British Cello Works: Volume 3

Despite his short life, English composer William Hurlstone left behind a small but outstanding catalogue, including pieces like Variations on a Swedish Air, the Piano Concerto in D major and the Magic Mirror Suite, based on the fairy tale of Snow White. Hurlstone displayed an extraordinary talent, which was recognized early on by his teacher, Sir Charles Villiers Stanford, who considered him the most gifted of his students. Sadly, his music is rarely performed today.

Although not well received by the Times critic at its premiere performance, the Cello Sonata in D major has come to be regarded as a minor masterpiece, the Sonata was written for the cellist May Mukle. With four well balanced movements, the slow movement and the “playful” Scherzo stand out as highlights. The ‘refrain’ of the concluding Rondo has features that Thomas Dunhill regarded as being “unmistakably English in spirit.”  Certainly, this sweeping theme provides a good foil to some of the more reflective moments as the movement progresses. The impact of Brahms is keenly felt as the sonata unfolds. Other stylistic influences include Schumann and Elgar. Yet, the overall impact is none the worse for these debts.

Most pianists of a certain age will have come across Felix Swinstead in their studies. Swinstead was an English pianist and composer, known for his educational piano music. He studied at the Royal Academy of Music and later became a professor there. He produced around two hundred pieces, mainly for the piano, including Fancy Free and Work and Play. He was known for his recitals and international tours.

The liner notes explain that the present Cello Sonata is undated but may well have been written shortly before Swinstead’s death. There are no details of any performances or even a “run-through.” After a dramatic opening flourish, the first movement Allegro devolves into a charming “strolling tune.” Much of the succeeding music is warm hearted and downright lyrical. The Adagio is a different matter. Dusk shrouds the proceedings with the main theme being “a wistful, folk-like tune with a decidedly Celtic lilt.” The finale, an Allegro deciso, has all the hallmarks of English light music, as the two main themes explore moods of happiness and of “Elgarian radiance.” This is a delightful Cello Sonata that makes no demands on the listener and is thoroughly enjoyable from the first note to the last. It should be in every duo’s repertoire.

Doreen Carwithen has made a remarkable impact on the record scene in recent years. Most of her orchestral works have been issued on CD. There are albums featuring her chamber music and a few songs. I am guessing that this is the premiere recording of her Cello Sonatina, although this is not stated on the cover.

Carwithen’s Sonata was completed around 1946. The form is in three movements, with the central one being the fast one. The opening Andante is melancholy and sometimes troubled. The Allegro is a breath of fresh air, with lots of questions and answers between instruments. It sounds technically demanding. The final movement returns to the melancholic mood, as the cello weaves a tender and serene melody. It is another example of a work which begs the question, “Why is it not heard in the recital rooms?”

Unfortunately, the track listing gives this as Sonata in E minor for cello and piano, op.132 (1951). These are the details of an example by Cecil Armstrong Gibbs!

Two other short numbers by Carwithen are included: the introspective Nocturne and the energetic Humoresque. They date from 1943.

The English composer, violist, and conductor, Frank Bridge needs little introduction in these pages. Save to say he is well remembered for his chamber music and orchestral works. The fact that he was a mentor to Benjamin Britten, tends to detract from the appreciation of his own work. Bridge's compositions evolved from romanticism to a more modernist style, reflecting the emotional and societal shifts of his time.

Since hearing the Rostropovich/Britten recording (Decca SLX 6426) of Bridge’s Sonata in D minor for cello and piano, back in the early 1970s, this has been one of my Desert Island works. It has everything: from high romanticism to hints of Bergian “modernism.”

The Sonata took four years to finish, being started in 1913 and concluded in 1917. Its gestation thus spans the years of the First World War. Other major chamber works from Bridge’s pen during this period includes the Sextet (1912) and the String Quartet No. 2 in G Minor (1915).

The clue to appreciating Bridge’s Cello Sonata is to see the “fundamental dichotomy between a pre-war pastoralism and the angry reaction to the horrors of the conflict. It is presented in two movements: Allegro ben moderato and Adagio ma non troppo. The first is a celebration of the high-water mark of Edwardian triumphalism and has echoes of Brahms and even Rachmaninov. The second, is fraught with grief and angst, but comes to a surprisingly optimistic conclusion. It is given a superb performance here by Handy and Walsh.

The track listing on the rear cover of the CD states that Frank Bridge’s dates are (1913-76) and that the cello sonata dates from 1961! It is not the Sonata in C for cello and piano, op.60 (1961). This one belongs to Benjamin Britten.

The liner notes by Paul Conway are to the usual high standard, forming an essay-long introduction to the composers and the music. No resume of the two soloists is included.

All this music is played with obvious skill and enthusiasm. The Swinstead is my discovery on this album, but the Bridge is the highlight (for me), and I will certainly listen to this version many times in the future.

Track Listing:
William Hurlstone (1876-1906)
Cello Sonata in D major (1899)
Felix Swinstead (1880-1959)
Cello Sonata (date unknown)
Doreen Carwithen (1922-2003)
Cello Sonatina (1946)
Nocturne (1943)
Humoresque (1943)
Frank Bridge (1879-1941)
Sonata in D minor for cello and piano, H.125 (1913-17)
Lionel Handy (cello), Jennifer Walsh (piano)
rec. 23-24 March 2024, Winchester College.
Lyrita SRCD.441

Alun Hoddinott: Intrada for organ 1967

In my accumulation of organ music, I have two volumes of Oxford University Press’s Easy Modern Organ Music. I remember buying them in a Glasgow store about fifty-years ago. I wanted to impress my friends with something a little “spikier” than the Henry Smart and Caleb Simper scores that always were lying around the organ loft. There was only one number I could get my feet and fingers round - and that was Alun Hoddinott’s Intrada. And here was a piece of organ music that sounded impressive – even on the small two manual church organ that I regarded as my own! I tried it out at an evening service - and no one was really impressed: “A bit too long-haired for our time of life, laddie.”

Alun Hoddinott (1929-2008) was a Welsh composer and teacher, known for his significant contributions to classical music. Born in Bargoed, Glamorganshire, he studied at University College, Cardiff, and later took private lessons with Arthur Benjamin. His first major success came with the premiere of his Clarinet Concerto at the Cheltenham Festival in 1954. Hoddinott was a prolific composer, producing symphonies, concertos, operas, and chamber works. His music is characterised by lyrical intensity and complex rhythms. He was also a teacher and served as Professor of Music at Cardiff University, where he helped expand the music department. His contributions to his discipline were recognised with several awards, including a CBE in 1981 and the Glyndwr Award for outstanding contribution to the arts in Wales in 1997.

The Intrada, op.37 no.2 was written in 1966. It was a commission from OUP for the first of the two volumes, which was duly published in 1967. Other works in this album included Kenneth Leighton’s Fanfare, William Mathias’s Chorale, Christopher Brown’s Nocturne, John McCabe’s Pastorale sostenuto and Arnold Cooke’s Impromptu.

Intrada was first performed at Cambridge on 15 July 1967. The organist of the day is not known. It does not appear to have been recorded.

Of added interest is op.37 no.1, which was a Toccata alla Giga, written in 1964 and published in Modern Organ Music, Book 1, in 1965. For details of this work see this blog, here.

Intrada is a noun that means a musical introduction or prelude, especially popular in the 16th and 17th century. The word comes from the Italian word intrata, which means "entrance" or "introduction". The earliest evidence of the word "intrada" in English is from 1664.

Hoddinott’s piece is straightforward in its construction. The opening two bars contains virtually all the material used in the entire work. It proceeds with contrasting panels of sound: reeds, string tone, flutes, and lastly reeds. Various imaginative stop registrations add colour to the limited melodic and harmonic texture. It can be played on a two manual organ, if there is a reed stop on the Great and the Swell. The composer calls for a “soft 8ft” stop on the pedal, but this could be faked with a pedal coupler.

In a review of Easy Modern Organ Music printed in the American Music Teacher (February/March 1968), E.J. Hilty pointed out that “All of these compositions have one thing in common: dissonance! Dissonance can be fun if you will not give up at first trial.”

Listen to Alun Hoddinott’s Intrada, op.37 no.2 on YouTube, here. Zach Neufeld is playing the organ of St. John's Cathedral, Los Angeles.

Ronald Stevenson: Piano Music, Volume 7: Folksong with Grainger

The advertising material for this CD explains that Percy Grainger and Ronald Stevenson, who were both composer-pianists of the Golden Age of keyboard virtuosity, were deeply interested in folksong especially from the “modal Celtic melodies from the fringes of the British Isles.” Importantly, these two men never met but corresponded with each other for many years. (I wonder if these letters will ever be published?). This seventh volume of Christopher Guild’s ongoing survey of Stevenson’s piano music “uncorks the exultant good humour that he and Grainger found on that common Celtic ground.” And there are a couple of pieces from slightly further afield too.

For details of the composer’s life and times, see the biography published on the Ronald Stevenson Society Website.

The album gets off to a flying start with Green Bushes, a passacaglia written by Percy Grainger, based on a folk song popular in England, Ireland, and the Appalachian Mountains. Grainger noted that "My Passacaglia was composed for small orchestra in 1905-1906, re-scored in January 1921, for 22 single instruments or orchestra, in 1919 I arranged it for 2 pianos, 6 hands.” So, it is not surprising that in 1963 Ronald Stevenson decided to transcribe it for piano solo. The original theme is heard some thirty-six times (I did not count them) and is supported by counter melodies. Boredom is avoided by an ongoing suspense of building up to a vibrant peroration, Bolero like. Christoper Guild is correct in thinking that this “is one of the best kept secrets of Ronald Stevenson’s oeuvre. Here’s hoping pianists will take up its cause in concert…”

The Irish Folksong Suite (1965) is an original Stevenson arrangement. It was initially conceived for solo piano but was reworked as a piano duet. Both versions have been published. The songs chosen all reflect tragic, but brave love. Each exhibit the spirit of Percy Grainger. The liner notes give a précis of each ballad, to help the listener’s understanding. Unsurprisingly, they are all touched with melancholy but are always quite lovely.

Away from the Celtic Twilight, Guild has included Stevenson’s Two Chinese Folksongs (1966) which are arrangements for duet of two of five pieces originally for solo piano, the Chinese Folk-Song Suite (1965). This is not cod-oriental such as Albert Ketèlbey would have devised, but there is no doubt that this music hails from China. The first, the Song for New Year’s Day, has onomatopoeic gongs and tam-tams in the background, whilst the Song of the Crab-fisher is quite energetic and captures the mood of a fish market, as seen through Western eyes.

The liner notes explain that of the Manx Melodies (1985) only one appears to be extant. Mannin Veen (Dear Mona) is a perfectly formed little number, sadly over all too soon.

The Variation on ‘Coolun’ (in late 18th century style) was originally conceived for harp. It may have been written for Stevenson’s daughter who was an accomplished player of the clarsach, the Celtic Harp.

It was George Frideric Handel who jotted down the tune to The Poor Irish Boy when he was staying in Dublin in 1742. Stevenson has provided a sympathetic harmonisation for this short, but quite beautiful setting.

The Skye Boat Song was originally transcribed by Percy Grainger in 1900 and was arranged by Stevenson in 1983. To what extent he has tinkered with this piece, I do not know, but I agree with the booklet essay that this is a very modern sounding adaptation.

It could be argued that Ronald Stevenson’s The Young Person’s Solo Album (1966) provides a “Boys Own” introduction to Percy Grainger’s Greatest Hits. A glance at the track listing below, will reveal that well known pieces are included. And there are several that are not so popular. What Stevenson has done to these tunes is quite remarkable. He has made “simplified arrangements,” “abridged versions,” included Grainger’s own “Easy arrangements[!],” “edited numbers” and one…that is “freely set for piano.”  Most of them are noticeably short. I feel that at a recital, the entire Album should be played in order, however one or two of them would make ideal encores.

The Queen’s Maries is based on an old Scottish ballad of uncertain provenance. The history of who these Marys were is convoluted but would appear to refer to Mary Queen of Scots’ ladies in waiting, who were all called by that forename. The ballad's narrative centres around the love, loyalty, and ultimate sorrow experienced by these devoted companions. It is a charming, reflective miniature that moves from a straightforward evocation of the melody to a Busoni-like conclusion – all in under three minutes.

The final track on this rewarding album is Jamboree for Grainger, for two pianos. The liner notes describe it as a “pot-pourri” or using a Scots word “stramash.” Honorary Scot Ronald Stevenson would have certainly known what this latter word meant. Its primary definition is “An uproar, commotion or row.” It can also be construed as “a state of great excitement” or something being “smashed or shattered.” All these meanings can be read into this work. Several of PG’s best-known tunes are crushed together in a riot of sound. Listen out for the inevitable Country Gardens, then Molly on the Shore and Over the Hills and Far Away. Softer moments appear with To a Nordic Princess and The Only Son. The only problem with identifying the melodies, is that Stevenson mixes them up, plays two, three and four off against each other and recaps them in short order. And then there is a passage of Stevenson’s own which he declared was “suggested by Grainger’s vigorous style.”  Jamboree was completed in 1960, the year before Grainger’s death.

This is a remarkable addition to Ronald Stevenson’s discography. Two great composers, innovators and larger than life characters meet in this thoroughly enjoyable repertoire. Christopher Guild brings a huge enthusiasm and sympathy for this music. He is ably assisted by Marcel Zidani as the second pianist in the Irish Folksong Suite, the Two Chinese Folksongs, and the Jamboree for Grainger. The quality of the recording is clear and bright, bringing added value to this CD. The booklet once again is a masterclass of analysis, history, and description.

For all Percy Grainger enthusiasts, and for the (hopefully) growing numbers of Ronald Stevenson fans, this is an essential purchase. It allows the listener the opportunity to witness two significant arrangers and transcribers at work.

Track Listing:
Percy Grainger (1882–1961)
Green Bushes (1905-6) arr. Ronald Stevenson (1928-2015) (1963)
Ronald Stevenson
Irish Folksong Suite (1965): I. The Mantle so Green: II. Luvlie Willie; III. Grá geal mo chroi; IV. Mary from Dungloe
Two Chinese Folk Songs (1966): No. 1, Song for New Year’s Day; No. 2, Song of the Crab-fisher
Manx Melodies: ‘i. Mannin Veen’ (1985)
Variation on ‘Coolun’ (in late 18th century style) (Date unknown)
The Poor Irish Boy (Date unknown)
Transcr. Percy Grainger
Skye Boat Song (1900) arr. Ronald Stevenson (1983)
Percy Grainger/ Ronald Stevenson
The Young Person’s Solo Album (1966): No.1, Country Gardens; No.2, Shepherd’s Hey; No.3, Molly on the Shore; No.4, Mock Morris; No.5, Beautiful Fresh Flower; No.6, Australian Up-Country Song; No.7, Irish Tune from County Derry; No.8, Walking Tune; No.9, Hill-Song; No.10, To a Nordic Princess (Bridal Song); No.11, One More Day, My John; No.12, Spoon River; No.13, Blithe Bells; No.14, Children’s March “Over the Hills and Far Away”; No.15, Now, O Now, I Needs Must Part
Ronald Stevenson
The Queen’s Maries (1967, rev.1975 and 2005)
Jamboree for Grainger for two pianos (1960)
Christopher Guild (piano), Marcel Zidani (piano)
rec. 24 February and 2 April 2023, Wyastone Hall, Monmouthshire, UK
Toccata Classics TOCC 0748

Minor Masterpieces of Organ Music No.1: Ralph Vaughan Williams’s Rhosymedre

So often when eulogising about organ music we tend to think of the warhorses – Bach (of course), Widor, Reger, Messiaen et al. Sometimes the smaller, more intimate pieces that are regularly heard at organ recitals and during church services are taken for granted. Examples may include exquisite works of art such as Louis Vierne’s Berceuse, Percy Whitlock’s Salix, and George Thalben Ball’s Elegy.

Ralph Vaughan Williams wrote comparatively few works for the organ - or piano for that matter. The most important and impressive is the Prelude and Fugue in C minor composed in the early nineteen-twenties. However, his Prelude on ‘Rhosymedre’ is the most popular and best known. It sounds surprisingly easy to play (it is not), but this simplicity belies a subtlety and poise that is near perfect.

It is useful to recall that RVW was only a church organist between 1895 and 1899, at St Barnabas, Lambeth. Although still standing, this church is now redundant and serves as social housing. The organ was built by Messrs Hill and Son of London. Hugh Bentham (RVW Society Journal, October 2012) has suggested that RVW “found the experience unsympathetic, which may help to explain why he…wrote no music for organ in those years.” Despite averring that he “never could play the organ” it must be recalled that he held the diploma of Fellow of the Royal College of Organists (1898).

Vaughan Williams completed the Three Preludes founded on Welsh Hymn Tunes in 1920, the same year as The Lark Ascending (in its violin and piano version) was premiered. Their titles were ‘Bryn Calfaria,’ ‘Rhosymedre,’ and ‘Hyfrydol.’ They were originally meant to be played as a set, but organists often tend to play them individually, most especially the second. The Preludes were dedicated to his former organ teacher, Alan Gray (1855-1935). RVW stated that “our friendship survived his despair at my playing.”

The village of Rhosymedre is situated in the Dee Valley in the borough of Wrexham in Wales. The hymn-tune used by Vaughan Williams as the basis for this present prelude was written by John David Edwards (1805-1885), vicar of the parish from 1843 until his death. It is on occasion known as ‘Lovely’: this refers to its use as an alternative to John Ireland’s ‘Love Unknown’ in the Samuel Crossman hymn ‘My Song is Love Unknown.’ It is not a translation of the word ‘Rhosymedre.’ 

Vaughan Williams has chosen to use a 4/2-time signature here which replicates the original tune. It makes the score easier to read than if he had used Common time. The entire number is signed ‘Andantino’ and is played quietly on soft stops and ends pianissimo: 

The form of ‘Rhosymedre’ is based on that of the chorale prelude, popular with the German baroque organ composers such as Pachelbel and Bach. The texture of the prelude is largely polyphonic. After a brief introduction, which defines the accompanying motive, allusions to the hymn-tune are heard on the left hand. In the first ‘verse,’ the melody is given by the left-hand, in the tenor register, played on a stopped diapason. In the second, it is heard in the soprano with three-part counterpoint below:

Part of the pleasure of ‘Rhosymedre’ is the glorious counter melodies which seem to evolve naturally from the tune or possibly the other way round. The actual harmonic scheme is simple with only a few accidentals. There are subtle diatonic dissonances throughout. In this miniature, RVW’s enduring interest in English folk songs is clearly present.

Peter Hardwick in his British Organ Music of the 20th Century (The Scarecrow Press, 2003) notes “the smooth, undulating counterpoint saturated by chains of sweet thirds, sixths, and, less often triads, which form the backdrop against which the hymn tune heard, [it] is characteristic of Vaughan Williams’s music in general in the interwar more years.” Hardwick further suggests that “the perfect matching of the composer's newly composed accompanimental material with a truly beautiful tune have made this probably the best loved of the [set of three Preludes].”

In 1938, the composer/conductor and pupil of RVW, Arnold Foster (1898-1963) published an edition of the second and third Preludes for small or string orchestra. ‘Rhosymedre’ has often been recorded in this edition.

Percy Young, in his 1953 study of RVW, recalled how an organist had concluded a service at which he was present with ‘Rhosymedre.’ He concluded that “Innocence concluded that this was from the Orgelbüchlein, where it would not, in fact, be inhospitably received.” 

Finally, ‘Rhosymedre’ was played at Vaughan Williams’s funeral at Westminster Abbey on 19 September 1958. It was also heard at Princess Diana’s funeral, at Prince William’s wedding, Prince Harry’s wedding and at the Coronation of King Charles III.

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

John Ireland: February’s Child for piano (1929)

February’s Child is often described as a musical depiction of a child's innocent and playful nature. It is characterized by its light, delicate melody and gentle, flowing accompaniment, capturing a sense of tenderness and simplicity. 

This short work was written during 1929 to celebrate the 24^th birthday of the former St Luke’s choirboy Arthur Miller. The score was inscribed “To AGM [Arthur G. Miller] for 22 February 1929”. Miller (1905-1986) was the son of a Chelsea antique dealer. He was one of the witnesses at Ireland’s ill-fated wedding to Dorothy Phillips in 1926. Miller became such a valued friend that around 1932 the composer made a will leaving all his estate to him.

In 1922, Ireland had bestowed his On a Birthday Morning to the same lad. Other works dedicated to AGM include ‘Love and Friendship’ from the Three Songs (1926), the song cycle We’ll to the Woods no more (1927) and Bergomask (1925).

In a short programme note for the Alan Rowland’s Lyrita (REAM.3112) recording of Ireland’s piano music, Julian Herbage wrote that the “piece is built on a two-bar phrase that the composer happily marks Allegretto amabile, which is treated in the manner of a passacaglia and with characteristic harmonic complexity.” 

Christopher Palmer has suggested that this piece has “more than a hint of wildflower freshness. Despite the title, winter is banished: the music ripples and laughs in the sunny warmth of spring.”  Building on Rowland’s conception of the work as a passacaglia, Palmer notes the “essentially symphonic nature of Ireland’s thought even in a miniature context.”  The main climax is devised by repeating the opening phrase “over and over again, against a constantly shifting background of harmonic colours:” (Liner Note, Chandos SRCD.2277)

February's Child was premiered on the BBC, London National Programme, on 7 July 1930 by Ireland's composition pupil Helen Perkin. It was published by B. Schott (Mainz) in 1931 and was printed with companion piece Aubade. Both were available separately. At the same time, the Ballade (1928-29) was issued. The Musical Times (December 1931, p.1097) was suitably complimentary: “February’s Child…looks back to an earlier, more lyrical manner. This is more the Ireland of Amberley Wild Brooks and April, and it is pleasant to find the composer in this genial mood again.” This contrasted with the Ballade which looked back to the acerbity and despair of the Sonatina.

Bora Ryu, in their thesis, Comparative Study of Frank Bridge's Character Pieces for Piano from the 1910s and 1920s and Character Pieces of His Contemporaries Arnold Bax, Cyril Scott, and John Ireland, 2019, writes that “February’s Child from the Two Pieces for Piano (1929-30) has been aptly described as an “example of a heart-easing lyricism which often sounds like an improvisation.” Ireland’s improvisatory style is heard in the reappearances of the main melody in different keys and harmonic progressions. Transitions between statements of the melody present his modulation technique using chromatic harmony. Chords with an altered note or added note are another reminder of the sonority of late-romantic harmony.”

In his essay Elgar and other British Composers in Sussex, Ian Lace quoted Eric Parkin: He recalled how he was first attracted to the work:- “I remember playing a piece called February’s Child by John Ireland for a diploma when I was in my teens and I immediately fell in love with it and, of course, I tried to find as much of his music as I could. It’s difficult to say what I felt about the writing, I just loved the feel of it at the keyboard. I later discovered that I had a similar north-country temperament, background, and upbringing to Ireland himself so this may have had something to do with it.”

Listen to pianist John Lenehan playing John Ireland’s February’s Child on YouTube, here. (Naxos 8.553889, 1999) 

Endless Fascination: The Life and Work of Thomas Pitfield, Composer, Artist, Craftsman, Poet

Endless Fascination is a celebration of the life and labour of composer, artist, craftsman and poet, Thomas Pitfield. It is a sumptuous volume that goes well beyond mere biography and analysis. It is not a book to through read, although that is possible, but one to dip into, absorb slowly and learn. A cast of dozens contribute to this extensive and unique study of an overlooked British Composer. The book is conceived in five “Parts”: ‘Thomas Pitfield’s Autobiographical Writings,’ his ‘Work,’ ‘Recollections, Appreciations,’ ‘Worklists,’ and finally details of the accompanying CD.

A few words about the book’s subject. Thomas Pitfield (1903-1999) was a versatile British musician, poet, artist, and craftsman. Born in Bolton, Lancashire, he was self-taught as a composer, studying piano, cello, and harmony at the Royal Manchester College of Music (RMCM). His works are known for their often light-hearted, folk influenced sound world. The orchestrations are masterly. His catalogue includes concertos for piano, violin, recorder, and percussion, as well as chamber music, cantatas, and opera. He held academic positions at the RMCM and the Royal Northern College of Music, where he taught notable pupils including John Ogdon, Ronald Stevenson, and John McCabe.

Pitfield was also a prolific poet and artist, authoring sundry poems and producing numerous illustrations and graphics. His four autobiographies provide insights into his life and creative process. He continued to compose and create art until his nineties, leaving behind a rich legacy.

Thomas Pitfield has not been the subject of detailed study by musicologists. Neither is his name a household one, even amongst habitues of Manchester’s concert halls and recital rooms. Until now, the interested listener has had to explore him through a limited selection of disparate sources, often tricky to consult. The current Grove’s Dictionary entry runs to just over three hundred words. Most important are four autobiographical studies. There are a couple of important articles in the Composer journal and Musical Opinion. Apart from that, the student relies on articles, reviews and obituaries in various newspapers and magazines. In the prestigious Manchester Sounds (Volume 4 2003-4) John Turner published ‘The Music of Thomas Pitfield: A Working Catalogue.’ This was a comprehensive list, along with details of some twenty publications that he had written, contributed to, or provided the illustrations for.

The first tranche of the book features the three of the four entertaining autobiographical texts.

No Song, No Supper is the first volume of Thomas Pitfield's autobiography, published in 1986. In this memoir, he recounts his early life and career. It details his experiences as an apprentice engineer, his self-taught musical journey, and his eventual studies at the RMCM. The narrative is filled with personal anecdotes, reflecting his modesty and dedication to his craft. It could be argued that this memoir exposes a deal of self-pity, reflected on seventy years after the events. He was brought up in a household devoid of cultural interests. Old age did give him a more stoical view on his youth than he must have felt at the time. Despite being the first of four volumes of autobiography, this covers much of his life until after the Second World War. The progress of the text appears as a series of vignettes, often unrelated to time, as limited dates are given. I do not have an original copy of this book in front of me, but it had various illustrations and photographs that have not been included here.

The second volume of Thomas Pitfield's autobiography, A Song After Supper, was issued in 1990, when he was 77 years old. The book investigates his experiences as a musician, educator, examiner, and visual artist, providing insights into his creative processes and the influences that shaped his art. There is more information here about his musical activities as well as his recollections about a galaxy of fellow musicians and artists.

According to the editors, Incidents from a Sixty Year Holiday Diary, the final volume of autobiography was published in 1998 by Kall Kwik, Altringham. I was unable to find any record of this book in the usual library catalogues. This is not a conventional ‘travel diary’ as such, but is about “a journey for most of their lives of two partners – man and wife, though with selected incidents from numerous holiday journeys…” These range from their first day of marriage to the time of publication. They are not printed chronologically, but as Pitfield seems to recall them. Places visited include Grange-Over-Sands, Hastings, Bath, and Cheshire. There are a few notes on foreign travel to France and Italy. This section included his poem “The Dee at Night” which was set by him as part of his song cycle, By the Dee, for voice, string quartet and piano.

The third volume of autobiography, A Cotton Town Boyhood has not been included in this present volume.

The heart of Endless Fascination are academic assessments of Pitfield’s accomplishment in the various artistic endeavours that interested him. The longest essay is ‘The Spontaneous Expression of a Direct and Simple Man: The Music of Thomas Pitfield.’ This is authored by Jeremy Dibble, a British musicologist and professor at Durham University. He specializes in British and Irish music from the 19th and 20th centuries, with a focus on composers like Charles Villiers Stanford and Hubert Parry.

Dibble investigates three chief topics: His ‘Life as a Composer,’ ‘The BBC broadcasting, and a brief encounter with film,’ and finally ‘Aspects of Pitfield’s Music.’ Considerable use is made of the autobiographical studies which have been supplemented with citations of letters to and from Pitfield, journal articles, reviews, and programme notes. This study is illustrated by select musical examples. Various stylistic influences are majored on, including his love of folksong, collected from Cheshire and Staffordshire, and folk dances, which featured in many pieces. Dibble investigates Pitfield’s contribution to ‘Solo art song.’ His poetic aesthetic was influenced by the Georgian Poets, promulgated by Harold Monro and his London based Poetry Bookshop. The last section of this essay is devoted to ‘Large-scale form and variation,’ which explores the Piano Concertos, the Concerto Lirico for violin and the Theme and Variations for String Orchestra. Dibble regards this as one of his finest compositions.

Stephen Whittle, a museum and gallery professional, discovers ‘Thomas Baron Pitfield: Artist and Craftsman.’ He explains that although having an “irrepressible determination to study music,” he had earlier “pleaded unsuccessfully” with his parents to allow him to take drawing lessons. In fact, cultural pursuits were discouraged in the young man’s household. As a teenager he discovered the writings of John Ruskin. He began to fill his early sketchbooks with landscapes and “fragments of pastoral poetry.” It was a rebellion against his parents. The chapter then looks at Pitfield’s contribution to carpentry and craft. He had been trained in woodworking by his father, who was a joiner and builder by trade. In 1930, he won a scholarship to the Bolton School of Art, where he studied the history of furniture making. The text includes photographs of items that he made. But then his interest developed towards textile designs, which he created with his wife, Alice.

The section continues with a discussion of Pitfield’s published volume of poetry and illustrated with reproductions of his linocuts. This interest in books extended to graphic designs for a wide range of products, including booklets, greetings cards for the Vegetarian Society, and posters for the Peace Pledge Union. He also designed sheet music covers, and examples are given of John Brydson’s Noah’s Ark and Benjamin Britten’s Simple Symphony. The concluding sub-section examines Pitfield’s achievement in water colour medium. This was taken up slightly later in life as a “pleasant foil and relaxation.” Wonderful examples are given of scenes in an around Cheshire and Manchester. Typically pastoral in mood, there is a melancholy watercolour of Farnworth (actually Prestolee) Locks near Bolton.

Professional librarian, formerly at the RNCM and then Hereford Cathedral, Rosemary Firman, has contributed an important chapter on Pitfield’s literary work. ‘Crafting Books, Weaving Word: Thomas Pitfield’s Books and Poetry’ explores different facets of his authorship. His approach to book production was a Morrisonian one: “Such a book contained it maker’s own words, written out, decorated, illustrated and bound by them.” Furthermore, the “ideal book was made from honest materials, using traditional skills, and was made with sincerity and joy.” In Firman’s opinion this very nearly matched the “best” of Pitfield’s books, whether published or hand-crafted. The “Serious Poetry” is then examined. Readers who warm to A.E. Housman and the Georgian Poets will appreciate Pitfield’s verse. Examples are quoted in the text. It is certainly not innovative poetry, nor is it confessional. For a North Countryman, it has none of the grittiness of Ted Hughes. “Book Arts” are then discussed in detail, with numerous examples of Pitfield’s calligraphy and bookbinding.

Stuart Scott’s brief discussion of ‘Thomas Pitfield and the Arts and Crafts Movement’ is essential reading. The artist “identified closely with this movement’s disenchantment with the impersonal, mechanisation direction of society and the seeking of a simpler, more fulfilling way of living.” This seems to have influenced the wide range of his artistic endeavour, which included “paintings, illustrations, prints, posters, cards, calendars, leaflets, music covers…and much more.” Scott declares that the book The Poetry of Trees “brought together all his interests, crafts, and skills. Here he declares himself the all-rounder, or complete artist.” Even Pitfield’s house in Bowden, Cheshire, conformed to William Morris’s Arts and Crafts dictum: “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.”

The treatise ‘Archive of the Future: Wood in Thomas Pitfield’s The Poetry of Trees (1942)’ by Frederik Van Dam and Ghidy de Koning was originally published in a book Materials of Culture, published in 2023. I did find the entire paper a little bit new-agey. It is illustrated with photographs of the front cover and endpapers of this book. 

In the sixth chapter of ‘Section Two,’ John Turner discusses ‘Thomas Pitfield, Pacifist Composer.’ Whilst studying at Tettenhall College, Wolverhampton, he signed up to the Peace Pledge Union. This was at a time of rising dictatorships in Germany, Italy, and Spain. During the Second World War he registered as a conscientious objector but avoided prison by agreeing to continue teaching. Turner also explores Pitfield’s relationship with Peter Pears and Benjamin Britten. The latter was not a happy one. That said, he did design the cover for the full score of Benjamin Britten’s Sinfonia da Requiem and his Simple Symphony. Pitfield was a vegetarian and wrote the Parkdale Song for the Vegetarian Society.

Manchester-based photographer Michael Pollard has assembled a first-rate photographic gallery of Thomas Pitfield’s creations. This includes drawings and pencil sketches, design of embroidery, several pages from his extensive notebooks, as well as a broad selection of sheet music covers. I enjoyed the early watercolours of two Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway steam locomotives. Perhaps the most evocative images are his landscape watercolours, with my favourite being a sketch of Morecambe Bay dating from 1992. Even the briefest of glances at these pages reveal a remarkable diversity of talent in a wide range of media.

The third part of this volume is hard to summarise. It consists of more than thirty ‘Recollections and Appreciations’ from a wide variety of individuals.

The section opens with a charming memoir by Tom Pitfield’s niece, Norma Pitfield. She describes regular visits to her uncle and aunt’s house, their impact on her reading and her “artistic prowess." The memoir closes with the age-old regret – “…that I didn’t take more notice of all the things that my uncle said, played, made…”

There is a key essay by Max Paddison, Emeritus Professor of Music, and Aesthetics at Durham University. Paddison studied at the RMCM with Pitfield between 1964 and 68. Not having kept a diary at the time, he is writing (he says) with the benefit of hindsight. Paddison considers the ambience of the college at that date, Pitfield as a teacher and composer, including certain stylistic traits. And then there was impact of the “New Music” on himself and his educator. The introduction by John McCabe to Pitfield’s Selected Songs, Manchester Forsyth, 1989 is included. In this McCabe remarks that the perception that his style was “an agreeable kind of 18^th century pastiche” was both “inaccurate and unjust.” It is in the English pastoral school that he “stands much more clearly...” Other names will be familiar to listeners such as the pianist Peter Donohoe and the conductor Andrew Penny, who recorded Pitfield’s piano concertos for the Naxos label.

Well known personalities include Ronald Stevenson, Arthur Butterworth, David Ellis, and Anthony Gilbert. These four gentlemen, sadly all now passed away, were amongst a baker’s dozen who contributed their thoughts to the programme published for a celebratory concert at the Royal Northern College of Music, held on 20 November 2000.

I noted above the earlier version of the worklist prepared by John Turner. It has been updated for this volume.

One very telling chapter in Part 4 is a compilation by Stuart Scott of the ‘BBC Broadcasts of Music by Thomas Pitfield: A Chronological List.’ It is clear from these lists that performances have declined over the years. The first broadcast was in 1936, in a series featuring ‘Contemporary Composers of the North.’ There was a steady stream of concerts and recitals throughout the following four decades, with the ‘fifties and ‘sixties being particularly fruitful. Sadly, in the 1990s and the present century these transmissions have fallen by the wayside: between 1995 and 2024 there has only been four broadcasts. This reflects the fate of divers North Country composer such as John McCabe, David Ellis, Anthony Gilbert, and Alan Rawsthorne.

Equally unsatisfactory is the meagre sum of records and CDs dedicated to Pitfield noted in the Discography created by John Turner. Out of hundreds of pieces of music, only a couple of dozen have been recorded. The Lyrita CD of the Sonata No.1 in A for violin and piano was issued on SRCD359, and not SRCD 45 as shown in the text.

The concluding Part 5 consists of programme notes for Flying Kites: A Trafford Miscellany, the CD which accompanies the book. This disc was released in 2005 on the Campion Records label (Campion Cameo 2044). It featured numbers by Tom Pitfield and his “friends and acquaintances.” These included Martin Ellerby, Robin Walker, and John Ireland. The performers include Richard Baker (reciter), John Turner (recorder), Damien Harrison (percussion) and Keith Swallow (piano). MusicWeb International published evaluations by Rob Barnett, Colin Scott-Sutherland and Jonathan Woolf, here and here.

Finally, there is an essential index, which gives references to names cited in the text and to Pitfield’s achievement in all categories. It is extremely helpful.

The most striking thing about this remarkable book are the plethora of illustrations. Certainly, there are various photographs of Pitfield, his wife, and friends, but the bulk of the graphics are made up of designs and paintings by the man himself. Some of these have been noted above, especially in Michael Pollard’s ‘Photographic Gallery’ chapter. But from first opening the book the reader is captivated by Pitfield’s artwork, even extending to the endpapers and the book cover. Dr Rosemary Firman has done a sterling job in assembling the graphics for this project. She added the illustrations into the text. Examples can be seen here. The text was edited by John Turner, the doyen of North Country classical music, and chairman of the Pitfield Trust. Overall, the book was designed and realised by Simon Patterson. It is a fitting tribute to a remarkable polymath.

The production is outstanding. It is a large, heavy book, not to be taken on a train trip, flight, or a cruise; in fact, I studied most of it propped up on my desk. The paper is of the highest quality, complimenting the text and illustrations. The text is large, making it easy to read.

The book will be of immense value to several distinct types of reader. Most significantly, historians of British twentieth century music will find abundant information, which goes well beyond usual composer biographies and studies. Then, in the autobiographical sections there is significant material that will interest the social historian of the period, with an especial emphasis on the North Country of England. Art lovers will be impressed by the sheer volume of illustrations included.

I doubt that there are many forthcoming books about Pitfield “on the stocks” and I imagine that “stocks” of this wonderful book will not last forever. So, invest now!

Bibliographical Details:

Endless Fascination: The Life and Work of Thomas Pitfield, Composer, Artist, Craftsman, Poet
ed. Rosemary Firman and John Turner
ISBN 978-0-9514795-4-4
£40
Forsyth Brothers Limited (2024)

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.

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

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…

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 450^th 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 16^th and 17^th 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.