Alexander Mackenzie’s A Musician’s Narrative Reviewed by Punch

Alexander Campbell Mackenzie (b Edinburgh, 22 Aug 1847; d London, 28 April 1935) was a Scottish composer, who was educated at the Royal Academy of Music, (of which he was later to become the Principal) He had further studies in Germany, where he made the acquaintance of Franz Liszt. (Unlike most of his English contemporaries he was brought up to music as a fiddler and an orchestral player rather than as an organist.) He was an indefatigable organiser both in London and in Scotland and an adventurous conductor. As a composer he endeavoured to blend Scottish nationalism, with advanced German romantic expression. Examples of this fusion are The Cotter's Saturday Night, to a text by Robert Burns, set for chorus and orchestra, his Scottish Rhapsodies and his Pibroch suite for violin). He wrote oratorios which were perhaps less successful, musically, and technically than his orchestral pieces, good deal of effective theatre music. He also composed two operas: The Cricket on the Hearth (1902) and The Eve of St. John (1924) and much chamber music.

A Musician's Narrative by Alexander Campbell Mackenzie is a fascinating account of his life and career. Published by Cassells and Co. London in 1927, it offers insights into his experiences as a violinist, organist, conductor, composer, and educator. The narrative provides a detailed look at his efforts to establish a National Opera in Britain, his interactions with notable figures like Carl Rosa, Franz Liszt and Anton Rubenstein as well as his reflections on the challenges and triumphs of his career. It is an essential read for anyone interested in the history of Victorian and Edwardian British music and Mackenzie's contributions to it.

The British weekly magazine Punch, or The London Charivari, established in 1841 by Henry Mayhew and Ebenezer Landells. Its special brand of satire and humour soon made it popular. Topic covered included social, political, and cultural matters. It was the earliest journal to uses the term “cartoon” in its modern sense.

On 7 December 1927 (p.27) it published this humorous poem as a “review” of Mackenzie’s new volume. It also notes the composer passing his eightieth year.

Mackenzie, good Sir Alexander,

For many years, the wise commander

Of the historic Music school,

Which greatly prospered by his rule,

Has happily been moved to give,

In A Musician's Narrative,

The record of the strenuous part

He played in furthering native art,

As teacher and administrator,

Player, conductor and creator;

Wielding a pen—although he's eighty -

Witty and gay as well as weighty.

Of all the greatest in the muster

That lent the old regime its lustre

He has some first-hand tale to tell,

And tells it excellently well –

Of Liszt and Rubinstein and "Joe,"

And all the stars of long ago.

For, to be frank, our dear Mackenzie

Finds little more than sound and frenzy,

In short, what younger folk call" tripe,"

In music of the latest type.

Here, otherwise benign, and mellow,

He's prone to seeing red and yellow,

And finds a gloomy satisfaction

In noting symptoms of reaction.

With this small cavil,

I commend His genial book (which Cassell's send)

As worthy of an honoured friend,

Known and admired since '84,

Old " Mac," four-square, though now four-score.

“Joe” could be one of a number of characters. Most likely it refers to the great Joseph Joachim (1831-1907) was a Hungarian violinist, conductor, composer, and teacher, and known to Mackenzie.

Wilfred Heaton: Composer – Conductor - Craftsman His Life - His Music

“Why should the Devil have all the best tunes?” Often attributed to the legendary founder of the Salvation Army, William Booth, it may have been the Reformer Martin Luther, Anglican cleric George Whitefield or the English evangelist and hymnist Rowland Hill. To be sure, the Salvation Army (SA) did get good tunes, but at some artistic cost.

Wilfred Heaton (1918-2000) was a distinguished composer, conductor, and teacher, renowned for his contributions to brass band and orchestral music. Born in Sheffield, England, Heaton's musical journey began early, nurtured by his Salvation Army family. He started piano lessons at age eight and soon began writing his own music. His career was marked by his technical brilliance and innovative compositions. He gained an LRAM in piano at nineteen and was employed in a brass instrument manufacturing and repair business while devising songs and band pieces. His works often reflected his strong religious background and philosophical interests. Much of the dynamic of Heaton’s life revolves round the tensions between his Salvation Army background, the impact of the eccentric religionist Rudolf Steiner and his increasing attraction towards a (limited) modernism. In 1971 he replaced John R Carr as bandmaster of the Black Dyke Band for a brief period.

Heaton's success extended beyond brass bands to orchestral, vocal, and chamber music. His music is celebrated for its complexity and sophistication, placing him firmly in the European classical mainstream.

Sadly, little previous study has been done on Heaton’s life and achievement. Prior to this present volume, information had to be gleaned from a few articles in the musical press, such as Paul Hindmarsh’s ‘Wilfred Heaton- An Appreciation’ (The British Bandsman, 2000), Ronald Holz’s ‘Wilfred Heaton and The Salvation Army Reconsidered’ (The British Bandsman, 2004), and Howard Snell’s ‘Wilfred Heaton’ (Brass Band World, 1992 and 2004). A reliable source of information are the liner notes devised by the present author for The Wilfred Heaton Collection. I understand that there was also a dissertation by Philip Harper: Music of Wilfred Heaton, University of Bristol, 1994. The Wilfred Heaton Trust website is a useful source of information. This book, then, is the most detailed examination of Heaton’s life and, especially his music. No other composer working in the brass band world has received this amount of research.

Paul Hindmarsh is a distinguished music producer, journalist, and author, focusing on British music and brass bands. He has produced recordings for over thirty years and is known for his essential catalogue of Frank Bridge’s music and the legacy of Wilfred Heaton. Hindmarsh also established the BBC (now RNCM) Brass Band Festival. He has received several Sony Award nominations for his radio programmes and international prizes for his industry as a producer and curator of band music.

This new book introduces the reader to the world of Wilfred Heaton. Structurally, the volume divides into two main parts: biographical and studies of selected compositions. These are complimented by a ‘Catalogue Raisonné,’ a foreword by Edward Gregson and a preface by Bryan Stobart of the William Heaton Trust. The book concludes with a ‘Select Bibliography’ and ‘Indices’ of the music and general topics.

Interestingly, Paul Hindmarsh states the main two-fold division was not his first choice. Normally he would have used as his “preferred methodology in illuminating life and work was to connect musical commentary to inspiration, composition and reception.” Shortly before his death, Heaton told the author that he wished to keep his life and music separate. Yet, on progressing his studies Hindmarsh realised that he was right: both facets were indeed uncoordinated.

The first part of the book is ‘…On the Road.’  This is the biographical section which includes recollections of family, friends, bandsmen and colleagues, information from correspondence and archive documents, as well as a running text. For example, a long recollection is quoted by Dr Ken Tout, former Lance Corporal in the army, and friend, which deals with Heaton’s wartime service.

The second section, ‘…Work in progress…’ is a masterclass in description and analysis. Hindmarsh explains: “My commentaries adopt a narrative methodology. When appropriate I offer personal interpretations of descriptive or programmatic content but always based on musical evidence. To that end I employ some technical terms that require explanation, particularly regarding matters of tonality and key.” There are twelve “Studies” with each one looking at a series of Heaton’s output in largely chronological order. This comprises Juvenilia, Apprentice pieces with brass, and Transformations. Many compositions have been examined, with plenty of musical examples and formal overviews provided, with the single aim of making Heaton’s oeuvre better known.

As with all good preachers, Paul Hindmarsh resolves Heaton’s “composing activity” into three main phases. The “early” period which runs from his first listed work, The Army’s Marching Song, written aged twelve years, to music concluded in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War. It includes much specifically devised for the Salvation Army. The “middle” period is when Heaton adopted a “self-styled search for a more contemporary yet ‘comfortable’ language.” The finest piece from this period is Celestial Prospect (c.1950, rev.1986) as well as sketches for his well-known Contest Music (1973). The final phase was a time of consolidation, “repurposing and revising” older scores from the 1940s and 1950s. Yet, there was a final flowering with his magnificent Variations, which were left unfinished at the time of his death in 2000. The score was completed by Howard Snell.

Talking to the present author, I discovered that all SA published band music must include hymn tunes or Christian references that are familiar to their members. Composers and bands are encouraged to produce music that reflects the spiritual work they support. The whole point is “soul saving” which involved an uncomplicated approach to composition in which melody dominated. In the band pieces the messages contained in the text associated with the ‘borrowed’ tune was as important as the tune itself. Jazz, big band, and extended tonality were anathema. Another negative impact on composers was that they must deny their own musical personality. Many of Heaton’s efforts were declined by the editorial board, despite showing great skill and invention.

For years this stylistic conservatism hobbled musical progress. This caused a sizeable number of excellent brass band composers to leave the movement. Although this aesthetic censorship is less of a problem today, all new writing is still “vetted” for its suitability for publishing and performing in the SA setting. What is wanted is Christian Gebrauchsmusik. Many of Heaton’s brass band pieces have religious titles, simply because he was creating music that he hoped would be played by the Salvation Army. Hindmarsh explained to me that “the majority…include some kind of hymn reference - he liked to keep them simple and then play all kinds of compositional games, which proved too “progressive” for the SA in the 1940s and early 1950s.”  Interestingly, selected works I listened to whilst preparing this review, had religious titles but definitely employed secular trimmings.

Into this chronology must be fitted his reaction to Rudolf Steiner. It is important to note that Steiner did not see his spirituality as a religion or denomination but as a philosophical system. As Heaton recalled: “All compositional ambitions were brought to a halt through my contact with Steiner’s Anthroposophical Movement. Involvement in this seemed to dry me up. I lost the impulse to compose. Such an activity seemed unimportant compared with the spiritual impulses offered by Steiner." How sad.

It must not be forgotten that Heaton penned several non-brass band works of a secular nature. These included a Suite for orchestra (1950), a Rhapsody for Oboe and String Orchestra (1952), Three Pieces for Piano (1954), a major Piano Sonata (1950s) and a Little Suite for Recorder and Piano (1955). All of these are given detailed studies by Hindmarsh.

A satisfactory illustration of the process of ‘transforming’ older music is the Piano Sonata. The genesis of this was a brass Scherzo written in 1937. It then re-appeared in 1950 as Heaton’s first orchestral work, the Suite for orchestra. It was reinvented around the same time as the Sonata, before appearing as the Partita for brass band in 1984. Study VII gives a detailed account of this process. I have not heard the Sonata, but Hindmarsh states that it is the most “radical of the three iterations in language and texture.” Furthermore, the “result is an experimental opus…complex and formidably challenging to play.” Certainly, looking at the musical examples in the book would suggest that it was as advanced as much that was being produced in Britain at that time. I understand that Divine Art records will be issuing a CD featuring this Sonata, along with songs and other piano music, later in 2025. The pianist will be Murray McLachlan.

Taking another sample, in Study X ‘Contest Music’s Hidden Tunes,’ Hindmarsh explores its origin which dated back to the 1950s and Heaton’s association with Mátyás Sieber. It began as a series of exercises in which he developed “experiments in alternative approaches to thematic development.” In 1973 Heaton began to synthesise these ‘sketches.’ Hindmarsh notes there are three movements, with the first “personalising classic sonata form, [and] deploying thematic fragments to create a compact, quasi-palindromic design.” The Adagio derived from an old student exercise that “rhapsodises” rather than traditionally “develops.”  And the finale, which “purports to be a rondo” is bright and has a “muscular big-band aura.” Contest Music was designed to do just that: be used at brass band competitions. It was rejected. Hindmarsh then examines each movement for a series of hidden allusions to other folk’s music. He discovers nods to Hindemith, the folksong Widdicombe Fair, and Handel’s hymn tune Gopsal (Rejoice! The Lord is King). Referring again to the Adagio, it is suggested that the rhapsodic nature of the music may owe something to Swiss-born, German artist Paul Klee’s contention that “Drawing is like taking a line for a walk…moving freely without a goal.” Heaton takes his own tune for a stroll, “moving against an elusive harmonic background with the support of beautifully voiced countersubjects.” Finally, the Vivo was dedicated to Stan Kenton, the American bandleader. The various thematic transformations that make up this movement’s material are explored.

Sadly, it was not used in 1973, due to the authorities deciding it was too “challenging” in its style and duration. The late Elgar Howarth considered it a masterpiece when he gave the first concert performance in 1976. Fortunately, it became popular as a concert piece and was eventually used in a contest during October 1982. The winner was the Cory Band.

The Catalogue Raisonné is detailed. It provides the usual information: date of composition, publication, and premiere performance (where known). Each entry has been allocated a “WH” number. Within each genre, works are presented alphabetically. Details of the ‘First Recording’ are given. It is interesting to note that virtually all the brass band music has at least one recording. This is not the case with other categories, such as the orchestral repertoire.

The bibliography is only a page long, which sadly reflects the lack of scholarly interest shown in Heaton up to the present.

A comprehensive general index is especially helpful in locating detailed information about Wilfred Heaton’s life and times. The convenient Index of Works includes notable references to original compositions, revisions, alternative versions, and arrangements by others.

It should be noted that PHM Publishing & Productions is Paul Hindmarsh’s self-publishing company. He typeset the text, figures, and illustrations, as well as laying it out for the printers. This is a most sophisticated and tasteful book. It is sturdy and font-wise perfect for the eyes. The text is beautifully illustrated with many photographs of Wilfred Heaton, his family, associated locations, and sundry luminaries of the brass band world.

This book will be essential to all enthusiasts of brass band music as well as British music in general. It will serve as a source book for anyone wishing to get to know Wilfred Heaton’s work. Programme note authors and commentators will find it an encyclopaedic treasure trove. Social and church historians will appreciate the discussion of problems that can be caused when conservative (with a small ‘c’) dogmatics meets artistic freedom.

Wilfred Heaton: Composer – Conductor - Craftsman His Life - His Music
Paul Hindmarsh
Hardback, 464 pages
Published 2025
ISBN: 978 1 03690 132 5
PHM Publishing & Production

Cyril Watters: Bargain Basement (1949)

A ‘Bargain Basement’ usually implies a section of a department store (such as the ‘basement’) where merchandise is sold at reduced prices. I doubt that Selfridges, Harrods or Fortnum & Mason will have much in this line. Yet many shops do, especially during winter and summer sales. Cyril Watters’s eponymous piece evokes something more Oxford Street than Knightsbridge.

Cyril Watters (1907-1984) was a British composer, arranger, and pianist known for his significant contributions to light music. Born in London, he displayed a strong passion for music from an early age, staging an operetta at the age of twelve. He began his career playing piano at local events and later joined the New Shaftesbury Dance Band. In 1932, Watters won a Daily Mail ‘New Rhythm’ contest, which encouraged him to pursue music full-time. He joined Lawrence Wright’s Music Publishers as an arranger after the Second World War and later collaborated with publishers such as Chappell. Over his career, he composed over 250 mood music pieces for radio, television, and film companies. Cyril Watters served as Secretary of the Light Music Society in the 1960s, where he supported his fellow composers.

One of his most notable works is the Willow Waltz, which won him an Ivor Novello Award in 1960 and was used as the signature tune for the BBC television serial The World of Tim Frazer. Other once popular numbers include Piccadilly Spree, Plain Sailing and Rio Rhythm.

Bargain Basement is an ebullient piece of music from the first note to the last. Scurrying strings and brittle percussion give the impression of hurry lest a bargain be missed. The middle section is a little more relaxed, and possibly even hints at romance with maybe just a moment for a cuppa. The music fairly swings along before coming to a vibrant close with a reprise of the opening theme. The orchestral score was published by Boosey and Hawkes in 1949.

Cyril Watters Bargain Basement can be heard on YouTube, here.  The work was performed by the New Concert Orchestra conducted by Jack Leon. It was originally released as the B side on the Boosey and Hawkes record label, O.2150 circa 1950. The A side was Donald Thorne's Dance of The Three Blind Mice.

Charles Villiers Stanford: Rondo in F for cello and orchestra (1869

I recently [re] discovered one of Charles Villiers Stanford’s (1852-1924) rarer compostions. The Rondo in F major for cello and orchestra was completed on 17 August 1869, when the composer was only seventeen years old. The work was dedicated to one Wilhelm Elsner.

Wilhelm Elsner (1826-84) was a celebrated cellist and Professor of Music at Dublin Academy of Music (Later the Royal Irish Academy of Music). He was principle Violoncellist of the Philharmonic & Antient Concerts, Dublin by 1857. Jeremy Dibble (Liner Notes Hyperion CDA67859) reminds the listener that although Stanford did not study at the RIAM, he did know members of the staff, including Elsner. Sadly, Wilhelm Elsner drowned in the Irish Sea on 15 July 1884, when he fell overboard from the SS Lily bound from Dún Laoghaire to Holyhead. He was travelling to Germany with his wife for a holiday. His body later washed ashore at Port Erin Bay, Isle of Man.

At least two numbers were written by Stanford for Elsner. The first was a song, O Domine Jesu which was given in Dublin on 23 September 1870. The soloist was the operatic soprano, Thérèse Tietjens, with the cellist playing an obligato part. The second was the present Rondo in F major.

Dibble (2024, p.44) notes that this Rondo belongs “to the genre of short, independent bravura pieces by those such as Mendelssohn, Moscheles, Hummel, Litolff, Weber, Herz and Thalberg that flourished in the nineteenth century.”

The piece opens with a slow introduction, typical of the era. The work is formally correct with an ABACADA design. Dibble notes the “deft touches” such as the “central lyrical episode which incorporates a cadenza” and the final episode displays a “quasi-operatic interlude before launching into the coda.” This is marked ‘come recitativo.’

Paul Rodmell, (2002, p.41) states that in the Rondo, “Stanford’s approach to harmony is based on a classical simplicity with modulations to the predictable keys of D minor and C major, and this lack of complication is emphasised by a strong preference for four-and eight-bar phrases, and clearly delineated closures.” He insists that “These two factors in particular imbue [the work] with a simplicity almost as if one could see the cogs turning in Stanford’s mind, as he employed rules of form, phrasing and harmony which were learnt and generally understood but then applied without question.” This criticism is a little harsh. The Rondo may not be an early masterpiece, but it progresses well, offers interesting melodies, and is surprisingly subtle for a young composer.

In 2011, Hyperion records issued a remarkable album in The Romantic Cello Concerto series. This CD featured Stanford’s Cello Concerto in D minor, the Irish Rhapsody No.3, op.137, the late Ballata and Ballabile, op.160 and the Rondo in F major. The cellist was Gemma Rosefield, and the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra was conducted by Andrew Manze.

Andrew Achenbach (The Gramophone, December 2011, p.66) considered that the entire album was “Another Hyperion winner!”  As for the Rondo, he stated that it was a “conspicuously precocious achievement for a 16-year-old.”

It is not known if the Rondo was performed prior to the Hyperion recording. However, Chirstopher Howell (MusicWeb International, 12 March 2012) suggests that if “Dubliners of the day did hear it, they might have found it a little disconcerting. Each return of the rondo comes, not so much with classical inevitability, but slyly creeping in after an episode that has attempted to lead elsewhere. Today this is all rather disarming.”

So perhaps the piece is not as textbook as Paul Rodmell suggests.

Bibliography:
Dibble, Jeremy, Charles Villiers Stanford: Man and Musician, revised and expanded edition, Boydell Press, 2002, 2024.

Rodmell, Paul, Charles Villiers Stanford, Ashgate, Aldershot, 2002.

Listen to the Hyperion recording of Stanford’s Rondo in F major for cello and orchestra on YouTube, here.

It's not British, but...Bach's A Musical Offering for organ

At the back of my mind, I have always thought of Bach’s Musikalisches Opfer (A Musical Offering) BWV 1079 (1747) as being an academic work that may be an “Everest” in technique but lacked a sense of enjoyment and pleasure, and dare I say, cohesion. In fact, I would have agreed with Hubert Parry that it “is not of very great musical interest, but its general interest in connection with the personality of the composer is supreme.” This CD has allowed me to see this masterpiece in a different light that has given me a new enthusiasm for it. Up until this release my “go-to” edition was the Karl Richter 1963 recording on the Archiv Label (reissued as a part of the magnificent 1975 “complete” edition).

The story of the creation, performance, and interpretation of J.S. Bach’s A Musical Offering is a little convoluted to say the least. Essentially, it is a series of canons and ricercares (an early type of fugue) based on a single theme. Whilst JSB was visiting his son Carl Philip Emanuel, Kapellmeister at the court of Frederick the Great, the monarch invited Bach père to his palace in Potsdam, where he showed him a theme that he had devised. Bach was asked to improvise a six-part fugue on this subject and declined. But he did immediately invent a three-part fugue instead. On returning home, he decided to revisit the theme and created a large-scale work which did indeed include a six-part ricercare or fugue. It also contained a Trio Sonata originally scored for flute, violin, and continuo. The score was duly engraved by Schübler and was presented to Frederick. There have been several attempts at producing a definitive interpretation.

The advertising for the current CD explains that although scholars have solved the problem of instrumentation, there have been other “realisations” including Anton Webern’s orchestration of the Ricercar a 6 and Leslie Howard’s orchestral version of the entire work produced in 1990. What is heard on this disc is Cindy Castillo’s ‘take’ on A Musical Offering, which she has realized for the organ. She has reimagined the work to mark the completion of the Dominique Thomas instrument in Eglise Saint-Loup, Namur. This organ has been rebuilt in the Baroque style prevalent in Saxony and Thuringia in Bach’s day.

The most important feature of this new recording is the order of the movements. There have been various re-orderings, but it has been common for the canons to be played one after the other. This is what has always put me off this composition.

The record producer, Jérôme Lejeune, explains that they adopted “a very daring formula” which he suggests “will no doubt provoke a great number of reactions.”  They created a “flow that integrates what appears to be irreconcilable elements. This includes the Italian Sonata, the two ricercares, and the canons. To this end they open the recital with the Ricercar s 3 and close it with the monumental Ricercar a 6. And then they split up the Sonata into its four discreet movements, interspersed with the canons acting as a “commentary” on the proceedings.

The sound quality is perfect, with remarkable clarity throughout. The progress of the extraordinary counterpoint is crystal clear. The registrations are often magical. Even the “Canons” which I have always regarded as dry and dusty, find their valued place in this restructuring.

Cindy Castillo is a distinguished organist, known for her innovative cross-genre performances combining organ music with dance, video, and electronic music. She has won numerous awards, including first prize at the National Axion Classics competition and has been an artist-in-residence at the Sapporo Concert Hall in Japan. Castillo teaches at the Higher Institute of Music and Pedagogy in Namur and is the titular organist at the National Basilica of the Sacred Heart in Brussels.

The liner notes are in three parts, with a general introduction by Cindy Castillo and a discussion of the playing order by Jérôme Lejeune. There is a note on the instrument as well as the organ specification. No details of the organist are given. They are printed in English, German and French.

A Musical Offering remains a testament to Bach's ingenuity and his ability to transform a relatively simple musical idea into a profound and elaborate work. The present edition is set fair to make this “Offering” a more approachable and satisfying experience.

Track Listing:
Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750)
Musikalisches Opfer BWV 1079 (1747)
Cindy Castillo (organ)
rec. April 2024, Église Saint-Loup, Namur, France
Ricercar RIC472

The Rich Heritage Left by William Baines Part II

The second and final part of A. Walter Kramer’s article on the English composer William Baines. It was published in Musical America (September 1933 p.24).

PARADISE GARDENS gives us pause. Here is a ten-page work, the most extended of Baines’s pieces an unrivalled expression of pure poesy. From the most natural thematic fragment, with which the piece opens, Baines has built up a structure that has organic feeling, just proportion, and a fetching undertone. John Rennie, in an article in Musical Opinion, [1] tells us that “the grandeur of York Minster and the limpid river bathed in a flood of golden glory from the setting sun inspired Baines to write this arresting composition.” [2] I can well believe it. Technically it demands a gifted player and is truly a concert piece in every detail Baines was himself an accomplished pianist and gave recitals in the North of England even after his long confinement in hospital. Of the other difficult pieces I would speak of the Three Concert Studies, in which the spirit of poesy is wonderfully mated with the spirit of the piano. The idiom is new, the treatment of the instrument similarly so.

The two pieces called Tides; the first The Lone Wreck with its vast and vague sense of wandering, in sombre E Flat Minor, is a Lento assai and the second Goodnight to Flamboro.’ an Andante affettuoso in C, both superbly fashioned, making a substantial program number. I doubt whether the composer’s meaning in them reveals itself as definitely as in some of his other pieces: yet they are undoubtedly worthwhile. In the set of three Milestones there is a two-page Angelus, dedicated to the composer’s mother, which falls like a benediction on the ear. Here, over an ostinato A flat in octaves in the left hand, Baines has uttered a prayer, so tender and fragile, so unmistakably the still small voice that whispers of immortality, that player and listener are both caught in its spell. There is a most penetrating simultaneous use of D and D Flat Major in the final line. One recalls what Strauss has done with the same unrelated tonalities in Don Quixote. I find it impossible not to mention the Ave! Imperator and Milestones (A Walking Tune), which last also gives this set its collective title. They are worthy companions of the Angelus. Some will come nearest to understanding the language of Baines in his Silverpoints, in which the first, Labyrinth, is communicative by its architectonic design, Water-Pearls by its pianistic delicacy, The Burning Joss-Stick by its serene Orientalism, [and] Floralia by its joyous rhythmic traceries.

But the Seven Preludes seems to be the work that reveals the heart of Baines to more of us than any single set of pieces. Here in two-page, three-page pieces and one of four pages he has spoken with an eloquence and a variety that stamp him the creative musician There is one Prelude, No. 3, marked Very slowly, with devotion, which is only two lines long. But it is a complete story none the less. Warmly inflected, it suggests the lofty slow music of Elgar and there is a phrase in the third measure from the end that makes me think of a measure in Hugo Wolf's Verborgenheit. [3] But let there be no mis understanding of my mention of this Baines is always himself. Like Wolf, he is a composer of restraint, of that small band which disdains the flourish, which goes its own way. This tiny prelude is a true expression of an intimate mood, filled with contemplative English beauty. It follows No. 2 of the set, which suggests, as the poetic lines placed at the beginning state, the peace of a convent garden “only broken by the love-song of a blackbird as he sang to the lilies.” The motive on which it is built is, note for note, identical with that of the once much played Communion in G for organ by Batiste. [4] But Baines’s prelude is a thrilling example of how little the notes themselves count; for he has made of this motive a thing ft rare beauty, so unlike the banal organ piece mentioned, that few listening to it would even note the curious coincidence of the thematic basis. There are two other sets, Pictures of Light, and Twilight Pieces. I have not seen them. But I dare say they are admirable, too. [5]

The Three Concert Studies were the last to be issued in the composer’s lifetime. Baines was unable, on account of illness, to correct the proofs of these Mr. Dawson, to whom he dedicated his Silverpoints, did that for him. Over a long period of reviewing, | do not know when I have been more deeply impressed than with this virtually unknown music of William Baines. I am not proclaiming him a genius, nor issuing a call of “Hats off!” But I would ask that those, who look for the finer utterances in contemporary piano music, give his music their serious consideration, and if they find in it, as have, that true sense of beauty, that they bring it before their audiences, so that a young British musician, who wrote with high ideals, will neither be for gotten nor remain unknown. The idiom is mew, yes, even after fifteen or more years have passed. It is not the easiest idiom to penetrate. But a loving approach will aid in the unfoldment and there will be seen the flame that burned brightly for so short a time, and which, to my mind, left its mark indelibly on these few but precious pages.

Notes:

[1] Rennie, John, William Baines, a tone poet of the piano, Musical Opinion January 1930. Reprinted in booklet form by Elkin & Co. Ltd.

[2] Baines wrote: "there was a lovely view, overlooking the gardens of the Station Hotel [in York]. You looked through thick green foliage on to the grounds, which were beautifully laid out with flowers - and in the centre a little fountain was playing. A perfect blue sky, and the sun shining low - made indeed a grand picture." Sadly, much of the ‘Paradise Gardens’ has been turned into a car park.

[3] Hugo Wolf's (1860-1903) "Verborgenheit" (1888-89) is a lyrical and introspective song, expressing longing and desire for seclusion, set to Eduard Mörike's poetry.

[4] Communion in G by French composer and organist, Antoine Édouard Batiste (1826) is a serene and contemplative organ piece, reflecting the composer's Romantic style. It is part of his "50 Pièces d'Orgue."

[5] Both Pictures of Light and Twilight Pieces were published posthumously by Elkin, in 1927 and 1923, respectively.

Concluded

 

The Rich Heritage Left by William Baines Part I

William Baines (1899-1922) was an English composer and pianist known for his prolific output despite his short life. Born in Horbury, Yorkshire, he came from a musical family; his father was a cinema pianist and organist. Baines began piano lessons at an early age and composed his first pieces, aged twelve. He studied at the Yorkshire Training College of Music in Leeds and later moved to York, where he gave his first public piano recital at 18. His compositions, numbering over 150, were mostly piano miniatures inspired by the natural world. Notable works include "Chimes," "The Coloured Leaves," and "Dreaming Little Imps." Baines' career was cut short by tuberculosis, and he passed away at 23. His Symphony in C Minor was composed at 17 and premiered posthumously in 1991.

A. Walter Kramer, born Arthur Walter Kramer on September 23, 1890, in New York City, was an American music critic, music publisher, and composer. He was taught music by his father and took violin lessons from Carl Hauser and Richard Arnold. Kramer graduated from the College of the City of New York in 1910. He contributed to Musical America from 1910 to 1922 and served as its editor from 1929 to 1936.

The following article by A. Walter Kramer appeared in Musical America (September 1933 p.24)

ONE day, several years ago, while reading an English musical magazine, I was attracted by an advertisement which listed some compositions by a composer whose name was quite new to me. It was not only the name but the dates of his birth and death, printed under the name, which made me pause, subject, like most of us, to the sympathy aroused for those whose life is cut off almost before it has begun. Those dates were 1899-1922. Here clearly, I thought, was another victim of that bitter chapter in world history, the war, which those who promulgated, but not those who fought it, insist on calling ‘great.’ I read in the announcement that he had composed principally for the piano: just a sheaf of works were listed, their titles in no way unusual, yet something about them held me. Due to the press of more immediate duties, I was unable then to look at this music. But a year later I returned to it and had his published music sent to me, also as much about him as could be available on one whose biography was at most a brochure. I knew, from the moment I saw the advertisement mentioned above, that I would give some attention to this young British composer. Something indefinable assured me of what turned out to be a very definite interest. I asked his publisher, W. W. A. Elkin, [1] one of the ablest men in the field in England, who throughout his long and distinguished career has shown his idealism and sportsmanship in taking up composers of rare talent, to send me a photograph of this young composer. And when I saw the face, I knew that in this wistful countenance was mirrored a poet’s soul.

Then one day I sat down to read the music. I sensed something of disappointment. I was not surprised; it was but natural. It had occurred to me, and to many others before, to be expectant, only to be let down. To be sure, I had not in this case been told that the composer was “the most important talent since,” or anything like that to impress me. Nevertheless, I had led myself to expect, which was in its way just as bad and, also, I was on my guard not to allow to influence me the fact that two decades and three years were all the time allotted to him on this sphere. I am of those who will never forgive the literary critics, who in 1914 made the grave error of hailing Rupert Brooke a Thomas Chatterton! Who is the young English composer? you will ask. A simple name, William Baines, known, I am almost certain, to but a few of those who read these lines. From the material which I have assembled I learn that he was born at Horbury, in Yorkshire, on March 26, 1899, that his father was musical director of a moving picture theatre, what they call a cinema in England, that he enlisted in the British Army, was taken ill after three weeks of military training, spent eight months in a hospital, but never regained his health. He died on Nov. 6, 1922. What a brief span for composing! In spite of this, Baines was able to leave behind a small amount of individual music, for the piano, all of it that I have seen published by Elkin & Co. Ltd., in London. (New York: Galaxy Music Corporation). There are Silverpoints, four pieces, Tides (The Lone Wreck, Goodnight to Flamboro’), Seven Preludes, Milestones (Three Pieces), Paradise Gardens and the Three Concert Studies (Exaltation, The Naiad and Radiance). [2] Examining these, in the main, brief pieces, one is impressed perhaps most strikingly by two qualities, which all of them exhibit. These are their extraordinarily personal harmonic garb and their never-failing vitality. To me these constitute a claim to attention. Add to this that they are music indisputably conceived for the piano, that they could have been planned for no other instrument and would have little point, or at least would lose much of their real character, if transcribed for other media, and there is all the more wonder that the contemporary world of music is not better acquainted with them.

Let me make clear that there has been a certain recognition of the music of William Baines in his native England. There the concert pianist, Frederick Dawson sponsored this music, which was first championed by the late Dr A. Eaglefield Hull [3] in an article in The Bookman in April 1922. L. Dunton Green [4] had also praised him about that time. But the general public has not responded as it should to the finely integrated productions of a youth who, I am almost certain, was touched with the Promethean fire. There have been many who have felt a Scriabin influence in Baines’s music, witnessed, they hold, by his harmonic scheme bearing points of similarity to the music of the gifted, and still unappreciated, Russian, who labored so tirelessly with his theories of sight and sound. But we have it on excellent authority that Baines lived and died without having known a page of Scriabin’s music! Were there time and space I would feel it a privilege to discuss every one of these superb piano compositions, to point to the inevitably sure impress of conspicuous talent that one finds in them. But I can only speak of a few, those which are an ornament to British contemporary piano music.

Notes:

[1] William W. A. Elkin (1861-1937). Elkin & Co was a small family-owned London music publisher that was started in 1903 by Robert Elkin. The Elkin family sold their catalogue and company to Novello & Co in the 1960's. During the first four decades of the 20th century Elkin was a prolific publisher of mainly short works by contemporary British composers for piano or voice and piano. Major composers in their listings were Cyril Scott, William Baines, Geoffrey Bush, C.S. Lang, and Roger Quilter. (From IMSLP)

[2] Silverpoints (1921), Tides (1920) Seven Preludes (1919), Milestones (1920), Paradise Gardens (1918-19) and the Three Concert Studies (1919-20)

[3] Arthur Eaglefield Hull (1876-1928) was an English music critic, writer, composer, and organist. He founded the British Music Society and edited several music publications. He wrote biographies of the composers Scriabin and Cyril Scott.

[4] From the Times obituary 1 January 1934: Mr. Louis Grein, who lost his life in the aeroplane disaster, was the brother of Mr. J. T. Grein, the dramatic critic, and was well known in London musical circles as "Dunton Green," the music critic. He contributed regularly to The Chesterian and occasionally to other musical periodicals; he was London Correspondent for. important musical reviews in Berlin, Paris, and Turin…He was a good linguist and a man of wide culture and experience, open-minded, judicious, and of genial personality.

 

To be continued…

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

British Cello Works: Volume 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alun Hoddinott: Intrada for organ 1967

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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