Eric Coates’s Two Light Syncopated Pieces (1924)

On Saturday, 5 September 1925, Eric Coates's Two Light Syncopated Pieces received their premiere performance at the Queen's Hall, London, as part of a lengthy promenade concert. The programme that evening was diverse, and included Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 4, Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt Suite No. 2, and Ottorino Respighi's Fountains of Rome. The concert opened with Engelbert Humperdinck's overture to Hansel and Gretel and concluded with the Valse from Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin. The New Queen's Hall Orchestra was primarily conducted by Henry Wood, with Jelly d'Arányi as the violin soloist in the Mozart, however, Coates conducted his own work. Michael Payne (2012, p.71) states that Coates's inclusion in the Proms was notable, as light music and ballads were "gradually phased out" at the time.

The birth of Coates's son, Austin, in April 1922, marked a period of decreased musical output for the composer, as noted by Ian Lace (1986, p.39). Aside from a few songs, no major works followed The Merrymakers Miniature Overture (1923). Coates eventually returned to composition, completing his Two Light Syncopated Pieces – Moon Magic and Rose of Samarkand - for the 1925 Proms.

One of the songs he composed during this period was ‘Rose of Samarkand,’ which set a text by Roydon Barrie. Interestingly, "Roydon Barrie" was the pen name of Rodney Bennett (1890–1948), a British lyricist, playwright, and children's author, and the father of composer Richard Rodney Bennett. It was transcribed for orchestra. The song was dedicated to Debroy Somers, bandleader of the Savoy Orpheans. Coates realized that as the Orpheans' music grew in popularity, he could achieve similar effects - known as "symphonic syncopation” -by using a standard symphony orchestra (Payne, op. cit.).

Eric Coates's Two Light Syncopated Pieces were conceived as foxtrots, a sophisticated ballroom dance characterized by walking steps and jazz rhythms. Moon Magic evokes a romantic, dreamlike quality. Its syncopated rhythms and lush string textures suggest moonlight glinting over a still landscape. Sharp leaps, chromatic triplets, and muted brass offer a stylized nod to the well-crafted dance band tunes of the era (Payne, 2012, p. 72). Strings and woodwinds bathe the work in a gentle radiance, evoking the elegance of a moonlit ballroom. Rose of Samarkand shifts into a more exotic register, reflecting the era’s fascination with the East. Its title evokes Central Asian allure, which Coates complements with sultry rhythms, orientalist colours, and percussive intensity. Structured around a persistent drumbeat - first tenor drum, then side drum - it mirrors the rhythmic grounding typical of dance bands. The orchestration divides the ensemble into clearly defined sonic "teams" of brass, reeds, and rhythm, akin to a jazz orchestra (Payne, op. cit.).

Harmonically, both pieces are steeped in the then current language of dance band jazz, using major sevenths, elevenths, and minimal modulation.

These two short pieces reveal Coates’s knack for blending catchy tunes with a sound "classical" musical technique. Rooted in the interwar love of jazz rhythms and syncopation, they carry his trademark melodic polish. Lasting just six minutes in total, they offer a charming window into his playful, light-hearted orchestral style.

You can listen to Eric Coates’s Two Light Syncopated Pieces on YouTube, here and here.  The BBC Concert Orchestra is conducted by John Wilson, and the recording was released on the ASV Record label, CD WHL2107 (1997).

Bibliography
Lace, Ian, In Town Tonight: A Centenary Study of Eric Coates, Thames Publishing, 1986.
Payne, Michael, The Life and Music of Eric Coates, Ashgate Publishing Ltd, 2012.

It's not British, but...Aaron Copland on Alto

The CD opens with Billy the Kid: Ballet Suite. This evocative score was originally written for the Ballet Caravan at the behest of the American author and impresario, Lincoln Kirstein. It was premiered in Chicago during October 1938. The following year Copland made an orchestral suite which was first heard at the Radio City, New York, on 9 November 1940. The story of the ballet presents Billy’s life, from his childhood, living on the American frontier, and his turning to crime and death. The Suite presents six vignettes, including The Open Prairie, Street in a Frontier Town, Card Game at Night, Gun Battle, Celebration after Billy’s Capture, and The Open Prairie Again. Traditional folk tunes are moulded by Copland's distinctive style. The music alternates between lively, rhythmic passages and more serene, atmospheric moments, suggesting the vast landscapes and vibrant spirit of the Wild West – at least in the imagination of Hollywood. The composer admitted that it was the “first time that I attempted to tap the rich source of American folk music and give it a full orchestral setting.”

The present recording was released in 1958 on the Everest label (SDBR 3015). The liner notes do not explain that it was recorded in Walthamstow Assembly Hall, London, during 17 November 1958.

Copland as conductor of the London Symphony Orchestra is subtle throughout, rather than overdoing the “rootin’ tooton’ and shootin’” inherent in the story.

The same LP also featured Aaron Copland's Statements for Orchestra, completed in 1935. It was a commission by the League of Composers. The first two movements were premiered by the Minneapolis Symphony Orchestra under Eugene Ormandy on 9 January 1936, with a full performance not being heard until 7 January 1942 by the New York Philharmonic conducted by Dimitri Mitropoulos. There are a series of six brief movements, with “suggestive titles” given as an aid to the public understanding what Copland had in mind when writing these pieces. These abstract, dissonant, movements are Militant, Cryptic, Dogmatic, Subjective, Jingo, and Prophetic. This is an exceptionally angular and effective performance of this work.

Copland's Symphony No. 3 was written between 1944 and 1946. It was commissioned by the Koussevitzky Music Foundation in honour of Serge Koussevitzky's late wife. The symphony was premiered by the Boston Symphony Orchestra under Koussevitzky in 1946. It is true to say that this symphony expresses the quintessential American sound Copland is known for, blending expansive, lyrical melodies with powerful, rhythmic drive. 

The Symphony is presented in four movements, with the final movement incorporating Copland's famous Fanfare for the Common Man. This fanfare, originally composed in 1942, leads to a triumphant and optimistic conclusion to the symphony. Throughout, Copland's use of rich orchestration and dynamic contrasts creates a vibrant and expressive musical landscape. It is often hailed as a representation of the “American spirit” and has become a staple in the orchestral repertoire. Like Appalachian Spring, it displays his ability to capture the essence of a nation through music. It remains an often tender and always inspiring essay, with emotional depth and technical brilliance. The Symphony was originally released in 1959 on Everest SBDR 3018, in stereo, and was recorded on 18 November 1958, once again at Walthamstow Assembly Hall.

The liner notes by Jeffrey Davis give a helpful introduction to this repertoire. They include several passages from Copland’s writings. Bearing in mind that these recordings are more than 67 years old, they are remarkable in both their depth and vivacity. At the time of the original vinyl releases, they were highly regarded technically.

I enjoyed these “historic” performances of three important compositions by Copland. Many conductors such as John Wilson, Leonard Slatkin, Leonard Bernstein, and James Judd have turned their attention to some or all these works. Yet there is something special about a recording of a piece made by its creator. There is restraint and clarity along with a freshness and leanness about these recordings that transcends time.

Track Listing:
Aaron Copland (1900-90)
Billy the Kid: Ballet Suite (1938)
Statements for Orchestra (1934)
Symphony No.3 (1946)
London Symphony Orchestra/Aaron Copland
rec. 1958
Alto ALC 1703

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

Robert Farnon: City Streets

It is tricky to work out what city Robert Farnon had in mind when he completed his vibrant orchestral piece, City Streets. Despite the composer being Canadian by birth, I do not think this bouncy number refers to Toronto or Montreal. A clue may be found in the work’s genesis. The liner notes of a Robert Farnon Appreciation Society LP issued in 1977 (RFAS LP1) explains that some of his most familiar works were not originally compositions in themselves. Broadcasters liked to have a library of “short openings, endings and links with distinctive themes that quickly achieve public recognition.” To this end, Farnon had provided a series of “Openings and Endings” for use in the 1960s incarnation of the well-known BBC current affairs programme, Panorama. This consisted of eight short pieces entitled the “Pulse of the City.” Two of these were later used to introduce news programmes in Belgium. Farnon “bowed to the numerous requests” for a longer work making use of some of these themes. The result was City Streets. So, I am guessing that the ‘Streets’ are London,  as this is the home of the Beeb. The music is energetic, creating great excitement, and capturing the hustle and bustle of city life. To this ends he uses shimmering strings and dynamic, often muted, brass to create a sense of movement and excitement. Farnon creates an almost cinematic atmosphere, making City Streets a quintessential example of his ability to translate everyday experiences into evocative musical storytelling.

Listen to Robert Farnon’s City Streets on YouTube, here. The Queen's Hall Light Orchestra is conducted by the composer.

Cyril Scott: Pen Portrait by Watson Lyle, 1933 Part II

Cyril Scott had a profound interest in occultism, viewing it as a "synthesis of Science, Mysticism, Philosophy, Psychology and Religion, in their purest forms." This fascination developed after a period of agnosticism, leading him to Theosophy and eventually to an engagement with various occult concepts. He formally joined the Theosophical Society in 1914 and remained a member throughout his life.

Scott believed in a "supernormal" rather than supernatural reality, where spirit and matter are distinct aspects of the same fundamental truth. He also embraced concepts like Karma and reincarnation. His connections with clairvoyants, such as Robert King and Nelsa Chaplin, further deepened his explorations into the occult. Scott even claimed to be a channel for music from nature spirits and devas, experimenting with symbolic harmonies and scales to represent these entities. While his musical characteristics had begun to develop before his occult interests, his later works show a sophisticated attempt to translate mystical experiences and notions into musical form. Lyle Watson continued his chat:

"Do you," I asked, turning from the wide bay window of the delightful studio of his home in town," [1] with such a pleasant outlook as that, find it hard to concentrate upon work?" I indicated the terraces and lawns of the garden, bathed in the yellowing effulgence of the June afternoon. Sitting down facing him from the opposite end of a settee, I watched him puff away industriously at a favourite hookah pipe for a second or two before replying to me, his right arm easefully quiescent along the back of the settee, his left hand nervously pliant over the cane-encased, glass, rose-water reservoir of the pipe. His fingers tightened around it. Mobile lips and mouthpiece reluctantly severed companionship. From their citadel of his domed skull, his grey eyes gazed straightly into mine.

He said: "When there is the real urge to creative work, physical surroundings are not always of great importance. One does not notice them. There are influences near us far stronger than they. It is these influences that are important to the artist."

"Psychic influences?"

He inclined his head to my question, his hand again contemplatively engaged with the bowl of his pipe, its mouthpiece once more in intimate communion with his lips. For a little neither of us spoke; yet one became strangely aware of an ebb and flow of thought between us, so that I somehow felt no break in continuity of speech when he said: "It may sound odd, but until a few years ago I never had the least desire either to draw or paint. Then suddenly I found myself with a longing to do so. Perhaps you noticed the panel in the next room? Of course I don't profess to be a real painter, but I find occasionally working with colours very good for a tired brain." (I had noticed the Italian-looking landscape, but did not know whom it was by. It seemed incredible that anyone lacking years of study and tuition in graphic art could have produced it.)

Feeling however that this occurrence, evidence of yet a third facet of Scott's creativeness, though interesting in itself, threatened to lead away from the real purpose of our talk, I said, sitting down beside him again: "I suppose, as a pianist, you find the instrument rather helpful when composing?"

"But I don't consider myself a pianist," he said almost sharply. [2]

"Come, come! I have heard you play very well indeed," I answered, laughing, " and as I hear all kinds of pianists - good, bad and indifferent -e very concert season, I may claim to be some judge of what is, and what is not, good pianistic art. I have heard you play your own music delightfully."

"Ah! My own music." Smiling slightly as though found out in something, he went on: "But I am not a pianist within the general meaning of the term." "Still, how about the influence of the instrument when you compose?" I hope he forgave my tenacity.

"Sometimes I use it, and sometimes I do not. I have written quite a lot of music-chamber music without employing it at all. On the other hand, I may use it when composing piano works. It is useful for trying over things."

"As a sort of palette?"

"Yes. I do not find it cramps the imagination. In fact, I use a composer's piano."

"What's that?" I exclaimed. For indeed I had never heard of any special style of piano for composers.

"I'll show you it." Rising, with his easy, graceful manner, he moved across the carpet into the small room I had just left.

"This is the only composer's piano in existence, I believe. I invented it, and had it specially made. Look!" Seating himself before what looked rather like a plain, black wood dummy upright pianoforte without a keyboard, he raised part of the front which folded backwards forming a broad writing desk for music MS. paper and disclosing the keyboard of the pianoforte inside this plain case.

"There you are," he said. "Everything ready to hand to test by ear the colours' mixed on the palette!" "Splendid!" said I enthusiastically. "For the little composing I do nowadays, I manage irksomely upon the lid of the grand piano as desk, sprinkling ink freely as I jump about. But this"

"Saves time," observed Cyril Scott laconically, slowly closing the lid of his invention as he rose and went back in his reposeful way to the larger room, puffing again at his pipe with its bubbling little song of the rosewater in the glass reservoir.

Watson Lyle Modern Composers XII-CYRIL SCOTT The Bookman, November 1933, p.115ff

Notes

[1] Probably 37 Ladbroke Grove, Kensington and Chelsea.

[2] In the early years of the 20th century Scott “strove to carve out a career as a young concert virtuoso.” He retained the technical skills well into his final years.

Concluded.

Cyril Scott: Pen Portrait by Watson Lyle, 1933 Part I

Cyril Scott (1879-1970) was an English composer, writer, and poet who, at the beginning of the 20th century, was considered a pioneering figure in modern British music. He was part of the "Frankfurt Group," a circle of composers who studied at the Hoch Conservatory in Frankfurt, Germany.

Scott's music is often characterized by its lyrical qualities, innovative harmonies, and impressionistic textures. He incorporated elements of Romanticism with more modern sounds, creating a unique and individual style that set him apart from the prevailing Germanic influences of the time. While he composed a wide range of works, including symphonies, concertos, operas, and chamber music, he is perhaps best known for his shorter piano pieces, such as the exotic and atmospheric Lotus Land.

Beyond his significant musical output (around four hundred compositions), Scott was also a prolific writer and poet, with interests in occultism, alternative medicine, and philosophy. Although his popularity as a composer waned later in his life, his work has seen a resurgence of interest in recent years, recognizing his important contribution to British music history and his forward-thinking approach to composition.

Watson Lyle was a British music critic active in the early 20th century. He contributed to The Musical Quarterly, and other contemporary periodicals. Lyle's work reflected a keen analytical approach to music criticism, balancing admiration for technical mastery with thoughtful commentary on artistic interpretation 

The present “conversation” with Cyril Scott was written in 1933 and published in The Bookman during November of that year. The composer would have been 54 years old at that time.

While I knew from "Grove," and the catalogues of music publishers, that Cyril Scott had composed several works of symphonic proportions, besides certain charming songs and pianoforte pieces familiar to most concert-goers, I confess to a feeling of surprise upon discovering that the numbers of his opera approached a hundred; and I imagine that this information will surprise most folks. Also, the fact that it is fifty-four years since this youthful looking man, with hair still unsilvered, was born. By the age of seven he had learnt the rudiments of music and began to write it, and at twelve left his home in Cheshire (Oxton) [1] to seriously pursue his art at the Hoch Conservatoire, Frankfort-on-the-Maine, fellow students there being Percy Grainger, Norman O'Neill and Roger Quilter. [2]

To the general public Cyril Scott is known as the composer of Lotus Land, Danse Nègre, Blackbird's Song, and that other exquisite miniature for voice and pianoforte, Lullaby. That this same public is ignorant of his symphonic works (although we owe the production of his Second Symphony to Sir Henry J. Wood at a Prom. of 1903) and his opera, The Alchemist (1926) and has but a nodding acquaintance with his chamber music and his pianoforte concerto, must be set down to lack of enterprise in our concert organisations, for it is by these large works that he is best known on the Continent. True, we have enjoyed occasionally broadcasts of his smaller works (such as the broadcast of his songs on August 9th, with the composer at the piano), but while they bear the imprint of his poetic fusion of tone-colour and rhythm, they naturally give the impression of an artist of lesser stature than is known to the German musical public.

There may be two explanations for this state of affairs. Either those including Scott's works in their programmes, and publishing lists, believe in giving the public more of the particular kind of his music for which it has shown a decided preference; or else the unobtrusive personality of the composer has not insisted upon what might be termed his three-dimensional importance in music - indeed in art. Naturally it is with Cyril Scott the composer we are here primarily concerned, but in passing reference must be made to his other works in poetry and prose. If one's cheeks flare now and then at home truths while reading Childishness: A Study in Adult Conduct, [3] one can laugh forgivingly at its piquant, sarcastic wit. Despite its ruthless commentary upon our times and our foibles, the book has a pervading humanity linking it spiritually to the repose in the second subject of the slow movement of his piano sonata, op. 66, as well as to the strength of endeavour dominating the first movement. Animating the book is an objective analysis of cause and effect, mental processes which, directed into musical channels, may explain his subtle command of tone-colour. It is thus, one feels, he chooses sensitively effective, though often unusual, notation to express himself musically.

Watson Lyle Modern Composers XII-CYRIL SCOTT The Bookman, November 1933, p.115ff

Notes

[1] Cyril Scott was born at “The Laurels,” Oxton, Birkenhead, on 27 September 1879. It is commemorated with a Blue Plaque.

[2] The other member of the Frankfurt Group or Gang was H. Balfour Gardiner. They studied composition under the German composer and music teacher, Iwan Knorr (1853-1916).

[3] The Cyril Scott Net explains that Childishness: A Study in Adult Conduct (1930) explores the ways in which immature behaviour manifests in adulthood, examining its ethical and psychological implications.

To be continued…

Spring fire: Arnold Bax - Complete Music for Cello and Piano

Like many commentators of a certain vintage, I was introduced to Bax’s cello and piano music on the remarkable Lyrita vinyl albums played by Florence Hooton, cello, and Wilfrid Parry, piano released in the mid-1960s. The Legend Sonata and the Sonatina were issued on RCS 6 and the Folk-Tale, and the Sonata appeared on RCS 7. Both LPs were in ‘monaural’ sound: both were reissued in CD (REAM 2104) in 2008 (reviewed here). Over the years, several other artists have recorded all or part of this repertoire, including Bernard Gregor-Smith and Yolande Wrigley on ASV CD DCA 896, 1994 and Lionel Handy and Jennifer Hughes on Lyrita SRCD 361, 2017.

This new SOMM disc opens with Folk-Tale for cello and piano. It appeared in 1918, and was dedicated to Felix Salmond, who, along with the composer, gave the premiere performance at the Wigmore Hall on 27 April of that year. Bax does not give any indication as to what the “Tale” may have been about. Yet, during the latter months of the First World War, he was to leave his wife Elsita Sobrino for Harriet Cohen. Furthermore, he was still disillusioned by the turn of events in his beloved Eire. I have written before that this is no “bucolic folk tale, but a tragic and melancholy reflection on Bax’s life and the world he found himself in.” Contrariwise, it is clear from listening that this Folk-Tale does invoke landscapes and legends in a bizarrely oppressive manner.

Bax’s biographer Lewis Foreman is not too complimentary about the Cello Sonata (1923). The very fact that the composer incorporated material from his abandoned symphony Spring Fire (1913) into the sonata’s slow movement suggested that he was struggling with this work, as he often reused older material when facing a lack of inspiration. In Foreman’s view, this present piece contains uneven material and lacks the “sustained lyrical line of the Viola Sonata.”

One interpretive suggestion offered by the liner notes concerns the sonata’s debt to Spring Fire, which in turn was a musical impression of Swinburne’s verse drama Atalanta in Calydon. The author poses the question, “Is it too fanciful to associate Atalanta, the swift-footed virgin huntress, with the young Harriet [Cohen]?” I like to think that this is a good call.

Despite Lewis Foreman’s misgivings about this Sonata, I find it quite remarkable. For me it is chockfull of gorgeous tunes which seem to tumble over each other. The overriding mood is one of regret, but there are moments of angst and even a touch of the demonic. Strangely, this Sonata does not seem to reflect Bax’s love of Ireland. So much so that the critic Ernest Evans suggested that the beguiling slow movement has a touch of the South to its mood: he has suggested that it could be subtitled ‘In an Italian Garden.’ An important feature of this sonata is the Epilogue, which would become a feature of Bax’s formal structures. This brings it to a satisfying conclusion after a dramatic opening movement, the lyrical poco lento and the forceful finale.

The Sonata was commissioned by Beatrice Harrison who along with Harriet Cohen would give its premiere performance at the Wigmore Hall on 26 February 1924.

Bax’s Sonatina for cello and piano was written in 1933. It was dedicated to the legendary Pablo Casals, who never actually performed it. In fact, it is unlikely that the two men met. The Sonatina has three movements. It opens with a confident and insistent Allegro Risoluto which is rhythmically diverse and possessing a mood of urgency. The heart of the work is the Andante, which is reflective, and in Bax’s Celtic idiom. The finale, a Moderato, pulls these moods together and provides a calm and measured conclusion. The title Sonatina may be a little misleading. It lasts for about thirteen minutes and is characterised by considerable harmonic depth and nuanced scoring for both instruments. There is nothing didactic here. The mood is certainly not charming or playful but typically presents a reflective musical narrative.

The final piece in this recital is the late Legend-Sonata for cello and piano (1943). This is not usually regarded by critics as being one of Bax’s strongest essays. The Legend-Sonata is relaxed music compared to what he would have created in the first quarter of the century. Crucially, there is a suggestion that the passion inherent in the early “Celtic” compositions has evaporated and that what is presented here is an “old man’s” unsuccessful attempt at recapturing his lost youth. I disagree. To be sure, there seems to be little sense of a “Legend” in this work, unless one ascribes an undeclared personal story in Bax’s mind. I have noted before Peter Pirie’s comment that it exudes "a certain rich creative contentment” and suggest that this is the key to appreciating this work. There is much that is quite simply gorgeous here, especially in the slow movement, Lento espressivo. There is a reference to “Fand’s song of immortal love” from the tone poem The Garden of Fand (1913–16), as “Fand, Lady of the Ocean, seduces Cuchulain away from his earthly wife.” Yet, now, and then, Bax introduces some sterner passages that may suggest more troubled memories. It is given a fine, uplifting account by this Baillie-Thwaites duo. The Legend-Sonata was first performed on 10 November 1943, by Florence Hooton (its dedicatee) and Harriet Cohen.

I was impressed by the playing on the disc by Alexander Baillie, cello, and John Thwaites, piano. They provide a convincing and committed account of these four notable works, capturing the wide variety of moods and shifting colours of the music. The disc is enhanced by an outstanding recording.

The liner notes are authored by John Thwaites and give an acceptable introduction to the repertoire. Much of the text is devoted to exploring the orchestral tone poem, Spring Fire, and tends to provide less detail/analysis about the actual music on this disc. Resumes of the performers are included.

This is a splendid addition to Bax’s discography. It will certainly become my go-to version for these remarkable works. But one must never forget the pioneering recordings made by Florence Hooton and Wilfrid Parry nearly 70 years ago…

Track Listing:
Arnold Bax (1883-1953)
Folk-Tale for cello and piano (1918)
Sonata for cello and piano (1923)
Sonatina for cello and piano (1933)
Legend-Sonata for cello and piano (1943)
Alexander Baillie (cello), John Thwaites (piano)
rec. 13-14 July 2022 and 15-16 April 2023, The Bradshaw Hall, Royal Birmingham Conservatoire, Birmingham.
SOMM Recordings SOMMCD 0704

Percy Grainger at the Bechstein Hall.

From Wikipedia

On 15 November 1905, the Australian born Percy Grainger (1882-1961) gave a remarkable recital at the Bechstein Hall, Wigmore Street London. At the time, Grainger was establishing himself as a pianist and composer in London, where he had been based since 1901.

It was a wide-ranging concert that must have lasted for more than two hours. It opened with a major transcription of J.S. Bach’s Prelude and Fugue in D major by the Italian Ferruccio Busoni. The Times (16 November 1905, p.10) reports that he played “two of the less hackneyed sonatas” by Domenico Scarlatti. This was followed by Beethoven’s Rondo ‘Die Wut über den verlorenen Groschen, ausgetobt in einer Caprice’ better known to English concert goers as the Rage over a Lost Penny presented with “admirable delicacy and humour.”  Then came Johannes Brahms Variations on a Theme by Handel “played with prodigious effect and brilliancy, as well as with complete musicianship.”

At the beginning of the century, Percy Grainger was deeply involved in collecting English folk songs in North Lincolnshire. He was influenced by the Folk Song Society, which aimed to preserve traditional music before it disappeared due to urbanisation. However, he was also an enthusiast of Edvard Grieg. He included two unnamed folk tunes arranged by the Norwegian composer. Turning to Irish music, he played his own transcriptions of two Irish Dances which had been collected and realised by Charles Villiers Stanford – the first being the “whimsical” Leprechaun’s Dance, and the second, a “rollocking Cork reel” subtitled Take her our and air her. Encores were demanded of these pieces.

A major (possible) first British performance was Claude Debussy’s Pagodes. This is the first piece in Estampes (1903), evoking Indonesian gamelan music, which the French composer encountered at the 1889 Paris Exposition. The Times considered that it was “a weird and picturesque piece…couched in what we must suppose to be a Chinese style.”  Another novelty was Cyril Scott’s dreamlike, hypnotic, Lotus Land which paper deemed to be “a fanciful and original piece of formidable difficulty” and the London Evening Standard (16 November 1905, p.9) felt that it was “curiously weird.” The recital concluded with the Balakirev favourite, the fiery and virtuosic Islamey.

Considering the concert as a whole, the Daily Telegraph (16 November 1905, p.11) noted that Granger’s “…adherents almost completely filled the room.” Furthermore, it considered that “the artist…shows a steady advance in [his] ability to interpret the works of the great composers in a manner that yields satisfaction to connoisseurs.” On the downside the critic felt that Grainger was “a little too much inclined…to establish the quality of his muscle.” This made his interpretation of the Bach/Busoni and the Brahms “a thought too powerful.”

This notion was echoed by H.V. in the Musical Standard (25 November 1905, p343). He writes that "Mr Percy Grainger is a pianist with a large technique and a boundless ability, seemingly for making a noise…” His execution “admitted only the two extremes of tone – viz., great power and considerable delicacy.” Thus the “nuances between these two were for the most part absent.”

William Lloyd Webber: The Saviour

Over the years there has been a steady trickle of recordings of William Lloyd Webber’s music. Most significant was the Chandos (CHAN 9595, 1998) conspectus of choral and orchestral works. Other discs have majored on organ pieces, choral music and songs. The present CD introduces the listener to several unrecorded organ preludes, a selection of anthems, and a modern recording of his large-scale cantata The Saviour. For an “Impressionistic View” of the composer and his achievement, see my essay, here.

The programme opens with two well-wrought anthems. Sing, O heavens (c.1957) is “suitable for harvest thanksgiving.” It is unusual as being scored for SAB, omitting the tenor part. The opening and closing passages of this stirring anthem sound Elgarian or perhaps even Parry-ian. The reflective O for a closer walk with God (1957) sets a well-known text by William Cowper. It considers the soul’s desire to be near God but also acknowledges its tendency to stray. This dichotomy is reflected in its ternary structure. The liner notes suggest Herbert Howells and Herbert Sumsion as stylistic indicators. This is followed by Oh, Lord spread Thy wings oe’r me (1952) which is set as a song for solo voice and organ. It is tenderly sung by an unnamed mezzo soprano.

Six Interludes on Passion Hymns (1963) provide a satisfying contrast in this largely vocal disc. The first, There is a green hill far away, nods towards Percy Whitlock with its gentle “questioning and improvisatory” feel. The second interlude, When I survey the wondrous Cross, introduces an insouciant right-hand accompaniment in 6/8 time against the hymn tune in the left hand. Ride on in Majesty is appropriately powerful in its commemoration of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem on a donkey. The fourth and fifth Interludes are pensive in mood as befits the sentiment of O come and mourn with me awhile and O sacred head sore wounded. The final number Praise to the holiest in the height is an impressive toccata with a “blazing conclusion.” I feel that in recital, these Interludes benefit being played as a set, however, in liturgical settings, they would make splendid individual voluntaries.

The background to the large-scale cantata The Saviour is given in the liner notes. It was composed in 1961, designed as a Passiontide work in the tradition of John Stainer’s Crucifixion and John Henry Maunder’s Olivet to Calvary. It was dedicated to the Revd. Derrick Greeves and the Choir of Westminster Central Hall. Its full title provides an insight into the cantata’s ethos:  A meditation upon the death of Christ. The libretto which was compiled by Bryn Rees, contains passages from the Gospels and some hymns as well as his own poetry. 

The work is divided into three sections, each portraying a unique aspect of Christ’s relationship to mankind: Man’s Need, God’s Remedy and finally, New Life in Christ. It includes choral passages, movements for soloists, recitatives, and notably, each part ends with a congregational hymn.

I am not sure about the ultimate success of this piece. To be sure there are glorious moments in the proceedings, especially in the choral sections. I found that there was too much recitative/declamation given to the (unnamed) tenor and bass soloists. What is not in doubt is the masterly performance by all concerned. This underscores the cantata’s distinctive musical language, defined by its rich, fluid melodies and opulent accompaniment, evoking the style of Ralph Vaughan Williams, under whom Webber studied.

I understand that some of the music on this disc is previously unrecorded. There is an old vinyl LP of The Saviour issued on the Pilgrim Records label (JLP125) which was released in 1965. Here, Lloyd Webber conducted the Choir of Westminster Methodist Central Hall. Furthermore, Part III of The Saviour was recorded by the Choir of All Saints, Margaret Street, London, conducted by Harry Brahma. (Priory PRCD 677, 1999). I have not listened to these albums.

The Leeds Minster (formerly Leeds Parish Church) choir and the organist, Shaun Turnbull, give a wonderful account of this repertoire.

The liner notes are by Alexander Woodrow, with the assistance of the late Simon Lindley. They provide a good introduction to the music on this CD. Dates of composition for the anthems and organ pieces would have been helpful. The texts of the anthems and The Saviour are provided along with resumes of the choir and organist.

This excellent disc is essential to all lovers of English music from the choirstalls and the organ loft. It provides another chapter in the reevaluation of William Lloyd Webber’s catalogue begun nearly thirty years ago.

Track Listing:
William Lloyd Webber (1914-82)
Sing, O Heavens (c.1957)
O for a closer walk with God (1957)
Oh, Lord spread Thy wings oe’r me. (1952)
Six Interludes on Passion Hymns: There is a green hill far away; When I survey the wondrous Cross; Ride on, ride on in Majesty; O come and mourn with me awhile; O sacred head sore wounded; Praise to the holiest in the height. (1963)
Cantata: The Saviour (1961)
Choir of Leeds Minster/Alexander Woodrow, Shaun Turnbull (organ)
rec. 13-15 November 2024, Leeds Minster, Leeds.
Priory PRCD 1252

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

Ronald Binge: Trade Winds (1946)

‘Sea Music’ has always been popular with British composers. Think only of Frank Bridge’s Suite: The Sea, Benjamin Britten’s Four Sea Interludes from the opera Peter Grimes and on a lesser scale, John Ireland’s Sea Idyll for solo piano.

Best known for his ever-popular Elizabethan Serenade, Sailing By, and The Watermill, Ronald Binge (1910–1979) was a British composer and arranger known for his contributions to light music. Born in Derby, England, he initially worked as a cinema organist before joining orchestras in seaside resorts. His career took off when he became an arranger for Mantovani, where he pioneered the "cascading strings" effect, a hallmark of Mantovani’s sound. Many of his compositions have attractive, descriptive titles.

The liner notes of the Marco Polo survey of Binge’s music remind the listener that during the sailing era, trade winds were crucial for maritime commerce, driving ships steadily across the world's oceans. Blowing eastward north of the equator and westward to the south, these winds provided reliable routes for international trade. Between them lay the doldrums, a windless region that could leave ships stranded. Navigating these patterns ensured smooth and efficient transportation of goods. This inspired Binge’s Trade Winds (1946) which is really a miniature tone poem.

The composer has captured two distinct moods here. Clearly the listener is asked to imagine they were on a Tall Ship responding to the “wayward” winds. Sometimes, the ship surges on and then the sea becomes calm. Somehow, the “wind always returning to keep the vessel moving ever onwards into the horizon.” With its sweeping orchestration and gentle rhythmic pulse, Trade Winds conveys a sense of movement and serenity, evoking images of ships gliding effortlessly across tranquil waters.

Listen to Ronald Binge’s Trade Winds on YouTube, here. The Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra is conducted by Ernest Tomlinson on Naxos 8.223515.

Thomas Pitfield: Orchestral Music

A discerning approach to this distinguished recording requires an appreciation that Thomas Pitfield (1903–1999) was a true polymath - a composer, poet, artist, and craftsman of notable versatility. His musical language reveals the influence of Frederick Delius, Ralph Vaughan Williams, and Percy Grainger, yet always retains an individual character. Unhesitant in his engagement with folk song, Pitfield resourcefully integrates it into a classical context, yielding compositions distinguished by appealing melodies, sophisticated harmonic treatment, and a sensitivity to instrumental technique. 

I am beholden to the excellent liner notes provided by the recorderist John Turner, who is a trustee of the Pitfield Trust.

This is not the forum to discuss the differences between a ‘Symphony’ and a ‘Sinfonietta,’ save to say the latter is not necessarily “light weight.” One need think of eponymous works by Britten, Janáček and Moeran to realise that there are examples with considerable depth of feeling and technical prowess. Despite Pitfield’s Sinfonietta (1946) opening with a sense of grandeur, the music alternates between light and reflective moods. Though seemingly structured in five distinct movements, the liner notes suggest it falls somewhere between a suite and a set of variations. There seems (to this listener) little in the way of formal or thematic balance normally expected from a symphony. The movements include a surprisingly involved Polka, a heart-breaking Pavane and a lively, but quite serious Jig. The Sinfonietta is concluded with a long Finale, which bounces along with some backward glances towards more troubling matters. Whatever the formal impediments are, it is enjoyable and satisfying from the first note to the last. It deserves its place in the large catalogue of rarely (sadly) played British Symphonic Music.

The Fantasia on an Old Staffordshire Tune for violin and orchestra (1950) was first heard at a concert given during the 1951 Festival of Britain, by the Halle Orchestra under John Barbirolli. The Daily News (10 August 1951, p.4) reports on the “interesting” new work and how it “impressed one as an earnest piece of writing, attractive above all in its quieter moments.”  Up to a point I agree with the critic. There are moments when one is reminded of the pastoral “magic” of RVW’s The Lark Ascending, or Julius Harrison’s Bredon Hill. Yet, the faster passages are intriguing and provide a thoughtful contrast to the opening and closing “sections” which contain the heart and soul of this Fantasia. The finale, Andante contemplativo, opens with a cadenza, that nods to an Ascending Lark. The overall impact is one of warmth tempered by introspection. The “Old Tune” is based on The Little Room, a melody that Pitfield had found in that county. He late revisited it in his Bucolics.

The late Lyric Waltz (1988) was originally scored for a variety of instrumental resources including recorder, cello and piano and for piano solo. It has a lovely wistful air, which reminds me of so many sympathetic pieces written for this medium.

This is followed by the undated (although Turner suggests that it is probably “late”) Bucolics: Folk song Studies. The collection is based on a series of six Scottish, English and Irish tunes that are skillfully developed. Highlights include the opening Comin’ through the rye, the bouncy Where are you going to, my Pretty Maid, the intense (already mentioned) My little room and the entertaining Carrion Crow, concerning a pistol shot, poorly aimed, which missed its intended mark - a crow - and instead struck and killed the farmer’s sow.

The story of the Concerto Lirico for violin and orchestra is not a happy one, at least initially. It was completed in 1958 and premiered by the BBC Northern Orchestra under George Hurst, who gave it a less than satisfactory performance. After the broadcast, Pitfield largely destroyed the manuscript, keeping only the slow movement, which had been dedicated to a colleague and friend, the pianist Albert Hardie. Fortunately, he had made a microfilm copy of the concerto and had forgotten about it. It was discovered by John Turner, Pitfield’s executor, when “clearing out his garden shed[!]” It was latterly typeset by Peter Mountain, giving the English music enthusiast a first-class concerto. There are many stylistic nods in this work, including E.J. Moeran and Gerald Finzi. This concerto stands as a timeless masterpiece, embodying the hallmarks of a composer who, as Rob Barnett has said “held true to his style” resisting the “contemporary tidal surge of dissonance.” The Concerto Lirico was previously issued on the Dutton Epoch label (CDLX7221) and reviewed by Mr Barnett here.

The final track on this disc presents the deeply felt Epitaph for string orchestra (1981). It is an adaptation of part of a cantata dedicated to the great Northumberland-born bass Owen Brannigan. Originally a setting of one of Pitfield’s own poems reflecting on the elders of a village resting beneath weathered, moss-covered gravestones, their inscriptions fading with time, it has been transformed into a deeply moving numbers that is on a par with so much English pastoral music. It is my favourite composition on this disc.

All the works are given committed performances by the Liepāja Symphony Orchestra under Paul Mann. The violin soloist, Emma McGrath, gives outstanding accounts of the two concerted pieces. I have already mentioned the liner notes which add value and interest to the package. The recording is splendid.

This is altogether a valuable exploration of Thomas Pitfield’s eminently approachable music. Hopefully, Toccata Classics will re-examine his extensive catalogue soon.

Track Listing:
Thomas Pitfield (1903-99)
Sinfonietta (1946)
Fantasia on an Old Staffordshire Tune for violin and orchestra (1950)
Lyric Waltz for string orchestra (1988)
Bucolics: Folk song Studies (undated)
Concerto Lirico for violin and orchestra (1958)
Epitaph for string orchestra (1981)
Emma McGrath (violin), Liepāja Symphony Orchestra/Paul Mann
rec. 14-17 January 2025 Great Amber Concert Hall, Liepāja, Latvia
Toccata Classics TOCC0765

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