Art and Charity in Harmony: Lady Radnor’s Concert at St James’s Hall

A few days I posted about Charles Hubert Hastings Parry remarkable Lady Radnor’s Suite for string orchestra. It was premiered on the 29 June 1894, at London's St. James's Hall. The Daily Telegraph reported on the concert. It bears printing in full. That said, some of the critique would now be seen as patronising. What the listener must never forget is the impact that Lady Radnor Helen Matilda, Countess of Radnor had in promoting women’s orchestral performance in the late 19th century.

Lady Radnor’s concert at St James’s Hall, given for two charities, proved a genuine artistic success rather than an indulgence for amateurs. Her disciplined ensemble of ladies offered unusually fine unanimity, reflecting her firm, shaping influence. A distinguished audience, including royalty, heard a well‑chosen programme featuring Boyce, Handel, German, and the premiere of Parry’s new D‑minor Suite, played with striking precision. The chorus matched the orchestra in refinement, notably in works by Marchetti, Franck, Gounod, and Leslie. Mr Plunkett Greene and Countess Valda Gleichen contributed ably. Art and charity were happily united in a memorable evening.

St James Hall was built in 1858 and closed in 1905. It stood on the site of what is now the Piccadilly Hotel (now the Le Méridien Piccadilly) in Piccadilly Place.

A few contextual notes have been provided.

The Daily Telegraph critic wrote: When a delightful entertainment is given in support of two noble charities criticism finds itself an enviable position. For once there is no need to speak aught but the strict truth. Charity, it is well known, covers a multitude of sins, and the misdeeds of amateur musicians have a special faculty for getting themselves thus cloaked.

Lady Radnor, however, did not come forward at St James's hall last evening to claim indulgence for a crowd of incapables just because of their efforts were made in a good cause. On the other hand, she stood at the head of a group of ladies whose musical abilities have been welded by the industry and care of their accomplished conductor into a very harmonious and admirable whole. 

Only those who have grappled with the task of organising amateur orchestras and choirs know how difficult it is to secure in such cases anything approaching a fine ensemble. It speaks volumes then for the potency of Lady Radnor’s rule that the band of clever ladies who owe her allegiance should have attained so full a measure of that executive unanimity which is only met with in cases where the conductor is in reality a dominating influence and not merely a wielder of the baton.

Last evening brought with it a large and distinguished audience. If the body of the hall, however, bore a brilliant aspect so likewise did the orchestra which was entirely filled by the members of Lady Radnor's string band and chorus. No violent conflict of colours was to be noted in the costumes of these gracious musicians as they sat swaying their fans in preparation for the work of the occasion.

All were garbed in white, though shoulder-knots of pale pink and blue and sprays of roses lent the necessary touch of variety to the chromatic scheme. Royalty had announced its attention of listening to the evening's music and no long pause ensued before the coming of a group of exalted personages was duly signalled. Lady Radnor lifted her baton; the ladies of the orchestra rose with a flutter of white drapery and the National Anthem surged from the strings and organ as the Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Coburg [1] were conducted to their places by Lord Radnor.

A like welcome was accorded to the Princess of Wales, who, in company with the Princess Victoria and Maud, arrived almost immediately afterwards. [2]

Then was commenced a programme which, as we have already remarked, ran a delightful course from first to last. One or two disappointments had to be faced. For example, Mr Max Alvary, [3] detained at Drury Lane by a rehearsal of Tristan could not make his promised appearance while Miss Esther Palliser [4] was compelled by a newly caught cold to cancel two of her songs. But these untoward circumstances had no effect upon their attractiveness of the evening scheme. It was to listen to Lady Radnor 's band and chorus that the audience had come, and for once a professional element in the programme was regarded as of secondary importance. The instrumental pieces set down for performance had been happily chosen. It was really interesting to hear one of Dr Boyce’s Sonatas for two violins and bass [5] played by the whole body of strings. The addition of a viola part from the discrete pen of Dr Parry naturally enhanced the effect of the four movements, and, moreover, suggests that a similar judicious process might be adopted in the cases of other minor works, which would sound thinly to our modern ears in their original form.

We do not advocate latter day interference with masterpieces; but there is a large range of old music which might be made occasionally acceptable in this way without the act being deemed a sacrilege. Handel's graceful ‘Minuet’ from Berenice [6] was also given; while the dainty dance measures from Mr Edward German's music to Henry VIII [7] brought the concert to its close. But the most important work attacked during the evening was a new Suite for strings in D minor, composed by Dr Hubert Parry expressly for Lady Radnor and her gifted players.

This comprises six movements, all being designed on classical lines, though any extended elaboration has been intentionally avoided. It needs scarcely be said that Dr Parry has approached a task, that must have been mere child's play to him, in that spirit of musical scholarship which never deserts him. Brief and unambitious though it be, this Suite contains some delightful contrapuntal writing, and the true flavour of old-world music, without which an Allemande, a Sarabande, a Bourrée, and a Gigue would be unworthy of their names. The work was played with the firmness and precision quite remarkable, seeing that it came fresh to Lady Radnor's repertory; and Dr Parry, who finally came forward to acknowledge a ‘call’ did not hesitate publicly to congratulate the conductor under whom his movements had received such ample justice.

But if the instrumentalists covered themselves with honours so did the chorus follow their sister-artists’ example. Lady Radnor does not wrest content with securing broad forte and piano effects. She aims at real delicacy in the matter of tone-variety, and the nuances obtained by her chorus in an Ave Maria by Marchetti, [8] in two Petits Chœurs by Cesar Franck. [9] and in pieces by [Charles] Gounod and [Henry] Leslie were very welcome to the ear. [10]

Part singing, so tasteful and refined, drew its meed of applause as a matter of course. It only remains to note the excellent vocal assistance rendered by Mr Plunkett Green [11], who was heard in a long series of songs, and to complement the Countess Valda Gleichen [12], who gallantly stepped into the breach left by Miss Esther Palliser. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and the ‘Clarence Ward’ of the Alexandra National Hospital at Woodhall-Spa [13] will certainly benefit largely by the evening's proceedings. At the same time, last night's audience will not easily forget the pleasures of a concert at which Art and Charity joined hands to such good purpose.

Daily Telegraph 30 June 1894, p.8

Notes

[1] Alfred, Duke of Saxe‑Coburg, and Gotha (r. 1893–1900), and his consort Maria Alexandrovna, daughter of Tsar Alexander II, occupied the ducal throne in 1894.

[2] Alexandra of Denmark was the Princess of Wales in 1894, widely admired for her public engagements. Her daughters Princess Victoria and Princess Maud, then in their mid‑twenties, frequently accompanied her at official events. Together, the three women formed one of the most visible and active royal groups in Britain during that period.

[3] Max Alvary, a celebrated German tenor of the Victorian era, was admired for his powerful voice, dramatic intensity, and acclaimed Wagner performances, becoming a favourite on British operatic stages.

[4] Miss Esther Palliser was a popular Victorian soprano, praised for her clear tone, expressive phrasing, and frequent appearances in British concert halls during the late nineteenth century.

[5] Dr William Boyce (1711-79) wrote Three Sonatas for two violins and bass. They were published around 1740. Seven years later, Boyce published Twelve Sonatas for two violins, cello, and harpsichord.

[6] Handel’s Berenice (1737) follows the Egyptian queen navigating political rivalry, threatened succession, and conflicted love, as competing factions struggle for power around her throne. The opera was not a success, but the Minuet, the slow section from the opera’s overture became an exceptionally popular standalone orchestral piece.

[7] Edward German’s (1862-1936) incidental music for Shakespeare’s Henry VIII (1892) evokes Tudor pageantry through graceful dances, noble, almost Elgarian, ceremonial themes, and a polished melodic charm.

[8] Filippo Marchetti (1831–1902) was an Italian opera composer best remembered for his 1869 opera Ruy Blas (based on Victor Hugo's play). Born in Bolognola he studied in Naples and became a prominent figure in 19th-century Italian opera between Verdi and the verismo movement of Puccini and Mascagni.

[9] César Franck’s Deux Petits Chœurs are brief liturgical miniatures: self‑contained sacred pieces for voices and organ, modest in scale yet tender in devotional character.

[10] Charles Gounod (1818-93) and Henry Leslie (1822–1905) exemplify contrasting yet complementary nineteenth‑century traditions: Gounod’s refined French lyricism shaped opera and sacred music, while Leslie’s English choral craft fostered amateur excellence through his celebrated choir and melodious part‑songs.

[11] Mr Plunkett Greene (1865-1936) was a distinguished early‑twentieth‑century baritone, admired for his eloquent phrasing, noble tone, and advocacy of English song. A favourite interpreter of Stanford and Parry, he championed many rising British composers.

[12] Countess Victoria “Valda” Gleichen (1868–1951), later Lady Valda Machell, was an accomplished British singer and grandniece of Queen Victoria. The daughter of Prince Victor of Hohenlohe-Langenburg, she performed frequently within elite British high-society musical circles.

[13] Built in 1890 in Queen Anne Revival style, the Alexandra Hospital at Woodhall Spa treated patients using the area's local mineral-rich bromo-iodine spa waters. Later serving under the NHS, it operated until 1983 and was eventually converted into residential apartments. In 1894 the new Clarence Ward was added.

A Year at Portsmouth...

It was fifty years ago that I was last in Portsmouth Cathedral. There was no service on, the organ was not playing but the door was open, so I had a good look around. Afterwards I walked the few hundred yards to the Coal Exchange (now Spice Island) pub in Broad Street. The view across the harbour from The Point was outstanding. The United Kingdom had many Royal Navy vessels in those days, and I watched a frigate arriving into port. Somehow, I never got back. I have explored the area on Google Maps and there seem to have been lots of changes there.

Portsmouth Anglican Cathedral, dedicated to St Thomas of Canterbury, stands at the heart of Old Portsmouth as a dignified landmark formed by centuries of maritime history. Its origins lie in a 12th‑century chapel, expanded and adapted as Portsmouth grew into a major naval city. The building blends medieval remnants with later Georgian and contemporary additions, with the West End being completed in 1991.  

There is a long tradition of music at the Cathedral. The present choir comprises twenty-four boy and twenty-two girl choristers, alongside a team of lay clerks and choral scholars. The choir is directed by the Organist and Master of the Choristers, David Price - a well-regarded recitalist and composer. He is assisted by the Sub-Organist, Sachin Gunga, who also serves as the School Organist at Portsmouth Grammar School.

At the time of my visit, I was a nominal Presbyterian, from a tradition that paid little attention to the rhythm of the church’s liturgical seasons - apart from Christmas and Easter. There was certainly no observance of the Saints, not even of the church’s own patron, St Andrew.

In the CD booklet, Canon of Honour at Portsmouth Angela Tilby reminds the listener that the Christian Year “provides a rich syllabus of the Christian faith… to follow the seasons in music from Advent to Pentecost is to enjoy an aural feast that is grounded in faith and wonder…”

A Year at Portsmouth ranges across the liturgical calendar, beginning with, as noted, Advent through to St Cecilia’s Day on 22 November, honouring the patron saint of music. In keeping with Portsmouth’s identity as the “Cathedral of the Sea”, it embraces not only the principal Christian feasts but also traditions rooted in the city’s maritime life, including the annual Seafarers’ Service, Remembrance Sunday, the Royal Marines Band Memorial Service, and the commemoration of D‑Day.

The anthems included on this disc range across the centuries. The earliest is Handel’s ‘How Beautiful are the Feet’ from Messiah with a beautiful treble solo from Daniel Sands. A stunning account is given by Evelyn Cowhig of Mozart’s famous setting of Laudate Dominum. The 19^th century is represented with two rarities: the simple but near-perfect Hail, Star of the Sea (Ave Maris Stella) by Edvard Grieg which is sung during Advent and the straightforward Lord’s Prayer by Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. Our own Charles Villiers Stanford celebrates the Ascension with his masterful Coelos ascendit hodie.

Moving on in time, I was particularly struck by Gustav Holst’s setting of Clifford Bax’s poem, Turn Back, O man. This anthem is often used at the Royal Marines Memorial Service held in the Cathedral. The burden of the text is that Humanity must abandon its foolish ways and awaken from dark dreams to unite as one, fully realising a Fair Earth.

The rest of the programme features music from the late 20^th/early 21^st centuries by a variety of greater or less-well-known composers.

I was impressed with Philip Moore’s spectacular Advent anthem All wisdom cometh from the Lord, which opens the disc with splendid words from the Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes and Psalm 119. Moore also provides the only organ solo in this concert: Fanfare de Maris, written to celebrate the addition of the bright chamade trumpets to the cathedral’s Nicholson organ.

Christmas is observed with the late Richard Lloyd’s bouncy I saw three ships. Lloyd, former organist of Hereford and Durham Cathedrals also contributes a dignified setting of Thomas Campion’s View me, Lord, a work of thine.  Gregorian chant permeates Brian Moles’s devotional response to the Magnificat, sung here to commemorate the Annunciation. Undine Smith Moore’s We Shall Walk Through the Valley projects a quiet, resolute hope, its African American Spiritual roots shaped into a contemplative choral utterance. Listeners used to Charles Wesley’s incomparable words Love Divine, all loves excelling being sung to Hyfrydol or Blaenwern will be delighted by Howard Goodall’s fresh and eloquent treatment.

The British composer conductor George Arthur Richford contributes a moving response to Paul Verlaine's poem Les sanglots longs/Des violons/De l'automne (The long sobs of violins of autumn), which was used during the Second World War as radio code to contact the French Resistance in the days leading up to the Normandy Invasion of 1944. The present piece, coloured by slightly astringent harmonies, was composed for the 80^th Anniversary of D-Day commemorations.

Michaelmas marks autumn’s arrival, celebrating St Michael with harvest traditions, shifting light, and a reflective turn toward the year’s end. Paul Trepte’s The Gateway of Heaven muses on the biblical story of Jacob’s ladder, with the angels ascending and descending. It is a reticent number, with baritone Alex Wallace adding to the work’s contemplative, upward‑yearning character.

One of the great seafaring biblical texts is taken from Psalm 107: They that go down to the sea in ships. British composer, singer, and choral director Grayston Ives has provided a stirring setting, although at times it becomes a little muddy in the ‘middle eight.’

John Rutter’s The Lord is my light, and my salvation is a musical reading of Psalm 27 for tenor, clarinetist, and choir. I am not sure it is an ideal choice for All Saints’ Day. That said, there are moments when Rutter’s trademark luminous warmth shines through. 

I did find Philip Stopford’s In My Father’s House a little hard going, yet like so many anthems there are moments of pure delight. It may feel weighty in places, but its tender climaxes and well‑shaped phrases offer the listener true reward.

Mark Blatchly’s anthem For the Fallen, sets the well-loved words by Lawrence Binyon. It is an early piece written when he was an undergraduate at Christ Church, Oxford and was premiered by St Paul’s Cathedral Choir at the Royal Albert Hall Festival of Remembrance, 1980. The listener cannot fail to hear echoes of Edward Elgar. The Last Post, played on the trumpet, is cleverly introduced into the final verse.

The disc closes with Matthew Coleridge’s A Song for St Cecilia, commissioned by Portsmouth Cathedral in 2022. Joseph Addison’s poem asks the Muse’s help to “Enliven our earthly airs...” with the thought of God. Sung at the Evensong celebrating the Patroness of Music, this short anthem, brings the recital to an exciting as well as thoughtful conclusion.

The booklet provides a brief introduction to the cathedral itself, the welcoming notes from Angela Tilby and Anthony Cane, Dean of Portsmouth. I would have liked dates for all the tracks: I have provided these where convenient. The texts are given along with brief sentences about each piece. Résumés of the choir and musical staff are included. A web address linking to the “History of the Organ” is given. This incorporates the full specification.

In sum, A Year at Portsmouth is a richly rewarding release that beautifully blends timeless sacred classics with compelling modern works. Guided by David Price’s expert direction, the Portsmouth Cathedral Choir captures both the quiet solemnity of the liturgical seasons and the unique maritime identity of their historic home. It stands as a fitting, heartfelt celebration of faith, history, and choral excellence.

Track Listing:
Philip Moore (b.1943)
All wisdom cometh from the Lord
Edvard Grieg (1843-1907)
Hail, Star of the Sea (Ave Maris Stella) (1898)
Traditional (arr. Richard Lloyd) (1933-2021)
I Saw Three Ships
Richard Lloyd
View Me, Lord
Brian Moles (b.1979)
Magnificat (The Fourth Service)
Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov (1844-1908)
Our Father (The Lord's Prayer)
Undine Smith Moore (1904-89)
We Shall Walk Through the Valley
Howard Goodall (b.1958)
Love Divine
Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924)
Coelos ascendit hodie (pub.1905)
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91)
Laudate Dominum, K. 339 (1780)
George Arthur Richford (b. 1985)
Chanson de Normandie (2024)
George Frideric Handel (1685-1759)
How Beautiful Are the Feet (Messiah) (1741)
Philip Moore
Fanfare de Maris (Organ Solo)
Paul Trepte (b.1954)
The Gateway of Heaven
Gustav Holst (1874-1934)
Turn Back, O Man (1916)
Grayston Ives (b.1948)
They That Go Down to the Sea in Ships
John Rutter (b.1945)
The Lord is my Light and my Salvation.
Philip Stopford (b.1977)
In My Father's House
Mark Blatchly (b.1960)
For the Fallen (1982)
Matthew Coleridge (b.1980)
A Song for St Cecilia (2022)
Portsmouth Cathedral Choir/David Price; Sachin Gunga (organ)
rec. 2024, Portsmouth Cathedral
Regent REGCD592

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

Charles Hubert Hastings Parry: Lady Radnor’s Suite (1893)

British music has many remarkable works for string orchestra. Think of Elgar’s Introduction and Allegro, Frank Bridge’s Suite, Britten’s Variations on a Theme of Frank Bridge, and Vaughan Williams’s Five Variants of "Dives and Lazarus" (the latter with added harp). There are many more, but one of the most remarkable is Hubert Parry’s Lady Radnor’s Suite. Her is a work that seamlessly blends 18th-century Baroque dance with warm, late-Victorian British lyricism.

Helen, Countess of Radnor (1846-1929) was a pioneering Victorian musician and conductor who defied social conventions by founding an all-female string orchestra in 1881. Popularly known as "Lady Radnor's Band," this 72-piece ensemble performed publicly for charity, establishing her as one of Britain's first prominent female conductors. Her achievements helped pave the way for women to move from private salons into the public orchestral realm.

In 1893, she commissioned her friend, Hubert Parry, to write a piece specifically for her group. The resulting Lady Radnor’s Suite in F major premiered under her baton on 29 June 1894, at London's St. James's Hall.

The suite opens with a bright, energetic Prelude in F major, weaving four independent musical lines together into a lively theme before returning home after a brief central contrast. The tone then shifts with the Allemande, a graceful and reflective piece structured into two perfectly balanced, repeating sections. Next comes the Sarabande, a stately 17th-century Spanish dance that serves as the slow, deeply emotional heart of the entire work.

Energy returns with the Bourrée, a buoyant French dance moving from a driving D minor into a brighter major section, echoing the classic style of J.S. Bach. The mood darkens briefly in the Slow Minuet, where muted violins and violas float seamless melodies over deep, sustained bass notes. Finally, the Gigue brings the suite to a triumphant close, using a fast, rolling rhythm to deliver an exuberant and celebratory finish.

Listen to the London Symphony Orchestra under Sir Adrian Boult perform Parry’s Lady Radnor’s Suite on YouTube, here.

Emil von Sauer’s Second Piano Concerto

A few days ago, I found myself listening again to Emil von Sauer’s Second Piano Concerto, written in 1901, and enjoyed it more than I expected. It also reminded me that I had reviewed a recording of the piece back in 2004 for MusicWeb International — Oleg Marshev with the Aarhus Symphony Orchestra under James Loughran, Danacord DACOCD 596.

Emil von Sauer (1862–1942), born in Hamburg to a musically gifted Scottish mother, received serious musical training from an early age. Hearing Anton Rubinstein proved decisive: he later wrote that “something seemed to break within me,” fixing his path as a pianist. Rubinstein sent him to study with his brother Nikolay, and after 1881 Sauer began touring widely, eventually working with Liszt in Weimar. Although he later downplayed Liszt’s influence, his playing and advocacy told another story. From the late 1880s he built a major international career, including American tours in 1899 and 1908. He taught extensively in Vienna and Dresden, recorded prolifically, and produced enduring editions of Brahms, Chopin, Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Liszt. Married twice and father of eleven, he was knighted in 1917. As a composer he wrote polished, virtuosic music, untouched by modernist trends, and published nothing after 1932.

The Second Piano Concerto in C minor is in four movements played without a break. There is much cross‑referencing of themes between and amongst these movements, lending the feeling of a tightly conceived work. There is also a perceived complexity borne out of simplicity, and vice versa. The work opens quietly with a tune from a solo oboe. There is a definite oriental feel to this, which crops up here and there throughout the work. The piano steals in with a quiet cadenza; however, the intensity soon starts to build. There is a strong chordal passage for piano in dialogue with the orchestra, then an attractive duet between the soloist and a solo trumpet. The pressure slowly builds with much exciting writing for soloist and band. A more reflective passage offers a little relaxation before the trumpet and piano return. Then comes a glorious romantic moment — the sort of thing that makes a ‘romantic’ concerto all that one imagines it should be. There is a reprise of the oboe’s musings before the movement closes with a short chordal coda.

The second movement is a Scherzo, presented as an interesting argument between piano and orchestra. Soon a lovely little sequential tune appears before a much harder theme takes the stage. This is a kind of clog‑dance folk tune, reminding me of something part‑way between Grainger’s Handel in the Strand and Ketèlbey’s The Clock and the Dresden Figures. Throughout this movement we are conscious of a perfect dialectic between soloist and orchestra. A ‘big’ tune is introduced in the last minute or so before the clattering returns, yet the piece ends quite delicately.

The composer drops into the third movement without a pause. This is quite definitely the heart of the concerto. Soon a big tune announces itself — at first in the orchestra. This is stunning. There are a few comments from the woodwind before the piano enters the scene to discover the tune for itself. This is perfect romantic piano music, wearing the heart on the sleeve. A lengthy section for the soloist follows; after nearly a minute the band creeps in. It is sustained and restrained but soon builds, under control, into a lovely climax. A quieter, more reflective section precedes the fine, powerful reprise of the main theme. The piano supports this with complex arpeggios. There is a definite Tristan feel to this overwhelming music. It is music to lie back with and let wash over you. Then the tension eases. The composer brings a number of reminiscences of past music before the listener. Soon the preparation begins for the transition to the last movement. I have no doubt that this movement is one of the hidden gems of the piano‑concerto genre. If people only knew about it, it would be top of the Classic FM Pops. It is as good as anything, and better than most, in presenting sheer musical enjoyment, passion and emotion.

The final movement is not the most impressive follow‑on after having been to heaven and back in the previous one. Yet the character of the first theme is simple and forthright in contrast to what has preceded it. A new romantic theme is introduced before the orchestra takes a long section without the soloist. Then the piano begins summing up the concerto; I am not sure how effective this is. There is an edge to this music that jars slightly with what has gone before. Material is tossed back and forth, full of allusion to and quotation of earlier material. A powerful cadenza leads to a conclusion that nods to the opening pages of the work. I feel that the inspiration has run out. This movement is not of the same quality as those that have preceded it.

This concerto is a good example of the Romantic Piano Concerto. I am against excerpting movements from works; nonetheless, I feel that the slow movement would stand alone as a classic example of its genre.

Sadly, Oleg Marshev’s recording is not offered on YouTube. However, the splendid edition by Simon Callaghan and the Sinfonieorchester St. Gallen under Modestas Pitrenas, is available, here.

Strange Loops: Music for Clarinet and String Quartet

People come to Carl Maria von Weber from different angles. Some are drawn to his operas – Der Freischütz or Euryanthe. I first discovered him through his piano piece Invitation to the Dance and subsequently the piano concertos. Others will be captivated by his concertos for the clarinet and the bassoon. The present Clarinet Quintet in B-Flat Major, op.34, J. 182 is one of a relatively few chamber compositions that Weber wrote. It was composed between 1811 and 1815 for the brilliant clarinetist Heinrich Baermann who was noted for his exceptional technique, command of all the instrument’s registers and an overwhelming lyricism. The first key thing to take account of in this work is that it is really a concerto in disguise. Although conceived for standard chamber forces, the overall impact of this Quintet has the clarinet acting as a full-blown soloist, with the strings providing an elegant accompaniment, rather than presenting themselves as equal partners. The four movements explore an almost theatrical or operatic adventure. After a quiet opening, the opening Allegro launches into a virtuosic display. The slow movement, a Fantasia, is both imposing and solemn, resembling a funeral march, whilst the capricious scherzo balances quicksilver passages and some antique dance gestures. It is like a conversation between two people from different eras. The finale, a Rondo, is full of wit, and rhythmical verve, that hints at the Tarantella and the Polonaise. It finishes with a dazzling coda.

Although this Quintet was previously unfamiliar to me, it is one I could easily come to love. It is given a commanding and enthusiastic performance here by Mark van de Wiel and the quartet.

The highlight, for me, of this album is Ruth Gipps’s beautiful Rhapsody for Clarinet & String Quartet in E-Flat Major, op. 23 (1942). It was written specifically for her husband, the clarinetist, Robert Baker. The piece reveals a stylistic paradox. On the one side lies an incipient pastoralism that reflects her studies with Ralph Vaughan Williams; on the other, there are flashes of drama that present a vigorous, almost rhetorical interplay between clarinet and strings. This latter element is hardly modernistic, yet it steers the music well clear of anything resembling Cow‑and‑Gate sentimentality.

The clarinet leads with a soulful, yearning quality, while the string quartet refuses to remain a passive backdrop. Their dialogue moves effortlessly between serene, rolling landscapes and sudden, brooding intensity - a reflection, perhaps, of the uncertain wartime atmosphere in which it was conceived. Deceptively complex and quietly compelling, it rewards attentive listening, and it receives a remarkably sensitive performance here.

The latest piece on this rewarding disc is British‑born, US‑based composer Anna Clyne’s Strange Loops written in 2020 during the Covid lockdowns. This is my first encounter with her work. No biographical details are given in the liner notes.

I quote from the programme notes given in the booklet:

I Am a Strange Loop is a book by Douglas Hofstadter, examining in depth the concept of a strange loop to explain the sense of "I". [This concept] was originally developed in his book Gödel, Escher, Bach. He writes: In the end, we are self-perceiving, self-inventing, locked-in mirages that are little miracles of self-reference.

Now, I do not understand a word of this. Yet the result is thoroughly approachable and enjoyable.  Clyne explains that she has explored “musical loops - motifs and gestures that repeat, morph, modulate and recapitulate in various guises. At the heart of Strange Loops is a sense of playfulness and yearning - inspired by the creative process in isolation.” That is all that you need to know to enjoy this piece.

Helpful, but not comprehensive liner notes, a splendid recording and an overall presentation that reflects real care and understanding: the whole disc leaves a satisfying impression.

The three works together make a strikingly complementary programme, charting a clarinet journey from Weber’s operatic sparkle through Gipps’s introspective wartime lyricism to Clyne’s playful, self‑renewing modern ‘loops.’ Mark van de Wiel and his colleagues meet each idiom with assurance, warmth, and skill, producing a disc that is both musically rewarding and unexpectedly unified.

Track Listing:
Anna Clyne (b.1980)
Strange Loops (2020)
Ruth Gipps (1921-99)
Rhapsody for Clarinet & String Quartet in E-Flat Major, op. 23 (1942)
Carl Maria von Weber (1786-1826)
Clarinet Quintet in B-Flat Major, op.34, J. 182 (1811-15)
Mark van de Wiel (clarinet), Zsolt-Tihamér Visontay & Fiona Cornall (violins),
Nicholas Bootiman (viola), Karen Stephenson (cello)
rec. 2024, Lady Stringer Studio, Garsington Studios, Wallace Hill Farm, Stokenchurch, Buckinghamshire.
Signum Classics SIGCD1008
With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.

A Strange Refuge: Holst, Radical Faith, and the Battle for Thaxted

During the First World War, Gustav Holst found an unlikely artistic refuge in the Essex village of Thaxted, home to one of the most controversial Anglican priests of his generation. Thaxted, with its handsome church rising above the countryside, was the place where much of The Planets took shape. Yet Holst’s presence in the village, he was living in a rented cottage in Monk Street, was not without incident. Declared unfit for war service, he was nevertheless a forty‑something gentleman with the suspiciously foreign‑sounding name “von Holst,” seen wandering alone on long walks through the fields. The villagers, uneasy, reported him to the police. The local constable noted drily: “Many rumours are current about this man, but nothing can be traced against him.”

It was during this period that Holst met the redoubtable Conrad Noel, Vicar of Thaxted from 1910 until 1942. Noel was a figure of extraordinary energy who transformed the market town into a kind of pilgrimage site. He restored the church, championed Anglo-Catholic ritual, revived ancient Christian ceremonies, and filled worship with colour and light. He reinstated country customs - Morris dancing among them - and encouraged arts and crafts in the village. But this “Englishry” was only one facet of his mission. Noel was a leading voice in the Church Socialist League, and he found allies among Edward Maxton, the ‘Red Vicar’ of nearby Tilty, the militant silk weavers of Halstead, radicals in Braintree, and even H. G. Wells, the Fabian living close by. The entire enterprise was bankrolled, improbably enough, by Lady Frances “Daisy” Greville, Countess of Warwick, an aristocrat converted - up to a point - to socialist ideals.

No account of Conrad Noel can omit the ‘scandal’ of the flags. In the spring of 1921, he was given an Irish tricolour, which he promptly hung in the church beside the Red Flag and the Cross of St George. In the fraught politics of the day, this was a gesture guaranteed to ignite tempers. The Triple Alliance of miners, railwaymen, and transport workers had just collapsed; Ireland was in turmoil. Noel’s provocation enraged many locals. Rallies were held, banners appeared proclaiming: “No Bolshevism for Thaxted,” and the village squire appealed to the bishop to remove both flags and vicar. Cambridge students - then, one imagines, more to the right than the left - were brought in as a hired mob. Over a thousand people attended the street meetings; affrays and squabbles followed. Eventually a compromise was reached: the flags were taken down, but Conrad Noel remained in his living to fight another day.

Holst, for his part, retained deep affection for Thaxted and its turbulent priest. In the last year of his life, he planned to attend Christmas Mass there, though illness prevented him. He dedicated what he regarded as his finest choral work, This Have I Done for My True Love, to Conrad, along with the carol Bring Us Good Ale. The Vicar was not noted as a ‘toper’, but he actively rejected Puritanism and defended traditional English pub life and merrymaking as natural expressions of Christian joy and fellowship.

It's not British, but...Maurice Duruflé: Messe Cum Jubilo.

Many admirers of Maurice Duruflé will have at least one recording of his Messe cum Jubilo in their collection – and the same could be said of the Suite for organ, op.5. What, then, is the added value of this new disc from Psalmus records? Quite simply, Les Chantres de Paris restore the work to “its original symbolic and spiritual meanings.” Normally encountered as a standalone concert piece, the Messe is here placed within “a set of other compositions that support its musical and sacred meaning and significance.” In other words, this performance approaches the Messe as it might be heard within the liturgical setting for which it was conceived.

To this end the celebration opens with the first movement Prélude of Duruflé’s Suite, op.5 for organ solo. This begins with a “stylised” Gregorian chant theme, which grows from long sombre lines into a strong climax before sinking back into recitative‑like introspection. The listener can imagine the procession of celebrants, lay ministers, servers and choir entering the church.

Liturgical proceedings begin with the Salve sancta Parens, the Gregorian chant introit for Marian feasts, drawing on Sedulius’s poem and Psalm 44 (Psalm 45 in the Protestant numbering) to hail the Virgin as the Mother who bore the eternal King. It is traditionally sung at the start of Mass on Marian votive days.

The first two movements of Duruflé’s Messe Cum Jubilo (1966) follow. Built entirely on the ancient Cum Jubilo chant (Mass IX), Duruflé transforms the plainchant with his characteristic harmonic warmth while allowing the modal melodies to guide every phrase. The Kyrie and Gloria unfold with supple, chant-led momentum, with the organ providing colour and propulsion rather than mere background accompaniment.

Between the Epistle and the Gospel during the Liturgy of the Word, the choir sings the Gradual: Diffusa est gratia, a scripture-based chant from Psalm 44 praising divine grace, followed by the Alleluia Post partum, a joyful chant affirming the Blessed Virgin Mary’s perpetual virginity.

During the Offertory, the organist plays the second movement of the Suite, op.5, the Sicilienne, betraying the influence of Ravel and Debussy. Written in 6/8 time, this is a flowing, rondo movement whose seamless evolution leads to a final, glowing restatement of the theme with triplets. It remains one of Duruflé’s most intimate inspirations.

The Mass continues with the serene Sanctus and Benedictus, followed by Duruflé’s Notre Père, op. 14. Composed in 1977 as his final published work, this French setting of the Lord's Prayer is deeply restrained, unpretentious, and moving. The heavenly Agnus Dei then brings the Mass to a close with some of Duruflé's most tranquil writing.

After the Agnus Dei, the choir intones the Communio Beata Viscera and the Magnificat. The former is a liturgical Communion antiphon whose Latin text praises the Virgin Mary’s womb and breasts for bearing and nursing the Son of the eternal Father. The Magnificat is sometimes used at Mass during specific solemnities, such as the Feast of the Visitation (31 May) or the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary (15 August), where verses or musical settings of this text may be appointed for the communion antiphon or as a seasonal hymn.

After the Ite, missa est, (Go, the Mass is ended), the organ explodes with the Toccata from the Suite, op.5. This is one of the great warhorses of the organ repertoire, standing alongside the toccatas of Vierne, Widor, Gigout and Bach. Its relentless figurations demand true virtuosity, driven by a firm pedal refrain beneath the semiquaver bustle on the manuals. Even when the tempo briefly eases, the music pushes forward with surging energy toward an ecstatic close. The Suite was first published by Durand in 1934 and was duly revised in 1978.

I cannot fault anything about this new disc. The recording is exceptional, the singing perfect and the documentation (in French and English) is ideal. The texts and translations are included, along with the specification of the Cavaillé-Coll organ at the church of Saint-François de Sales, Lyon.

In sum, this exquisite release from Psalmus is far more than just another entry in the catalogue; it is a thoughtful, brilliantly executed reimagining of how Duruflé’s music was meant to be experienced. By surrounding the Messe Cum Jubilo with its natural liturgical companions and the masterful organ Suite op. 5, Les Chantres de Paris and Johann Vexo deliver a profound artistic achievement: Duruflé’s sacred masterpiece, restored in context. 

Track Listing:
Maurice Duruflé (1902-86)
Suite op.5 Prélude (1932)
Introïtus Salve sancta parens
Messe cum Jubilo, Kyrie
Messe cum Jubilo, Gloria
Graduale Diffusa est gratia
Alleluia post partum
Suite op.5 Sicilienne (1932)
Messe cum Jubilo, Sanctus
Messe cum Jubilo, Benedictus
Notre Père (1977)
Messe cum Jubilo, Agnus Dei
Communio Beata Viscera and the Magnificat
Ite missa est
Suite op.5, Toccata (1932)
Les Chantres de Paris: Blaise Rantoanina, Damien Rivière (tenors), Mathieu Le Levreur, Paul-Louis Barlet (baritones), Luc Bertin-Hugault (bass); Johann Vexo (organ)
rec. 2023, Saint-François de Sales, Lyon.
Psalmus PSAL050

Cecil Armstrong Gibbs’ Shade and Shine (1958)

I recently wrote about Thomas Pitfield’s delightful Theme and Variations (1951), newly released on British Music for Strings, Vol. 4 (CPO 555452 2, 2025). This excellent album, performed by the Südwestdeutsches Kammerorchester Pforzheim under Douglas Bostock, also includes works by Gordon Jacob, Thomas Dunhill, Imogen Holst, and Alan Bush. Another piece that caught my ear was Cecil Armstrong Gibbs’s Shade and Shine (1958).

Cecil Armstrong Gibbs was born at The Vineyards, Great Baddow in Essex on 10 August 1889. He graduated in history (1911) and then music (1913) from Cambridge where he studied with Edward Dent, Cyril Rootham and Charles Wood. Ill health prevented him from enlisting during the First World War, and he spent those years teaching at Copthorne School in East Grinstead and later at the Wick School in Hove. The success of Walter de la Mare’s play Crossings (1919), for which Gibbs supplied incidental music, encouraged him to pursue formal study at the Royal College of Music, where his teachers included Vaughan Williams and Adrian Boult. He joined the RCM staff in 1921 and remained there until 1939. 

In the early 1920s Gibbs settled in Danbury, Essex, though wartime requisitioning of his house forced him to relocate to Windermere in Cumberland during the Second World War. He returned to Danbury afterwards and lived there until his death on 12 May 1960. Throughout these decades he was deeply involved with the National Federation of Music Festivals, eventually becoming its Vice‑President. Much of his output was written for amateur choirs, orchestras and theatres, yet there is a substantial body of work aimed squarely at the professional concert hall. His choral symphony Odysseus and the Symphony No. 3 Westmorland—written after the death of his son David in battle near the River Sangro—stand among his most powerful achievements. Singers value his extensive catalogue of solo songs, and instrumentalists continue to discover treasures in his chamber music.

Armstrong Gibbs’s Shade and Shine, completed on 14 June 1958, but published only in 2006, is a late and unexpectedly touching addition to his catalogue. The opening Prelude sets the tone: an inward meditation whose harmonic twists and turns and antique melodic inflections have more than a hint of Warlock’s melancholy lyricism. The Cradle Song that follows is one of Gibbs’s most winning inspiration - carefully shaped, deliciously tender but without overt sentimentality. The Intermezzo serves as the scherzo of the set, with lots of pizzicato, and buoyant charm. Quicksilver shifts of mood and deft scoring show Gibbs at his most companionable. The finale, a Humoresque, rounds the work off with characteristic grace.

Taken together, Shade and Shine offers a concise demonstration of CAG’s gifts - clarity of thought, melodic ease, and an instinct for writing music that speaks directly to performers and listeners alike.

Yet fashions change. By the time he wrote Shade and Shine, the market for such genteel, small‑scale pieces had evaporated. The post‑war musical climate was moving elsewhere, and Gibbs’s idiom - rooted in pastoral lyricism - no longer demanded attention. Shade and Shine remained unperformed for decades, a casualty of shifting taste. It was finally performed in 1992, long after his death, and offers a satisfying conclusion to his career.

Listen to Armstrong Gibbs’ Shade and Shine (1958) played by Südwestdeutsches Kammerorchester Pforzheim under Douglas Bostock on YouTube, here.

English Song Anthology: John Shirley-Quirk

Since 1971, my reference point in English art song has been John Shirley‑Quirk’s recording of Vaughan Williams’s Songs of Travel, accompanied by Viola Tunnard. This was coupled with more songs by RVW, John Ireland, Charles Villiers Stanford, Frederick Keel and Peter Warlock. (SAGA XID 5211 mono, 1963; STXID 5211 stereo, 1966). It has remained in my collection ever since as my personal “go‑to” recording of this incomparable song cycle, and that early encounter set a standard I have never felt the slightest need to revise. I feel privileged that this LP was my first introduction to English Lieder.

The present Heritage CD release is a concatenation of the 1963 album together with Butterworth’s Six Songs from A Shropshire Lad from Saga XID5260, 1966, and a selection from The Songs of John Ireland (Saga XID 5207, 1964). To muddle matters, Saga later issued a compilation (SAGA 5473, c.1980) that includes all the repertoire now gathered on this 2026 reissue. For the aficionado, Heritage previously issued English Song (2‑CD set, HTGCD 283/4, c.2014), presenting the complete 1960s Saga recordings across two discs. Sadly, that set has since disappeared from their catalogue.

There is no shortage of information about John Shirley-Quirk available on the internet as well as the considerable essay included in the present disc’s liner notes. However, a few words may be of interest to readers who are less familiar with his achievement.

He was born in Liverpool on 28 August 1931; he had an unusual musical formation. Upon graduating from Liverpool University with a degree in chemistry, he entered the Royal Air Force to fulfil his national service. On demob, Shirley-Quirk taught chemistry at Acton Technical College. While teaching, he studied singing, joining the Purcell Singers and eventually becoming a Vicar-Choral at St Paul’s Cathedral, London. Rising to prominence during the 1960s, he was associated with Benjamin Britten and joined the English Opera Group, where he defined several of Britten’s iconic baritone roles. He was equally successful in oratorio, bringing his talents to Bach, Handel, and Elgar: his recordings of the St Matthew Passion and The Dream of Gerontius remain widely respected. He collaborated with leading conductors of the day, including Britten, Boult, and Marriner.

A principal element of Shirley-Quirk’s career was his work as a recitalist, with a masterful command of French, German, and English song. His broad repertoire ranged from Purcell and Schubert to Finzi, Ireland, and Warlock. He was also a well-respected teacher and mentor, later joining the faculty at the Peabody Institute in Baltimore. John Shirley-Quirk died at the age of eighty-two in Bath on 7 April 2014.

The main event on this new Heritage disc is clearly RVW’s Songs of Travel, first performed on 2 December 1904. Two years after the composer’s death, the final number, I have trod the upward and the downward slope (published in 1960), was added to restore the cycle to its intended nine‑song form. The present recital offers the songs in the order Vaughan Williams conceived, rather than the complicated sequence in which they were originally published. This ordering reflects the composer’s own design, and the 1963 Saga recording was the first to present all nine songs in that intended sequence. This reissue is, therefore, a valuable historical document.

The listener new to this cycle can regard it as a kind of English Winterreise (or Scottish, as Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Edinburgh), where the singer, "always tramping away into the distance", enjoys the pleasures of the road, is ensnared by love, and ponders the mysteries of the universe, as well as giving his own epitaph in the final song. As a lovelorn teenager my favourite was Youth and Love – I was the lad that “Cries but a wayside word to her at the garden gate/Sings but a boyish stave and his face is gone” – torn between homely love and the desire for adventure. Now, as a seventy-something, I warm to The Infinite Shining Heaven with a falling star that seems to descend from the sky to offer personal comfort in one’s latter years.

Shirley-Quirk’s evocative account of Linden Lea, one of RVW’s early nods to folksong, is a gift to the listener. Equally remarkable is his performance of Silent Noon, surely one of the most beautiful songs in the entire English repertoire.

George Butterworth’s Six Songs from A Shropshire Lad sets well-known poems by A.E. Housman and was completed in 1911. This cycle is a finely constructed meditation on youth, transience, and the shadow of death, each infused in Housman’s innate melancholy. Shirley-Quirk gives a remarkable performance, shaping a sequence whose quiet eloquence has long secured its place as a cornerstone of English art song.

I enjoyed the John Ireland settings. The group opens with the overwrought My Fair, the first of his Songs Sacred and Profane (1929-31) in which the soloist brings out the turbulence and impassioned undertow of Alice Meynell’s poem. Most listeners will know Benjamin Britten’s delightful arrangement of Yeats’s Salley Gardens set to an old Irish tune; less familiar is the eponymous fourth number of Ireland’s cycle, which is poised intriguingly between art song and folksong. Love and Friendship with words by Emily Brontë is the first of Three Songs written in 1926, serving as a rueful meditation on the sweet but fading rose and the longer lasting holly. Shirley-Quirk relishes the boisterous I have Twelve Oxen. Equally well performed is Ireland’s most popular (and hackneyed) song, Sea Fever, to a text by John Masefield, where the sailor longs to return to the sea.

The concert closes with three unrelated songs. Drake’s Drum, drawn from Charles Villiers Stanford’s Songs of the Sea op.91. This song evokes patriotic resolve, maritime legend, and Henry Newbolt’s stirring - if now sadly less fashionable - vision of England’s steadfast spirit. Shirley‑Quirk plays it up to the hilt, giving the piece all the swagger and colour it needs. Frederick Keel’s Trade Winds, (John Masefield), drifts with a gentle, sea‑worn melancholy, its lilting vocal line and rocking accompaniment conjuring distant shores, salt air, and the quiet pull of wanderlust. The final track is a real “toper.” Peter Warlock’s Captain Stratton’s Fancy (John Masefield) majors on the obvious fact (to the poet) that rum is the best drink and drinking is the finest occupation in the world. Warlock originally collected this song and Mr Belloc’s Fancy in a set colourfully titled Two True Topers’ Tunes to Troll with Trulls and Trollops in a Tavern (No. 1 Rum; No. 2 Beer, c.1921), though they were never actually issued under that name. The Fancy makes a fine robust conclusion to this most enjoyable recital.

As noted above, the liner notes written by Tully Potter give a good overview of Shirley-Quirk’s career, along with exceptionally brief notes about the songs on this CD. No texts are included, though all are easily available on the internet.

Little information is given about the three superb accompanists. Viola Tunnard (1916-74) was an English pianist, who worked closely with Benjamin Britten, served as the first collaborative pianist of the Philharmonia Chorus, toured with Joyce Grenfell during WWII, and mentored leading singers including Janet Baker and Peter Pears, earning a reputation as “the musician’s musician.” Martin Isepp (1930–2011), Austrian‑born British pianist and harpsichordist, was a distinguished accompanist and Glyndebourne coach, partnering singers such as Janet Baker, Elizabeth Schwarzkopf and of course, John Shirley‑Quirk. Finally, Eric Parkin (1924-2020) is well known to lovers of British music with his advocacy of composers such as Ireland, Bax, Moeran and Billy Mayerl; his numerous Chandos and Lyrita recordings always display an instinctive sympathy towards this repertoire. The liner notes omit to record that he died six years ago, giving only his birth year.

For over fifty years, John Shirley-Quirk’s 1960s Saga recordings have stood as a benchmark for English art song. Moving effortlessly from quiet, melancholic wanderlust to rowdy tavern songs, this welcome reissue catches the legendary baritone at the very top of his game. It remains as deeply moving and essential today as it was when first recorded.

Track Listing:
Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)
Songs of Travel (Robert Louis Stevenson) (1904)
Linden Lea (William Barnes) (1901)
Silent Noon (Dante Gabriel Rossetti) (1903)
George Butterworth (1885-1916)
Six Songs from A Shropshire Lad (A.E. Housman) (1911)
John Ireland (1879-1962)
My Fair (Alice Meynell) (1929-31)
The Salley Gardens (W.B. Yeats) (1929-31)
Love and Friendship (Emily Bronte) (1926)
I Have Twelve Oxen (Anon.) (1918)
Sea Fever (John Masefield) (1913)
Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924)
Drake's Drum (Henry Newbolt) (from Songs of the Sea) (1904)
Frederick Keel (1871-1954)
Trade Winds (John Masefield) (1902)
Peter Warlock (1894-1930)
Captain Stratton's Fancy (John Masefield) (1921)
John Shirley-Quirk (baritone); Viola Tunnard (piano); Martin Isepp (piano) Eric Parkin (piano).
rec. 1963; 1964 and 1966
Heritage HTGCD 116
With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.

Edward Elgar: Overture, ‘Cockaigne’ (‘In London Town’), Op. 40.

This post was inspired by one of Rosa Newmarch’s programme notes written for the Queen’s Hall Orchestra between the years 1908 and 1927. It gives a perfect verbal description of this wonderful overture alongside some astute technical details. Elgar’s Cockaigne Overture offers a vivid, affectionate panorama of everyday London. Though formally traditional, it unfolds as a sequence of sharply characterised scenes: bustling streets, dignified civic spirit, tender romance, cheeky street‑urchins, and the swagger of a military parade. Themes shift between nonchalant brilliance, noble warmth, and lyrical repose, coloured by exuberant orchestration and flashes of humour. Even the lovers’ retreat to a church is gently interrupted by urban bustle. The recapitulation gathers these strands before the march blazes back and the “nobler London” theme crowns the score. The Overture ends as it began- in buoyant celebration of the city’s optimistic, middle‑class vitality.

Rosa Newmarch writes: This Overture was first performed in London at a Philharmonic Concert, 20 June 1901. While adhering fairly closely to the requirements of traditional form, it follows a definite programme. The music depicts the varied experiences crowded into a few hours of London life, and evokes a whole series of pictures - serious, humorous, or romantic in turn - all of which are sincerely felt and expressed. It is average, middle-class London, optimistic and healthy-minded - but by no means uninteresting - that we meet in the pages of this score. London tragic and terrible, with its ‘garrulous clamours and assoiléd shows,’ [1] was not in the composer’s mind when he wrote ‘Cockaigne.’ But although Elgar does not pose here as the Charpentier of London life and abstains from showing up its sordid and seamy side, his work is the more valuable as being true to its time and surroundings.

The Overture is scored for the usual strings and woodwind, with double bassoon, four horns, two trumpets, [two cornetti] three or five trombones, [tuba], kettledrums, bass and tenor drums, and organ. The opening theme (Allegro scherzando), given out by the first violins, is animated and insouciant, and is followed at once by a cheery figure in the oboes and clarinets. The two phrases, having been developed and repeated, are brought to an effective climax in which the brass takes a full share. After this we reach an episode, distinguished by the composer’s favourite indication, Nobilmente. [2] This is based upon a dignified theme, delivered by woodwind, horns, and strings, and evidently intended to show the deeper side of the Londoner as compared with the gay (i.e., lively) opening subject. The latter, however, soon reasserts itself with heightened orchestral colour.

With a change of key to E flat the music assumes a gentler and quieter character. A transition passage with triplet accompaniment in the Strings introduces the love episode. Absorbed in their springtide dreams, a pair of lovers - so the story goes - seek refuge from ‘the madding crowd’ in some quiet glade of the parks. The theme of their romance forms the second subject proper of the Overture, and we hear it, piu tranquillo, in the first violins, with an idyllic additional phrase in the Oboes. This is fully developed, and when the tender passages have reached a crisis, an indiscreet solo (scherzando) for clarinet reveals the undesirable presence of the ubiquitous and sharp-eyed London street-boy. The theme of the intrusive youngsters is cleverly evolved by diminution from the motive marked Nobilmente which stood for the Londoner in his more dignified aspect. This proceeding naturally recalls Wagner’s transformation of the Mastersingers’ theme into the pert motive of the apprentices. Some repetitions and modifications of the foregoing materials bring this section to an end. The working-out starts with the Nobilmente theme, now given out ‘dolce e legato’ by the strings and succeeded by a reference to the closing phrases of the love-theme. A clarinet solo heralds the approach of a fresh episode, and soon the love-motive is lost in the martial strains which draw nearer and nearer, until finally the military band bursts into a gay and blustering march. This is worked out with immense spirit and brilliancy, the piccolos shrilling, the brass blaring out the tune, and the drums, bells, and triangles adding to the exhilarating din. Fragments of the ‘Young Londoners’ motive in different parts of the orchestra depict the eager delight of the street -urchins as they try to keep step with Tommy Atkins [3] in all his ‘pomp and circumstance.’ When the strains of the March have died down, the opening theme (‘gay London’) “returns and prepares the way for a new musical picture. The lovers now seek refuge from the turmoil of the streets in a neighbouring church. But before they can reach this haven of peace they must pass through another ordeal. This time it is not the band of the Guards, but more probably that of the Salvation Army, the clarinets of which play a very different version of the march-tune in G flat while the basses keep on cheerfully reiterating F. Yet, judging from the expressive whisperings in the violins, it takes more than the discord of semitone against semitone to interrupt the course of true love at this stage of its ‘world-oblivion.’

Presently a quiet theme in the horns and woodwind, with a countersubject in the strings, intimates that the couple have at last found sanctuary. Interwoven with the love-theme and the church motive are reminiscences of the urchins’ theme, like echoes from the surrounding streets. A gradual acceleration of speed leads back to the Tempo primo of the Overture, and the recapitulation begins with the theme of ‘gay London’ heard in the trombones. The lovers now resume their wanderings and pass through much the same experiences as before. The introductory subject and the phrase which followed it are restated with enriched and varied orchestration; the love-theme is also recalled very softly in the woodwind, first violins, and violas; and then the street boys’ motive appears, here, there, and everywhere, anticipating the return of the military band. The Coda reintroduces the march in its fullest vigour and audacity, and the ‘nobler London’ theme rings out in the full strength of the orchestra with the addition of organ ad lib. The Overture ends, however, with a last reference to the gay opening theme.

Rosa Newmarch The Concert-Goer’s Library of Descriptive Notes, Volume 1, OUP 1929 p.63f

Notes

[1] In the phrase “garrulous clamours and assoiléd shows,” ‘assoiléd’ suggests spectacles or displays that have been ‘absolved’ or ‘washed clean’ - perhaps morally dubious scenes glossed over or forgiven by the city’s bustle.

[2] Nobilmente tells the performer to play with “noble breadth and dignified warmth.” It signals an elevated, sincere tone: music that stands upright, speaks plainly, and carries a quiet moral weight rather than showy grandeur.

[3] ‘Tommy Atkins’ is the traditional nickname for the ordinary British soldier. It appears in Army paperwork from the early 19th century, where “Tommy Atkins” was used as a sample name on forms - much like “John Doe.” By the late Victorian and Edwardian periods, it had become a familiar, affectionate term for the rank‑and‑file infantryman: sturdy, good‑humoured, dutiful, and unpretentious. In Elgar’s Cockaigne, the street‑urchins march alongside “Tommy Atkins,” delighting in the swagger of the military band.

Across the Irish Sea in a Gale: Moscheles’ Ordeal on the Road to Dublin, 1826

Ignaz Moscheles (1794-1870) is a composer I have adopted as being of interest to British Music enthusiasts. Although he was born in Prague and subsequently died in Leipzig he spent much time in the United Kingdom. Many of his works were performed here and he was friends with all the key participants in English music.

The challenges of touring in those days are vividly illustrated by Moscheles’ account of his journey to Ireland in the year 1826. After concluding a lengthy tour of provincial towns, he began his to Dublin.

His wife, Charlotte, in her edition of Ignaz’s diaries [1] states that he began his journey from Liverpool. This seems highly unlikely, as it is on record that gave a concert at the Bath Assembly Rooms, on 3 January 1826. To be sure his diary states that "On the 4th of January, at seven a.m., I started from Liverpool and arrived at Birmingham at eight in the evening.” No concert has been identified from around this time in Liverpool. Charlotte’s assertion reflects either a misunderstanding of the itinerary or a compression of events in her editorial narrative.

On the 1 January 1826, Moscheles entered in his diary: "To-day I can call my happiness my own; by tomorrow I shall have left it. But courage! it must be so! I am in honour bound to fulfil my engagements."  He describes with much minuteness the dangers and difficulties in those days’ inseparable from a long journey, and of which we, in our age of rail and steamer, can scarcely form an idea.

"On the 4th of January, at seven a.m. I started from [Bath] Liverpool and arrived at Birmingham at eight in the evening. On the 5th I travelled without stopping day or night.

At two a.m. I had a grievous contretemps. We were close to Bangor, and I, the only passenger, was turned out of the warm coach into the cold, raw night, and made to cross the rushing river in an open boat. [1] It gave me the shivers, but I stood my ground, muttering my watchword, Courage, and patience!

On the opposite shore a forlorn and solitary passenger got inside the mail-coach, which was standing in readiness. Thus, we jogged on for the rest of the night wind blowing, snow falling - until at last, at five a.m., we arrived at Holyhead.

January 6th. —Eventful day! Severe trial! God's saving hand! In the hotel I found a respectable set of fellow-travellers, consisting of two gentlemen and one lady, ready to embark for Dublin. They were still waiting for the Chester mail, which arrived at seven o'clock. We were told that there was no steamboat to take us across the Channel; that the violent winds of the last few days had kept all the steamers on the Irish side, but that a sailing vessel would start immediately, and carry the mails across in from six to seven hours. Would we passengers cross in that vessel? We agreed and embarked shortly after seven o'clock. It rained in torrents, and the sea was so high that we soon betook ourselves to our berths. I suffered so violently that after a few hours I was completely prostrate.

The gale meanwhile increased. I counted the passing hours. It grew dark, but we did not land. The steward, on being asked when we should be released, whispered, “Who knows? we are doing badly!” - Words too clearly verified by the lurching of the boat. Although I lay smothered in blankets and clothes, my feet perished with cold. It cost me no slight effort to shake off my drowsiness, and groping about, to discover that the seawater had got into my berth; the ship had become leaky.

There was no longer any mystery about that, for the water came hissing into the cabin. The storm howled fiercely; it was pitch-dark. The captain could offer no other comfort than the assurance that we were not far from shore. Of course, not near enough to land. We were surrounded by rocks and sandbanks, and yet not near enough for a distress signal to be perceptible from the coast. At last, after a long battle and the most fearful shocks from the waves, which knocked our vessel about like a plaything, we were able to throw out anchors, and there we poor victims lay till daybreak. In this sad plight, however, I had not lost heart; faith in an Almighty Providence sustained me. I could think with calmness of my wife and child. They sleep peacefully, thank God, without sharing my hard fate.

They will either see me again and rejoice, or bear my loss, with the help of God. I thought with painful composure of my other friends and relations. It seemed but a little step from this world to the next. At last, in the afternoon, the welcome tidings came, “We are all right, a boat has reached our ship and will take us up.” Whereupon, after getting together our goods and chattels, we were thrown, so to speak, with them into the reeling boat, and, after a short fight with the foaming surf, landed in Howth harbour.

There I hired a post chaise, which carried me (a seven-mile journey) to the city. The dreary, sandy plain, the country dotted over with ruins, the sorry aspect of the people, did not, I am bound to confess, impress me very favourably. At last, I arrived in Dublin, drove over the beautiful Carlisle Bridge, [3] and the Liffey, to Westmoreland Street, where I rested for a few hours in a lodging which Pigott, [4] the music seller, had hired for me."

Notes:
[1] Moscheles, Ignaz. Recent Music and Musicians: As Described in the Diaries and Correspondence of Ignaz Moscheles. Edited by Charlotte Moscheles and adapted from the original German by A. D. Coleridge. New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1873.
[2] The Menai Bridge did not open until 30 January 1826, some three weeks after Moscheles journey to Holyhead.
[3] Carlisle Bridge is now O’Connell Bridge.
[4] Samuel J. Pigott was a Dublin cellist and music seller who established his firm around the 1820s on Westmoreland Street before moving to Grafton Street. Operating alongside contemporary Dublin dealers like Isaac Willis and Smollett Holden, Pigott built a business that supplied continental and British music scores to the local market and eventually became one of Ireland's major 19th-century music publishers.

Anthony Collins’ Legacy of Delius Recordings Part 3

There are surprisingly few references to Anthony Collins (right) in the pages of the Delius Society Journal. The most important contribution was from Michael Gartz (No.78, 1983) He began his article by noting that Brigg Fair has always been one of Delius’s most popular works and that the listener has three different Beecham recordings to listen to (there was also an unpublished version dating from 1928). The earliest commercially available one dating from 1928 is in his opinion the ‘finest.’ He is tempted to regard this as the ‘definitive performance, a miracle of interpretation which could never be challenged, let alone superseded.’ Gartz explained how he had recently come across Anthony Collins’ 1953 recording, however his ‘allegiance to the Beecham version was so strong’ that it took him several days to get around to hearing it. His immediate reaction was one of ‘pure delight’ and he had come to consider that Collins was ‘worthy to be placed alongside Beecham’s classic account.’ He decried the comment made in the contemporary edition of the Penguin Stereo Cassette Guide that Collins’ conducting was in the Beecham tradition.’ In fact, he considered that Collins’ realisations were ‘just as individualised as Beecham’s and just as revealing of the music.’ He then compares the two versions of Brigg Fair and concludes that Collins’ is more ‘languorous, grave even, conjuring up images of a bleak winter morning, with a cortege slowly descending from the hills.’ He considers this music both tragic and nostalgic in the same manner as Mahler’s Ninth Symphony. Michael Gartz is equally impressed with the other works on this disc and considers the sound ‘astonishing for its age.’

Thirteen years later Roger J. Buckley (No.117, 1996) recalls Anthony Collins’ ‘spectacularly successful’ contribution to the discography of Sibelius in the 1950s. He reminds readers of the two Delius LPs made at around the same time. In this review of Dutton Laboratories (CDLXT 2503) re-mastering, he notes that Collins has been ‘regarded by some as second only to Beecham as a conductor of Delius’. He insists that Collins’ ‘insight and integrity survive quite undiminished. These are fine, passionate performances. Some of them, such as Paris and A Song of Summer, must be among the greatest performances of Delius's music ever recorded.’ After praising the quality of the re-mastering and noting some ‘slap-happy ensemble playing’ by the L.S.O. and some extraneous noises-off he concludes by stating that these are still ‘very important recordings.’

In 2008 Lyndon Jenkins (No.143, 2008) was a little less complimentary about Anthony Collins’ version of Paris. He notes the Record Guide (1955) opinion that this was ‘a flawless achievement’ he points out the 1995 Dutton CD transfer ‘revealed some fairly indifferent playing; this would not have been so evident on the original LP – although the insistent tambourine early on that packs up several bars too soon certainly was.’ He offered in mitigation that the L.S.O. was then at a ‘lowish point’ and was awaiting its ‘mid-50s rejuvenation’. Jenkins does concede that there are ‘impressive moments in Collin’s performance [of Paris,] but considers that ‘the whole of the opening is much laboured and, at some of the tempi he chooses, he seems unable to give the faster sections the rhythmic lift they need to bring them alive.’

Finally, a personal appreciation from Rob Sabine (No.144, 2008) in a short note about Rudolf Kempe and the 1962 Delius Festival. Sabine notes that he had just been demobbed from the RAF. He had bought the Ace of Clubs LP (ACL144) primarily for the performance of Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis. He was struck by the two Delius pieces on the ‘B’ side – The Walk to the Paradise Garden and A Song of Summer. He was ‘stunned by the music, its beauty and individuality – a feeling that remains to this day.’

Conclusion

Reading these reviews suggests that Sir Thomas Beecham is consistently regarded as the base-line interpreter on record of virtually all Delius’ orchestral music. One critic after another compares the recordings made by Anthony Collins and the London Symphony Orchestra with Beecham’s ‘exemplar.’ Most often this comparison is favourable. Some 60 years after these reviews were published it is easy to see that the major stumbling block was that Anthony Collins’ new recordings were quite simply not Beecham’s interpretations of these works. In 2014, with more than fifty-eight recordings of [e.g.] the First Cuckoo currently available and featuring some twenty-five different conductors, it is an interpretative dilemma that all listeners must deal with. Is Beecham the definitive interpretation of Delius, or are others equally valid? I personally believe that Anthony Collins has left a near-perfect legacy of the seven works that he recorded.

Select Bibliography
Holmes, John, Conductors on Record (Greenwood Press, 1982)
The files of The Gramophone, Billboard Magazine, Tempo, Delius Society Journals, etc.

MusicWeb International (accessed 11 July 2026):
Terry Barfoot, Review.
Jonathan Woolf, Review & Review

Select Discography
Only the works performed by Anthony Collins and the London Symphony Orchestra noted in compilations. Dates of release given where known.

Brigg Fair, On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, The Walk to the Paradise Garden and A Song of Summer. 1953. LP. Decca LXT 2788.

The Walk to the Paradise Garden, On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring. 1953. MP. (10 inch) Decca LW 5036.

Brigg Fair, On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, A Song of Summer, The Walk to the Paradise Garden. 1953. LP. London Label LL 758.

Paris, In a Summer Garden, Summer Night on the River. 1954. LP Decca LXT 2899.

Paris, In a Summer Garden, Summer Night on the River. 1954. LP. London Label LL 923.

Summer Night on the River, A Song of Summer. 1955. MP. (10 inch) Decca LW 5173

Brigg Fair, On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, + works by Elgar. 1961. LP. Ace of Clubs ACL 131.

The Walk to the Paradise Garden, A Song of Summer + works by Vaughan Williams. 1961 LP. Ace of Clubs ACL 144.

Paris, In a Summer Garden, Summer Night on the River. 1965. LP. Ace of Clubs ACL 245.

Brigg Fair, On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, The Walk to the Paradise Garden, A Song of Summer. 1970. LP. Decca Eclipse ECS 633.

Paris, In a Summer Garden & Summer Night on the River. 1971. LP. Decca Eclipse ECS 634

Brigg Fair, On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, A Song of Summer, The Walk to the Paradise Garden. 1971. Cassette. Decca KECC 633

Brigg Fair, Summer Night on the River and Paris + works by Elgar c.1987 Cassette 'Delius and Elgar’ (under licence from Decca) Pickwick DTO 10177

Brigg Fair, On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, A Song of Summer, Paris, In a Summer Garden & Summer Night on the River. 1995. CD. Dutton Laboratories CDLXT 2503

The British Music Collection Brigg Fair + other works by Delius. 2001. CD. Decca 470 190-2

The British Music Collection Paris, In a Summer Garden, A Song of Summer, Summer Night on the River, The Walk to the Paradise Garden + other works by Delius. 2002. CD Decca 470 375-2.

Paris, In a Summer Garden, A Song of Summer, Summer Night on the River, The Walk to the Paradise Garden. c.2002. CD. Decca Eloquence 461 358-2.

Brigg Fair, On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, The Walk to the Paradise Garden, A Song of Summer. c.2005. Downloads. Pristine PASCO15

The Walk to the Paradise Garden, A Song of Summer. 2008. CD. Beluah 1PD26

On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring + other works by Delius. 2011. CD Danacord DACOCD 717 

Concluded    

With thanks to the Delius Society Journal Spring 2014 No.155: 51-6, where this essay was originally published.