William Alwyn: Twelve Preludes for Piano (1958)

The first thing to consider is whether it is right that these twelve preludes should be played as a cycle or whether they can be excerpted. We need only think of Rachmaninov or perhaps Scriabin to see that recitalists often pick several 'preludes' from the various sets these composers wrote. The same could be said of Bach and Chopin. It is, perhaps, with the two books of Preludes written by Debussy that we have to compare William Alwyn's works. Although not exclusively so, with the exception of one or two encore pieces such as the 'Girl with Flaxen Hair' recitals and CDs tend to present Book 1 or Book 2 in their entirety.

I think that, although the Preludes by Alwyn are mostly individually self-sufficient, they are served best by being played together. Yet in some ways this is strange; there is no obvious thematic thread running through these pieces. In fact, the very opposite is the case. Alwyn decided to use very short note groups as the basis of these pieces. These are closely related to key centres and all the preludes have an allocated key signature. Yet he invented a new note group for each of the dozen pieces. In spite of this diversity, it is best to take these dozen preludes at a sitting. Each number is roughly two minutes long, the entire works lasting just under half an hour.

The first prelude is quiet and reflective and is economical in its use of material. It is played very quietly with just a little frisson in the middle section. There is a strange hardness of tone in some of the repeated notes - quite a disturbing element within what is a seemingly untroubled mood. The piece ends as quietly as it began.

The second opens dramatically - as implied in the instruction 'Allegro drammatico.' There is much repeated figuration here giving the impression of turbulence. After an impressive flourish the music dies down and collapses. There are quiet, slow repeated chords and a simplification of the texture. This is a strange piece really, with the two sections rather unbalanced.

The next prelude, a 'Molto Semplice' presents music of seeming innocence. It is truly lovely music that is perfectly balanced in all its parts. Yet, hidden in the innocence there is a touch of melancholy.

The fourth prelude is a study - William Alwyn stated it was composed to display rapid finger technique. There is at times a jazzy feeling here - or is it perhaps even boogie-woogie? The second section is much quieter and is rhythmically blurred with much use being made of the pedal. The melody is given in octaves towards the conclusion and is followed by a quicksilver coda. An exceptionally fine piece technically.

The New Zealand pianist Richard Farrell was the dedicatee of the fifth prelude. In fact, it was composed just a few days after his death in a motorcycle accident. This is a lovely piece that has much depth and feeling to it. In some ways it appears almost too simple: it is not until after a couple of hearings that its subtleties begin to become evident. There are some clever modulations and not a few bittersweet harmonic clashes. The latter part of the prelude makes use of impressive chordal writing that adds drama. However, in strange contradistinction some of the writing is almost reminiscent of café piano style. The overall impression is of balance and near perfection.

The sixth prelude is another study. It is written to display rapid chords in progression. It certainly comes as quite a contrast to the preceding elegy. It is rhythmically strong sounding rather like Scriabin or perhaps even Rachmaninov in places but is none the worse for that. It is one of the best of these preludes. The piece closes with a good coda and a false ending which gives the listener a little jolt.

The seventh prelude is played quietly and sounds like distant bells. It is meditative and has all the appearance of a very straightforward piece. This simplicity is misleading. It is a difficult piece to play well. Here are more than just hints of Debussy's 'underwater cathedral' in these pages. There is a slight crescendo in the middle section before the work closes as it began.

William Alwyn states that the eighth prelude is 'pastoral' in character. This is an overstatement - with little to justify this description. The tempo marking is 'grazioso et delicato,' however even is unjustified. There are several felicitous touches in this prelude, but the overall impression is that the composer has lost the plot a bit. Some of this music is a little makeweight.

The ninth prelude also suffers from a lack of formal principle. It is as if the composer has lost his concentration. The opening of the piece is 'elusive' and becomes a touch monotonous during the first section. Once again there are hints of Debussy here. Suddenly the character changes and the prelude ends with glissando like scales. A very unbalanced piece.

The tenth prelude is an ‘Allegretto leggiero:’ once again this is a study in delicacy of touch. It is a pleasing number that is extremely difficult to keep under control and to maintain a consistency of touch. However, some of this prelude is anything but delicate - there is some intensity here that requires firm playing. The piece finishes quietly.

The penultimate prelude is composed on three notes - Db, Eb and F. This is the ultimate in musical economy. Yet with this limited material Alwyn creates a misty magical atmosphere. This is an extremely beautiful piece even if it is short.

The final piece, an ‘Allegro’ brings the cycle to a triumphant close. It opens with a toccata-like figuration that continues, under various guises to permeate the work. Much of the sound of this prelude reminds the listener of water - from mere ripples to crashing waves. The 'big' tune is given in the bass with the toccata theme in the treble clef. There are memories here of Alwyn’s Magic Island Prelude and perhaps the Third Symphony. A big powerful build up is followed by a sudden diminuendo. An enigmatic coda followed by a huge display of chords brings the work to a conclusion.

Although there are a few weak points where the composer seems to have lost his way, the vast majority of these preludes are superb in their form, their melodic and harmonic structure and their relationship to each other. These Twelve Preludes must be taken at a sitting. Although they are not thematically related there is a unity about them that only becomes obvious when they are heard together. It is possible to hear the “horns of elf land” in these pieces.

This cycle of Preludes will never become truly popular; they are very subtle and sophisticated (in a positive way). Yet they deserve to be listened to, played and studied. They are one of the finest achievements in the literature of the second half of twentieth century piano music. They are as good as any work that was produced for the piano in the 1950s and much better than most.