Wednesday, 12 February 2025

Trevor Duncan’s Little Suite (1959)

Ever since first watching episodes of the original Dr Finlay’s Casebook back in the mid to late1960s, I have enjoyed the theme music. This memorable tune was the first movement March from Trevor Duncan’s Little Suite completed in 1959.

Yet, at that time it was the railway scenes that most interested me. In 1966 (thereabouts), the fictional town of Tannochbrae was represented by the former Scottish station of Uplawmoor, and an elderly North British Railway J36 locomotive was pressed into service. It is rumoured that two surviving Caledonian Railway coaches also appeared. These are now safely preserved at the Scottish Railway Preservation Society site at Bo’ness.

Dr Finlay’s Casebook drama series ran from 1962 until 1971. It starred Bill Simpson as the eponymous character and Andrew Cruikshank as the craggy Dr Cameron. Viewers will not forget the part played by their housekeeper and receptionist Janet, played by Barbara Mullen.

In the liner notes for the Marco Polo retrospective of Duncan’s music, David Ades explains that the composer regarded this Suite as absolute music, with no hint of a programme or literary subtext. Yet, due to the use of the March in the TV series, the piece has become to be regarded as being ‘Scottish.’ The composer insisted that he had England in mind when writing it.

Trevor Duncan’s charming Little Suite has three contrasting movements. The March is lively and energetic, suggesting the busyness of a street or marketplace. The second part is a serene Lullaby that is gentle and soothing. The last movement is a rhythmic Jogtrot that is catchy and playful. Careful listening will reveal melodies from both the March and Lullaby worked into this finale.

The March has been recorded many times, but the entire Suite less often. The premiere recording was made in 1993 on the Marco Polo label (8.223517), The Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra (Bratislava) was conducted by Andrew Penny.

Listen to Trevor Duncan’s complete Little Suite on YouTube, here.

Sunday, 9 February 2025

Alan Rawsthorne by Hubert Foss - Part 2

This is Part 2 of Hubert Foss’s long essay about British composer, Alan Rawsthorne, published in Musical America (February 1952, pp. 19, 165, 166).

The Violin Concerto has had a curious history. It was begun in 1940 and had reached semi-completion in sketch form when an air raid on Bristol (where the composer was then living) totally destroyed the manuscript. The necessary task of reconstruction was undertaken, but soon Rawsthorne was called up by the army, and the finished product was not ready until 1947. The first performance was given at the 1948 Cheltenham Festival of British music, [1] with the young Dutch violinist, Theo Olof, [2] and the Hallé Orchestra, under Sir John Barbirolli. A performance was soon given in Amsterdam by the Concertgebouw Orchestra, under Eduard van Beinum. [3]

As one studies this music, one is oddly struck by the absence of any direct influence on Rawsthorne’s mind of any one composer or school of musical thought. It seems to be as remote from Brahms as it is from the English Parry or the Irish Stanford. No one could label it as belonging to the Stravinsky category or the Schoenberg, to the Debussy class or the Vaughan Williams. I am not for one moment suggesting that Rawsthorne is an isolated phenomenon in history - a genetic sport, like a single freak shrub sprung up without assignable reason in the middle of a barren plain.

On the contrary, the Violin Concerto (along with its fellow works) has its roots in musical history and draws its sustenance from the common soil. It is, for example, palpably post-Liszt; it could not conceivably have been written before the Russian, the Bohemian, the French, and other not forgetting the English) reactions against the domination of one central German Austrian style. There is much to be heard in it of music from the more southern cultures of Europe. The fact remains that this music shows a strong independence of outlook, votes with no party, and to that extent creates its own genre.

I mention the point (an important one) at this juncture for one somewhat paradoxical reason - that the Violin Concerto shows more trace of another’s imprint than the rest of the composer’s music. The work is dedicated to Rawsthorne’s friend and fellow composer (by three years his senior), Sir William Walton. On a certain page of the score there occurs a delicate quotation from Walton’s Belshazzar’s Feast, where the assembled company in Babylon sing praise to the God of Iron.

An interesting question presents itself, for such quotation is hardly de rigueur in music today, although common enough a century or two back. Yet in literature - in titles especially - such unacknowledged quotation is frequent, even considered admirable. How many, one wonders, among the crowds who flocked to see Gone with the Wind paid silent thanks to Dowson? Neither Aldous Huxley nor William de Morgan gave a credit line for the use of “Antic Hay” or ‘Somehow Good.” [4]

But the matter goes deeper than this, Rawsthorne himself called this citation “a tribute to the master.” It is impossible not to find in the Violin Concerto numerous vague and indefinable indications that Rawsthorne has been deeply impressed by his colleague’s music. Such influence, if you can pin so square a label on it, seems to me entirely healthy. For myself, | am profoundly grateful to both Rawsthorne and Walton for this interchange of musical thought, this temporary linking of hands. It is a sign of comradeship; and I do not consider the influence of older on younger one whit greater here than that of Sibelius on Vaughan Williams in the D major (or Fifth) Symphony. The original manuscript score of the Vaughan Williams bore a superscription (expunged, save for the name, before print); “Dedicated without permission and with the sincerest flattery to Jean Sibelius, whose great example is worthy of imitation.” But to assert that Vaughan Williams is influenced by Sibelius is plain silly.

In his own program note for the first performance of his Violin Concerto, Rawsthorne wrote: “The intention of the Concerto is to combine a rhapsodical style of expression with the brilliance of a solo instrument.” We are told some of its secrets in the first bar. A note of G is established as a base, and the violin ruminates around it chromatically; the mood is plaintive. The long 9/8 tune arouses interest because it is obviously narrative in style - the composer told me that “it is telling a story while looking at something.” The story is not wholly cheerful, but it is beautiful; soon efforts are made to put an altogether bolder face on the world, but we sink back to the shadows, against which the brilliant cadenza for the soloist - no mere extra, but an integral part of the design - shines up more brightly.

There are only two movements, joined. The second, in a more elaborate tonality, again opens in a hesitant, fragmentary manner, but soon we get a fugato, cunningly wrought but not academically complete, followed by what the composer describes as “a new tune,” which is really a fresh decoction of the work’s opening mood. A strong allegro breaks the mood for a while, and then Fantasy steps in and blows away all the melancholy mists with a kind of gay but ghostly waltz. The large coda includes a reprise and a new touch of whimsicality.

The Symphony (commissioned by the Royal Philharmonic Society of London for its 1950 season) is made of altogether sterner stuff than the now gentle, now disturbing, now friendly, now menacing, Violin Concerto. A different vision of beauty is sought and portrayed for us -one more angular perhaps, but also richer. It is, as it should be, a work of larger scale and broader execution. One observes certain points, for the Symphony is hardly analysable save in the barest or most meaningless phrases: the assertion of a single note (again G) as the tonal basis of the work; swift changes in moods, each well developed and not mere petulant outbursts; a new use of long and inventive melodies of no particular harmonic significance but great progressive and constructive value; an elaborate but sparing use of the orchestra as a single instrument, for the work clearly has been thought into the instruments, not scored afterwards. Even the composer has labelled part of his slow movement “of a rather more romantic and sentimental nature.” The scherzo is short, rhythmic, and epigrammatic. The finale is “more discursive” with a “secondary theme of a playful nature” (I again quote the composer’s direct description). [5]

The Second Piano Concerto (1951) is perhaps the most immediately appealing of these three works by Rawsthorne, partly because of its unbroken effectiveness. It is very different from -and, I think, superior to - the brilliant First Piano Concerto (1942). Let me add that the first performance was given by the London Symphony Orchestra last year, with Clifford Curzon as soloist and Sir Malcolm Sargent as conductor. Within a few weeks a long-playing recording was made by London Records, with the same admirable team. [6] The Second Piano Concerto exhibits the full range of Rawsthorne’s musical mind in its present maturity of middle life. It is essentially conceived for the piano, with orchestral backing - a prolonged song for the pianist, with light and ingenious writing for the orchestra. We observe in its idiom that some use is made of sequences; that the piano-registration of chords is often of significance, even vital, to the structure; that false relations and the six-four chord with an added note are points of harmonic variety; that the argument is close but never intellectual; and that the work, without any linking themes, is a single and integral conception.

Rawsthorne adopts, here too, a predominantly gentle mood for the first movement - with exciting interruptions, of course. Both this allegro piacevole and the following scherzo have main themes that are easy to remember (rather, perhaps, difficult to forget). The third movement, called Intermezzo, is more rhapsodic, with the piano ruminating to its heart’s content. Once again Rawsthorne solves the eternal problem of the finale by allowing his character Fantasy to have its head. The opening subject is described by the composer as “of an innocence which verges on the banal;” it is in fact a brilliant and catchy tune of the kind that Rossini might have been proud to think of had he lived today. The whole movement consists of a series of built-up episodes, each clearly proving from a different point of view that the theme is neither innocent nor banal. It is immensely exciting, and of a proper scale to balance the whole work.

It would be extravagant even ridiculous at this point in our subject’s career - at this moment in history, perhaps - to claim for Alan Rawsthorne that he is a great composer. The meaning of those two words happens, also, to be very vague. On the other hand, I openly claim for Rawsthorne that he is keeping the loom of music spinning stuff in the great tradition; that he is continuing the mainstream of music in a manner, and at a level of excellence, that is worthy of the great achievements of the past. Of the importance of modern English composers in the music of the world, I have neither the space nor the inclination to write here. But I look around Europe, and I cannot see one composer of equal age in the symphonic field with whom Rawsthorne cannot stand up in at least proud equality, and I can see many over whom he towers with his powerful stature of musical thought. Having watched his progress for fifteen and more years, I can rely with confidence on the future - circumstances like health and peace permitting - as likely to produce many other brilliant and beautiful expressions of this very remarkable mind.

Notes:
[1] The premiere performance was on 1 July 1948 at the Cheltenham Town Hall.

[2] Theo Olof (1924-2012) was a Dutch violinist and writer, born in Bonn, Germany. He fled the Nazi regime with his mother in 1933. Olof performed with major orchestras like the Concertgebouw and Residentie Orkest and was a noted soloist and teacher. He won the fourth prize at the 1951 Queen Elisabeth Competition.

[3] This performance was on 7 November 1948 at the Amsterdam: Concertgebouw Hall.

[4] English poet Edward Dowson’s Cynara contains the lines: I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion/I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind. The title of Aldous Huxley’s Antic Hay is derived from Edward II, a play by Christopher Marlowe, c1593, Act One, Scene One, lines 59-60: "My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns, shall with their goat feet dance the antic hay", which is quoted on the frontispiece. ‘Antic hay’ here signifies to a lively dance. William de Morgan’s appropriation of Somehow Good eludes me.

[5] Rawsthorne’s Symphony No.1 was premiered on 15 November 1950 at the Royal Albert Hall, London. The BBC Symphony Orchestra was conducted by Adrian Boult.

[6] Decca LX-3066 (1952); Concerto for Piano No. 2; Clifford Curzon, piano; London Symphony Orchestra; Malcolm Sargent, conductor. It has subsequently been released on CD: Clifford Curzon Edition: Complete Recordings, 2012.

 

Concluded

Thursday, 6 February 2025

Alan Rawsthorne by Hubert Foss - Part 1

Hubert James Foss (1899-1953) was an influential English pianist, composer, and the first Musical Editor for Oxford University Press (OUP) from 1923 to 1941. Born in Croydon, England, Foss played a pivotal role in promoting English music between the World Wars. He was instrumental in expanding OUP's music department, which published a wide range of sheet music, operas, orchestral compositions, chamber works, and piano pieces. Foss is best known for his work with composers like Ralph Vaughan Williams, William Walton, and Peter Warlock. His efforts helped establish OUP as a major music publisher during the early to mid-20th century. After leaving OUP, Foss continued his career as a critic, reviewer, journalist, author, and broadcaster. His contributions to music publishing and his support for contemporary composers left a lasting legacy in the world of classical music. Foss's life and work are documented in Music in Their Time: The Memoirs and Letters of Dora and Hubert Foss.

Alan Rawsthorne (1905-1971) was an English composer known for his finely structured orchestral and chamber music. Born in Haslingden, Lancashire, he initially pursued dentistry and architecture before committing to music. He studied at the Royal Manchester College of Music and with Egon Petri in Berlin. His early success came with Theme and Variations for Two Violins (1938) and Symphonic Studies (1939). Rawsthorne's music is characterized by its contrapuntal texture, rhythmic vitality, and melodic fluidity. Notable works include two violin concertos, a cello concerto, and an oboe concerto. He also composed for film and received several honours, including a CBE in 1961.

The following essay was published in Musical America, (February 1952, pp. 19, 165, 166). Included are a few brief footnotes.

That queer wraith, the ghost called “modern music,” still continues to visit our concert halls. It is said by novelists and other wise men that those who live in haunted houses become used to their misty companions and even come to love them. And, after all, the “modern music” spectre has been haunting us long enough by now: at nearly fifty years of age, it is a familiar, respectable ghost. Yet it still seems to scare certain concertgoers as it suddenly rears up its “queer noises” (that is what Ralph Vaughan Williams once called modern harmonies) in our concerts.

The frisson of horror might be understandable, even excusable, in those whose adolescence ended, say, with the death of Brahms; but those of the next generation who persist in regarding the early Stravinsky ballets as eccentric freaks of modernity have little to be said on their side. The curiosity - explicable perhaps because of the native conservatism of academic institutions - is that this business of so-called cacophony has such odd effects on the young. Some take to it as their natural element, like ducks to water; some, on the other hand, are more frightened of a discord than they are of breaking the Ten Commandments.

Of middle-life composers writing music today, Alan Rawsthorne by his very robustness blows away all shadowy fears. The firmness of his voice exorcises once and for all the ghost of “modern music.” For, not by theory but by nature, Alan Rawsthorne writes music in the idiom of his day. He expresses himself plainly in the language of 1950 - not in its argot or cheap wisecracks, but in the fine language it has by now developed. This fact seems to me to be his first (though I would not say his greatest) recommendation to listeners of today.

In clothes, women do not seek old fashions but new; we do not expect our novelists to write like Fielding or Hawthorne or Meredith. And I for one have always been at a loss to understand those critics and non-critical music-lovers who ask a composer to use any idiom save that in which he naturally, as a living composer, wants to think. I find nothing more distressing than a composer who makes me feel he is imitating a style of a past age in order to persuade the public to listen to his music. Ours, I grant you, is no pretty century; its face is scarred with wars, pock-marked with political disturbances, and twisted with constant aching fears. That is no reason for demanding that a composer of 1952 should write as if he lived at any moment save in 1952; we have no right to command, or even expect, of him that he should write in the style and idiom of 1852, 1752, 1652, 1552, or for that, 1452. The choice is not ours.

The rise of Alan Rawsthorne from obscurity to a position in the first rank of younger contemporary composers has been swift but sure-footed. He first attracted attention in London in 1936 or so - some sixteen years only on the ladder of fame, seven of which were occupied by war. [1] The upward progress has been the more remarkable because Rawsthorne has so far written no spectacular work - no opera like Peter Grimes to act as a focusing point, no ballet like Constant Lambert’s Horoscope. [2] He has written “absolute” (or symphonic) music. Of all his works only two overtures (Cortéges and Street Corner) and a book of piano duets (The Creel) bear titles; the rest are called simply symphony, concerto, quartet, and so on. But the range is wide: from the Theme and Variations for Two Violins (1937) to the Symphony (1950) and the Second Piano Concerto (1951).

It is of some significance that the birthplace of Alan Rawsthorne (in 1905) was in Lancashire. [3]. As a general rule the language of all northern peoples is more direct than that of the southern - more terse in idiom, more consonantal, epigrammatic rather than expansively expressive. The point is true beyond doubt within the narrow limits of the British Isles. The Lancashire and Yorkshire people are notoriously more outspoken, less wordy, more inclined to blunt truth rather than polite periphrasis than their brothers and sisters of Hampshire, Devonshire, and other counties of the south and west of England. Rawsthorne took to music only after the pursuit of other studies, and it was not until his early twenties that he entered the Royal Manchester College of Music. Leaving there in 1930, he went abroad to study piano (and no doubt that larger subject “music”) with Busoni’s pupil Egon Petri. [4] From 1932-34 he was professionally employed at that American educational and experimental centre, Dartington Hall, South Devon. [5] In 1935 he came to London.

On no less than four occasions has Rawsthorne’s music been selected by the jury for performance at the annual festivals of the International Society for Contemporary Music: London, 1934, Theme and Variations for Two Violins; Warsaw, 1939, Symphonic Studies: London, 1946, Cortéges; Brussels, [and] 1950, Concerto for String Orchestra. The several selecting juries being drawn from various countries, we can observe that Rawsthorne’s is no local talent. His music is of international appeal; as one says of certain wines, “it travels well.” His name is not unfamiliar in the United States (see the Musical Quarterly, April 1949, p.305ff) [6] and performances of his works have been given in most countries of Europe (especially in Holland), in South Africa, Australia and Canada, and even in Tunis and Algiers.

Despite the interruption of army service [7] and the emotional disturbances of enemy air raids, the composer’s output is considerable. A glance at his list of writings reveals a curious paucity of small works - only three songs, a couple of minor piano pieces. On the other hand, there are five concertos - for violin (1948), pianoforte (two, 1942 and 1951), clarinet (1936), and oboe (1947). The Symphonic Studies (1939), although quite independent, may be called a herald to the Symphony (1950); the Concerto for Strings and the two overtures complete the orchestral list, but in chamber music there are (apart from the two-violin work ) a String Quartet (theme and variations) (1939), a Clarinet Quartet (1948), a Cello and Piano Sonata (1949), and a Piano Sonatina of the same year. It is thought that Rawsthorne is now turning his mind towards the composition of a second-string quartet. [8]

Not because of their size but because of their maturity, Rawsthorne’s Violin Concerto, Symphony, and Second Piano Concerto are his most important productions up to the present. But before we cast a more penetrating eye on these works, it may be as well to examine, in a broad and rough way, the qualities that lie beneath this composer’s indubitable power of abstract musical thought.

From this procession of sounds, four figures (as it were) detach themselves and strike the eye and ear by their recurrence. Let us imagine them as characters in an ancient mystery or miracle play, or in a new Pilgrim’s Progress.

First comes straight-spokenness; I do not mean the cultivated austerity of Holst or the epigrammatic style of Grieg or Wolf. Rawsthorne says his say, without flummery or padding. There is neither strutting nor attitudinizing. Next comes a figure of warmer colours and softer outlines - the emotional character who can feel as well as think. Along with him comes a third; he is one who wishes to sing but carries with him an armful of instruments. He is lyrical, but he cannot pour out his song without a pipe - his voice is not attuned to it. The concertos show that the lyrical Rawsthorne is an instrumental thinker. Lastly, we can observe an odder figure, dressed in motley. He is Fantasy (twin brother to Humour), and he laughs in the most unexpected places. We must go carefully with our new friend, especially in his more solemn moments, lest he be laughing against and not with us. We must be frightened by his occasional outbursts into poetry.

Notes:
[1] Possibly with his Overture for chamber orchestra (1936) or his Sonatina for Flute, Oboe and Piano.

[2] Foss would [probably] change his mind at this point if he had heard the Madame Chrysanthéme ballet, dating from 1955, three years after this essay was written.

[3] To be precise, Deardengate House, Haslingden, Lancashire, on 2 May 1905.

[4] Egon Petri (1881-1962) was a Dutch American pianist, renowned for his interpretations of Bach, Liszt, and Beethoven, and a prominent teacher influencing many pianists.

[5] Dartington Hall, located in Devon, England, is an impressive estate known for its 14th-century manor and gardens. It serves as a cultural hub, hosting arts, education, and social justice initiatives. The estate is also home to the Dartington International Summer School and many innovative community projects.

[6] The Musical Quarterly, established in the United States in 1915, is a prominent academic journal covering musicology, music history, and theory. It publishes articles, reviews, and original research by leading scholars, exploring a diverse range of music topics from different periods and cultures, fostering scholarly discourse and advancements in the field of music. It is now published by Oxford University Press.

[7] Rawsthorne served in the Army first in the Royal Artillery and then in the Education Corps.

[8] The String Quartet was completed during December 1953, and was premiered on 12 July 1954, by the Griller Quartet at Cheltenham Town Hall.

 

To be continued…

Monday, 3 February 2025

William Walton: Complete Song Collection

What a wonderful disc! I start by echoing accompanist Gerald Moore’s comment who said that “Walton’s songs are really terrific, everything WW does is impressive – why the devil doesn’t he write more songs?”

Before reviewing this CD, I checked up on Stewart Craggs’s Thematic Catalogue to remind myself what songs Walton wrote, and to see if any were missing from this disc. None were. That said, the score for The Passionate Shepherd for tenor voice and ten instruments (1920) is missing. Tell me where is fancy bred (1916) for soprano and tenor voices, three violins and piano remains unpublished. The Three Arias from Troilus and Cressida (1947-54) is an arrangement for singer and full orchestra. Finally, three further songs from Façade, Long Steel Grass, Tango Pasodoble and Popular Song were arranged for high voice and chamber ensemble.

The earliest examples of the genre are the Four Early Songs, which are settings of poems by Algernon Swinburne. They were composed between 1918 and 1921, shortly before the iconic Façade. I guess that the final number, The Winds is well known, however the first three are all premiere recordings. They are new to me. The Child’s Song is a gentle unchildlike rumination on the autumn of life. Song: Love laid his sleepless head, is attractive and delicate with an enigmatic final cadence. The Lyke-Wake song is a remarkable achievement for a sixteen-year-old lad. This meditation on death and purgatory is given the lightest possible accompaniment. This contrasts with the vivacious piano part for The Winds. The cod-Scots language of this poem is not overplayed.

Another early song is Tritons (1920) to verse by the seventeenth-century Scottish poet William Drummond of Hawthornden. One would swear that Walton had created a tone-row for this modernist work.

The next, chronologically, is Under the Greenwood Tree, which was one of numerous pieces of incidental music produced for the 1936 film production of As You Like It. There have been several incarnations of the music, with the present version being published in 1937. It is conceived as a charming Elizabethan pastiche.

Another score of incidental music was provided for Louis MacNeice’s play celebrating the 450th anniversary of Christopher Columbus’s [re]discovery of the Americas. It was broadcast on the BBC Home Service on 12 October 1942, the same date as Columbus had (probably) landed on what is now San Salvador in the Bahamas. Originally scored for orchestra with lots of percussion, Beatriz’s Song was arranged for voice and piano by Christopehr Palmer. It is a beautifully wrought meditation by Columbus’s mistress Beatriz Enríquez de Arana and her fears that exploration meant more to him than she did. A little gem. There are other versions of this song by Steuart Bedford and one for singer and guitar by Hector Quine.

The Three Façade Settings (1931-32) are remarkable. They are far removed from the “recited” performance of the original “Entertainment” first heard in private in 1922.

Daphne is a deeply felt meditation on the myth of the Naiad and her metamorphosis into a laurel bush. Unusually for Edith Sitwell’s poetry collection Façade, this is a straightforward lyric, lacking verbal gymnastics. It is subtitled “In stile inglese” – In the English style, but Christopher Palmer has suggested that rather than being an example of English neo-pastoralism, its texture is more French. Through Gilded Terraces has an Iberian feel to it that mirrors the text’s allusions to “mantillas, capes/…” and [Dancing] the “Quadrille from Hell’s Towers to Seville.” It just oozes Spanish sunshine. The final song, Old Sir Faulk, is a real foxtrot, which makes a wonderful cabaret number.

It is hard to believe that William Walton had not written for guitar before composing Anon in Love. In fact, he relied on advice from the legendary Julian Bream. The set of six songs were an Aldeburgh Festival commission and were first performed at Ipswich on 21 June 1960. The poems, all about love, were assembled by the author and actor Christopher Hassall from a collection of 16th and 17th century lyrics.

This cycle is not an Elizabethan parody; Walton who was clearly aware of the techniques of those Renaissance composers brought contemporary procedures such as wide-ranging melodic lines and the percussive use of the guitar. A wide variety of moods are explored here. There is amorousness, (Fain would I change that note and Lady, when I behold the roses), flirtation, O stay, sweet love), naughty humour, (My love in her attire) a drinking song, (I gave her cakes and I gave her ale) and a kind of Rabelaisian wit in the last, To Couple is a custom. One commentator has described these songs as being “sweetness and spicy, [displaying] salty energy.”

The performance here by Siân Dicker and Saki Gato is first rate. Both consistently capture the diverse moods of this vocal masterpiece.

In 1971, Anon in Love was arranged for tenor and small orchestra by the composer. Christopher Palmer transcribed them for voice and piano in 1989.

I heard Walton’s A Song for the Lord Mayor’s Table long before any of his more popular and oft recorded works. It was during the Last Night Promenade Concert broadcast on BBC TV on 16 September 1972. The soloist was Elizabeth Bainbridge accompanied by the BBC Symphony Orchestra under Colin Davis. I cannot now recall what I thought about it then.

This is another cycle where the texts were chosen by Christopher Hassall. In this case, they all highlight various facets of London. The original version completed in 1962 was for soprano solo and piano (heard here). It was later orchestrated by Walton in 1970. The opening number The Lord Mayor’s Table (Thomas Jordan) is in full pomp and circumstance mode. This is followed by William Wordsworth’s Glide gently, which is sophisticated and lyrical. Wapping Old Stairs (Anon) is boisterous, with just a hint of jazz as it unfolds a jilted girl’s complaint to her Jack Tar “with a girl in every port.” William Blake’s Holy Thursday is dark and serious, as it sets out a scathing critique of an England that neglects and impoverishes its children, only to congratulate itself for offering meagre acts of charity. Siân Dicker excels with her performance of The Contrast (Charles Morris) which compares city living with the peace of rural life. There is such a variety of vocal technique. Equally exhilarating is the final song, Rhyme (Anon) which is really a vocal reminiscence of Oranges and Lemons, with a hugely ambitious vocal line.

Siân Dicker is a talented British singer known for her rich, full-bodied voice and dramatic flair. As a spinto soprano, she is at home in both the opera house and the recital room. Her CV includes performances with the English National Opera, Garsington Opera, and Guildhall Opera. She has won several awards, including the Singers Prize in the 2020 Royal Over-Seas League Annual Music Competition and the Oxford Lieder Young Artist Platform.

The liner notes by choral conductor and writer, David Wordsworth are most useful. The texts of all the songs are provided. There are photographs of the recording sessions as well as a great cover illustration created by William Coates-Gibson of an unidentified artwork. There are résumés of the three artists.

I cannot fault the imaginative and sympathetic performances of these songs by the wide-ranging vocal accomplishments of Siân Dicker. She is an ideal interpreter of Walton’s music. Equally wonderful are the outstanding accompaniments by pianist Krystal Tunnicliffe and the guitarist Saki Kato.

The recital is aided and abetted by the ideal recording conditions in the beautiful St Mary’s Parish Church, Haddington.

Track Listing:
William Walton (1902-83)

A Song for the Lord Mayor’s Table (1962)
Anon in Love (1959)
Four Early Song (1918-21)
Tritons (1920)
Under the Greenwood Tree (1936,1937)
Beatriz’s Song (from Christopher Colombus) (1942)
Three Façade Settings (1931-32)
Siân Dicker (soprano), Krystal Tunnicliffe (piano), Saki Gato (guitar
rec. 5-7 January 2024, St Mary’s Parish Church, Haddington
Delphian DCD34328
With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published. 

Friday, 31 January 2025

Josef Holbrooke on William Baines.

Josef Holbrooke (1878-1958) was an English composer, conductor, and pianist. Born in Croydon, Surrey, he studied at the Royal Academy of Music in London. Holbrooke was known for his symphonic poems and operas, particularly the trilogy The Cauldron of Annwyn, which includes The Children of Don, Dylan, and Bronwen, based on Welsh legends. Despite his prolific output, his works fell out of the mainstream repertoire over time.

His literary writings were known to be controversial. His book Contemporary British Composers “follows up a discussion of the state of British musical life today with a collection of opinions upon some of our leading composers. It is unfortunate that he allows prejudices to distort much of what is sound in his argument.” (Spectator 19 December 1925, p.31)

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

The present essay was included in Contemporary British Composers (p.243ff). It also featured a works list which is hopelessly inadequate.
This young musician has, alas, departed from us. [1] His fragrant gifts merit sympathy and attention wherever our music is exhibited. If early gifts are worth anything at all, go and play his seven piano preludes, and judge for yourselves. These piano works are singularly original and beautiful. They are of the Cyril Scott [2] exoticism in feeling perhaps, and the style may also be of Scriabin piano tracery; but how conclusive they are! I cannot call to mind anything British of the same refinement and visibility as the piano solo, Paradise Gardens. Here is a very young poet giving us all the technique we want, and clouds of chords are absent. The same beautiful clarity is here as in some of the F. C. Nicholls' [3] songs and Felix White's [4] pieces, which of course remain unknown to us! For one in his teens when he wrote them, I give my whole admiration to Baines for his Paradise Gardens [5] and his Tides wondrously pianistic and difficult. So true is it we cannot hope to teach genius when it comes along. There is small chance for the schools of music cornering the jewels. The great gifts are sporadic, and we know not when we are in the face of them. We cannot say to what heights young Baines would have reached had he lived, but his poem Goodnight to Flamboro' [6] is high enough, when we consider the weird assortment, we are regaled with in these days of spumescent Schoenbergs:

“There is a jewel which no Indian mines.
Can buy, no chymic art can counterfeit.
It makes men rich in greatest poverty:
Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold,
The homely whistle to sweet music's strain:
Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent,
That much in little, all in nought—Content." [7]

Such are the works of William Baines - a small boy born in Yorkshire (in Dr E. Hull's words), [8] "reared in circumstances so humble that they allowed of no musical training, of only sparse opportunities of hearing good music…who wove music of an unusual beauty, and a rare originality, out of nothing.” [9] Much ungenerous dispute has arisen over the use of the word 'genius' in connection with Baines. Why haggle over words? Is it not enough that Baines has left to the world music of real and original beauty, written with a mastery of means and perfection of style which are astonishing?

Finally, we would remind the reader that fine music seldom reveals its beauty at one hearing. Baines' music will strike many people as strange - indeed it is strange. But if they will play it (or listen to it) again and again, with sympathy and understanding, they will assuredly fall under its spell. Dr Hull makes curious assertions, and much haggling over the word "genius." This has been so over many greater composers than young Baines, and I do not think his music is strange. We might certainly apply this word to the work of Malipiero, Casella, Stravinsky, and their followers. [10] Baines has the real poetic fibre in his chaste muse.


Notes:
[1] William Baines died on 6 November 1922, three years before Holbrooke’s book was published.

[2] Cyril Meir Scott (1879-1970) was an English composer, poet, and occultist. He composed a multitude of works, including symphonies, operas, piano concertos, and chamber music. Known for his Romantic and Impressionist styles, Scott was a pioneer in British piano music and influenced several composers. He also wrote extensively on alternative medicine and metaphysics.

[3] Frederick Charles Nicholls (1871-1952) was a minor composer as well as being a professor of music. According to Holbrooke he wrote songs and light piano music that nodded to Chopin.

[4] Felix Harold White (1884-1945) was an English composer, pianist, and music teacher. Known for his orchestral and instrumental works, piano pieces, and choral compositions, White's music often reflected his pacifist beliefs, especially after his experiences during World War I. His notable works include Shylock and Astarte Syriaca.

[5] Paradise Gardens is regarded as William Baines’s masterpiece. He wrote: "there was a lovely view, overlooking the gardens of the Station Hotel [in York]. You looked through thick green foliage on to the grounds, which were beautifully laid out with flowers - and in the centre a little fountain was playing. A perfect blue sky, and the sun shining low - made indeed a grand picture." The piece he began just a few days later is a major tone poem for piano. The work is a subtle balance of impressionism and a more romantic musical language. (Sadly, much of the ‘Paradise Gardens’ has been turned into a car park.)

[6] Goodnight to Flamboro' was the second of two pieces issued in 1920 as Tides. The first was The Lone Wreck.

[7] This is a short poem by the English madrigal composer John Wilbye (1574-1638).

[8] Arthur Eaglefield Hull (1876-1928) was a British music critic, author, organist, and composer. He wrote for many periodicals, including The Monthly Musical Record. His books include an early biography of Cyril Scott (1919) and Modern harmony, its explanation and application (1915). He edited the organ works of Alexander Guilmant. His life ended in tragedy when he fell in front of a train at Huddersfield Railway station. The coroner reported “Suicide whilst of unsound mind.

[9] Josef Holbrooke quotes from Arthur Eaglefield Hull’s A New Yorkshire Musical Genius printed in The Bookman, April 1922

[10] Unfairly Holbrooke applies the adjective “strange” to the music of Gian Francesco Malipiero (1882-1973) and Alfredo Casella (1883-1947). Both composers were cosmopolitan in outlook and were able to absorb both modernism and tradition. Few would regard Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) as “strange” nowadays.


Tuesday, 28 January 2025

It's not British, but...Chopin Variations played by Oleg Marshev

This new CD from Danacord opens with the Variations on a Theme of Chopin, op.22. These were begun in 1902 when Rachmaninov had returned to his estate in Ivanovka, Russia, after his three-month honeymoon with Natalia Satina. During this long vacation, he had visited Venice, Lucerne, Vienna, and Bayreuth where he saw The Ring, The Flying Dutchman, and Parsifal. The Variations were completed in February 1903, the same year as the more popular Ten Preludes op.23.

These Variations are often analysed in sonata form in three (my preference) or four movements, with each variation forming part of this structural plan. The theme that Rachmaninov used is Chopin’s Prelude, op.28 no.20 in C minor. This is the “gloomiest and most funereal” of the set.

The first ten Variations are typically short and rapid. These are followed by Nos. 11 to 18 which are slow. The exception is the brisk, dashing, Allegro scherzando. The heart of the entire piece is Variation 16, with its yearning mood. The final “movement” consists of four variations that are longer, faster, and more developed than what has gone before. The last one combines introspection with a final hectic race towards the end.

As can be imagined, these twenty-two variations explore a wide range of emotion. It has been said that Rachmaninov incorporated every pianistic trick that he knew. There are many passages of pyrotechnics, high romanticism and even “Bachian counterpoint” (Variation 12).

There is a possibility that these Variations could become a little long-winded over its 35-minute duration, even a bit unbalanced. So, I guess the technique for best practice performance must be to emphasise the overarching structure, as well as providing a stunning display of the Russian’s romantic brilliance. For me, Marshev achieves this desideratum.

Spanish composer and pianist Federico Mompou was known for his sophisticated piano music. He spent considerable time in Paris, where he gained recognition, but he eventually returned to his native Barcelona. Influenced by French impressionism and Catalan culture, his music often featured short, lyrical numbers that evoke a sense of quiet introspection.

Mompou's Variations sur un thème de Chopin began as a collaborative venture in 1938 with his friend, cellist Gaspar Cassadó. They aimed to create a set of variations for cello and piano based on Chopin's Prelude, op. 28, no. 7 in A major. The project was never fulfilled. In 1955, conductor John Lanchbery requested a score suitable for a ballet, prompting Mompou to revive and complete these variations. According to the liner notes, of the twelve variations, four (Nos. 1-3 and 5) originated from the abandoned venture.

Compared to the Rachmaninov, Mompou’s piece is “ethereal” and “other-worldly.” It is a subtle blend of impressionism and romanticism. He has paid homage to Chopin by using some of the elder composer’s best loved musical forms – the mazurka (Variation 5), the valse (Variation 9) and a Polonaise-ish (Variation 12). I loved the suggestion in the liner notes that “in all these cases, the harmony slips between Chopin’s world and Mompou’s like a person who appears to be in two rooms at once, yet whose mind is always somewhere else.”

There is a definite jazz influence in these pages, at least of the cocktail piano variety. And then there are nods to the ‘big tune’ from the famous fantaisie-impromptu.

Oleg Marshev gives a sense of cohesion throughout these variations. He emphasises the gentler elements of Mompou’s language, creating a sense of intimacy and quiet reflection, but on one occasion, an almost Boogie-woogie vivacity in the Galop y Epilogo.

A few words about Ferruccio Busoni may be of interest. He was an Italian composer, pianist, conductor, editor, author, and educator. Known for his virtuosic piano performances and innovative works, Busoni's music often combined late Romantic elements with more modernist ideas. His notable compositions include the opera Doktor Faust, the Fantasia Contrappuntistica for solo piano, and numerous transcriptions of Johann Sebastian Bach.

The rendering of Busoni's Variations on a Prelude by Chopin, BV 213a played here is a bit of a mishmash. The liner notes refer to it as a “portmanteau” edition. It was originally written in 1884 and consisted of a Theme based on Chopin’s C minor Prelude, eighteen variations and a concluding fugue. This was recomposed in 1922 as Busoni found the original unwieldy. It was cut down to ten variations. The booklet explains that Oleg Marshev has fused two versions: he plays the Introduction and Variation 1 from the 1922 score, which is then followed by Variations 2-8 from 1884, before returning to the revision and playing through Variation 2 until the end. Most listeners who do not have the sheet music may be a bit confused. I followed the 1922 segment in the score, and it is a magnificent exercise in virtuosity. This is especially so in the finale, which is a “Scherzo” of considerable complexity and pace, but into which is interposed a delightful waltz in “Hommage a Chopin.” It is redundant to state that these Variations require technical prowess and a deep understanding of both Chopin's and Busoni's musical languages. This is provided by Oleg Marshev; however, I do wish that he had settled on just one of the editions.

The recording is vibrant and clear and is a perfect complement to the power and range of this music. The liner notes, devised by Peter Quantrill, give a good overview of all three pieces. There are details of Oleg Marshev’s career: more information can be found here

I enjoyed this disc (with the caveat about the Busoni). It allowed me to hear three works that honour Frederick Chopin. Two of them (Mompou and Busoni) are new to me. Oleg Marshev gives commanding performances throughout.

Track Listing:
Sergei Rachmaninov (1873-1943)

Variations on a Theme of Chopin, op.22 (1902-03)
Federico Mompou (1893-1987)
Variations sur un thème de Chopin (1938-57)
Ferruccio Busoni (1866-1924)
Variations on a Prelude by Chopin, BV213a (1884/1922)
Oleg Marshev (piano)
rec. August 2024, Cultural Institute, Milan, Italy
Danacord DACOCD 984
With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.


Saturday, 25 January 2025

Alan Rawsthorne: Suite for flute, viola, and harp (1968) Some Further Reviews and Studies

For the second half of this post about Alan Rawsthorne: Suite for flute, viola, and harp, I quote two contemporary reviews of the premiere performance, one of a later concert, two appraisals of the score and John McCabe’s comments about the piece in his study of the composer.

The Times (16 November 1968, p.21) critic J.C. explained that Rawsthorne’s “initials are clear in the subtle understatement characterizing all three succinct movements. After an eerily atmospheric introduction, the first develops into a grave moderato linear argument, but ends atmospherically, with a shudder. Ravel's ghost may haunt the frail intermezzo, yet artfully, the wisps of valse remain wisps. Once the flute takes fright: the ending is a gleaming consonance. The finale, after a wryly rhythmic start, seems less certain of its way. too episodic. But the homecoming itself is decisive.”

A.E.P. writing for the Daily Telegraph 16 November 1968, p.15) under the headline “Reticent New Trio by Alan Rawsthorne,” considered that it “was characteristically reticent, even at times fugitive in tone, with several moments, like the tiny introduction, of magic sonority and a moving central movement in which phrases and textures seemed in flight from pain.” Overall, according to this critic, much of the programme was very well performed, “especially the charming Leclair Trio Sonata and the Bax, and Marisa Robles herself played charmingly in a Sonatine for solo harp by Nadermann.”

In the Yorkshire Post (13 February 1969, p.2) commenting on a later performance of the Suite at the Keighley Music Club by the same performers, Ernest Bradbury considered that the “...three movements show the composer working in a darker, more sombre field than that with which we usually associate him...quite wonderfully conceived...”. (Cited Dressler, 2004, p.279)

Writing in the Musical Times, (December 1971, p.1024), Niall O’Loughlin, states that “the publication of the three-movement Suite by the late Alan Rawsthorne [he died in the summer of 1971] is a fitting memorial to his music and typical of his art: restrained and self-effacing, yet never without character, beautifully balanced and well written. The medium naturally lends itself to intimate chamber music and generally gestures are subtle, and textures refined without being austere.” O’Loughlin concludes by insisting that it “a lovely work that deserves to be well known.

In Notes, (Mar. 1972, pp. 520-521) Norman Cadzen remarked on the value of Rawsthorne’s Suite to the “still uncrowded repertory” of this instrumental combination which provides a “more dainty and lyrical medium…closer to the composer's inclinations than is the standard metaphorical and rhetorical battle of the piano hero against the massed strings.” He understands the dominance of the Intermezzo allegretto in creating what is essentially a cyclic work. Cadzen is impressed by the “unexpected metrical vigour in the last movement” which he feels will lead “the comfortably seated audiences of today” to tap their feet or drum their fingers.

The most detailed examination of the Suite was given in John McCabe’s study of the composer (1999, p.278). He considered that this “is hardly an important work, and the melodic material is in itself not particularly memorable, but as a divertissement it is sweet and charming, with a vernal freshness reflecting Rawsthorne’s pastoral side.” McCabe notes that “despite the twelve-note tone row that emerges gradually and is one of the of the principal thematic and harmonic ideas, it also has some diatonic themes and chords.” Finally, a prominent place is given to the finale, which is “almost a pounding rustic dance…” The middle movement has “hints of both siciliano and waltz, though a more romantic interlude on harp looks for all the world like Rawsthorne’s familiar style of piano writing.” The opening movement begins with a slow introduction, setting out the tone row.

Discography
Rawsthorne, Alan, Suite for Flute, Viola, and Harp + works by Poston, Goossens and Vellones, Nederburg Harp Trio: Lucien Grujon, flute; Walter Mony, viola; Kathleen Alister, harp, RPM Studios-1093 (1974) (LP)

Rawsthorne, Alan, Suite for Flute, Viola, and Harp; Concerto for Ten Instruments; Sonatina for Flute, Oboe and Piano; Quintet for Oboe, Clarinet, Horn, Bassoon and Piano; Quintet for Clarinet, Horn, Violin, Cello, and Piano; The Fibonacci Sequence, ASV DCA-1061 (1999) (CD)

Bibliography
Dressler, John C. Alan Rawsthorne: A Bio-Bibliography (Westport, Connecticut, Praeger Publishers, 2004)

McCabe, John, Alan Rawsthorne: Portrait of a composer (Oxford University Press, 1999)

Poulton, Alan, ed, Alan Rawsthorne, Essays on the Music (Hindhead, Bravura Publications 1986)

Wednesday, 22 January 2025

Alan Rawsthorne: Suite for flute, viola, and harp (1968)

One of the acknowledged masterpieces for flute, viola, and harp, is Claude Debussy’s Sonata en trio completed in 1915. This piece is characterised by its impressionistic qualities and evocative soundscapes. Another good example, this time by a British composer, is Arnold Bax’s Elegiac Trio dating from 1916. This piece explores the lyrical and pastoral properties of the instruments and is infused with a sense of nostalgia and reflection.

A good companion piece is Alan Rawsthorne’s Suite for flute, viola and harp which was written for, and dedicated to, the eminent Spanish harpist Marisa Robles. It was completed during 1968. Other works written around this time include the Piano Quintet, the Concertante for violin and piano (version 2) and the Concerto for Two Pianos.

Alan Rawsthorne (1905-1971) was a distinguished British composer known for his sharply structured orchestral and chamber music. Born in Haslingden, Lancashire, he initially pursued dentistry and architecture before committing to music. He studied at the Royal Manchester College of Music and later in Berlin with Egon Petri. His early works were influenced by Paul Hindemith and displayed linear counterpoint and rhythmic incisiveness. Rawsthorne's career gained momentum with the success of his Theme and Variations for Two Violins at the 1938 ISCM Festival in London. Notable compositions include three symphonies, eight concerti, and many chamber works such as the viola sonata and two piano concertos.

The Robles Trio was a distinguished chamber ensemble known for their exceptional performances of classical music. Comprising a harp, flute, and viola, they gained acclaim for their interpretations of works by composers such as Ravel, Bax, and Debussy. Their 1970 recording of these three composers is particularly distinguished.

Alan Rawsthorne’s Suite has three movements which are more suggestive of a sonata than a suite, the emphasis being on development of an idea, in an intimate manner as established in his Second (Pastoral) Symphony of 1959, than on dance rhythms.

In his important analysis of the Trio, Sebastian Forbes (Poulton 1986), p.37) writes that “In idea the first movement holds the greatest promise consisting of an introduction and allegro based upon a tone row…but the energy is a little short lived, its shapely phrases becoming somewhat inconsequential. The central movement is a graceful intermezzo in 6/8 time and is followed by a vigorous finale. Here a certain inconsistency arises, for the diatonic main theme appears empty and contrived when compared to the attractive episodes that grow out of it, or to serial inclinations of the first movement. Throughout, the writing for flute and viola is very fine, but the harp part, though considerate, is less idiomatic and would be equally effective on the piano.”

The Suite for flute, viola and harp was premiered at the Purcell Room, London, on 15 November 1968. It was one of a series of Kirckman Concerts founded in 1963. The performers were the Robles Trio: Christopher Hyde-Smith (flute), John Underwood (viola) and Marisa Robles (harp).

Other music heard that evening included the first performance of the St. Nicholas Suite by a certain Miss Papastavrou-Spinks, the Elegiac Trio by Arnold Bax, Debussy's Syrinx and Honegger's Danse de la Chevre. There were also pieces by François-Joseph Nederman and Jean-Marie Leclair.

Bibliography:
Dressler, John C. Alan Rawsthorne: A Bio-Bibliography (Westport, Connecticut, Praeger Publishers, 2004)
McCabe, John, Alan Rawsthorne: Portrait of a composer (Oxford University Press, 1999)
Poulton, Alan, ed, Alan Rawsthorne, Essays on the Music (Hindhead, Bravura Publications 1986)

To be continued…

Sunday, 19 January 2025

Ronald Stevenson: Piano Works

The recital opens with Ronald Stevenson’s important Peter Grimes Fantasy on themes from Benjamin Britten's opera for piano solo, written in 1971 for the pianist Graham Johnson. The opera, set in a small English fishing village, follows the tragic tale of a fisherman who faces societal ostracism and personal turmoil. The composer has stated that “Peter Grimes is the living conflict. His pride, ambition, and urge for independence fight with his need for love: his self-love battles against his self-hate…” Stevenson has made a conscious contrast of these ideas. The loathing of the villagers is seen in the storm music, whilst the Dawn Interlude refers to the drowning of Grimes. The technical resources required to “bring off” this Fantasy are tremendous. All the pianistic devices of Liszt are present.

I guess that I would never have heard of Ignacy Jan Paderewski’s (1860–1941) only opera Manru, (1901) if it had not been for the present arrangement of extracts made by Ronald Stevenson in 1961. I came across it four years ago on Christopher Guild’s performance on TOCC0555, reviewed here. The story of the opera revolves around a village girl named Ulana and chronicles her love for the gypsy Manru. The liner notes explain that the opera “was regarded as the first significant Polish music drama, it is a powerful work, masterfully written and orchestrated, with the best traditions of nineteenth-century operatic writing.” The composer has condensed the score into four short movements: “Introduction and Gypsy March, a soulful Gypsy Song, a lyrical Lullaby, and a feisty Cracovienne.” This latter is a Polish national dance, which comes complete with simulated bagpipe drones.

Stevenson’s realisation of the slow movement Romance from Mozart’s Concerto in D minor, K466, was completed in 2002. It is a combination of the solo piano and the orchestral parts. There are a few “elegant flourishes [and] luscious chords,” but this is a straightforward transcription.

The first of four premiere performances is the dreamily exquisite Quintet from Die Meistersinger, 'elaborated for left hand alone' (1980). This is an adaptation of a transcription made by the pianist Paul Wittgenstein. It is scored for left hand only.

The Ostinato Macabro on the name Leopold Godowsky, (c.1980) is also for left hand only. It is truly short, lasting for about a minute. It is certainly a sinister, creepy piece, which gives one the shivers. Another premiere recording.

The liner notes explain that Etudette d'apres Korsakov et Chopin (Spectre d'Alkan) is a short work that “poses endless technical challenges.” The nod to Rimsky is based on left-hand-only figurations from The Flight of the Bumble Bee whilst the latter part incorporates Chopin’s Étude in A minor, op. 10 no. 2 (Chromatic) in the right-hand part. All in under two minutes. I am not sure where the “Ghost of Alkan” fits in.

Leopold Godowsky’s 53 Studies Based on Chopin Etudes profoundly influenced Ronald Stevenson "as both a composer and pianist." The Pensées sur des Préludes de Chopin are dark and introspective, with each ‘Thought’ introduced by a quotation from the French philosopher, Blaise Pascal. Stevenson adeptly selects, combines, and transforms elements of Chopin’s music, creating a profound work that seems to transcend the original. While I found this adaptation enjoyable, if not entirely satisfying, some listeners might prefer that he had not tinkered with what many consider original masterpieces.

Little Jazz Variations on Purcell’s “New Scotch Tune” is based on a jazz-inspired transformation of Purcell’s melody. This is a moody, smoky little number that captures our attention. Stevenson wrote this in 1964 but has toyed with it over the years adding a few more variations. The theme is taken from, Playford’s Music’s Handmaid Part II (London, 1689).

Lots of composers have been fascinated by Niccolò Paganini’s Caprice no.24 for solo violin. These include Brahms, Liszt, Rachmaninov, and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Stevenson’s take, Piccolo Niccolò Paganinesco (1986) is wittily dedicated “To Laurenzio Guantaio,” who was the pianist and teacher Lawrence Glover. It is quite an acerbic piece, with no big romantic theme, but full of vitality and hints of jazz. It is good to hear this recorded for the first time.

The final premiere recording is the Preludette on the name George Gershwin. This is a delightful miniature which is a million miles away from the massive Passacaglia on DSCH. Unlike this composition which lasts for one and half hours, the Preludette is only 53 seconds long. Written in 1981, and dedicated “For my dear friend Harry [Winstanley] on his 50th birthday.” Winstanley authored a book about George Gershwin, which was printed by Toccata Press. Stevenson has used the scale-letters in GG’s name (including B for H) and has creatively added the rest. It hovers between jazz and impressionism.

The previous year, Stevenson had transcribed the once well-loved Richard Tauber song, My Heart and I. I guess that this ballad may have passed from the common ken, but it is of its time and has been re-imagined with love, romance, and tenderness. It would make a great encore at any recital.

Peter Jablonski, born in 1971 in Lyckeby, Sweden, is an internationally admired concert pianist. He began his career at the Malmö Conservatory, studying both percussion and piano. By the age of nine, he was performing as a drummer at New York's Village Vanguard jazz club. His debut as a pianist came at twelve with Mozart's Concerto No.17 in G major, K. 453. Jablonski moved to the UK in 1989 to study at the Royal College of Music in London. Signed by Decca Records in 1991, he has since collaborated with leading orchestras and conductors worldwide, including Vladimir Ashkenazy and Valery Gergiev. His recordings include works by composers such as Chopin, Prokofiev, and Bacewicz, earning him numerous awards.

This is a fantastic disc of arrangements, elaborations, and original works, which are brilliantly and sympathetically played by Peter Jablonski. The recording is excellent.

The liner notes by Anastasia Belina are detailed; they include an introductory essay about the composer’s life and music, as well as helpful notes on each piece.

This disc is a valuable addition to the growing collection of recordings dedicated to Ronald Stevenson. Other contributors include Murray McLachan, Kenneth Hamilton, and an ongoing cycle by Christopher Guild. And then there are several CDs performed by the composer himself. Is Peter Jablonski is going to record further volumes of Stevenson’s music? I do hope so.

Ronald Stevenson (1928-2015)
Peter Grimes Fantasy on themes from Benjamin Britten's opera for piano solo (1971)
Suite for piano from Paderewski's opera Manru (1961): Introduction and Gypsy March, Gypsy Song, Lullaby, Cracovienne
Romance from Concerto in D minor, Mozart K466, realised by Ronald Stevenson (2002)
Quintet from Die Meistersinger, 'elaborated for left hand alone', Wagner-Wittgenstein (1980)
Ostinato Macabro on the name Godowski (1980)
Etudette d'après Korsakov et Chopin (Spectre d'Alkan) (1987)
6 Pensées sur des Préludes de Chopin (1959)
Little Jazz Variations on Purcell's New Scotch Tune (1964/75)
Piccolo Niccolò Paganinesco (1986)
Preludette on the name George Gershwin (1981)
Tauberiana (Song My Heart and I) (1980)
Peter Jablonski (piano)
rec. July 2024, Palladium, Malmö, Sweden
Ondine ODE 1453-2

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

Thursday, 16 January 2025

Edward White: Paris Interlude (c.1949)

A destination for many putative time travellers must be Paris in the 1940s and 1950s. After having suffered occupation by the Germans, it was quickly becoming a place of style and haute couture. There was still much deprivation on the streets with rationing of food and petrol. Yet a new generation of artists were making themselves felt. On 12 February 1946, Christian Dior held the first major fashion show after the end of the war. The car industry was being resurrected with a major show also in 1946. Jazz was important, with clubs opening their doors from the mid-1940s onwards. Olivier Messiaen was an important figure in classical music. Legendary authors at that time included Jean-Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir and Albert Camus who were hugely influential in the city. And then from 1952, Audrey Hepburn, would come to personify the city.

Edward George White (1910–1994) was a British composer of light music, known for his charming and witty compositions. Born in London, White was self-taught and began his musical career as a violinist in various dance bands, also playing the saxophone and clarinet. White's compositions, such as The Runaway Rocking-Horse, Caprice for Strings, and The Clockwork Clown became familiar numbers on the BBC Light Programme. Puffin' Billy, his most famous piece, was inspired by an old steam locomotive seen by White on the Isle of Wight. It was used as the signature tune for Children's Favourites. White's music evokes a sense of nostalgia for a past era, which was probably not quite as idyllic as its mood often suggests.

Edward White’s ‘take’ on Paris ignores the problems of the era and paints a picture of fun and enjoyment with a touch of romance. Written around 1949, it speaks of the good things that were happening in the city. Opening with a rising figure on the glockenspiel, the music soon becomes jaunty and vibrant. The woodwind provides a neat commentary on the big tune. There is a less frenetic moment towards the middle of the piece, but the general tenor is sheer enjoyment and exuberance from the first note to the last.

Edward White’s Paris Interlude was first released by Boosey & Hawkes, O.2181 in about 1949. It was coupled with Clive Richardson’s The Beachcomber. The New Concert Orchestra was conducted by Jack Leon.

Listen to Edward White’s Paris Interlude on YouTube, here.

Monday, 13 January 2025

So Written to After-Times: John McCabe - A Life in Letters

The advertising for this new book explains that it is “a compilation of letters between composer-pianist John McCabe (1939-2015) and eminent composers and performers from across the world.” The tenor of the letters ranges from “the scholastically interesting to the frivolous and emotionally moving.” Correspondents include Benjamin Britten, Alun Hoddinott, William Alwyn, John Barbirolli, André Previn, and (of course) his wife, Monica.

After his death, McCabe’s archive revealed a remarkable collection of letters, postcards, faxes, and emails. These documents offer valuable insights into his considerable impact on music, musicians, family, and friends, shedding light on various aspects of his life and legacy.

A few biographical details will put these letters into context. John McCabe was born in Huyton, Liverpool, deciding to become a composer at the age of five-and-a-half. He studied at Manchester University and the Royal Manchester College of Music, later continuing his education in Munich with Harald Genzmer. McCabe's career spanned composition, performance, and teaching. Notable works include symphonies, ballets, concertos, and chamber music. He gained international recognition with pieces like Notturni ed Alba (1970), his Concerto for Orchestra (1982) and supremely, Cloudcatcher Fell for brass band (1985). His music defies categorisation: he often used post-tonal structures, including serialism, but rarely entered avant-garde blind alleys. It is typically approachable, and always satisfying. As a concert pianist, McCabe’s recordings of Haydn's complete Piano Sonatas on the Decca label are considered definitive.

He served as director of the London College of Music from 1983 to 1990. In 1999 Oxford University Press published his major study of fellow North Country composer Alan Rawsthorne. John McCabe died in Rochester, Kent on 13 February 2015.

The principal text examining his life and work is Landscapes of the Mind: The Music of John McCabe edited by George Odam (2008). Prior to this the indefatigable Stewart R Craggs published John McCabe: A Bio-Bibliography (1991). Sadly, this latter volume is now 34 years out of date. However, it is still a decent starting point for students wishing to explore his achievement. The entry in Grove’s Dictionary was published as far back as 2001.

In A Life in Letters, most of the text is a chronological selection of 314 letters between John McCabe and a wide range of correspondents. They begin with one from the organist Frederick H. Wood to the nine-year-old boy, suggesting that writing a Soldier’s March or a Fairy Dance might be an easier task than a symphony. The final epistle is a moving draft of “John’s Last Letter” written shortly before his death.

It is invidious to pick out examples from this book, as all are of interest and importance. Yet for me, the twenty-one letters from Sir Richard Rodney Bennett (1936-2012) who was a versatile British composer, known for his film scores, concert music, and jazz performances, are of deep significance. Superficially, Bennett’s letters are often characterised by wit and frivolity but there is a deeper intent here. Monica McCabe told me that she found “an undercurrent of loneliness and insecurity” in these pages, “even about his [own] outstanding talent.” Certainly, these letters deserve to be read as a group. In fact, in a note dated 25 November c.1983, he does suggest that if they keep up the correspondence, “we can publish a slim volume of letters.” Based on the humour and subjects of these missives, I think an edition of RRB’s ‘complete’ correspondence is a desideratum for all cultural and music historians.

Two important sequences of letters are included between McCabe and his fellow student and lifelong friend Professor George Odam and the American composer, literary scholar and teacher, Barney Childs. The latter wrote avant-garde music both in the United States and in the UK, at Goldsmiths College.

Another fascinating series of letters explores John McCabe’s overseas trip to the middle east where he gave a series of recitals, lectures, and masterclasses under the auspices of the British Council. During October and November 1979, he wrote to his wife from Riyadh, Jeddah (Djidda), Baghdad, Kuwait, Amman, and Damascus. Much of this is his thoughts about the places he visited and the hotels he stayed at. There is even a note suggesting that typewriters were hard to find in Iraq, due to “the spy industry, apparently.” McCabe mentions to his wife that “there is undoubtedly a tape recording of our phone call last night…”

The letters are complimented by a light touch commentary by Monica McCabe, which give a sense of perspective and expands on some of the less well-known correspondents or people mentioned in the text. Interestingly, there is a selection of emails. This is one of the problems of our modern age. I guess that many people do not keep these electronic messages, and they inevitably disappear into the recycle bin. So, it is good to have these here.

The book is enhanced by a striking selection of photographs of John McCabe, his friends and family. Many are in colour. The text is readable, and the binding is sturdy. The only slight criticism of this otherwise flawless volume is the lack of a topical index. To be sure, there is a comprehensive listing of correspondents, but no opportunity to search for folk mentioned in the text and McCabe’s (and other composer’s) compositions.

The ethos of this book is summed up by an apt quotation from John Milton’s The Reason of Church Government urged against Prelaty: “By labour and intense study (which I take to be my portion in this life) joined with a strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after times as they should not willingly let it die.” Letters are an important means of understanding an artist’s work. They fill out details of historical context and can reveal much about the intentions and creative process behind specific compositions. They often reveal the character of the person themselves, which can help in evaluating a response to their art. Too often we forget that great musicians are human beings, with all that the human condition brings. And they are not always thinking about music…

Finally, although, I hope that this volume will be used by historians for serious study, I agree with the sentiment printed on the rear cover, that besides being an interesting and valuable historical document and revealing the inner reflections of celebrated artists, it also makes good, often humorous, bedtime reading.  This is a high recommendation indeed.

Friday, 10 January 2025

Sidney Torch: London Transport Suite (1957)

Commissioned by the 1957 BBC Light Music Festival, Sidney Torch’s London Transport Suite is a little bit of whimsy. Although not approaching the wit of Gerard Hoffnung’s legendary concerts at the Royal Festival Hall, it is certainly fun. Three short movements notice long vanished aspects of the Capital’s transport system. The Suite was premiered on BBC TV on the evening of 4 August 1957, at 10pm.

Sidney Torchinsky, known professionally as Sidney Torch, was a prominent British composer, conductor, and pianist born on June 5, 1908, in London. Early study began with his father, Morris Torchinsky, a professional trombonist. Torch studied piano at the Blackheath Conservatoire and quickly gained recognition as an accompanist to violinist Albert Sandler.

Torch's career took a significant turn when he became an organist at various London cinemas, including the Regal, Marble Arch, and the Gaumont State Cinema. During World War II, he served in the Royal Air Force, where he was able to pursue his career as a conductor and arranger for the RAF Concert Orchestra. After the war, he began to write light orchestral music, as well as conducting the Queen's Hall Light Orchestra and the New Century Orchestra.

The liner notes for the Marco Polo (see below) recording of the London Transport Suite explains that Torch was “inspired by the withdrawal from service of 'The Brighton Belle', a much-loved train running between London and Brighton, a fashionable seaside resort on the south coast of England. The three movements therefore describe modes of transport no longer with us.”

The first movement portrays an old Hansom Cab, seen on the streets in the early twentieth century. This is no ‘Blask Cab’ but a horse drawn vehicle that could accommodate two people, three at a squeeze. Torch has created a musical portrait of a ‘day in the life’ of the horse. From leaving the stable, to an early morning clip-clop down a quiet London street. Suddenly a motor car backfired, and the poor old horse bolted, causing damage in a China shop. All turned out fine, and the piece ends with a “whinny.” The ‘big’ tune here is a classic ‘light music’ creation. And it is reprised at the end.

The second movement pays respects to Rosie, The Red Omnibus. She was the precursor of the Routemasters and Boris’s Buses. Torch has portrayed Rosie by the tuba and comes complete with an old-fashioned horn. There is lot of wheezing as it progresses along The Strand. Once again, a splendid melody is introduced, suggesting that the bus finally gets moving.

The last movement, The 5.52 from Victorloo is a clever bit of ‘railway music’ so beloved of light music composers. Combining two of London’s busiest main line station, the piece opens with steam train sounds from the band, before a big tune emerges supported by a chuffing accompaniment.

Sidney Torch’s London Transport Suite (1957) can be heard on YouTube, here. The BBC Concert Orchestra, conducted by Barry Wordsworth. It was released in 1996 on the Marco Polo label, 8.22443, as part of their British Light Music series.

Tuesday, 7 January 2025

It's not British, but...Scheherazade for piano

The liner notes remind the listener that as “A mystic realm tinged with the scent of foreign spices, bewitching music, vivid colour and sensual delights…Orientalism sparked a new wave of romanticism in Western art in the 19th century.” Certainly, one of the drivers of this interest were translations of the Thousand and One Nights, also known as The Arabian Nights, into various European languages. This included a French edition by Antonine Galland published over the years 1704-17, and multi volume English editions by John Payne, 1882-84 and Richard Burton, 1885-88.

The Arabian Nights is an enormous collection of Middle Eastern folk tales compiled during the Islamic Golden Age. The core of the collection is the story of Scheherazade, an intelligent woman who tells captivating stories to her husband, King Shahryar, to postpone her execution. She weaves tales each night, leaving them unfinished so that the king spares her life to hear more. Well-loved stories include Aladdin's Lamp, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, and The Seven Voyages of Sinbad the Sailor. These tales are rich with themes of adventure, magic, love, and justice, often reflecting the culture and values of the medieval Islamic world.

Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov was long fascinated by the “mythical orient.” His most popular work is the orchestral Symphonic Suite: Scheherazade, op.35 (1888). It was inspired by four stories from the Arabian Nights. The movements are: The Sea and Sinbad’s Ship, The Story of the Kalendar Prince, The Young Prince and the Young Princess and the concluding Festival in Baghdad - The Shipwreck on the Rocks. The texts of the underlying stories are easily discovered on the internet. The original features brilliant orchestration, exotic themes, and dramatic musical storytelling. It is a fine blend of Eastern influences with the Western symphonic tradition. The use of leitmotivs for Scheherazade and the Sultan gives continuity to the entire Suite.

The present pianist, Etsuko Hirose has made a wonderfully evocative transcription for piano solo. It is faithful to the impact and atmosphere of the original. Especially delightful is the romantic The Young Prince and the Young Princess. And the final movement describing the shipwreck, rises to a Lisztian power and drama.

Now the obvious question is of appeal. Would the listener want to hear a piano version of this well-loved work, or would they stick with one of the myriad recordings made of the orchestral score. Two reasons why they should buy this CD. Firstly, I was really listening to the music, and not just allowing it to wash over me. I heard things in this performance that have eluded me over the past half century. And, secondly, it is not just a transcription of the music, but a faithful recreation. Hirose has developed a score that is truly pianistic.

Sergei Bortkiewicz (1877-1952) was a Ukrainian-born pianist and composer who later became an Austrian citizen. He studied at the Imperial Conservatory in St. Petersburg and later at the Leipzig Conservatory as a student of Alfred Reisenauer and Salomon Jadassohn. His work is exemplified by its romantic style, rich harmonies, and melodic beauty. He wrote numerous piano pieces, including concertos, preludes, etudes, and sonatas, which are admired for their technical demands and expressive depth. Sadly, despite some revival on disc in recent years, Bortkiewicz's works remain relatively unknown, except to enthusiasts of the genre.

I am beholden to the liner notes for information about Bortkiewicz’s Oriental Ballet Suite: Thousand and One Nights, op.37. It was published in 1928 as a piano solo but was later orchestrated by the composer. Speaking of his time in Constantinople, Bortkiewicz recalled: “One suddenly feels transported to ancient times, one forgets the present and believes that one is experiencing a fairy tale from 1001 Nights come to life. It would be too much to describe all the beauties of this fairytale like country.” The Suite is presented in ten contrasting movements. The opening Caliph Haroun-al-Rashid reflects this potentate’s power with fanfares whilst The Story of the Poor Fisherman evokes the magic of the genii out of the bottle. The Dance of the Young Girls is wistful, dreaming, perfect, and the Oriental Dance fairly zips along, with a lovely reflective trio section. ‘Hammer Horror’ sonorities infuse The Enchanted Castle which is followed by a melancholy tribute to Zobeide and her two sisters, the latter of whom were turned into black dogs. The track listing titles the seventh movement as a Dance of Mourning; however, the score gives it as a Dream Dance. There is little grieving in these pages. It is possibly the loveliest number in the suite. The Three Sisters return with a lively Allegro with its chattering progress reflecting on the Talking Bird, the Singing Tree, and the Golden Water. A Bacchanal, which is not too wild and drunken leads into The Wicked Magician Escapes from the Bottle. This is full of dramatic pianistic effects bringing the Suite to an end.

Japanese classical pianist Etsuko Hirose began playing the piano at age three and performed Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 26 at six years. After studying in Paris, she won first prize at the 1999 Martha Argerich Competition, launching her solo career. She has also ‘received the guidance’ of Alfred Brendel, Marie-Francoise Bucquet and Jorge Chamine. Hirose has performed at prestigious venues worldwide, including the Kennedy Center in Washington and the Suntory Hall in Tokyo. Her interpretations of Chopin, Schumann, and Liszt are particularly acclaimed by critics for their depth and sensitivity.

Helpful liner notes are included, in English only. There is a long resume of Etsuko Hirose’s distinguished career.

I enjoyed this disc evoking the delights of a Thousand and One Nights and their heroine, Scheherazade. The pianist has created lovely performances of enchanted music that will appeal to lovers of fairy tales of all ages.

Track Listing:
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908)

Symphonic Suite: Scheherazade, op.35 (1888), arr. Etsuko Hirose (b.1979)
Sergei Bortkiewicz (1877-1952)
Oriental Ballet Suite: Thousand and One Nights, op.37 (pub.1928)
Etsuko Hirose (piano)
rec. 2-4 September 2024, Théâtre Georges-Leygues, Villeneuve-sur-Lot, France
Danacord DACOCD 985