Critic Fever

Last night saw The First Night of the Proms 2012 from the Royal Albert Hall (broadcast on BBC Radio 3), an all-British programme conducted (in homage to the 2012 London Olympics) by a relay of four top British conductors. The programme was:

Mark-Anthony Turnage - Canon Fever (world première)

Elgar - Overture 'Cockaigne (In London Town)'

Delius - Sea Drift

Tippett - Suite for the Birthday of Prince Charles

Elgar - Coronation Ode 

(You can, hopefully, listen to the whole concert here - for the next 5 days only!) 

I was amused to read the first two British newspaper reviews of the concert, one from Martin Kettle in the Guardian, the other by Ivan Hewitt in the Daily Telegraph. They have somewhat different takes! (I'll add my own reactions too).

They began by disagreeing over Canon Fever. IH was underwhelmed by M-AT's new anti-fanfare, which he said "may well be an exuberant technical tour-de-force on paper - as the programme note insisted – but it seemed disappointingly unfocused in the Albert Hall’s resonant acoustic." MK, however, was delighted, calling it "a saucy piece, instantly likeable and utterly appropriate to the occasion. It sounded like a schoolyard chant set to music."  (Listening via the internet the performance didn't seem unfocussed to me. It was spot on. The piece - punchy, a bit jazzy, dissonant, energetic - certainly lived up to its title, being full of audible canons whose short phrases piled on so closely behind each other to suggest feverishness. It didn't set my head spinning though, or set my world on fire. If you are unfamiliar with M-AT's music, this extract from Hammered Out will give you an idea of the side of it represented by Canon Fever.)

They both liked the Elgar Cockaigne Overture, conducted by Sir Roger Norrington. (This was their one main point of agreement and I'm with both of them here. Great piece, beautifully played). 

IH felt that "soloist Bryn Terfel was only intermittently on form" during Delius's Sea-Drift, whose "transcendental setting of Walt Whitman" was, according to MK, "sung with incisive clarity by Terfel." Hope Bryn reads the Guardian! (I definitely thought Bryn's performance was fine though his voice did sound a bit strained at times).

As for Tippett's Suite, well, compare these:

MK: What a dated piece it sounds now, a relic of the time when high-minded politically progressive composers thought they could forge a national musical style based on traditional folk tunes lightly spiced with modernism. Brabbins did his best, but it all sounds maddeningly quaint now, the musical equivalent of men in tights declaiming Shakespeare in fruity tones.

IH: Much the best playing of the evening came in Michael Tippett’s Suite for the Birthday of Prince Charles. The gravely beautiful Carol with its lovely horn-and-violins trio was so beautifully turned the audience broke into spontaneous applause.

(I completely disagree with MK's rant. I think he loads a heck of a lot of baggage onto a lovely piece.)

As for the Elgar Coronation Ode, well, it was yet another sharp difference of opinion:

IH: So far the evening was on an upward curve. But for me it plummeted back down again with Elgar’s Coronation Ode, with its tub-thumping patriotic verse and soulful appeals to the Pax Brittanica. To take it one really has to be in tongue-in-cheek, flag-waving, Last Night mode. Listening to it in stone-cold sobriety, with not a flag in sight, felt distinctly uncomfortable. 

MK: And so, via an extended and unusually full version of Elgar's often revised Coronation Ode of 1902, a work that is more than a curiosity, with the chorus rising to the occasion, to Land of Hope and Glory. Sarah Connolly tackled this far less relentless version of the great tune with total authority, with Gardner trying and sometimes succeeding in bringing out the score's poignancy.

(I so want to be with MK here but, unfortunately, Elgar's Coronation Ode is not one of his more consistently inspired pieces and not even the finest performance can bring out strengths that aren't really there.)

You could always take a listen over the next few days and decide where you stand between these contradictory takes on a single concert. 

French Cuckoos

Going back to yesterday's Music Matters and an earlier post of mine, there was an interesting discussion about 'The Delius Problem'. The presenter, Guardian writer and blogger Tom Service, began by highlighting a particular 'problem', which I hadn't considered - that Delius is seen as an English composer. That's long been seen as 'a bad thing' in certain quarters, entailing parochialism, insularity, cow-pat pastoralism, and whatever other bogey words can be slung at early Twentieth Century English music. Don't panic though as the guests agreed that Delius was far from being an English composer and far from sounding like an English composer, being 'cosmopolitan'. Why is this such a problem anyhow? Debussy was proudly French and sounds French to me. I don't hold that against him, even though I'm English. Why are we English so nervous about how others - especially our continental European friends - might see us? It seems to me to be rather similar to what the Australians call 'cultural cringe'. If Delius sounds English, so what? 

The composer Anthony Payne made some characteristically thought-provoking comments, arguing that the usual squabble between Delius's devotees and detractors over structure is one where both sides are missing the point. Delius didn't merely meander aimlessly nor did he transform old traditions but, in a profoundly original way that anticipates the 'moments' principle of Stockhausen, sought to get the listener to live for the moment, savouring each harmony as it passes rather than following an argument or looking for the overall structure of the piece. Where you are going and where you came from doesn't matter, on this reading, what counts is where you are. He contended that ignorance of modern music is responsible for people failing to see the extent to which Delius was a radical structural innovator. I can't say I'm wholly convinced by this, especially when pushed as far as Mr. Payne was pushing it, but it may have a grain of truth in it. Those chromatic chords that underpin whatever melody or thematic tag Delius is seemingly rhapsodising over are clearly meant to be savoured in themselves and in relation to what comes before and after them. The changes of orchestral colour are, similarly, there to be savoured for the own sake. But...surely not only for their own sake. Anthony Payne is, doubtless, trying to cleanse our ears when we listen to Delius, but he's surely going too far in his comparison. 

Anthony Payne also rejected the idea that Delius's music is full of nostalgia, saying that any nostalgia listeners might find in his works is purely a result of their own feelings of nostalgia being imported into the work in question. For him, Delius's music floats above the world, and that's its appeal. Again, thought-provoking but I do feel it to be nostalgic in mood, and I like that quality in it. I've noted - and you may have done so too - that 'nostalgia' seems to be another 'bad thing' in certain sections of the arts. 'English nostalgia', in particular, is a very 'bad thing'. Is Anthony Payne failing to find nostalgia in Delius's music because he doesn't wish to find nostalgia in music he seeks to advocate in favour of?

Anyhow, let me advocate in favour of Delius's A Song before Sunrise! This is late Delius, dating from 1923.  Its marking is an unusual one, 'Freshly', but it conveys what Delius wanted very clearly. The pulse is driven by that characteristic rhythm, the crochet-quaver-crochet-quaver pattern beloved of the composer. The first violins, accompanied by their divided string-fellows, present the main tune, whose occasional chromatic notes are amplified by the underlying string harmonies and by the wind comments above. The sighing phrases have a tendency to fall away, which helps give the work an...er...nostalgic feel. The winds take turns to comment, fixing in particular on a five-note dotted figure that you'll become very familiar with as the piece progresses. This phrase and phrases from the main theme ride atop the harmonic flow and the lilting rhythm. The music surges onto a brief, less chromatic climax just about a minute in, where the music almost seems to break out into a gorgeous nostalgic waltz. It swiftly sinks away to bird calls - trills from the flute, cuckoo calls from the clarinets. The waltz-like melody returns briefly but beautifully on the cellos before a solo oboe introduces a new nine-note phrase to a stricter accompaniment of the crochet-quaver-crochet-quaver pattern but this temporary dancing mood quickly slackens and woodwinds call over dreamy string chords. There are some entrancing changes of colour in this passage. After a pause, the upper strings introduce a delightfully Debussy-like melody, full of consecutive fourths and drawing its notes from the pentatonic scale, before cuckoos guide us into a slumbering transition to the recapitulation. Yes, a recapitulation of the opening section. That's not a typical structural event in the Delian calender. The dying moments feature more bird calls, including a phrase meant to depict a cockerel greeting the rising sun, over a characteristically peaceful final string chord.  

It was almost certainly meant to evoke the beauty of the French countryside, where Delius had dwelt for so long. So those are French cuckoos and French cockerels! Still, it sounds English to me. 

English or French, it's a lovely piece of music that brings a warm glow to this nostalgia-filled, English heart.

(The paintings are again by Alfred Sisley, a French painter of English origin.)

It was on the eleventh of April...

Australian maverick composer Percy Grainger walked out one morning in the April of 1905 and recorded a folk-singer from Brigg, Lincolnshire called Joseph Taylor. The wax cylinder survives and Taylor can be heard singing Brigg Fair here, with a graceful guitar accompaniment by modern folk artist Gloria Jeffries. (Taylor sang unaccompanied on the Grainger recording). 

Grainger arranged the song for solo tenor and chorus, and that beautiful piece can be heard here (sung by Ian Bostridge). 

As this post concerns Delius's orchestral variations on Brigg Fair, what is so interesting about the Grainger arrangement is that its adventurous harmonies have a scent of Delius about them. This is probably to be accounted for by the fact that they both drew on the same Grieg and Wagner brew as the root of their styles (Grainger was very firmly to add Delius himself to that brew after they met in 1907.) The dates of composition for the Grainger are 1906 and for the Delius 1907-08.

Delius's Brigg Fair is styled 'an English rhapsody', and rhapsodic it most certainly is - like so much of the composer's music. It begins with a pastoral evocation that, like the opening bars of On Hearing the First Cuckoo of Spring, is deliciously atmospheric. A flute sings gently, like a bird, over dreamy harp figuration, before the strings enter beneath with typical added harmony chords. The Grainger arrangement is then transcribed, first for the woodwinds lead by solo oboe, then for solo flute and strings, then for strings alone, then for flutes and clarinets with strings. So the variations initially begin as restatements of the modal tune in various orchestral hues and against a backdrop of varying harmonies before becoming much freer. The first freer variation begins immediately with Delius's trademark lilting rhythm turning the tune into a slow and stately dance with running figures for the violins. Horns and then a solo trumpet continue to ring the changes on the colours of the theme. There's then a rhapsodic central section, begun by the solo flute from the work's opening, where strict variation form flies out of the window. The melody here is a new theme. (Some of the phrases here have always reminded me of something else, but I've only just realised what - a phrase from Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet. It's a fleeting moment and almost certainly not worth me passing on to you, but still now I've got it off my chest. So there!) This particularly gorgeous, peaceable stretch of the score eventually rouses itself from its languor with a brass-led variation (with percussion) and this leads on to a crescendo and a brief climax. The next section continues the rhapsodic treatment of variation form, albeit more solemnly, with trumpet and trombone leading a march with an off-the-beat accompaniment. The flute from the opening returns over a steady tread from the drums before a slight spring enters the music's step (only slight, this is Delius after all!) and bears us towards the next crescendo towards a majestic climax and then, characteristically, the variations end and there starts a long, slow, soft fade into the sunset with a glowing, nostalgic recreation of the atmospheric music of the rhapsody's opening pages. 

The climaxes are few and far between in Brigg Fair and the music remains mostly tranquil in mood throughout, as is to be expected from this composer. The folksong is about love and there is certainly love music here, especially in that ravishingly romantic central section. This is, for me, the finest music in Brigg Fair and a passage I just love listening to, not matter how many times I hear it. The opening is loveable too, totally impressionistic in character, all about conjuring up the beauty of the countryside, which it does very successfully I would say, and the coda is beautiful too. If you don't know Brigg Fair, I strongly recommend you give it a try.

On Hearing the First Delius of 2012

A lot of music lovers feel passionately about the music of Frederick Delius (1962-1934). Some love it and some loathe it. I've heard more than one BBC Radio 3 programme (one was even a series) where well-known music lovers are asked to share their personal dislikes and the name 'Delius' has cropped up and received a few thwacks. A music magazine recently did something similar and, again, the name 'Delius' came up and loathing was expressed. The first time I heard someone do this, quite a long time ago now, the comment went along the lines of  "I hate hot-house composers like Delius". At the time I was taken aback and wondered how anyone could pick on the composer of the inoffensive On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, especially when there were so many other composers to dislike. It seemed such an odd choice. Time has taught me, however, that it wasn't an odd choice at all. People keep on making the same choice. She clearly has a lot of allies out there in the music-loving world, many ready and willing to express their reservations about this composer above all other composers. That said, for every detractor who is either left cold or irritated by his music, there seems to be a devotee who absolutely adores Delius. Why is this composer among the select band of love-'em-or-loathe-'em composers? Speaking as a moderate fan of Delius, I've had to rack my brains about this. Here are some possible explanations, with apologies in advance for a few (necessary?) sweeping statements along the way.

One peculiar quality of Delius's music is its lack of variety. The mood of one Delius piece is pretty much the same as the mood of any other Delius piece. Within a particular piece, the initial mood is generally maintained throughout. Contrast for contrast's sake did not interest him. Some find this quality engaging, others obviously find it boring. Similarly, his trademark ever-shifting chromatic harmonies are ever-present, from piece to piece, and most of his music moves at a leisurely pace. Now if you like his music, its lack of variety is no problem for, obviously, if you love one piece you're very likely to love the rest too. Naturally, the reverse is also true: If one Delius piece leaves you cold, then it's probable that the rest will too.

How, incidentally, to define that mood? Delicate, dreamy, contemplative, bitter-sweet, nostalgic perhaps, sometimes ecstatic? It can be languorous and occasionally rather hot and sticky, but is generally relaxed (and relaxing). 

Also, this isn't music of argument and logic and the intellect. It's music of atmosphere and feeling and poetry. Delius was perfectly explicit about this, and thoroughly proud of his stance. He hated systematic composing, counterpoint and, famously, nearly all music other than his own! Structurally, his pieces rhapsodise - even his concertos - and give the impression of being largely intuitive (which could also be glossed as 'organic'). Sonata form, if used at all, is used with such freedom as to barely count as such. For lovers of his music this isn't a problem (far from it!), but for the detractors it clearly is. For the former there is dreaminess and a visionary quality in the way his works unfold, while for the latter it's all very diffuse, meandering about aimlessly, lacking backbone.

Those trademark ever-shifting chromatic harmonies are probably the key defining feature of Delius's music. Melody is less important. In some works, a short theme is continually repeated against a continually varying harmonic accompaniment. The pleasure for enthusiasts is in riding those harmonies. Those not in sympathy with them will find them tiring (and tiresome).

Another distinctive feature in the works for (or with) orchestra is their exceptionally refined scoring. Delius is just as well-known for his orchestration as he is for his individual way with harmony. He made it an integral part of his music. His writing for instruments is sometimes compared to drawing with pastels. His admirers are particularly taken with this facet of his art, though his detractors seem to regard this feature as over-important and would probably prefer the musical equivalent of oil painting or acrylics! My preferred painterly comparison here is between Delius and the delicate, lyrical impressionist painting of Alfred Sisley, whose works grace this post. (I might spell this out at a later date.) 

Delius is certainly an impressionistic composer. For supporters, Delius is worthy of comparison in this respect to Debussy. For opponents, Debussy's clarity of vision far surpasses Delius's. 

Perhaps the nub of the criticism boils down to the starting point of this post. The 'hot-house' accusation is only the modern incarnation of the old criticism that Delius's music is 'precious' (in the sense of being "affectedly or excessively delicate".) Some will find the qualities I've been outlining as proof that Delius's music is precious, some in that particular sense of the word, others in the more familiar sense of "having great value".

Onto some pieces by the man himself, beginning with one that isn't in the slightest bit typical! I was particularly pleased on Christmas Day to have heard Classic FM give us Sleigh Ride (1888-1890). Apparently, the main tune is being used in a TV advert, thus pushing the piece more into the public eye. Well, good! Sleigh Ride should always have been a popular classic. It's a very early piece, a 'small tone poem' written in the years immediately after the start of his friendship with Norway's finest, Edvard Grieg. The main tune definitely has a lot of Grieg about it and the work is generally far in spirit from the mature voice of Delius. He rarely went in for jolly tunes later in life! There are touches of orchestration in the beautiful central passage that hint at the future composer though.

Though it quotes a folksong Grieg had already used (I Ola Dolam), comparing what Delius did with the Norwegian melody in On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring is to show that by 1912 he was entirely his own man, recreating it in his own image, even adding his own melodic phrases. That tune comes after a tune of Delius's own, a tune with his most characteristic rhythm - crochet, minim, crochet, minim... (yes, that particular lilting, triple-time rhythm - and ones very like it - does keep cropping up throughout his collected works). The two themes seem like peas from the same pod and flow naturally into each other as the rhapsodising proceeds. The opening bars are typically atmospheric in their pastoral scene-setting, with divided strings playing a tonic (C major) chord with an added seventh to establish a misty morning mood before horns, bassoons and clarinets perform a fragment of Delius's tune answered by a fragment of the folktune on oboe. As the strings shimmer on their final held note, the clarinets very quietly cuckoo. The piece in a nutshell and, I think, surpassingly beautiful. This attention to tone colour - just as much the strings as the woodwind - is, of course, also Delius in a nutshell, as inseparable from the experience of his piece as any of the melodies and harmonies. A solo clarinet gets to play the hero! The harmonies themselves are rich and beautiful, with some of loveliest coming in the closing minute before the final fading major chord. If you don't find this at all beguiling, then Delius really isn't the composer for you.

...unless something unfamiliar might tempt you in - such as the songs. Orchestral songs are an especially attractive medium as far as I'm concerned and Delius wrote some very beautiful ones. Please give Twilight Fancies (one of his Seven Songs from the Norwegian) a try. Again, it's an early work with a little Grieg and a twinge or two of Wagner but the exquisite use of the orchestra and the nostalgic mood conjured up is pure Delius. The same mood (though the exquisite scoring this time comes courtesy of Eric Fenby) comes in To Daffodils (from his Four Old English Lyrics), written much later during the First World War. Setting the famous Herrick poem, To Daffodils is very characteristic of its composer. The key is C major and opens with a four note melodic turn of phrase that recurs quite often across his output. As with the opening chord of On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring, it's a tonic chord with an added note (here an added sixth rather than an added seventh). By the second half of the second bar a diminished seventh (enharmonically speaking) appears followed by a B major seventh chord but, in a way Delians love, immediately resolves back onto the added sixth chord of the opening which, consequently, sounds even brighter than before whilst also sounding not unlike a sigh. These harmonies oscillate dreamily, bitter-sweetly, until (on "noon") a short sudden outbreak of ecstasy introduces a straight B major seventh chord followed by a C sharp major seventh chord. Many more sharps and flats make their appearance in the score though the C major added harmony of the opening returns from time to time. This is Delius's chromatic harmony in action. Another gorgeous song is I-Brasil. Listen to this and then listen again to The First Cuckoo and you'll hear what I mean about the lack of variety in his music - similar turns of phrase, rhythmic patterns, harmonies, scoring and, even though its melancholy is deeper, even the mood is similar. I am perfectly relaxed about that!

Sometimes though, as in his violin sonatas (especially Nos. 1 and 2), the perceived limitations of Delius's rhapsodic style - those things that annoy so many - can be...well...perceived, even by a sympathetic listener such as myself. Lyricism is all pervasive though the melodies are hardly memorable and unsympathetic listeners may hurl accusations of note-spinning. The flow of the pieces is generally slow-moving despite the odd faster section, chromatic harmony is everywhere and there are no obvious landmarks. The result is that they feel a bit unrelieved. You could ask, "Who needs landmarks when every direction you look you find beauty?" A Perfect Delian might, indeed, very well say something like that. Still, these are sort of pieces where, when I'm in a certain mood, I can see where the foes of Delius are coming from. 

Still, there is so much for the sympathetic listener to revel in and over the coming year, in the spirit of anniversary mania, I shall endeavour to bring you some chose cuts of Delius - from orchestral miniatures to mighty choral giants and opera.