Masks – An unusual introduction to the music of Sir Arthur Bliss Part II

Masks were first performed at a concert on 2 Feb 1926, by the composer and pianist Arthur Benjamin, during a 'Concert Spirituel' at the Faculty of Arts Gallery, 10 Upper John Street Golden Square, London. The recital consisted largely of music by contemporary composers. They included the first performance of Gerrard William’s Second String Quartet. This work, in spite of its good reception and apparent debt to Debussy seems to have disappeared. Miss Anne Thursfield sang ‘excellently’ five songs by Ravel and there was a performance of Boccherini’s Quintet in E.

Masks was reasonably well received by contemporary reviewers. The Times (5 February 1926) noted that Arthur Benjamin had played this work brilliantly and ‘with a glittering hardness of tone which the music seemed to demand.’ However, he did add a sting in the tail when he suggested that ‘we could not take these four pieces seriously, and probably the composer does not wish us to.’ And it gets no better: he concludes his comments with ‘...a worse fault is that we suspect some of his irrelevances to be deliberately made for the sake of being irrelevant.’  It is difficult to know what the reviewer regarded as being ‘irrelevant’ in this music but must assume that it is due to the perception at that time of Arthur Bliss being an ‘enfant terrible’ and writing music that was designed to shock and surprise rather than to entertain or inspire.

However, The Manchester Guardian (3 February 1926) was a little more positive. They report that ‘Masks... [had] a nice sense of colour and a quick intellectual grasp of epigrammatic material.’ It concludes that ‘Bliss is always witty and to the point in these four pieces but hardly knits his flashes of inspiration satisfactorily together.’

The following year a review of this work appeared in The Musical Times (1 August 1925) in an important study of recently published piano music, H.G. (Harvey Grace) wrote that:-

‘One doesn't need to look over much of the so-called 'advanced' type of new music in order to see that its composers fall into two groups. There are those who have something to say and who can say it in a manner that is genuinely novel, and yet natural and sincere. And there are the others. That Arthur Bliss belongs to the first group has always been evident to most of us. His Masks, four pieces, just published under one cover by Curwens [q.v.], strike me as being among the most significant of [the] new pianoforte works. They abound in passages that look all wrong, but sound extraordinarily right. This, of course, is merely another way of saying that the composer knows his job; and it follows that the player must know his, too. He must not only be a good man of his hands; he must be able to manage the nice adjustment of tonal values necessary for the due effect of the more dissonant passages... As is implied above, these pieces are difficult. They are not everybody's meat, but the player who is not at once repelled, and who perseveres with them, will find himself more and more attracted.’

Critical commentary disappears from the scene until the revival of interest in Bliss’ music in the early nineteen-nineties. Even then, Masks was not a work that seemed to attract much attention.

Unfortunately, there appears to be only one recording of this work. [1] In 1991 Chandos released a significant edition of the Viola Sonata with Emanuel Vardi and Kathron Sturrock. Included in this programme were the Triptych (1970), the Toccata (c.1925), the Two Interludes (1925), and Masks (CHAN 9770). The recording was well received by the critics. Michael Kennedy wrote in the July 1991 edition of Gramophone that ‘[the] most impressive [work] is the Triptych written for Louis Kentner in 1971, very much the music of the composer of the Piano Concerto. But I most enjoyed the four Masks which were composed in his avant-garde years in the early 1920s. For all their potent influence by Stravinsky and jazz, they have inventiveness, a flair that somehow seems to have left Bliss, or returned only fitfully once he had decided to become an Important English Composer.’ This CD is now out of print, but it is possible to download the work from a variety of classical music specialists on the internet.

Why do I like these pieces? Well, I think there are two main reasons. Firstly, they are very much a product of their age – Bliss was then perceived as a ‘bad boy’ of the British musical world. Yet with Masks critics began to perceive a genuine voice emerging from the musical fun and games. They were not written simply to shock. Secondly after a period of 80 years any sense of the avant-garde has largely departed from these pieces; however, the listener is conscious of an abiding sense of tongue on cheek balanced with a more profound understanding of musical expression. They have become less regarded as period pieces and more as cherished works of art as time passes.

Finally, a few years ago I was browsing in a second-hand bookshop in York, where they specialise in classical sheet music. I was both surprised and delighted to find amongst the piano music the copy of Masks that had one belonged to the late Mr. Kenneth Dawkins. So, the circle was complete.

Notes

[1] Since this essay was originally published, Mark Bebbington has recorded Masks on the Somm Label (SOMMCD 0148, 2015). Andrew Achenbach (The Gramophone, August 2015, p.58) called them “exhilarating” and noted the “sense of poignancy, loss and rage in the final two Masks (marked Sinister and Military…”

Concluded

With thanks to The Arthur Bliss Society Newsletter Volume 9, Number 1, Spring 2011: 12-16 where this essay first appeared.

Masks – An unusual introduction to the music of Sir Arthur Bliss Part I

All enthusiasts of Arthur Bliss (1891-1975) will be able to tell of their first introduction to his music. For many, I guess, it will be A Colour Symphony or one of the ballet scores – Miracle in the Gorbals or Checkmate. For some, it may have been a film score such as Things to Come or Welcome the Queen. Maybe it was the great choral work Morning Heroes or the impressive Introduction and Allegro. However, I imagine that few will have approached the master through his piano work Masks. Let me explain.

When I was still being introduced to the great works of the British music repertoire I got to know a gentleman by the name of Kenneth R. Dawkins. In about 1972 he had been appointed organist and choir master my local church. At that time, I sung in the choir and was the ‘deputy’ organist. He had been born around the turn of the century in Coventry and had worked for most of his life as a pianist and arranger, although he played the organ and turned his hand to composition. His great claim to fame was to have played piano duet with Maurice Ravel in the ‘twenties. Over a few years he introduced me to much music – including the organ works of Olivier Messiaen. Nevertheless, it was the times that he visited my house that remain in my mind. He played a number of works for me on my piano, including my first hearing of John Ireland’s The Island Spell and Billy Mayerl’s Marigold. It was at one of these occasions that he played to me Arthur Bliss’s Masks. It is work that has remained as a favourite ever since, although I had to wait for another fifteen years before being able to purchase a recording of this work. Over the succeeding 38 years I have heard much of Bliss’s music and have come to regard him as one of the major voices of the twentieth century. Yet looking at the literature there has been little written about the piano works in general or Masks in particular.

In January 1923, Arthur Bliss sailed to the United States with his father, Francis Edward Bliss. Bliss père had remarried and wished to spend the last years of his life in his native country. They chose Santa Barbara in California to live. The composer was not totally settled there: he did travel in the States and back again to England for various performances and functions. Nevertheless, in June 1924 he met his future wife, Gertrude (Trudy) Hoffman in Santa Barbara. The American years were rich for Bliss, not only personally, but in the performances of his music and the works composed. From this period date the song cycle, The Women of Yueh, the String Quartet No.2, the incidental music to King Solomon and the Two Interludes for Piano.

Masks was composed in 1924 whilst Arthur Bliss was in the United States. According to Stewart Craggs, the holograph has been lost. However, the work was published in 1925 by J. Curwen & Sons Ltd, 24 Berners Street, London. Originally, the four pieces were given titles, but these were not included in the music’s engraving. They were ‘A Comedy Mask,’ ‘A Romantic Mask,’ a ‘Sinister Mask’ and finally a ‘Military Mask.’ The work was dedicated to Felix Goodwin who was a personal friend of the composer. Goodwin was associated with the music publisher Goodwin and Tabb and had made huge efforts on behalf of British music and composers.

I had never been quite sure how to interpret Masks. Were they just a pastiche of different piano styles, written for effect, or was there something deeper in the concept of this work? It was not until I read a paragraph in John Sugden’s biography of the composer that the penny dropped. Sugden writes that Bliss believed that his personality had changed little over the years – from his childhood, through his time in the trenches and into his musical maturity. When he was at school ‘...he learnt how to conceal his true feelings behind a mask of indifference, he used it –the mask – during the next few years of his life when he was in the army...’ Bliss is quoted as saying that ‘...it enabled me, when I had endured these, to shake off the experiences that might have greatly affected me, and emerge again for my destined life in music as I really was.’ It is this psychological mind game that underlies the musical content of Masks. Certainly, the striking cover by C. Paine from the 1925 edition bears this out. Three men hurry past, each carrying a mask – one is leering, the other is worried and possibly depressed, whilst the third is quite ambiguous. Interestingly, Paine has not tried to recreate the original designations of each of the four pieces. Certainly, he has not drawn the ‘Romantic’ or the ‘Military’ masks, whilst the ‘Comedy’ and ‘Sinister’ ones may or may not be represented –it depends on the artistic prejudices of the viewer of the cover. 

Bibliography
Sugden, John, Bliss: The Illustrated Lives of the Great Composers, Omnibus Press, 1997.

To be continued…

With thanks to The Arthur Bliss Society Newsletter Volume 9, Number 1, Spring 2011: 12-16 where this essay first appeared.

Bliss Conducts Bliss

There have been several reissues of Arthur Bliss’s Violin Concerto and A Colour Symphony, conducted by the composer, over the years. On a personal note, I was introduced to both on the old Decca Eclipse label which had remarkable covers, usually depicting a National Trust property. These date from the early 1970s. The original recordings were made during November 1955, in monaural.

A Colour Symphony was Bliss’s first major orchestral work which was completed between 1921 and 1922 and was later revised in 1932. It was premiered at the Gloucester Three Choirs Festival on 7 September 1922, where it received mixed reviews.

Inspired by the symbolic meanings of colours in heraldry, the symphony consists of four movements: Purple, Red, Blue, and Green. Each embodies characteristics associated with its respective color, such as royalty and death for Purple, and courage and magic for Red. On the issue of the “colours” and their connection to the listener’s enjoyment of the symphony, I think that they can be safely ignored. Just enjoy it as a symphony with four contrasting movements that are “full of vitality and beauty.” Bliss and the LSO give an authoritative account. It holds the attention from the first note to the last.

One contemporary critic of the original LP (Decca, LXT 5170) was impressed by the “exhilarating performance” and considered that “the time is long overdue for this full-blooded music to take its proper place in the concert hall beside Elgar and Vaughan Williams.” His prophecy was never to be. The last time it was played at a Promenade Concert was in 2006.

To be sure there are other outstanding recordings of A Colour Symphony, such as Vernon Handley and the Ulster Orchestra, (Chan 8503, 1987), David Lloyd-Jones and the English Northern Philharmonic Orchestra (Naxos 8.533460, 1996) and most recently, Richard Hickox and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales (Chan 10380, 2006). But there is an inherent value in having Bliss’s own interpretation to hand.

Also in November 1955, Arthur Bliss recorded his Violin Concerto and the now largely forgotten Theme and Cadenza. This time the orchestra was the London Philharmonic with the violin soloist, the Italian-born, Alfredo Campoli. The LP was issued in April 1956 on Decca LXT 5166.

Bliss's Violin Concerto was written during 1938. It was completed at a time of considerable political tension in Europe. There are three movements: Allegro ma non troppo, Vivo – tranquillo and Introduzione (Andante); Allegro deciso (In Modo Zingaro). The overall mood of the piece is a studied contrast between lyrical beauty and dramatic passion, which seems to echo the age. It lasts for about forty minutes.

Campoli gives a splendid account of this concerto which gives him little opportunity for relaxation. He dominates the proceedings from the first to the last playing with refinement and proficiency. There is a warmth of tone that is often beguiling. The concerto was premiered in 1939 by the present soloist with the BBC Symphony Orchestra.

Another recording of Bliss’s Violin Concerto, was made in 1968, once again featuring Campoli and the composer but with the BBC Symphony Orchestra (BBC Classics 15656 91842, 1996). I have not heard this album. Two other CDs of this concerto have been released: Lydia Mordkovitch with the BBC National Orchestra of Wales under Richard Hickox (Chan 10380, 2006) and Lorraine McAslan and the BBC Concert Orchestra conducted by Martin Yates (Dutton Epoch, CDLX 7342, 2017).

This work is a significant contribution to the genre. Coupled with Edward Elgar’s (1910) and William Walton’s (1939), Bliss’s essay forms the third pillar of the triumvirate of great Violin Concertos composed by an Englishman. Sadly, it is rarely heard in the concert hall. Its last outing at the Proms was on 3 August 1955.

The present remastering was produced by Andrew Rose, who took the original monoaural edits and “dusted them down a little, [to] bring greater space and finer tone to both recordings, further enhancing two excellent examples of Decca’s mid-fifties output.”

Andrew Rose also provided the liner notes, which, if I am honest, are a little bit lacking. Basically, it is a concatenation of two contemporary reviews from The Gramophone magazine, with a concluding comment.

This disc is worthy addition to the Bliss catalogue of two important works, performed under the baton of the composer. Enthusiasts will be delighted to possess this superb restoration.

Track Listing:
Arthur Bliss (1891-1975)
Concerto for violin and orchestra, F111 (1955)
Campoli (violin), London Philharmonic Orchestra/Arthur Bliss
A Colour Symphony, F.106 (1921-22, rev. 1932)
London Symphony Orchestra/Arthur Bliss
rec. 9-11 November 1955 (Concerto); 23-24 November 1955 (Colour Symphony), Kingsway Hall London (Monoaural)
Pristine Audio PASC 727

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

 

Arthur Bliss’s A Colour Symphony on Decca Vinyl Part II

Bliss’s recording of A Colour Symphony and the Introduction and Allegro were reissued on the popular Ace of Clubs label (ACL 239) during 1964. The sleeve photo is of Gloucester Cathedral and the rear cover replicates the original programme notes.

Edward Greenfield gave a detailed appraisal in The Gramophone (December 1964, p.293). His overview deserves to be quoted in full: “[A] Colour Symphony was the work that first gave Bliss an international reputation in his early thirties. In this country at least it also gave him the reputation of being an enfant terrible, something so absurd in retrospect [that] one can only attribute it to the fact that the first performance was at the 1922 Three Choirs Festival and that the superannuated organists in Gloucester Cathedral must have bristled with alarm at even the most fetching of Bliss's dissonances. For this is very much the work of a young Elgarian who knew his Debussy and who quite honestly did not seem to trouble overmuch about anything after that. Comparatively few hints of Stravinsky's influence, for example, let alone of Schoenberg or Bartók.”

It seems that Greenfield was most impressed by the Finale, which “after opening on a dauntingly angular fugue [it] quickly resolves itself into something quite close to an Elgar march, and the added-note dissonances of the climax need not worry anyone who has gloried in [Rimsky Korsakov’s] The Golden Cockerel. As for the final multiple chord which takes the place of a conventional tonic (could that conceivably have been what worried the organists?), it now sounds like an old-hat jazz ending of the kind Stravinsky aped in the Symphony in Three Movements.”

It is disingenuous for Greenfield to suggest that lack of memorability hindered the Symphony becoming as popular as Holst’s The Planets. Both are characterized by imagination and ‘colourful’ orchestration. Sadly, this critic also considers that the Introduction and Allegro “is another really skillful composition, again failing to achieve the highest distinction merely through comparative lack of memorability in the material.”

Edward Greenfield considered that Bliss’s conducting is “wonderfully convincing” and that this was enhanced by “the recording [that] still sounds extremely well.”

As noted above, in 1971, Decca released A Colour Symphony on their popular Eclipse label (ECS 625). It was coupled with Anthony Collin’s magisterial performance of Edward Elgar’s Falstaff Symphonic Study op. 68. Both works had been ‘re-mastered’ in ‘electronic stereo,’ which was really an attempt at making the old monaural recordings sound better by adding reverberation and ‘tinkering’ with frequency levels. Some commentators felt that the originals were ruined by this ‘Electronically Reprocessed Stereo.’

Trevor Harvey commenting in The Gramophone (July 1971, p.232), considered that the “most valuable contribution of this disc is the reissue of Bliss’s very fine Colour Symphony.” Rashly, but maybe wisely, he recommends that the listener “Take no notice of the colours each movement is headed with and just enjoy it as a symphony.” He concludes his review by stating that this is “a finely original work, full of vitality and beauty…The performance is authoritative, obviously: while the sound is excellent.” As for Elgar’s Falstaff, Harvey considered that Anthony Collins “judges his performance very well indeed, and I found myself as enthralled as ever by Elgar’s masterpiece.”

There was a lowering picture of Great Mell Fell in Cumberland on the record cover. This, like many photographs on Decca Eclipse sleeves was a National Trust property.

Note that the Introduction and Allegro was included on the fourth volume of Decca Eclipse’s Festival of English Music, ECS 649 (1972) and, later ECS 783 (1976), where it was coupled with Bliss’s Violin Concerto and Theme and Cadenza.

Since the final vinyl issue, there have been several reissues of Bliss conducting his Colour Symphony on CD. Twenty-four years later, Dutton Laboratories released Bliss conducts Bliss (CDLXT 2501), remastered by Michael J Dutton. It also featured Baraza from the film Men of Two Worlds, the Introduction and Allegro, the Things to Come Suite recorded by the composer in 1957, as well as some extracts from that film score dating from 1935. Lionel Salter, who appraised the original LP, now writing for The Gramophone (August 1995, p.134) considered that Bliss’s recording was “thrusting and vigorous, dramatic and romantic, [but] it tends at times to outgrow its strength, as it were; but the tension of the scherzo and the finale's double-fugue… point forward to his maturity.” He felt that the Introduction and Allegro was “leaner and more sinewy but just as vigorous” as A Colour Symphony. Finally, Salter considered that the “remastering of the original records is nothing short of amazing” sounding as “if it had been made yesterday.”

In 2013 both works were packaged on the two-CD compilation of Bliss’s music (Vocalion, 2CDBO 9818). This also contained The Beatitudes, the Pastoral: Lie Strewn the White Flocks and the rarely heard March: The Phoenix (In Honour of France).

Heritage Records had one more go at repristinating A Colour Symphony and the Introduction and Allegro. This time it was also coupled with the undoubted, but forgotten, masterwork, Music for Strings. (HTGCD 221, 2011). John Whitmore (MusicWeb International 13 October 2013), states that “this is a gripping, tuneful and uplifting symphony containing some warm hearted and melancholic moments along with flashes of youthful exuberance. The performance given here by the LSO is still the best available on disc and the sound, despite being a transfer from a mono LP, is perfectly enjoyable. This is classic early Decca.” Turning to the Introduction and Allegro, Whitmore states that “I’ve seen this described in some of our esteemed music guides as being a professionally written but unmemorable work. I beg to differ. It’s a cracking piece, bristling with good ideas, pages of elegiac repose and some tremendously exciting climaxes. The music never gets bogged down or threatens to outstay its welcome. It’s always moving forward, and the levels of invention and craftsmanship are high…”

Finally, A Colour Symphony and the Introduction and Allegro were included in the massive 53-disc boxed set, Decca Sound: The Mono Years 1944-1956 (478 7946). The 1955 recording of both pieces are also listed in the Naxos catalogue (9.80004): they are coupled with Paul Hindemith’s Symphony, "Mathis der Maler".

For reference, five other important recordings of Arthur Bliss’s Colour Symphony have been made since 1955. These are the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Charles Groves (HMV ASD 3416, 1977), the Ulster Orchestra/Vernon Handley (Chandos ABRD 1213, 1987), the BBC Welsh Symphony Orchestra/Barry Wordsworth (Nimbus NI 5294, 1991), the English Northern Philharmonia/David Lloyd-Jones (Naxos 8.553460, 1996) and finally the BBC National Orchestra of Wales/Richard Hickox (Chandos CHAN 10380, 2006).

Concluded

My next post will be a review of the latest repristination of Bliss's A Colour Symphony, on the Pristine Audio label. This has been released after the original essay was published.

With thanks to the The Arthur Bliss Society Journal where this essay was first published.

Arthur Bliss’s A Colour Symphony on Decca Vinyl Part I

Arthur Bliss’s (1891-1975) recording of his A Colour Symphony (1921-22) was the first album of his music that I owned. This was included on the Decca Eclipse release (ECS 625) dating from 1971. I purchased it in the long-gone record department of Cuthbertson’s music shop in Cambridge Street, Glasgow. If I am truthful, I bought it for Elgar’s Falstaff: Symphonic Study in C minor, op.68, (1913) rather than for the Bliss. Since reading Henry V during ‘O’ Level English lessons, I had been attracted to this larger-than-life character that Hostess Quickly movingly eulogised in Act 2 Scene 3 of the play. Soon, I was reading more of Falstaff’s adventures in The Merry Wives of Windsor. At the same time, I had discovered Walton’s Two Pieces from Henry V: Touch her soft lips and part and the moving passacaglia, The Death of Falstaff.

All this was around 1972. When I got the LP home, I listened to both works. Surprisingly, it was Bliss’s Symphony that really impressed me. Especially so, was the powerful, sparkling, Scherzo (red) and the evocation of water lapping against a stone jetty in the slow movement (blue). A Colour Symphony remains one of my favourite pieces of English music. That said, although I understand the “theory” behind the composer’s colour scheme, I never really “got it” as a listener.

Bliss had been largely ignored by the record firms during the mid-1950s. All that was available at that date on LP or 78rpm disc was the Piano Concerto, Music for Strings, the ballet suites Miracle in the Gorbals and Checkmate, as well as the String Quartet No.2, and Welcome the Queen.

On 23 November 1955, Sir Arthur Bliss walked into the Kingsway Hall, Holborn, London to record two of his most popular works: A Colour Symphony and the Introduction and Allegro. It was the first of a two-day session with the London Symphony Orchestra (LSO). Seven months later, both pieces were released on Decca LXT 5170 (mono). The cover presented a striking abstraction of the four “colours” of the movements in order, top to bottom – Purple, Red, Blue and Green. On the rear of the sleeve were printed programme notes devised by the composer, and which incorporated musical examples.

Two weeks previously, (9-11 November 1955) Bliss had made a recording of his Violin Concerto and the now largely forgotten Theme and Cadenza, at the same venue. The soloist was Alfredo Campoli. This was issued during April 1956 on Decca LXT 5166 (mono). Both albums were to have been the first instalment of Decca’s ‘Bliss by Bliss’ series.

Lionel Salter (The Gramophone, August 1956, p.81) noted that in “this full-blooded performance under [Bliss], one is conscious of his disciplined exuberance at thirty years old, and of the distance he has travelled since: there are moments nevertheless – the dissonant syncopated passage in Red, [and] the optimistic second fugue in Green which point to his fully mature style.” Interestingly, Salter considers that if Bliss were writing it today, he would “probably thin out the scoring.” This tendency was also seen in the other work on this album, Introduction and Allegro, which was written for Leopold Stokowski in 1926. Sadly, this had all but disappeared from the concert repertoire during the mid-1950s. It is a situation that it has not recovered from, nearly 70 years later. Salter wonders if the Introduction and Allegro has simply been eclipsed because “Elgar has made the title peculiarly his own.”  Overall, the critic considered that Bliss “secures a convincing performance from the LSO” despite some moments when the “ensemble could have been better.” Finally, he is impressed by the “perfectly respectable” recording.

Edward Greenfield, (The Manchester Guardian 13 August 1956, p.3) began by wondering if it “is the fate of Masters of the Queen’s (or King’s) Music that something (perhaps their cloaks of respectability?) apparently conceals them from the eyes of the record companies.” Fortunately, Decca had “at last made up for any neglect…with [the present disk] and the recent Violin Concerto and the Theme and Cadenza…” He concludes by stating that “this is all finely wrought music with many exciting moments.” If one occasionally loses concentration during the performance, “it is partly due to the similarity of idiom to film-music.” Greenfield’s sting in the tale is that “Sir Arthur’s part in establishing this genre may have done a nasty trick on him.” This is not a sentiment that would be levelled against Bliss in 2023.

Other notices included Desmond Shawe-Taylor’s review in the Observer (23 September 1956, p.10) where he notes the “flamboyant” performance and the “fine recordings with the composer at the desk.” The Truth’s (28 September 1956, p.1118) newspaper correspondent, Trevor Gee reported that “Sir Arthur Bliss is another of our composers who has been making headway in the gramophone repertory lately…” He commended the “exhilarating performance of his early Colour Symphony…The time is long overdue for this full-blooded music to take its proper place in the concert hall beside Elgar and Vaughan Williams.” Sadly, in the 2020s Bliss’s orchestral works are rarely heard ‘live.’ Finally, Percy Cater in the Daily Mail (3 October 1956, p.8) stated that the “symphony shows that even back in 1922, Bliss could sustain ideas through rich textures.” Another back-handed comment, perhaps?

Listeners had to wait until the following year for The Times critic (possibly Frank Howes) to pass judgement on this record (June 8, 1957, p.9). This was a major assessment of several important recordings of British symphonies, which encompassed Edward Elgar’s Second, Robert Simpson’s First, and Ralph Vaughan Williams’s Eighth. Turning to Bliss, he reminds readers that A Colour Symphony was a commission for the Three Choirs Festival and “was received with some doubts at its first performance in 1922.” It was revived at the Hereford Festival in 1955, “when it caused no head shaking, but was recognized as a work as rich in imagination as in orchestral colours.” Examining the new LP, he suggests that “it was high time that a symphony so characteristic of Bliss in its mettlesome but disciplined exuberance should be recorded.” The result is good with “depth and transparency” obtained in the performance and by the engineers. That said, he felt that the “colours come up well, though the scoring is heavy and the texture thick.”

To be continued…

With thanks to The Arthur Bliss Society Journal where this essay was first published

Wigmore Soloists play chamber music by Ferguson, Bliss and Holloway

Nailing my colours to the mast, I suggest that Howard Ferguson’s Octet, op.4 is one of the most significant chamber music works from the 1930s. The equilibrium of the movements is key to this work’s ultimate success. There is a thoughtful opening Moderato, complete with its allusion to the horn theme from the slow movement of Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No.5. This is followed by a vibrant, if uneasy, scherzo with quite a few melodic episodes. There is a definite Celtic feel in these pages, which may reflect Ferguson’s birthplace, Belfast. The lyrical slow movement is full of pastoral charm with just the hint of something a touch more demanding. This serenity is destroyed by the rhythmic intensity of the Allegro feroce. However, all is not so strict, as there are sweeping “big tunes” of an almost filmic nature to interrupt the proceedings.

To be sure, much of the Octet nods at various characteristics of English music current at that time. It is not “pastoral” as such but does have several passages that can be so described. Equally so, are nods to neo-classicism and even the “modernism” of Bliss and Walton. What is absent is any hint of serialism or atonality.

The Octet was finished in 1933 and was dedicated to R. O. Morris, Ferguson’s composition teacher at the Royal College of Music. It was originally conceived as a quintet for clarinet and strings and then modified into a septet with the addition of the bassoon and the French horn. At Morris’s suggestion, the instrumentation of the piece was expanded to include a second violin. This made it the ideal companion to Schubert’s Octet in F major, D.803.

Two other versions of Howard Ferguson’s Octet are in circulation: The Nash Ensemble on Hyperion, CDA66192 (1990) and Dennis Brain with the Griller Quartet et al, on Dutton Epoch CDAX8014 (1937/2019).

Arthur Bliss reminded the potential listener that “the personality of a great player has often been the incentive for me to compose a work.” He cites as examples the Oboe Quintet for Leon Goossens, the Viola Sonata for Lionel Tertis, the Piano Concerto for Solomon, and the Violin Concerto for Campoli. The Clarinet Quintet, F.20, was written in 1932 and was premiered the following year by Frederick Thurston and the Kutcher String Quartet. It was dedicated to the composer, Bernard van Dieren. But a deeper inspiration can be sensed in these pages: Bliss’s brother Kennard, who was killed during the First World War, was an accomplished clarinettist.

The overall temper of the Quintet is one of lyricism and to a certain extent resignation. Various moods are inherent in the four movements including serenity, animation, and drama, but as the advertising blurb suggests, “the sunny, extrovert aspects of Bliss’s character ultimately prevail in the brilliantly energetic finale.”

Contemporary criticism noted that with the Clarinet Quintet, Bliss had moved on from his “enfant terrible” period. It is fair to say that this is one of his masterpieces, certainly within the genre of chamber music. It is given a wonderful performance by the Wigmore Soloists and Michael Collins, clarinettist.

There are other satisfactory performances of Bliss’s Clarinet Quintet on disc, including David Campbell (clarinet) with the Maggini Quartet (Naxos, 8.557394, reviewed here) and Janet Hilton (clarinet) with the Lindsay String Quartet (Chandos, Chan 8683). There are also two releases of Frederick Thurston and the Griller Quartet’s 1930s recording (Testament SBT1366 and Clarinet Classics CC0037)

My review of Robin Holloway’s Serenade in C for octet, op.41 (1979) is beholden to the liner notes. The Serenade has five movements. The opening Marcia is full of “quirky cross-rhythms” complimented by a pleasant trio section. The short Menuetto alla tarantella is vigorous and dynamic with a big tune for the bassoon and jazz like pizzicato on the double bass. Despite being the official slow movement, the Andante is characterised by curious wit and tongue in cheek commentary. It is a wayward set of variations based on a “touching, sincere, naïve…”  melody discovered in a Methodist hymnbook. Then, a second Menuetto follows with its nods to Poulenc and Schubert. Once again, it is contrary, with the conventional repeats “[going] off in different directions.”  The Serenade concludes with another tarantella where “scraps of silly tune are put through the textural, tonal and rhythmic mincer.”

The listener will be charmed by the Serenade’s humour and mischievousness. Holloway has stated that it is full of clichés, parodies, and “commonplace” musical devices. That said, the piece is characterised by “compositional rigour” as well as a profound understanding of the possibilities of the various instruments.

It is interesting that the scoring is the same as that of both Ferguson’s and Schubert’s Octets. Holloway acknowledges the latter as a model. This is music for entertainment, “making few intellectual demands.” It is at a stylistic distance from the composer’s more modernist offerings (I recall hearing one of his Concertos for Orchestra and being baffled). That said, I doubt Classic fM will be playing this Serenade anytime soon.

The liner notes by Philip Borg-Wheeler are helpful in every way. They are printed in English, French and German. There is also a short resume about the Wigmore Players.

This outstanding survey of three characteristic chamber works are splendid examples of “deeply personal” utterances from composers of different stylistic mores. All are superbly written for their medium. The performances are committed and inspiring in every case and are complimented by an excellent recording.

Track Listing:
Howard Ferguson (1908-99)
Octet, op.4 (1933)
Arthur Bliss (1891-1975)
Clarinet Quintet, F.20 (1932)
Robin Holloway (b.1943)
Serenade in C for octet, op.41 (1979)
Michael Collins (clarinet) (Bliss), Wigmore Soloists
rec. 17-19 December 2021 (Ferguson, Bliss), 13-14 April 2023 (Holloway), Menuhin Hall, Stoke d’Abernon, Surrey, England
BIS BIS-2547 SACD
With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.

Arthur Bliss: Edinburgh: Overture for orchestra (1956) Part II

The Daily Mail (21 August 1956) considered that Bliss had given a ‘graceful compliment to the capital city and to Scotland’ with his overture. The fact that the composer conducted the work ‘ensured that the presentation was, so to speak, in his own phrasing.’ The critic (P.J.T.C.) felt that 10 minutes may be overlong for a ‘greeting’ to the Festival, but considered that it was ‘attractive, strong and compact’ and ‘proved of just the right extent for a musical courtesy.’

Two comprehensive reviews of the concert were printed in the Manchester Guardian and The Times. The Guardian’s (22 August 1956) Colin Mason suggests that the Edinburgh: Overture ‘is an unmistakable occasional piece of much the same style and musical calibre as the recent ‘Meditations on a Theme by Blow’…’ He felt that ‘…like that [work], it is marred especially in the introductory and closing bars, by various sharp discords that are musically quite irrelevant…’ and serve ‘no purpose except to introduce an entirely bogus harmonic excitement and to pad out the work for a few extra seconds by keeping us waiting for their easily foreseen and banal resolution.’ The opening of the overture had a ‘rather manufactured-seeming exposition based mainly on the rhythm of the name Edinburgh (pronounced E-din-borough) over which a psalm tune is played.’  Mason considered that the ‘most genuine’ element of the piece was the ‘quietly elegiac’ pavane. The final section which combined the ‘Edinburgh’ motto with Scottish dance rhythms was ‘moderately convincing in its animation, but not without some effect of strain.’  He concludes by insisting that ‘although the work served its purpose decently, it has not the vitality or inspiration likely to make it a repertory concert overture.’ This last prediction has become all too true.

The Times (22 August 1956) remarked that the overture was a ‘pièce d’occasion constructed of various musical emblems of Scotland.’ Three elements, the rhythm of the word Edinburgh, the psalm tune and a strathspey were ‘strung together as a pot-pourri.’  Interestingly, the critic compared the slow middle section designed to commemorate Mary Queen of Scots as being akin to Maurice Ravel’s Pavane pour une infante défunte.  He thinks that Bliss could have been more sentimental in this section, but the ‘general intention was, of course, to be exuberant…’ rather than elegiac. In conclusion, the reviewer noted that Scots were asking themselves if ‘the Englishman had really got the rhythm of the word ‘Edinburgh’ right.’

A less positive view of the Bliss overture (and concerto) is given by Conrad Wilson (Wilson, 2005).  He also relates a little bit of unattributed anecdote. Sir Thomas had apparently arrived during ‘the dreary first half of the concert’ too early for his part of the proceedings. Seemingly, he ‘amused himself backstage by tossing the clothes of the Master of the Queen’s Music [sic] out of the green room and into corridor of the Usher Hall.’ If this was not enough, ‘he mounted to platform level while Bliss was conducting and distracted the players by gesticulating at them through the glass door leading to the stage.’  Wilson’s musical predilections become clear when he concludes by noting that the ‘Brahms which followed after the interval was naturally electrifying…[and] prompted the audience to burst wildly into applause before the last chord had stopped sounding.’

The Times (22 August 1956) was more prosaic and insisted it had something to do with ‘doubling the wind and picking up the speed.’

Ian Hutton gave a wide-ranging assessment of the 1956 Edinburgh International Festival in the October edition of Music and Musicians. After wittily suggesting that Schoenberg’s Pierrot Lunaire ought to be allowed to ‘decompose in peace’ and noting that Walton’s Façade had ‘triumphantly survived its initial ferocious opposition’ he turned to the Beecham RPO concerts and the two ‘novelties.’ Alas, he finds nothing to say about the Edinburgh: Overture but writes that Arnell’s Landscapes and Figures made a favourable impression. Presumably he considered that Bliss did not.

Robert Meikle has given the most detailed study of the Overture to date in the chapter on ‘Metamorphic Variation: The Orchestral Music’ (Craggs, 2002, p.21). He notes that the work was a ‘thank you’ from the composer for the honorary degrees he had recently received from Glasgow and Edinburgh Universities.  He considers that it is ‘for the most part a bright, celebratory piece, divided by the more reflective Psalm-tune and pavane, pervaded by the so called ‘Edinburgh’ rhythm, both in its original note values (2/4 ♩♩♪♩.)and a diminished version.’

In 1980 HMV released the Edinburgh: Overture on LP. It was coupled with the Meditations on a Theme by John Blow and Discourse for orchestra. The City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra was conducted by Vernon Handley.  The Gramophone (August 1980) submitted that the Edinburgh: Overture was Bliss’s equivalent to William Walton’s Johannesburg Festival Overture.  The critic Edward Greenfield (E.G.) was impressed by Handley’s performance which ‘swaggers impressively in the breezy outer sections.’ His observation about the central ‘Pavane for Mary Queen of Scots’ was that it was ‘a little too much like film music.’  

Ten years later, in a review of the cassette tape release of the same recording of the overture (coupled with different works-see discography below) The Gramophone (August 1990) notes that the work has ‘plenty of bustle, [but] also shows the [composer’s] most attractive lyrical vein.’

Diana McVeagh in Records and Recording (August 1980, Volume 23, 11) regards the Edinburgh: Overture as ‘a lively agreeable piece, nicely allusive…’ She added that it was time somebody ‘gave us a Cornish Overture to join this and Cockaigne…’

Select Bibliography
Craggs, Stewart R., Arthur Bliss: A Bio-bibliography (Westport Connecticut, Greenwood Press, 1988)
Craggs, Stewart R., Arthur Bliss: A Source Book (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1996)
Craggs, Stewart R., ed., Arthur Bliss: Music and Literature (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2002)
Foreman, Lewis, Arthur Bliss: Catalogue of the Complete Works (London: Novello, 1980; suppl. 1982)
Roscow, Gregory, ed., Bliss on Music: Selected Writings of Arthur Bliss 1920-1975 (Oxford, OUP, 1991)
Wilson, Conrad, Notes on Brahms: 20 Crucial Works (Edinburgh, St. Andrew Press, 2005)
Files of the Daily Mail, Glasgow Herald, The Gramophone, Manchester Guardian, Music and Musicians, The Times, Records and Recording.

Discography
Bliss, Arthur: Meditations on a Theme by John Blow, Edinburgh: Overture, Discourse for orchestra, City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra/Vernon Handley HMV ASD 3878 (1980) (Vinyl).

Bliss, Arthur: A Colour Symphony, Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Charles Groves; Miracle in the Gorbals, Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra/Paavo Berglund; Edinburgh: Overture, City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra/Vernon Handley EMI EG 7 69388 4 (1988) (Cassette)

The Edinburgh: Overture was also included as part of the retrospective Vernon Handley ‘ICON’ boxed set/download, EMI Classics 098 2022 (2011) (5 CDs)

Concluded

With thanks to the The Arthur Bliss Society Journal where this essay was first published.

 

 

Arthur Bliss: Edinburgh: Overture for orchestra (1956) Part I

The Edinburgh: Overture for orchestra was first performed in the Usher Hall, Edinburgh on 20 August 1956 with the composer conducting the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. It has remained one of Sir Arthur Bliss’s least-known and performed orchestral works. At present, there is only one recording in the CD catalogues.

In November of the previous year the Glasgow Herald (24 November 1955) had announced that ‘the Master of the Queen’s Musick…is writing a new overture to be entitled “Edinburgh.”’ It was to mark the 10^th anniversary of the Edinburgh International Festival.  A letter from Bliss to the Festival’s artistic director Robert Ponsonby was quoted: ‘Because of the occasion, I am calling my new overture ‘Edinburgh’ but – being born south of the Border – I am not presuming to make the music in any way characteristically Scottish.’

Stewart Craggs (Craggs, 1996) cites a letter (16 March 1956) from the Lord Provost of the City of Edinburgh, Sir John Garnett Banks to the composer in which he states that ‘We have already learned with pride that you have been generous enough to compose and present to us a new Overture, to be entitled “Edinburgh…” 

Arthur Bliss (BBC Radio Broadcast 27 July1956, reproduced Roscow, 1991, p.237) declared that he ‘could at last say a musical 'thank you' to Scotland for the two honours I have received from Scottish universities. I greatly prize being a Doctor of Music at Edinburgh, and a Doctor of Law at Glasgow, and though this work of mine is a short and modest one, it allows me at any rate to do something in return.’ 

The work was completed whilst the composer was living in London (probably) and the manuscript is dated ‘July 1956.’  The miniature score was duly published by Novello and Company Limited in 1962.  

The year 1956 was relatively unproductive for Arthur Bliss; the few works he did compose were largely in his capacity as Master of the Queen’s Musick. These included The First Guards for military band celebrating the Tercentenary of the Grenadier Guards, the short anthem Seek the Lord for the Centenary Service of the Mission to Seamen and ‘Music for a Service of the Order of the Bath’ which was performed by trumpeters in Westminster Abbey. Bliss also produced a two minute ‘Signature and Interlude Tune’ for the new ABC Television channel. At the end of the year he signed a contract to compose the score for the drama film Seven Waves Away starring Tyrone Power and Mai Zetterling. 

On 31 March Arthur Bliss’s daughter Karen had married Christopher Sellick. Bliss travelled to Russia on 14 April where he conducted a concert in Moscow before returning to the United Kingdom in May. 

Sir Thomas Beecham was in residence at the Edinburgh International Festival from 19 to 24 August 1956. He presented five concerts at the Usher Hall with his Royal Philharmonic Orchestra.

The opening event was devoted to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 with the Edinburgh Royal Choral Union. The second concert, on 20 August, was in two discrete sections. The first half consisted of Bliss’s new overture followed by his masterly Violin Concerto with Alfredo Campoli as soloist. The composer conducted both pieces. After the interval there was only one work: Brahms’ Second Symphony conducted by Beecham.

On the morning following the concert, Arthur Bliss’s Clarinet Quintet was performed at The Freemasons’ Hall by the Melos Ensemble with the soloist Gervase de Peyer.

The next concert comprised Richard Strauss’s Don Quixote and Hector Berlioz’s Harold in Italy featuring the cellist John Kennedy and the violist Frederick Riddle. The fourth included Boccherini’s Overture in D, Beethoven’s Piano Concerto No. 4 with Robert Casadesus as soloist and Balakirev’s Symphony No.1. The final concert featured the première of Richard Arnell’s Landscapes and Figures as well as Delius’s In a Summer Garden and the attractive ‘Scottish’ overture Waverley by Berlioz. This performance also included the Sixth Symphonies of both Schubert and Sibelius.

Lyndon Jenkins (Craggs, 2002, p.267) presents an interesting anecdote about the Bliss concert which was quoted in the 25^th Edinburgh International Festival Programme Book, 1971.  Robert Ponsonby, the Festival Director was given the ‘delicate’ task of negotiating Sir Thomas’s consent for Arthur Bliss, Master of the Queen’s Musick to share the rostrum with him.  Ponsonby must have been relieved when the maestro’s only comment made with ‘wicked innocence’ was ‘Will he appear in uniform?’ Jenkins states that ‘as far as is known, Sir Thomas Beecham never played a note of Bliss’s music...’

The composer provided a detailed, but not technical, programme note for the Overture which has been reprinted (Roscow, 1991, p.237). He notes that the word-rhythm of ‘Edinburgh’ occurs frequently throughout the piece and is presented in a variety of tempi. Bliss writes that with its ‘massive scoring, and the rhythm pounded out by side drums, it may perhaps suggest a vision of the castle itself on the heights.’

After the opening section, a tune from the Scottish Psalter is heard.  Psalm 124 is paraphrased 'Now Israel may say, and that truly, if that the Lord had not our cause maintained…then certainly they had devoured us all.' The well-known tune, Old 124^th, to which it is often sung is from the metrical version of the psalms still popular in Scotland. It was derived from Trente quatre pseaumes de David, Geneva, published in 1551. Bliss muses on the fact that this very tune may have been heard in the Church of St. Giles during the middle part of the sixteenth century. This links into the middle section of the work which is a ‘Pavane in memory of Mary Queen of Scots.’  Finally, Bliss writes, ‘No music for Edinburgh can leave out a reference to dancing, so the final section of my overture is characterised by reel and strathspey rhythms. I cannot possibly compete with Scotland's magnificent pipers in this, nor do I pretend that anyone not born in Scotland can give you the authentic spirit, but I feel this dance section is needed to bring the overture to a gay end.’

Select Bibliography
Craggs, Stewart R., Arthur Bliss: A Bio-bibliography (Westport Connecticut, Greenwood Press, 1988)
Craggs, Stewart R., Arthur Bliss: A Source Book (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1996)
Craggs, Stewart R., ed., Arthur Bliss: Music and Literature (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2002)
Foreman, Lewis, Arthur Bliss: Catalogue of the Complete Works (London: Novello, 1980; suppl. 1982)
Roscow, Gregory, ed., Bliss on Music: Selected Writings of Arthur Bliss 1920-1975 (Oxford, OUP, 1991)
Wilson, Conrad, Notes on Brahms: 20 Crucial Works (Edinburgh, St. Andrew Press, 2005)
Files of the Daily Mail, Glasgow Herald, The Gramophone, Manchester Guardian, Music and Musicians, The Times, Records and Recording.

To be continued...

With thanks to the The Arthur Bliss Society Journal where this essay was first published.

Discovering Arthur Bliss’s Second String Quartet (1950) Part 2

Premiere Performance: The premiere of Bliss’s Second String Quartet was given at a morning concert by the dedicatees at the Freemason’s Hall in George Street, Edinburgh, on Friday 1 September 1950. It was during the fourth annual Edinburgh International Festival. Other pieces heard included Mozart’s String Quartet in D minor, K.421, and Brahms’s Clarinet Quintet in B minor, op.115. The soloist in the latter was Frederick Thurston. 

The Scotsman (2 September 1950, p.6), possibly Christopher Grier, reported that Bliss’s new quartet “was not one that gave up its secrets at a first hearing.” True, Bliss had harked back to the “romantic” Music for Strings (1935). This was itself in a trajectory from Elgar’s Introduction and Allegro, op.47 (1905) and to a lesser extent, Vaughan Williams’s Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis (1910, rev. 1913, 1919). What the reviewer was getting at is that Bliss had used the formal construct of the Music for Strings but made it “much more intense with fewer concessions to tunefulness.”  It reflected “the severer side of his composition.”  The performance was given “in the Griller Quartet’s most vigorous, uncompromising style.”  Finally, the critic suggests, “if in some ways the work was a trifle disappointing, there were many interesting features…but with a work of this nature, the only thing is to hear it again.”

Richard Cappell, writing for The Daily Telegraph and Morning Post (2 September 1950, p.5) gave a succinct commentary on the Quartet. He considered that “it is a work of important scope, abounding in invention and vigour.” Cappell continues by comparing the new piece with Music for Strings and suggests that “it will surely be found a pleasure to play, challenging as its difficulties are, by a first-rate team.” He concludes with the notion that the Quartet is not “sensuously beguiling music [but] it holds the listener by the play of a keen and masterful mind.”

The unsigned review in The Times (2 September 1950, p.8) gave a balanced critique of the Quartet: “It showed ample invention and contained many happy ideas, though their sequence often seemed more skilful than imperative or inevitable.”  The two middle movements were of interest “[sounding] a new note in Bliss’s music, the slow movement being particularly striking for a shadowy and fugitive quality, which transformed itself into something more robust, but still half veiled in the scherzo.” The “first movement was terse and athletic...” and the finale was “the most complex and highly organised movement.” It was played “with the Griller’s accustomed care, vitality and rectitude of ensemble.”

Another positive evaluation (The Stage, 7 September 1950, p.12) stated that Arthur Bliss has provided “the Griller Quartet with four movements which never slacken in complexity and yet reveal his knowledge of their musicianly capacity.” It concludes by admitting the Quartet is not “sympathetic to the average listener at first hearing, the grating passages of the early movements are compensated for later, and the new quartet is a “birthday present” reflecting credit on the giver as much as on the recipients.”

Finally, the unnamed critic of the Aberdeenshire Press and Journal (2 September 1950, p.3) brought a light touch into their assessment. For one thing he used the quaint title “Quartette!” A lady sitting next to them, who was conservative in her tastes said that the first movement “was like four musicians tuning up and none of them playing the same tune.”  Fortunately, the second movement was more to her taste – “it began and ended in almost inaudible pianissimo and throughout was very lovely.”   The reviewer felt that the Scherzo was “the least distinctive of the four [movements] – rather chirpy, as if written to order, the order that a scherzo had to come in there.” Wittily, they concluded by noting that in the finale, “we were again among the modern steam, but again the end was Bliss and beauty.” Overall, they wanted to “hear [it] again and that frequently.”

A Path Through the Quartet: The Second String Quartet is presented in four movements, although it is possible to analyse it as having five. The opening Allegro con spirito, has four principal themes, however, it is the opening energetic subject, played initially in unison, which dominates this section, and is presented in various guises. The other ideas are a quiet chorale, a rhythmically percussive motif and a “gently flowing tune.” It concludes with a gentle coda. The slow movement begins Sostenuto and is characterised by dotted notes. It is remarkably meditative in effect although there are many soft dissonances. This is followed by a Pui mosso section that increases the intensity and is supported by gruff cello pizzicato and bowed chords. The strings are muted throughout, except for a short, dramatic cello solo. The movement ends quietly. There is a brief pause before the vibrant and bubbly Scherzo, Vivo e con brio, explodes with an upward sweep of arpeggios. Several contrasting, but always rhythmical tunes emerge. The irregular phrase length lends a sense of elasticity to this characteristic music. Bliss uses the opening theme of the Scherzo to create a short, chromatic fugato passage, before recapitulating the opening themes. The trio section, with the tune played on the first violin in harmonics allows the pace to ease a fraction. Once again, this movement closes calmly and quite suddenly. The finale opens with an enthusiastic Larghetto cantabile, which includes a plaintive passage for cello, played “quasi recitativo.” The succeeding Allegro is elaborate in construction. The Quartet closes with an echo of the second subject, but this time played Largamente. Surprisingly the work ends with a whisper, the final chord being in solid F major and played pizzicato.

Bibliography:
Bliss, Arthur, As I Remember (London: Faber and Faber, 1970: Revised and enlarged, Thames Publishing, 1989)
Craggs, Stewart R., Arthur Bliss: A Bio-bibliography (Westport, Connecticut, Greenwood Press, 1988)
Craggs, Stewart R., Arthur Bliss: A Source Book (Aldershot, Scolar Press, 1996)
Foreman, Lewis, Arthur Bliss: Catalogue of the Complete Works (Sevenoaks, Novello, 1980; suppl. 1982)
Roscow, Gregory, ed., Bliss on Music: Selected Writings of Arthur Bliss 1920-1975, (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1991)
The files of Daily Telegraph, The Gramophone, The Musical Times, New York Times, Press and Journal, Radio Times, The Scotsman, The Stage, The Times, record and CD liner notes etc.

To be continued

With thanks to the The Arthur Bliss Society Journal where this essay was first published.

Discovering Arthur Bliss’s Second String Quartet (1950) Part 1

Introduction: This essay concerns the genesis, the context, and the premiere of Arthur Bliss’s Second String Quartet. Included is a discography as well as a single of the first recording by the Griller Quartet, the work’s dedicatees. The composer provided a detailed technical analysis. (Roscow, ed., 1991, p.192-195). I have made much use of this in my “A Path Through the Quartet” below. 

Genesis: There is only one other work listed in the Bliss catalogue shown to have been completed in 1950. (Foreman, 1980, p.113). This was the grand sounding Heritage of Britain which consist of two orchestral signature tunes for BBC Radio. The total duration is 73 seconds. They were first heard during a broadcast on 3 April 1951, (Radio Times, 30 March 1951, p.21) played by Ian Whyte and the BBC Scottish Orchestra. Dutton Epoch have recently issued these two miniatures on CDLX7387.

The previous year (1949) had seen the completion of Bliss’s first opera, The Olympians, with a libretto by J.B. Priestley. Its first night at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden was on 29 September 1949. The same year saw the first screening of the Gainsborough Picture film Christopher Columbus, starring Fredric March in the title role, and Florence Eldridge as Queen Isabella. The final offering that year was the incidental music for Summer Day’s Dream. This play, written by J.B. Priestley, was given its first London performance at the St Martin’s Theatre on 8 September 1949. It starred Herbert Lomas and Andina Mandlova. The plot, set in the future (1975), posits a post-nuclear war scenario, with the British nation returning to a pre-industrial agrarian economy. Bliss’s contribution was Christopher’s Theme, lasting for just over a minute.

In June 1950, Bliss received a Knighthood in the King’s Birthday Honours List. Along with Trudy, they celebrated their Silver Wedding Anniversary. They had been married on 1 June 1925, at the Old Mission, Santa Barbara, California. (Craggs, 1996, p.20f)

Bliss writes (Bliss, 1970, 1989, p.186) “to free myself from brooding over all the hopes and subsequent frustrations associated with The Olympians I retreated into the intimate and private world of chamber music.” The Griller Quartet were “four old friends” of the composer. In 1950 they were celebrating the twenty first anniversary of their “coming together.”. Bliss resolved to give them a “birthday present which they could acknowledge at the Edinburgh Festival that year.” The Quartet was written during the spring and summer of 1950. The result was the “most substantial chamber work that I had attempted.”

Anecdotally, as each movement was completed, it was sent to the Griller Quartet for study and preparation. The complex finale was in rehearsal only a few days before the premiere. (The Stage, 7 September 1950, p.12).

A Question of Numbering: Arthur Bliss composed several essays for this medium. The earliest was the String Quartet in A major, op.4 completed around 1914. The “parts” were published by Stainer and Bell in 1915 but were subsequently withdrawn. (Foreman, 1980, p.46). Two years later, the Fugue for string quartet was entered into the Elgar Fugue Competition. Bliss wrote (Music Student November 1916, p.108) that “I intended to write a phantasy of three movements…but time has only allowed me to complete the first and give an inkling of the second…” It was never published, and the holograph is missing. Around 1923/4 Bliss wrote another string quartet. Foreman (op. cit. p.46) explains that the surviving manuscript “is an unfinished working score and not the fair copy.” Chronologically, this is the “second string quartet.”  There is also a short Allegro in manuscript. This was written in the late-1920s. The first of the “official” String Quartet was commissioned by Elizabeth Sprague Coolidge and was dedicated to her. It was published by Novello in 1942 simply as ‘String Quartet,’ and with the miniature score as ‘String Quartet No.1.’ (Craggs 1996, p.153f)

There is, then, a possibility of confusion over the numbering of Arthur Bliss’s string quartets. Craggs (1996, p.154) refers to the present example as Quartet No.4 for strings. Yet, the miniature score published in 1951 carries the title “Second String Quartet.”

The problem is solved by Lewis Foreman (1980, p.44). He explains that “the identification of a number of manuscripts which have come to light since the composer’s death has resulted in the discovery of the String Quartet written in 1923, previously thought lost. Thus, four quartets are in existence.” Foreman suggests that the quartets should be identified by date of composition. Sadly this suggestion has not generally been taken up. The current situation is that the quartets published as Nos. 1 and 2 are in fact Nos. 3 and 4 respectively.

In this essay I have used the published title, the Second String Quartet.

Excursus 1: The Griller Quartet: The Griller Quartet came together in 1928/29 and survived until 1961 without a change of personnel. The original members were Sidney Griller, (1^st violin), Jack O’Brien, (2^nd violin), Philip Burton, (viola) and Colin Hampton, (cello). All were, or had been, students at the Royal Academy of Music where they were encouraged to play as an ensemble by the violist and teacher Lionel Tertis.

These four musicians were highly skilled at performing the main classical repertoire, but they were especially adept at introducing contemporary music by British and Continental composers. They were soon recognised as one of the foremost English ensembles. On 5 February 1939, the Griller Quartet made their debut in New York. At that event they performed Arnold Bax’s Quartet in G major, No.1, as well as works by Mozart and Haydn.

To help their music making, they moved into the same house. Even marriage did not interrupt this professional menage à quatre. During the Second World War, the members of the Quartet all enlisted in the Royal Air Force, however, they were still able to concertise. After the end of hostilities, the Griller Quartet resumed recitals and returned to the United States on a regular basis.

The Quartet had a yearly residency at the University of California between 1949 and 1961. Several celebrated composers have dedicated music to them, including Darius Milhaud, Ernest Bloch, Roger Sessions and, of course, Arthur Bliss.

In 1960, O’Brien and Burton left the quartet. After some attempts at replacement, Griller finally abandoned the ensemble in 1963.

Bibliography:
Bliss, Arthur, As I Remember (London: Faber and Faber, 1970: Revised and enlarged, Thames Publishing, 1989)
Craggs, Stewart R., Arthur Bliss: A Bio-bibliography (Westport, Connecticut, Greenwood Press, 1988)
Craggs, Stewart R., Arthur Bliss: A Source Book (Aldershot, Scolar Press, 1996)
Foreman, Lewis, Arthur Bliss: Catalogue of the Complete Works (Sevenoaks, Novello, 1980; suppl. 1982)
Roscow, Gregory, ed., Bliss on Music: Selected Writings of Arthur Bliss 1920-1975, (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1991)
The files of Daily Telegraph, The Gramophone, The Musical Times, New York Times, Press and Journal, Radio Times, The Scotsman, The Stage, The Times, record and CD liner notes etc.

To be continued

With thanks to The Arthur Bliss Society Journal where this essay was first published.

Sir Arthur Bliss: Castaway on Desert Island Discs, 1959

On 9 November 1959, the composer Arthur Bliss was a guest of Roy Plumley on the long running radio show Desert Island Discs. In his autobiographical As I Remember (London: Faber and Faber, 1970; revised and enlarged: London, Thames Publishing, 1989, p.278) Bliss recalled that when he appeared on this “fanciful programme” he “chose for [his] first record the Credo from J.S. Bach’s B minor Mass.” He wrote that “when I listen to this, I am filled with such as positive belief, belief in something much greater than the small self, that even in moments of dark depression it is difficult to admit to doubt.”  The version heard on that day’s programme was played by the London Philharmonic Choir and Orchestra, conducted by Albert Coates. And remember, part of that radio show’s ethos was that the complete work was included in the castaway’s possessions, not just the extract played. So, Bliss would have had the entire two hour (nearly) long Mass to get to grips with. 

His second selection is the emotionally sad aria Ach, ich fuhl’s’ from Mozart’s The Magic Flute. It was played from a record made by the distinguished German soprano Irmgard Seefried, accompanied by the Vienna Philharmonic, conducted by Herbert von Karajan. Arthur Bliss’s third piece was the beautiful Pavane pour une infante défunte by Maurice Ravel. It was given a delightful performance by the French pianist and composer Robert Casadesus.

The fourth number is the Dance of the Coachmen and Grooms from Igor Stravinsky’s ballet score Petruska. This vibrant dance comes from the fourth tableau but is usually included in the ballet suite. Leopold Stokowski conducted the Philadelphia Orchestra. It is of interest that Bliss composed four original ballet scores: Adam Zero, Checkmate, The Lady of Shalott and Miracle in the Gorbals.

It is not surprising that one of Bliss’s choices was a Beethoven String Quartet. In this case, op.59, no 3 in C major, the third of his three ‘Rasumovsky’ quartets. It was played by the Koeckert Quartet. As is pointed out in the remarkable guide to chamber music, The Well Tempered String Quartet, the “promise of simplicity implied by the key of C is not well kept.” I do not know what movement (or extract of a movement) was heard on the show; however, the best recalled section is the final fugue, which the above mentioned volume suggests is “not as difficult as it seems the first time it is played through…”

One request that was a little off the beaten track was a recording of the Dawn Chorus made on Bucklebury Common, Berkshire. I assume that it was found in the BBC Sound Archive.

It is not unusual for a composer to select one of his own compositions to be at his side during his island exile. In Bliss’s case it was his Violin Concerto played by Alfredo Campoli accompanied by the London Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by himself. This work has been described as “a sort of Elgar-Walton synthesis.” Sadly, this effective concerto has never really taken off with listeners or concertgoers. It is full of “energy and nervous tension” as well has displaying considerable lyricism. This Concerto was composed during 1953-54 and was premiered on 11 May 1955. It was dedicated to Campoli.

The final choice did surprise me: Arnold Schoenberg’s Variations for orchestra. To be sure, Bliss was aware of the Austrian master’s impact on 20^th century music. And he had met him on several occasions. The recording heard that evening was one issued by Columbia Records in 1958: Robert Craft conducted the Columbia Symphony Orchestra. Written in 1928, it was Schoenberg’s first orchestral essay using his new “method of composing with twelve notes.” Heard in 2023 this work is hardly challenging to many listeners (not a favourite with Classic fM, I guess), but I do wonder what listeners back in 1959 would have made of it. Despite its structural principles, there is much here that is romantic in mood, rather than austere.

Sir Arthur Bliss’s luxury was a telescope. His book (along with the inevitable Complete Works of Shakespeare and the Holy Bible) was a volume on astronomy. His recording to be kept, assuming the other seven were lost in the surf was the aria Ach, ich fuhl’s’ from The Magic Flute.

On 29 July 1972 Arthur Bliss did a reprise of his appearance on Desert Island Discs. Here chose a completely distinct set of musical choices.

Gerald Cumberland on Arthur Bliss: A Humorous Paragraph or Two

In his volume of witty essays, reminiscences and anecdotes, Set Down in Malice (1918) Gerald Cumberland (1879-1926) (pseudonym of Charles Frederick Kenyon) discussed a wide variety of artists, writers and composers. At the time of writing this book, Cumberland was music and drama critic at the Daily Critic.

I am a great fan of composer Arthur Bliss: his music is inspiring, well wrought and always interesting. It is fascinating to read this short, but perfectly entertaining comment. The two pieces of doggerel are enchanting.

MR ARTHUR BLISS IS generally regarded as quite the cleverest of the younger composers. His chief desire, I imagine, is to cut a figure. He certainly cuts one. One hears of him travelling in Bavaria - or is it in Bulgaria? He attends public dinners and makes aggressive speeches. He is very much “in.”

“A page of Mr Bliss’s

Is worth a hundred kisses.

Even a single bar

Goes much too far.”

That is what a lady wrote on the back of a menu card and pushed across the table to me. A few minutes later Mr Bliss rose to his feet, walked behind his chair, pushed it against the table, placed his hands firmly on the chair’s back, drew himself up nobly, and “delivered” a speech… Mr Bliss may be many things, but he is not an after-dinner speaker. He lacks -what does he lack? A certain poise? Urbanity?

“Mr Bliss is never for very long urbane

Because people might judge him suburbane."

To him the most serious moment of a dinner is when the chairman says: “Mr Bliss.” It is also the most serious moment for other people. One cowers. Or one fingers one’s glass. With an air of almost concealed vindictiveness, he tells of the manners and customs of some foreign folk who, it would seem, manage all these things better than we do: “these things” are music, social intercourse, what-not. His voice, tinged with undeniable aristocracy, goes interminably on. Soon he will get to his point, we say. Soon. Soon. What is his point? Lo! he has sat down. What has he been saying? Does anyone know? Anything a propos?

Gerald Cumberland Set Down in Malice, New York, Brentano's, 1919