Britten Appears - and inspires

This year marks the centenary of the birth of Britain's most bankable composer (as the receipts show), Benjamin Britten. British critics have long agonised over our country's seeming inability to sell our own composers abroad. Ben is the exception. He sells. As I'm slightly ambivalent about Britten's music myself, I hope this year will also sell him to me.

As a first step in celebrating the Britten centenary (which BBC Radio 3 is already fully in the swing of), I want to talk about a piece of his that I'm already sold on - the Hymn to St. Cecilia, Op.27. 

Written in the early 1940s, it seems to me to be one of Ben's most beautiful and enduring works. He was taken with the idea of hymning the patron saint of music given that he himself was born on her saints day. Setting W.H. Auden and written for unaccompanied chorus, its opening bars initiate us into the delights of its main theme. This dancing tune, introduced by women's voices over a sequential skeleton of itself (built on interlocking falling fourths) sung by the men, acts as a refrain ("Blessed Cecilia/Appear in visions to all musicians/Appear and inspire"), sung in unison at the close of the piece's first section (based on the same tune), being re-harmonised at the end of the second section, being developed in the third, then closing the piece gently. It's a magical idea and its nature gives rise to many enchantments of harmony. The second section sounds for all the world like a (very fast) children's round and is a breath of dancing joy until the breaking-in of Blakean experience at its close. The third section is the most complex part of the score, contrapuntal and dominated by a descending, trudging ostinato. Despair, however, is banished as the opening mood, reintroduced ravishingly by a solo soprano, carries us towards the luminous closing pages. 

Is it the Englishman in me that responds so strongly to this piece? Is this one of those pieces the rest of the world take to too, or not?

Symphonies and Requiems

Benjamin Britten thought his superb Sinfonia da Requiem too short a score to call a symphony and yet it is one of his most symphonic works. Though guided by the particular moods of three sections of the requiem mass, the Sinfonia also makes that most traditional of symphonic journeys, from darkness to light, and does so through dynamic thematic working, a clear tonal plan centred on D and a continuous three-movement structure that consists of two outer slow movements framing a central scherzo. 

The opening movement, Lacrymosa, is a Mahlerian dirge of considerable power. It opens to a pounding assertion of the tonic note before a muted march begins with a theme introduced by the cellos. This theme, syncopated and strong on the interval of a second, is answered by a tense four-note bassoon figure. These two ideas duopolize the movement gently but grimly throbbing early stages, climaxing magnificently. The movement's second section opens to a sequence of alternating major and minor chords high in the flutes and low on the trombones. Eventually a new theme, strong on the interval of a seventh, joins in an intense development-like slow crescendo at the peak of which the pounding rhythm of the opening returns and drives the Lacrymosa to a thrilling climax where major and minor again clash.

The second movement, Dies Irae, follows straight on. Britten himself called it a 'Dance of Death' and his model is clearly the archetypal sardonic Mahler scherzo. A sinister fluttering flute is its starting point, introducing the movement's main motif. Other short figures follow, including a tarentella tune on trumpet. The trio section sets an eerie saxophone tune against fierce martial rhythms. The scherzo's close is a remarkable fragmentation, a break down, a dissolution...On first hearing this passage struck me as being the work's most original passage.

The final Requiem aeternam emerges from these ruins. This deeply beautiful movement's main theme is a somewhat Eastern-sounding melody in bright D major sung by a trio of flutes and made magical by the soft collisions of their seconds over a quietly revolving bass-line played by harp and bass clarinet. Horns give them their blessing, warmly. This peaceful music has a ritualistic character. In contrast, the highly Mahlerian central passage, with its long, yearning melody and romantic warmth feels full of human passion. Britten brings this to a glorious climax. When the ritualistic music resumes this warmth lingers on courtesy of a counter-melody on solo violin. The Sinfonia da Requiem ends quietly. 

This masterpiece is Britten at his finest.

The Sinfonia da Requiem was commissioned from Britten rather bizarrely by the Japanese government in 1940. I've never quite got my head round Britten's acceptance of that commission. Swiss composer Arthur Honegger wrote his Symphony No.3 (Liturgique), widely considered to be his symphonic masterpiece, at the end of the war and the work evinces not a small degree of horror and despair at humanity's dark depths. It's a bleak piece then but it closes in a spirit that can best be described as tentatively hopeful. It has clear connections to Britten's piece, as you will hear. Its subtitle derives from its drawing on sections from the requiem mass - as with the Sinfonia da Requiem. 

The fierce first movement, Dies Irae, evokes humanity's torment in the face of barbarity, mechanisation and suffering - in the words of the composer. As a musical experience, however, it's exciting stuff (flippant as that may sound to say) - rather like the comparably mechanically-driven scherzos of Shostakovich. Darkly-orchestrated, grippingly-argued music, striking in its material, somewhat grotesque, strongly grim, it turns toughness into an enjoyable listen. (Think Hieronymus Bosch!)

The second movement, De Profundis clamavi, is the symphony's adagio - a movement of deep lyricism, pleading most beautifully. It proves Honegger to be a true master. Though complex in its harmony at times, you can tell that it is ultimately in E major.

The finale, Dona nobis pacem, is meant to evoke a future of slavery for humanity under mechanised collectivism - a nightmare vision indeed. However, having an exciting theme and a first-rate main theme, Honegger's magnificent music might make you feel that, perhaps, the coming Hell-on-Earth has compensations, especially when the Devil can swing! The nightmare has a consolatory coda though which Honegger said was just a Utopian fantasy not a likely reality - a quiet, slow section, serenely lyrical and beautiful, with flute and piccolo evoking the 'bird of peace' against warm strings. 

This masterpiece is Honegger at his finest. 

Lift up your heads...

Jessica Duchen recently put in a plea for something other than Handel's Messiah at this time of year:

But just every so often, wouldn't you like to hear something else instead, or even as well? Leave aside obvious substitutes like Bach’s Christmas Oratorio, Britten’s A Ceremony of Carols and much nice music by John Rutter; as for The Nutcracker or The Four Seasons – Tchaikovsky and Vivaldi are great, but enough’s enough.

(Amusingly, BBC Radio 3 is broadcasting Messiah tonight and broadcast Bach's Christmas Oratorio last night.)

I can't say that I mind one bit that Messiah, the Christmas Oratorio and the rest keep coming around almost with the regularity of Merry Xmas Everybody, Fairytale of New York or Lonely this Christmas, but I'm all for adding to the list of seasonal favourites. Jessica offered an intriguing list of substitutes that have been "shouldered aside by wall-to-wall Hallelujah Choruses" and inspired me to add a few suggestions of my own:  

Byrd: O magnum mysterium

Elizabethan composer William Byrd's Christmas motet is one of his loveliest pieces. There are many magical moments, including the lovely harmonic modulations during the fourths-based sequences at "et animalia", the attractive overlapping phrases at "Beata virgo" and the enchanting rising-scale figures at the setting of "Ave Maria". Byrd repeats the "Beats virgo" section at the end. 

Schutz: Weihnachtshistorie (The Christmas Story)

From 17th Century Germany, Heinrich Schutz's style can be described (with the broadest of brush strokes) as half way between Monteverdi and Bach and his telling of the Christmas story is very special. Between its introductory and closing choruses come eight set piece 'interludes', connected by recitative from the tenor narrator. The Angel (sung by a soprano) has three movements accompanied by a pair of violas, the High Priests are accompanied by dark-sounding sackbutts  and the Shepherds are accompanied by recorders and a dulcian (an instrument that sounds like a bassoon), the latter also accompanying the Wise Men, along with violins, where its tread surely suggests camels! Herod (a bass) is accompanied by cornets. Particularly beautiful is the seventh interlude, 'Stehe auf Joseph' (for the Angel).

Torelli: Concerto in forme di Pastorale per il santissimo Natale (Christmas Concerto)

The 'pastoral symphonies' of Bach and Handel were just one of what seem like a multitude of such pieces, cropping up all over the later Baroque. I was going to choose Corelli's Christmas Concerto but, as that gem gets many airings, I thought I'd go for Torelli's less played Christmas Concerto instead. Lots of gorgeous string writing, lovely harmonic suspensions in the opening sections, pastoral drones beneath dancing tunes, arioso-like solo violin writing in the central slow section, plus echo effects in the finale - all good fun. Oh, what the heck, here's a link to the delicious Corelli concerto too!

Cornelius: Weihnachtslieder (Christmas Songs)

Peter Cornelius, friend of Wagner and Liszt, wrote these six songs (most of which are scattered across YouTube) in 1856 and they have a charming homely quality that suits the season to a tee, with warm tunes and pleasing harmonies. I hear very little Wagner or Liszt in these songs but quite a bit of Schumann. One of the songs (which are for voice and piano), The Three Kings, became his best known piece when recast as a choral miniature. Especially winning are Die Hirten (the Shepherds) and Christkind.

Rimsky-Korsakov: Christmas Eve (suite)

A score drawn from a Gogol-based opera by a master of orchestral fantasy, this suite begins with an enchanting vision of Christmas Night, with sparkling snow and magical starlight. 

Bartok: Romanian Christmas Carols

...about which I will have more to say in the future!

Schoenberg: Weihnachtsmusik (Christmas Music)

Fear not, said he, for this is a purely tonal arrangement of  the old German carol "Es ist ein Ros' entsprungen" for chamber ensemble that will warm the cockles of your heart like mulled wine. A second carol makes an appearance later in the piece but you'll have to listen to find out which one! The opening will (hopefully) immediately capture your heart and, though Schoenberg cannot resist the lure of intricate counterpoint later, his traditionalist impulses are lovingly revealed in this little unexpected gem.

Britten: A Boy was Born

It may be a work of youthful ingenuity (weaving a set of variations on the first four notes of the piece - a rising second followed by rising third followed by a falling third), but it easy-to-listen-to and a delight. There's the spiky rhythms of 'Herod', the rapturous ever-expanding melismas on the word 'Jesu' of the beautiful third variation and a hypnotic setting of 'In the Bleak Mid-Winter' that isn't to the famous tune by Holst!

Messiaen: La Nativité du Seigneur

Jessica Duchen chose the glorious Vingt Regards (for piano) for her wish-list. As I always loved this set of nine pieces for organ - and it's Messiaen's other big Christmas classic! - I would choose to add this to her list. Beginning with the glowing serenity of the opening vision of the Virgin and Child, contrasted with the joy of Mary at its heart, and the piping shepherds who then burst out dancing with delight, this is a work well worth a yearly airing (or two). 

Vaughan Williams: This Day (Hodie)

As well as his familiar Fantasia on Christmas Carols, RVW wrote this unfamiliar large-scale Christmas cantata. It's not always very subtle (especially the 'March of the Three Kings') but it certainly is enjoyable. Much of its music is the composer at his most unbuttoned, banging out catchy tunes with thumping rhythms and primary-colours orchestration. There's plenty of jubilation, beginning with the Prologue with its hearty cries of 'Nowell!', as well as passages of grandeur, but there are also serene sections, such as the lovely unaccompanied (and very Anglican-sounding) 'The blessed Son of God' and the beautiful pastoral setting for baritone of Thomas Hardy's great poem The Oxen. 

Merry Christmas to you all!!