John F. Porte’s “Gustav Holst” (Musical Courier, 1923): An Annotated Reprint Part 1

John F. Porte was an early‑20th‑century British musical author best known for his accessible studies of composers and his advocacy for melodious, broadly appealing music. He wrote popular monographs on figures such as Grieg and Tchaikovsky, aiming to introduce general readers to their lives, styles, and aesthetic ideals. Porte’s books often blended biography with clear, enthusiastic commentary, reflecting his belief that music should communicate directly and emotionally. Though not a scholar in the modern academic sense, he played a notable role in shaping public musical taste, helping a wide readership engage with major Romantic composers and their works. This account of Holst was published Musical Courier on 11 October 1923. This was written some twelve years before the composer’s death. Several important works would be written in this period, including Egdon Heath (1927), the Hammersmith: Prelude and Scherzo (1930) and the Brook Green Suite (1933)

The Musical Courier was a famous weekly music magazine published in New York City from 1880 until 1962. It was one of the most widely read music journals in the United States, covering classical performance, industry trade news, and instrument manufacturing.

In this essay, Holst emerges as a modest, hard‑working composer‑teacher whose originality, folk‑inflected directness and independence from academic convention underpin his rise to fame. Porte sketches his personality, teaching at Morley and St Paul’s, his unconventional operas, major orchestral works - especially The Planets - and choral achievements, portraying a modern British composer speaking “big things in plain language.”

A few notes are appended at the end of the essay.

THE RISE TO FAME OF GUSTAV HOLST gives us a human life story of a great composer happening in our midst. For he is here today, this intensely human man, teaching young people music, correcting their exercises at a school situated in a poor part of London, and yet creating music of his own that is now being everywhere acknowledged as undoubtedly the work of an important man.

Holst was born September 21, 1874, at Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, and, like Elgar, is an Englishman of the West country, the Cotswold Hills supplying a similar historical background for his birthplace as did the Malvern Hills for his predecessor, For some years Holst generally appeared in print as Gustav von Holst, but the Great War made the misguiding foreign appearance of his name disconcerting, and by Deed Poll he abbreviated it to Gustav Holst. His 18th century forbears were Swedish.

Academic Background.

Holst studied under Sir Hubert Parry and Sir Charles V. Stanford, a decidedly academic grounding for this leader of modern freedom in music. One can see very little indeed of Stanford's teaching in Holst’s compositions, and his remark to a student that “Charlie,” as Stanford was called by his pupils, [1] likes him, but does not like his music, is not surprising. At Frankfort he met Percy Grainger, Cyril Scott, and others. The spread chords in the pianoforte music of the former he humorously terms “Frankfort harmonies.” [2]

The career of Holst is, as I have indicated, an intensely human story. In his earlier days he played in seaside orchestras, and he has always been hard at work teaching, not in learned academies, but down where grit and the call of art struggle with life existence. His unflagging, almost heroic work in the musical classes at Morley College, situated in Waterloo Road, a squalid quarter of Southeast London, [3] should become historical. I have picked up the current issue of a great London daily newspaper and notice a two-column headline, “Rush to Hear Holst.” The notice refers to a Queens Hall Promenade concert at which Holst conducted four movements of his Planets orchestral suite. [4] The critic remarks that Gustav Holst has created something of a record, for he is a serious British composer who draws the public. Not even Sir Edward Elgar, at the height of his popularity, drew a more numerous or enthusiastic audience.

This same day I saw a poster announcing the autumn reopening of Morley College in the squalid Waterloo Road; Holst will still conduct the music classes there. That is Holst the man.

Another scene of Holst’s activities as a teacher is at St. Paul’s Girls’ School, Brook Green, London, and his St. Paul’s Suite for Strings is a personal memento of his work there.

His Personality.

The personality of Holst is unassuming, unconventional, and affable. As a champion of modern music, he will convince you with his straight to the point remarks, which are extremely characteristic of the man. A friend of mine discussing modern music with Holst ventured to ask him if he thought the moderns were sincere. Holst turned around in a flash. “Sincere? Of course they are sincere!” He then agreed that modern composers have no landmarks to guide them, but are making their own route.

For academic routine he has little to say. “After a few years of study a man may become a Mus. Doc., with any inspiration he may have had knocked out of him.” Music to Holst must natural expression, not confined in a straitjacket of rules and regulations. He discourages composing at the piano, but one of his students at Constantinople, [5] where he conducted the musical selection of the Y. M. C. A, educational scheme for British troops, tried a little effort on the instrument, but hesitated over the suitability of a modulation. “Well, for goodness’ sake, modulate,” Holst told the student, “Don’t play about.”

The appearance of the man does not suggest the bold and big character of much of his music. His expression is almost cherubic, especially when he beams at you through his glasses, but in one way the music is synonymous with its creator. It speaks straight out with a modest assurance that few can fail to understand, and with it there goes a certain quiet pride and dignity that commands interest. This is certainly an expression of the character of Holst, if it does not suggest that rather short, thick set, fair man with a high forehead and glasses, to be seen proceeding hurriedly, but firmly along the Waterloo Road, London. I saw him quite recently at a Queens Hall Promenade Concert listening to some contemporary British music. He stood with that half-puzzled, half-shy expression of his, looking like a learned librarian disturbed among his books. Nearby stood a man who ought to have been a famous composer, for he smoked Russian cigarettes, had long hair, loose clothes, and a wild artistic expression!

Notes

[1] It is unlikely that anyone referred to Sir Charles Villiers Stanford as “Charlie” to his face.

[2] The Frankfurt Group comprised of Balfour Gardiner, Norman O’Neill, Cyril Scott, Roger Quilter and Percy Grainger, then young composers who studied with the German composer and music teacher Iwan Knorr during the 1890s. United by friendship and a rebellious, anti‑establishment streak, they resisted English musical nationalism and favoured Delius’s harmonic sensuality over Beethovenian architecture.

[3] In the early 1920s Morley College operated out of the Royal Victoria Hall (the Old Vic) at 131-137 Waterloo Road, London. In 1924 it moved to new premises at 61 Westminster Bridge Road, where it remains to this day. It is certainly not “squalid” in 2026. The area around the Old Vic has vibrant restaurants, pubs, and cafes.

[4] The “Rush to Hear Holst” was the headline of a column in the Daily Express (4 September 1923, p.10) where it was noted that at a performance of The Planets, Gustav Holst had “created something of a record: he is a serious composer who “draws.” This occurred during the Promenade Concert on 28 August 1923, where The New Queen’s Hall Orchestra under Sir Henry Wood played four movements of the work: Mars, Venus, Mercury, and Jupiter.

[5] Holst was in Constantinople at the end of the First World War because he had been appointed a Y.M.C.A. musical organiser for British troops in the Eastern Mediterranean, teaching music and directing soldier ensembles in Salonika and later Constantinople. His letters describe giving concerts for demobilising forces and organising musical life amid difficult conditions.

To be continued...

Rarities of Piano Music at Schloss vor Husum 2025

Hong Kong born pianist Chiyan Wong gets this selection from Husum 2025 off to a great start with Naji Hakim’s Variations on “Auprès de ma blonde” (2013). This is based on an old French song dating from the 18th century. The premise of this ballad refers to a woman complaining to the birds about her imprisoned husband. After what seems an unpromising start, the piece develops into twelve minutes of pure virtuosity. Hakim is a Franco-Lebanese composer who is currently visiting professor at the Royal Academy of Music in London. His compositions include works for organ, orchestra, and voice.

Wong then presents two attractive vignettes by Gustave Samazeuilh: the Prelude and the Française taken from the Suite in G published around 1911. Its six ‘antique’ movements are no Baroque pastiche but a modern re‑imagining of the form, akin to Ravel’s Tombeau de Couperin or Warlock’s Capriol.

Frank Bridge’s Valse capricieuse from Three Sketches (1906) is one of his loveliest numbers, though the first and second, April and Rosemary, are better known. The Valse is melancholy, more at home in an Edwardian drawing room, yet full of musical and technical interest. Aline Piboule brings her magic to it, illuminating its gentle sadness and subtle technical sparkle. Of exceptional interest is Guy Ropartz’s substantial Nocturne No.1 (1911) with its balance between a severe opening and a lyrical middle section crowned by an “imposing” lead up to the quiet coda. Ropartz provides a fusion of Post-Romanticism and Impressionism in these pages. Certainly, anyone expecting Chopin or Field-like figurations will be disappointed.

The French composer Cécile Chaminade is often written off as simply a writer of ‘salon music,’ but her best work shows a technical assurance and emotional range that far exceed that lazy label. She is well represented on this disc. Roland Pöntinen plays the “elaborated” version of Les Sylvains, op.60 (1892) whose lovely melody and rich accompaniment are offset by contrasting material full of broken chords, arpeggios, and glissandi. The title refers to “fauns,” lending it an elusive, delicate mood. Mark Viner offers Chaminade’s L’Ondine, op.101 (1900), and Pêcheurs de nuit from the Poème provençal, op.127 (1908). The former is hardly a companion to Ravel’s eponymous creation, yet the liner notes suggest that the “delicate passages which frame the piece” portray the water‑nymph Ondine, while the “louder sections concern the sea‑god Poseidon.” Pêcheurs de nuit opens with an uneasily calm atmosphere before moving into a stormy middle section.

Franz Liszt’s Hymne à Sainte Cécile de Charles Gounod, S.491(1865) transcribes an instrumental piece originally scored for solo violin, harp, organ, and orchestra. It is unlikely Liszt’s transcription was ever heard with any frequency until Leslie Howard’s monumental complete recordings of the piano music. I am not a fan of Gounod, but in this work, Liszt deployed all the tricks of his trade to create a vast structure, given a most convincing account by Mark Viner.

Daniel Grimwood plays Adolf Henselt’s lovely transcription of a long-forgotten Romance (No. 1) by a certain Comte Wielhorsky. It is a well-balanced realization that fuses the original accompaniment and the vocal line into a delightful whole. His other contributions to this disc are two of Carl Baermann Jr.’s Études, op. 4 (1877), specifically No. 2 in A minor and No. 12 in C‑sharp minor. This final Étude is especially ambitious with propelling figurations that are both dramatic and charged with suppressed urgency.

American composer Amy Beach’s A Hermit Thrush at Eve, op. 92 no. 1 (pub. 1922), is played by Saskia Giorgini, and distils accurately notated birdsong into glowing, impressionistic piano writing, creating a contemplative miniature of striking poetic delicacy.

Two short pieces by the Polish pianist-composer Ignaz Paderewski are given by Illia Ovcharenko. Chant d’amour, the second movement from his Album de Mai, op. 10 (pub.1884), contrasts a folksong-like opening with an animated middle section. In Cracovienne fantastique from Humoresques de concert, op. 14 Cahier II, (1887-88), Paderewski uses triplets, octaves, chromatic runs, and neat figurations to create a spirited reimagining of the regional folk style.

The final number in this recital is also my favourite. Ronald Stevenson made countless arrangements and transcriptions of a wide range of “found” music, including popular songs. Ivor Novello wrote his well‑loved “We’ll Gather Lilacs in the Spring” for the stage show Perchance to Dream. Here, Stevenson gives this cherished tune the full cocktail‑piano treatment. Kenneth Hamilton dispatches it with panache.

Peter Grove’s liner notes, in both German and English, are helpful, offering valuable background on these rarely encountered composers and their music. One minor erratum: the liner notes state Frank Bridge was born in 1897 rather than 1879. And surely the recording dates are wrong. The rear cover states 16-21August, 2025, but the actual concert prospectus shows that it was 16-23 August that year!

This latest volume from Husum once again demonstrates why the festival remains indispensable for anyone drawn to the byways of the piano repertoire. The performances are consistently distinguished, the programming imaginative, and the recorded sound remarkably vivid for live conditions. Together they offer a compelling reminder that the piano’s literature extends far beyond the familiar canon, rewarding curiosity with discovery at every turn.

Track Listing:
Naji Hakim (b.1955)
Variations on “Auprès de ma blonde” (2013)
Gustave Samazeuilh (1877-1967)
From Suite in G (pub. C.1911): Prelude; Française
Chiyan Wong (piano)

Frank Bridge (1879-1941)
From Three Sketches: Valse capricieuse (1906)
Guy Ropartz (1864-1955)
Nocturne No.1 (1911)
Aline Piboule (piano)

Cécile Chaminade (1857-1944)
Les Sylvains, op.60 (1892)
Roland Pöntinen (piano)

Cécile Chaminade
L’Ondine, op.101 (1900)
From Poème provençal, op.127 (1908): Pêcheurs de nuit

Franz Liszt (1811-86)
Hymne à Sainte Cécile de Charles Gounod, S.491 (1865)
Mark Viner (piano)

Adolf Henselt (1814-89)
Romance du Comte Wielhorsky No.1 (?)
Carl Baermann jr. (1839-1913)
From Etudes, op.4 (1877): No.2 in A minor; No.12 in C-sharp minor
Daniel Grimwood (piano)

Amy Beach (1867-1944)
A Hermit Thrush at Eve, op.92, no.1 (pub.1922)
Saskia Giorgini (piano)

Ignaz Paderewski (1860-1941)
From Album de Mai, op.10 (pub.1884): No.2 Chant d’amour
From Humoresques de concert, op.14, Cahier II, (1887-88) No.6 Cracovienne fantastique
Illia Ovcharenko (piano)

Ronald Stevenson (1928-2015)
“We’ll Gather Lilacs” Ivor Novello (1893-1951) (1980)
Kenneth Hamilton (piano)
rec. 16-23 August 2025, Schloss Husum, Schleswig-Holstein, Germany
Danacord DACOCD 1019
With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.

Frederic Curzon: Simonetta (1933)

Simonetta, the sophisticated and gently wistful lady suggested by Curzon’s Serenade, feels like a refined echo of inter‑war London society - someone who might drift through tea‑shops, hotel salons, and Palm Court afternoons with unforced grace. Yet her name inevitably summons a more famous muse: Simonetta Vespucci, the radiant Florentine beauty immortalised by Botticelli. Curzon’s Simonetta blends these two ideas - the modern salon figure touched by the same idealised elegance that made Vespucci a symbol of timeless charm.

The miniature Simonetta belongs to that small cluster of early Frederic Curzon (1899-1973) works in which his innate lyricism is allowed to unfold without self‑conscious ambition. Written in 1933, it reflects a young composer still absorbing the atmosphere of London’s light‑music world - the cinemas, variety houses, and suburban concert venues where he encountered Alfredo Campoli, the work’s dedicatee. Although Curzon never forged the warm, collegial bond he enjoyed with Pasquale Troise, of "Troise and His Mandoliers/Banjoliers/Novelty Orchestra" fame, Campoli’s presence on the Shepherd’s Bush Pavilion/New Victoria circuit would have been unmistakable: a violinist of patrician refinement, already admired for the sweetness and poise of his tone. The Serenade’s dedication, then, feels less like a personal tribute and more like an aesthetic salute.

Its melodic profile - gently sighing phrases, lightly brushed harmonic turns, and a rhythmic pace that never hurries - mirrors the kind of cultivated charm Campoli brought to his own salon‑style repertoire. Curzon’s scoring is modest, as though he wanted the music to breathe the same air as those inter‑war tea‑rooms and hotel lounges where elegance was measured not in grandeur but in grace.

There is a faintly nostalgic undertow to the main theme: a wistfulness that suggests Curzon was already aware of the disappearing world around him. The interlude that follows, with its dainty interplay of strings and winds, recalls the idiom of a Palm Court Trio — that quintessentially British sound of polite refinement, poised between classical decorum and popular accessibility. Yet Curzon avoids pastiche. What he offers instead is a kind of affectionate distillation: a memory of a musical culture still alive in 1933 but already beginning to fade.

In this light, Simonetta becomes more than a charming miniature. It is a snapshot of Curzon’s early sensibility, shaped by the venues, performers, and social rituals of his London milieu. Its simplicity is deliberate, its gentility sincere, and its enduring appeal lies in the way it quietly evokes a vanished world without ever lapsing into sentimentality.

Listen to Frederic Curzon’s Simonetta played by Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra under the baton of Adrian Leaper on YouTube, here.

Fusions: Piano Music of Nikolai Kapustin, George Gershwin and Earl Wild

In 55 years of listening to classical music, this is the first time I have consciously heard anything by the Ukrainian composer Nikolai Kapustin. And I am gob smacked. First things first. Kapustin definitively proves that classical composers do not have to be fusty, incomprehensible, or even well behaved. The biographers point out that by the time he began to attend the Moscow Conservatory, he could play a fugue with textbook precision and a bebop chorus with nightclub swagger, and he never saw any contradiction between the two. Despite his early training in the three B’s – Bach, Beethoven, and Brahms, he spent evenings listening to the Voice of America Jazz Hour, absorbing the swing of Oscar Peterson and the colourful imagination of Duke Ellington. He produced a masterly fusion of classical forms with the prevailing jazz idioms of his day. Much of this technique came from his years performing with the Oleg Lundstrem Big Band, touring widely and absorbing jazz from within an ensemble setting. Later, believing that composition was his true vocation, he used jazz not as a style to imitate but as a language to compose with. The result is a body of work spanning 161 opus numbers, including twenty piano sonatas, six concertos, a set of twenty‑four Preludes and Fugues that nod to Bach with tongue-in-cheek humour, and countless études, variations and suites that feel like high‑octane games for the fingers.

The recital opens with Kapustin’s Piano Sonata No.2 dating from 1989. This was the time when Gorbachev's decision to loosen the Soviet hegemony on the countries of Eastern Europe created an independent, democratic momentum that led to the collapse of the Berlin Wall in November of that year, and the rapid disintegration of Communist rule throughout the region.

The Sonata is a brilliant fusion of classical forms with syncopated jazz idioms. Cast in four movements, it opens with an Allegro molto that blends bebop inflections and motoric rhythms within a traditional sonata structure. The Scherzo is equally driving in mood. This is followed by a deeply contemplative meditation that echoes jazz harmonies and a laid-back "cocktail bar” atmosphere. The finale is a toccata-like Perpetuum mobile, with energetic cross-rhythms that brings the work to a thrilling, virtuosic close. It is important to note that Kapustin was not an improviser: despite his music often sounding like spontaneous invention, every note is written down with meticulous care.

Kapustin’s Eight Concert Études op.40 (1984) were not conceived as a set, but a collection from which the concert pianist could select. Nikolay Medvedev has chosen to play five of them. The bright opening Prelude evokes Carnival time in Rio de Janeiro. It is suggested that the second Étude, may acknowledge Kapustin’s home country rather than the jazz salons, engaging the pianist with dense double-note figurations. Étude No.6 (Pastorale) has a jaunty, ragtime, Joplin-esqe rhythm to it. There is a more reflective mood in the seventh number, with its gentle promenading stride. Finally, No.8 is relentlessly toccata-like in its flurry of notes and “unstoppable energy.” Medvedev’s performance is nothing short of dazzling.        

The final offering from Nikolai Kapustin is his Variations for piano, op.41. This was completed in 1984. It is a difficult piece to categorise. The booklet notes suggest reminiscences of Stravinsky's Le Sacre du printemps, however, the composer made clear to Yana Tyulkova (Conversations with Nikolai Kapustin, 2019), that when he was writing them, he was not thinking of Stravinsky at all. Other critics suggest that Kapustin had the initial bassoon passage of the Rite in mind, perhaps subconsciously. Regardless of its inspiration, the variations unfold with breathtaking speed, nodding to be-bop, Count Basie and Erroll Garner. One interesting byway here is a Rachmaninovian interlude of pure romanticism. Medvedev's interpretation makes this an ideal entry point to Kapustin's music, and it is easily my favourite work on the disc.

George Gershwin was rumoured to have planned a suite of twenty-four piano preludes titled The Melting Pot. As it turned out, he was to produce seven such preludes in manuscript, of which five were performed at a New York recital on 4 December 1926, where Gershwin accompanied the contralto Marguerite d’Alvarez. Three were selected for publication in 1927, as the Three Preludes. These were the only set of solo piano pieces he published during his lifetime. Of the remaining preludes, two were later reworked as Short Story, one was rejected by the publisher for its similarity to the Concerto in F, and at least one has not survived.

Each prelude reveals Gershwin’s gift for fusing classical craft with blues harmony and jazzy rhythmic vitality. The first prelude, in B‑flat, is driven by a propulsive five‑note motif; the second, in C‑sharp minor, offers a gently melancholic “blues lullaby;” and the third, in E‑flat minor, has a taut, quasi‑Spanish flair.

Earl Wild was a larger-than-life American virtuoso. Ostensibly, he was one of the last great links to the golden age of pianism, reflecting Lisztian showmanship. His repertoire was considerable including Dieterich Buxtehude, J.S. Bach and Mozart through to Sergei Rachmaninov, Xaver Scharwenka, Aaron Copland, and Paul Creston. He recorded many of the ‘big’ standard piano concertos. Beyond all that, Wild brought a sparkle to everything he played, and seemingly effortless glamour, and a lifelong delight in sheer pianistic bravura.

Wild transcribed seven extremely popular Gershwin Songs: Liza, Somebody Loves Me, The Man I Love, Embraceable You, Lady Be Good, I Got Rhythm and Fascinatin’ Rhythm. They were issued in two volumes in 1954 and 1973. Both were revised in 1975. They can be regarded as studies or études in the sense of Chopin or Liszt. Stylistically, there are allusions to these composers as well as to Maurice Ravel. It is true that these are not technical exercises, or mere arrangements, but are vivid reworkings of Gershwin’s original songs. Just following one of these Etudes in the score is enough to make the tyro pianist wish they had learnt another instrument.

Russian pianist Nikolay Medvedev is a graduate of the Moscow Conservatory. He has built a reputation through competition successes, recital appearances, and a growing catalogue of recordings. Medvedev’s repertoire ranges widely, from Baroque clarity to the big Romantic canvases, and now the jazz infused music of heard on this disc.

This is a magnificent release. Nikolay Medvedev delivers these formidable, finger-busting scores with a perfect blend of classical rigor and effortless swing, proving himself an ideal advocate for the three composers on this disc alike. Coupled with crisp sound quality and informative liner notes, this disc is an absolute triumph. To borrow from Gershwin himself—"Who could ask for anything more?”

Track Listing:
Nikolai Kapustin (1937-2020)
Piano Sonata No.2 op.54 (1989)
George Gershwin (1898-1937)
Three Preludes (pub. 1927)
Nikolai Kapustin
Eight Concert Études op.40: Nos.1,2,6-8 (1984)
Earl Wild (1915-2010)
Seven Virtuoso Etudes after George Gershwin (1954, 1973, rev. 1975)
Nikolai Kapustin
Variations for piano op.41 (1984)
Nikolay Medvedev (piano)
rec. 2025, Tonstudio Ölberg-Kirche, Berlin, Germany
SOMM Recordings SOMMCD0724

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

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

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

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

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

A few contextual notes have been provided.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daily Telegraph 30 June 1894, p.8

Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Year at Portsmouth...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Emil von Sauer’s Second Piano Concerto

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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