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.

Engelbert Humperdinck’s Hänsel und Gretel: Prelude

Until the early seventies, I genuinely thought Engelbert Humperdinck was just one person - the singer behind “Release Me” and other swooning ballads that filled the airwaves. I had no idea he, Gerry Dorsey, had borrowed his name from a 19th-century German composer whose Hänsel und Gretel helped shape Romantic opera. It was a strange moment of realisation: the pop crooner, all suave charm, and smooth melodies, had nothing to do with the richly orchestrated fairy-tale world of the original Humperdinck. Two artists, separated by nearly a century and a world of style - one defining easy listening, the other steeped in Wagnerian grandeur.

The elder Engelbert Humperdinck was born on 1 September 1854, in Siegburg on the Rhine. He began his musical education at the Cologne Conservatory and quickly excelled in composition, winning the Mozart, Mendelssohn, and Meyerbeer scholarships. These allowed him to study further in Munich and Italy. In Naples in 1880, he caught the attention of Richard Wagner, who later invited him to Venice for a performance of Wagner’s only symphony.

In 1885, he moved to Barcelona to teach composition and lead a quartet at the Royal Conservatory. He returned to Cologne in 1887 and, from 1890, became associated with the Conservatory in Frankfurt. As well as several operas, Humperdinck’s catalogue include songs, piano pieces, and some chamber music. Once upon a time, he was regarded as the individual most likely to carry forward Wagner’s vision of the music-drama. Engelbert Humperdinck died on 27 September 1921 at Neustrelitz, Germany.

Hänsel und Gretel, premiered in 1893 under the baton of Richard Strauss, remains his most enduring work. Originally conceived as a family entertainment with songs for his sister’s children, it evolved into a full-scale opera that captured audiences with its enchanting melodies, vivid orchestration, and dramatic consistency. The score’s use of folk-like tunes, such as the “Evening Prayer,” alongside sophisticated harmonic textures, exemplifies Humperdinck’s unique synthesis of popular and high art traditions.

Often performed around Christmas, this opera captures the wonder and peril of childhood, the warmth of familial love, and the triumph of cleverness over evil - all wrapped in a musically enchanting package.

The opera is based on the Grimm Brothers’ story, adapted by Humperdinck’s sister, Adelheid Wette.

Act I opens in the humble home of Peter the broom-maker. His children, Hansel and Gretel, are left alone and end up dancing instead of working. Their mother scolds them and sends them into the forest to pick strawberries. When Peter returns and learns they have wandered off, he warns of a witch who lures children with sweets and turns them into gingerbread.

Act II finds the children lost in the woods. After a playful duet and growing fear, the Sandman appears and sings them to sleep. In a dreamlike sequence, angels descend to protect them.

Act III begins at dawn. The children discover the witch’s candy-covered house and are captured. But with clever teamwork, they push the witch into her own oven. Freed gingerbread children celebrate, and the reunited family sings a hymn of gratitude.

The American journalist and author described the Prelude:

[It] opens with a prayer theme given out by four horns and two bassoons, which is developed by the strings and other instruments, closing pianissimo. The movement now changes to a Vivace. Accompanied by the wood winds and strings pizzicato, the trumpet sounds a vigorous passage, and as it comes to a close the strings and woodwinds announce a new theme of a nature clearly indicating the nightly orgies of the witch, pierced through at intervals by the trumpet blast. It gradually works up to a climax for full orchestra, leading to a very melodious theme, and this in turn to a dance tempo. These are developed, and the prelude Closes pianissimo with the contents of the introduction.

George P Upton, The Standard Concert Guide, New York, Blue Ribbon Books, 1930

Listen to the Prelude to Engelbert Humperdinck’s Hänsel und Gretel with Sir Georg Solti conducting the Wiener Philharmoniker on YouTube, here.

Early One Morning in Kensington: Music for flute and piano

More than fifty years ago, when I fondly and mistakenly imagined that I might become a composer, I found a remarkable set of books by Ebenezer Prout about composition in a second-hand bookshop in North Wales. I invested in them, and still have them, sad to say largely unread. He is a name that drifts through the history books. This English musicologist, critic, composer and teacher with a Dickensian name, has precious few recordings to his credit. There are a CD of the Clarinet Sonata and a YouTube video of his Symphony No.4: not much to base an appreciation of his achievement.

The present Sonata in A major for flute and pianoforte, op.17 dates from 1882, but as the liner notes are correct in pointing out, there is nothing here that could not have been written in 1832. The models for this essay would include Haydn and Schubert, but hardly Mendelssohn. After an imaginative opening Allegro con anima, the flautist and pianist engage in a Romanza, an operatic “scena’ which is the most rewarding part of this Sonata. The final Rondo is a delight. This music is not as dry as dust as may be expected from a pedagogue, but is charming, often light-hearted, and downright enjoyable.

Frederic Archer (1838–1901) was a British organist, conductor, and composer who, in 1895, founded the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. His undated Duo Concertante for flute and pianoforte is a genuine dialogue between equal partners. Although completed around the same time as Prout’s Sonata, this piece feels more modern and timeless.

The most important work on this CD is Edward German’s delightful Suite for flute and piano. It dates from 1892. For those who decry English Victorian music, this is a revelation. To be sure there are hints of Arthur Sullivan and even Elgar. I have noted before that there are one or two intimations of Malcolm Arnold in the opening Valse gracieuse and elsewhere! The heart of the Suite is the Souvenir, which has considerable depth and regret. Was it a love-song? I like the final Gypsy Dance which is pure invention having no relation to Romany melodies and rhythms but appears to be a tongue in cheek caricature. It is fun.

German’s Romance (1892), Intermezzo (1894), and Saltarello (1889) all for flute and pianoforte could be construed as another Suite. The three numbers go well together and make a satisfying whole. The first two movements are a subtle balance of “wistful charm” as well as moments of “greater passion.” The Saltarello, which Howell informs us is really a Tarantella is a barnstorming energetic dance. It makes a good finale to the “Suite” and would make a splendid encore.

The Old English Melody is a “spin-off” from German’s 1901 incidental music to English Nell, a play by Anthony Hope, author of The Prisoner of Zenda, and Edward Rose. German derived a concert overture and three dances from the score. Significant use of the tune Early One Morning appears in the overture, and this is replicated in the present offering, but is more thoughtful.

Edward German’s Savoy Opera A Princess in Kensington (1903) has a complex and wayward plot. It could be summed up as a story of English fairies protesting a royal marriage between Princess Zara and Prince Albion, fearing it will end their reign. They enlist Puck and mischievous spirits to sabotage the union, but love prevails. The opera blends Edwardian fancy with folklore, fantasy, and comic charm. It was never deemed to be as successful as Merrie England or Tom Jones. I was unable to find a recording of the full stage work. The mysterious composer Henri Leclaire (was this a pseudonym?) wrote a Fantasia on Themes from this operetta. He uses a couple of ‘hit’ numbers including, “Seven o’clock in the morning,” and the hornpipe “He was a simple sailor man.” It ends with a “vivacious coda.” This is a pleasing novelty that could easily find a place in the repertoire of flautists; however, I doubt that the opera will be revived any time soon.

The playing by Gilberto Fornito (flute) and Christopher Howell (piano) is sincere and never patronising. The recording is first-rate and the liner notes by Howell are excellent, giving all the detail needed to enjoy this interesting repertoire.

This entertaining CD explores rare English flute and piano music. Prout’s Flute Sonata, though stylistically conservative, reveals charm and operatic flair. Frederic Archer’s Duo Concertante offers a more modern sensibility, while Edward German’s Suite and companion pieces blend Victorian elegance with wit, pathos, and dance-like vitality.

Track Listing:
Ebenezer Prout (1835-1909)
Sonata in A major for flute and pianoforte, op.17 (1882)
Frederic Archer (1838-1901)
Duo Concertante for flute and pianoforte (??)
Edward German (1862-1936)
Suite for flute and pianoforte (1892)
Romance for flute and pianoforte (1892)
Intermezzo for flute and pianoforte (1894)
Saltarello for flute and pianoforte (1889)
Old English Melody (“Early One Morning”) for flute and pianoforte (1901)
Henri Leclaire (Late 19th Century)
Fantasia on Themes from Edward German’s Savoy Opera “A Princess in Kensington” (1903)
Gilberto Fornito (flute), Christopher Howell (piano)
rec. 2023 Studio of Griffa e Figli, Milan, Italy
Da Vinci Classics CO1086

Minor Masterpieces of Organ Music No.3: Louis Vierne’s Berceuse

Most readers of this journal will have played on a harmonium at some stage in their career. If, like me, you have not been overimpressed by one of these instruments, it will hardly be surprising. Regularly found in a remote kirk, they will often suffer from damp, sticking notes and out of tune reeds. They are not ideal for leading a congregation in rousing hymns or giving a powerful recessional at the close of the service.

It will surely come as a surprise to certain listeners that Louis Vierne’s (1870-1930) Berceuse was written for this Cinderella of keyboard instruments. And what is more, so were all the other numbers in the “24 Pièces en style libre,” op.31. This includes the dynamic warhorse Carillon – sur la sonnerie du Carillon de la chapelle du Château de Longpont (Aisne) and the nippy, incisive Divertissement.

To be sure, the instrument that Vierne had in mind was unlike the ubiquitous American reed organ which sucks air over the reeds. The Victor and Auguste Mustel harmonium blew air across the reeds, resulting in something a little more akin to a pipe organ. For the record, the composer is known to have disliked the harmonium. He is said to have described it as a “big nasal accordion” and a “pitiful caricature of the pipe organ.”

Berceuse (sur les paroles classiques) is Vierne’s most played work, if not his most significant. For every organist who can play the Final of the Symphony No.6 or Les cloches de Hinckley from the Vingt-quatre pièces de Fantasie, there are dozens who can make a reasonable fist of this beautiful cradle song.

The “24 Pieces en style libre” were completed in the year preceding the outbreak of the First World War. The two volumes, each with twelve pieces, were published by Durand & Co. in 1914. It was at a time when the composer was exploring other genres. From this period dates his song cycle Stances d'amour et de rêve, op. 29, and the Sonate for cello and piano, op.27. Personally, in the early Autum of 1913, his young son, Andre died whilst the family were holidaying at Juziers, Île-de-France.

Vierne was inspired by an old French tune - “Dodo, l’enfant do” which was based on an ancient carillon rung at the midday Angelus. The text of the Lullaby was ‘Sleep, Child/The Child will sleep soon.’ The Berceuse carries the dedication ‘a ma fille COLETTE’ – his seven-year-old daughter.

Structurally, Berceuse is an interesting development of a basic musical form. The traditional ternary form (A B A) is used in more than a third of the Pieces en style libre. Often in works using this formula, the B section contrasts with the A with the introduction of new melodic, rhythmic, or harmonic material. Not so the Berceuse. Vierne has used a modification of this form: Statement – Development – Restatement, with an added coda. Thus, it becomes a monothematic composition.

One version of the original melody was as below:

Using this as inspiration, Vierne opened his Berceuse thus:

 

Of interest is the “call and response” motif on the second page:

Berceuse is written in A major, however it has a slightly unstable tonality. Many bars are diatonic, nevertheless some of the phrase endings step out of key. Harmonically, Vierne makes ample use of open fifth chords, often in both hands, but sounding as Major or Minor 7^th chords.The ‘restatement’ towards the conclusion is coloured with chromatic notes in the ‘alto’ part. The piece concludes with a long coda (19 bars) ending on an A major chord with an added sixth.

It is doubtful that the registration suggested by the composer would have been as effective on the harmonium. The Great organ calls for a flute and the Swell requires two string stops - a Gambe and the Voix Celeste. These latter give the Berceuse a dreamy, sleepy quality. The pedal requires 16’ and 8’ Bourdons. 

In its simple form and comforting melody, this is a Cradle “Song without Words.” Its harmonic treatment is free, relatively modern, and unique, reflecting the incomparable style of Louis Vierne. This is original and noteworthy music with a distinct and individual beauty.

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