The second and final part of A.
Walter Kramer’s article on the English composer William Baines. It was
published in Musical America (September 1933 p.24).
PARADISE GARDENS gives us
pause. Here is a ten-page work, the most extended of Baines’s pieces an
unrivalled expression of pure poesy. From the most natural thematic fragment,
with which the piece opens, Baines has built up a structure that has organic
feeling, just proportion, and a fetching undertone. John Rennie, in an article
in Musical Opinion, [1] tells us that “the grandeur of York Minster and
the limpid river bathed in a flood of golden glory from the setting sun
inspired Baines to write this arresting composition.” [2] I can well believe
it. Technically it demands a gifted player and is truly a concert piece in
every detail Baines was himself an accomplished pianist and gave recitals in
the North of England even after his long confinement in hospital. Of the other
difficult pieces I would speak of the Three Concert Studies, in which
the spirit of poesy is wonderfully mated with the spirit of the piano. The
idiom is new, the treatment of the instrument similarly so.
The two pieces called Tides; the first The Lone Wreck with its vast and vague sense of wandering, in sombre E Flat Minor, is a Lento assai and the second Goodnight to Flamboro.’ an Andante affettuoso in C, both superbly fashioned, making a substantial program number. I doubt whether the composer’s meaning in them reveals itself as definitely as in some of his other pieces: yet they are undoubtedly worthwhile. In the set of three Milestones there is a two-page Angelus, dedicated to the composer’s mother, which falls like a benediction on the ear. Here, over an ostinato A flat in octaves in the left hand, Baines has uttered a prayer, so tender and fragile, so unmistakably the still small voice that whispers of immortality, that player and listener are both caught in its spell. There is a most penetrating simultaneous use of D and D Flat Major in the final line. One recalls what Strauss has done with the same unrelated tonalities in Don Quixote. I find it impossible not to mention the Ave! Imperator and Milestones (A Walking Tune), which last also gives this set its collective title. They are worthy companions of the Angelus. Some will come nearest to understanding the language of Baines in his Silverpoints, in which the first, Labyrinth, is communicative by its architectonic design, Water-Pearls by its pianistic delicacy, The Burning Joss-Stick by its serene Orientalism, [and] Floralia by its joyous rhythmic traceries.
But the Seven Preludes seems to be the work that reveals the heart of Baines to more of us than any single set of pieces. Here in two-page, three-page pieces and one of four pages he has spoken with an eloquence and a variety that stamp him the creative musician There is one Prelude, No. 3, marked Very slowly, with devotion, which is only two lines long. But it is a complete story none the less. Warmly inflected, it suggests the lofty slow music of Elgar and there is a phrase in the third measure from the end that makes me think of a measure in Hugo Wolf's Verborgenheit. [3] But let there be no mis understanding of my mention of this Baines is always himself. Like Wolf, he is a composer of restraint, of that small band which disdains the flourish, which goes its own way. This tiny prelude is a true expression of an intimate mood, filled with contemplative English beauty. It follows No. 2 of the set, which suggests, as the poetic lines placed at the beginning state, the peace of a convent garden “only broken by the love-song of a blackbird as he sang to the lilies.” The motive on which it is built is, note for note, identical with that of the once much played Communion in G for organ by Batiste. [4] But Baines’s prelude is a thrilling example of how little the notes themselves count; for he has made of this motive a thing ft rare beauty, so unlike the banal organ piece mentioned, that few listening to it would even note the curious coincidence of the thematic basis. There are two other sets, Pictures of Light, and Twilight Pieces. I have not seen them. But I dare say they are admirable, too. [5]
The Three Concert Studies were the last to be issued in the composer’s lifetime. Baines was unable, on account of illness, to correct the proofs of these Mr. Dawson, to whom he dedicated his Silverpoints, did that for him. Over a long period of reviewing, | do not know when I have been more deeply impressed than with this virtually unknown music of William Baines. I am not proclaiming him a genius, nor issuing a call of “Hats off!” But I would ask that those, who look for the finer utterances in contemporary piano music, give his music their serious consideration, and if they find in it, as have, that true sense of beauty, that they bring it before their audiences, so that a young British musician, who wrote with high ideals, will neither be for gotten nor remain unknown. The idiom is mew, yes, even after fifteen or more years have passed. It is not the easiest idiom to penetrate. But a loving approach will aid in the unfoldment and there will be seen the flame that burned brightly for so short a time, and which, to my mind, left its mark indelibly on these few but precious pages.
Notes:
[1] Rennie, John, William Baines,
a tone poet of the piano, Musical Opinion January 1930. Reprinted in booklet
form by Elkin & Co. Ltd.
[2] Baines wrote: "there was
a lovely view, overlooking the gardens of the Station Hotel [in York]. You
looked through thick green foliage on to the grounds, which were beautifully
laid out with flowers - and in the centre a little fountain was playing. A perfect
blue sky, and the sun shining low - made indeed a grand picture." Sadly,
much of the ‘Paradise Gardens’ has been turned into a car park.
[3] Hugo Wolf's (1860-1903)
"Verborgenheit" (1888-89) is a lyrical and introspective song,
expressing longing and desire for seclusion, set to Eduard Mörike's poetry.
[4] Communion in G by French
composer and organist, Antoine Édouard Batiste (1826) is a serene and
contemplative organ piece, reflecting the composer's Romantic style. It is part
of his "50 Pièces d'Orgue."
[5] Both Pictures of Light
and Twilight Pieces were published posthumously by Elkin, in 1927 and
1923, respectively.
Concluded
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