish border. So, there was to me, an indefinable sense of remoteness about it all; stimulating the imagination as to what might lie beyond. Such is the awe inspired by Malham Tarn at sunset - the utter solitude, the silence - save for the curlew, and a few other melancholy moorland birds - it has an inexplicable aura about it. However, towards mid-evening the clouds came over, and cool wind came out of the west; there were hints of rain again and I set off back home to Manchester.’
Yet it was this quietness and remoteness of Malham Tarn that made the deep impression on Arthur Butterworth which remained with him all his life.
The piece opens with a strangely suppressed power in the orchestra which
promises much to come. A key constructive feature of this work appears to be a
variety of downward pressing motives and chordal sequences. The music then moves
on a little bit, as if awakening from a deep sleep. After a passage for woodwind
supported by shimmering strings the music sweeps up to the first climax, before
quickly being called to check. The horn once again adds a legendary feel to the
music. There is an uneasy, almost disjointed tune for the strings, before the
second climax. Once again the shimmering strings appear and slowly bring the
work to a conclusion: thematic fragments are gently thrown about before the
flute and other woodwind bring the work to a quiet close. The tarn is at rest
one more.
There
is much in this piece that is full of foreboding: the composer has used the
darker tones of the orchestral palette to great effect. The music of Sibelius
is never too far away.
A
Quiet Tarn is one of the most evocative music descriptions of the ‘North
Country’ of England and ought to be considered alongside Maurice Johnstone’s
Tarn Hows and Eugene Goossens’ By the Tarn as a definitive ‘Lakeland’ British
tone poem.
To
be continued…
With
thanks to the British Music Society where this essay was published in The Journal of the British Music Society 2015 Volume 38: 70-78
Also,
thanks to MusicWeb International where elements of this essay were featured.
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