The saying of Sir Thomas Beecham that Elgar is ‘the musical
equivalent of St Pancras Station’ is well-known: it is quoted on the Classic FM
website as one of the ’22 Best [Musical] Insults. It suggests that the great
conductor felt that Elgar’s music was past its sell-by date. In his autobiographical The Mingled Chime, Beecham writes a few paragraphs that cannot be
described as insulting: rather damning with the faint praise. Two things of
interest: firstly, I think that Elgar is more popular today than Delius and
secondly, St Pancras Station in its newest incarnation as the Eurostar terminal,
combining the Victorian architecture of William Henry Barlow and George Gilbert
Scott with the best of contemporary design, is now a well-loved London
landmark. Finally, I do not believe the passage given below reveals Beecham as
being quite as scathing towards Elgar as some of his more vehement detractors
would wish.
‘The reputation of Delius continued to grow, although it was
not yet rivalling that of Elgar whom the British public had placed on a
pedestal higher than that occupied by any native composer since Purcell. I did
not find this valuation shared by either our own or foreign musicians, and on
those occasions when in later years I played this [Elgar] composer's works in
continental countries, as well as in the United States, I found that time had
failed to maintain it. All the same there is not the least doubt that most of
what Elgar wrote between 1895 and 1914 showed an undeniable advance over
anything produced by his English predecessors or contemporaries in the more
orthodox forms such as the symphony and the oratorio.
The writing itself is clearer and more varied in style, the
grasp of the subject closer and keener, and the use of the orchestra is often, but
not always, admirable. The better side of him is to be found in miniature
movements, where he is often fanciful, charming and, in one or two instances,
exquisite. His big periods and 'tuttis' are less happy; bombast and rhetoric
supplant too frequently real weight and poetical depth, and he strays with a
dangerous ease to the borderline of a military rhodomontade [vain and empty
boasting] that is hardly distinguishable from the commonplace and the vulgar.
Here and there are cadences of a charm that are quite his own, unlike anything
else in music, evoking memories without being in themselves reminiscent, and breathing
a sentiment to be found in much English literature written between 1830 and
1880, notably Tennyson. But whatever the quality or merit of the invention, his
is the work of a truly serious and honest craftsman’.
Beecham,
Thomas, A Mingled Chime (London,
Hutchinson, 1949) p.182
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