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Contents:
DDD Total time = 77:56 - Recorded at Chapel of Queens' College Cambridge 1998 Not surprisingly, perhaps, for an ancient land alive to its intellectual and poetic heritage yet only just re-awakening to its musical traditions, much English music of the twentieth century shares a preoccupation with the passing of time; this disc, recorded in the 550th anniversary year of the foundation of Queens’ College, demonstrates this temporal fascination in a variety of manifestations, contemplative, austere, nostalgic, apocalyptic. Four very different composers are represented: Holst and Finzi belong aesthetically to the first half of the century, whereas the music of both Leighton and Schuman speaks with a more contemporary voice. Yet there are points of contact stretching far beyond those of medium. Most of the music here gives the impression of having been pared down to its essentials, the product of no facile creativity; indeed, the language is often unusually intense in comparison with the rest of the composers’ output. It is often remarked that a composer’s choral works are his most personal; this is truly so here. The Second Service of Kenneth Leighton is, for all the visceral rhythmic activity of the Magnificat, a predominantly lyrical work: typical is the soaring soprano melody of the opening and the choir’s gentle disintegration at world without end. The colourful bell sounds of the Nunc dimittis call to mind the work’s memorial dedication, to Brian Runnett, Organist of Norwich Cathedral; they persist through the solemn Gloria, before closing on the calm of F major. Holst’s two psalm settings, Psalms 86 and 148 (1912), speak a language of Christian piety and penitence, and each consists of variations on an ancient sacred tune. As always with Holst, directness and economy of expression is married to an unconventional approach which takes in plainsong, orchestral interludes (the original scoring included string orchestra), close harmony, ecstatic interjections and strident reharmonisations of the melody. Psalm 86 closes with a fervent, desperate glance towards ‘endless bliss’; Finzi’s settings of Bridges are characterised by restless vigour and, underlying it, an acute sense of life’s ephemerality, giving these charming settings a tinge of pathos. My spirit sang all day is a justly-famed piece of word-setting; and could the name of Finzi’s wife, Joyce, have had a bearing on the choice of text? The sentimental superficiality (not to mention occasional nonsense) of Bridges’ Haste on, my joys! is curbed in Finzi’s stylish setting, beginning with a tumbling fugal entry of the voices. Wherefore to-night so full of care, arguably the finest of the three, is darker in mood and sparer in texture, and closes with a cry for longer life. In Lo, the full, final sacrifice (1949), possibly Finzi’s choral masterpiece, the theme is Death conquered by Christ, and it is one of two works on the disc with a Metaphysical text, Richard Crashaw’s paraphrase of Thomas Aquinas’ Adoro Te and Lauda Sion. These are sumptuous words to which Finzi felt closely akin, and although the setting is heavily sectionalized, a general arch-structure is built up with a climactic loud section towards the middle and a recapitulation of opening material just before the final Amen. Criticism of the work centres on the lack of dramatic bite in the harmony and structure, and it is more successful when understood as a meditation, or sequence of beautiful moments, a view which would do more justice to Finzi’s lyrical, contemplative aesthetic. Leighton’s Solus ad victimam continues the theme of eternal redemption, taking a text from Abelard, translated by Helen Waddell. Tension is generated by a series of pungent harmonies worked into the structure of two waves, steadily increasing in intensity. The American works on this disc, the Three Carols of Death (1958) by William Schuman, are also the most extreme in mood and subject. Walt Whitman (by whom Holst was also fascinated) had throughout his career a strong affinity with the idea of death, and these settings offer a chilling vision of that ‘unknown region’. The music speaks for itself, and it is interesting to note that many of the most striking musical devices are employed here for the first time in Schuman’s work, suggesting perhaps a psychological watershed fully understandable from the dramatic pitch of the expression. Lully, lulla, thou little tiny child has been a seasonal favourite since its appearance in 1956, owing to its gentle tonal idiom and haunting soprano solo line, set into relief by the chorus. Holst’s Nunc dimittis is an early work, dating from 1915, but was forgotten after its first performance until revised by the composer’s daughter, Imogen, in 1974. It exploits the possibilities of eight-part chorus, including antiphonal effects, in a manner not far removed from Stanford’s double-choir works. Utterly different is the setting of Henry Vaughan’s mystical dialogue between The Body (represented by a tenor and an alto soloist) and The Soul (eight-part choir), The Evening-watch (1924). Mysticism, Eastern and Western, was natural to Holst, and the effect generated by the sequence of slow-moving harmonies based on fourths is awesome. At the climactic finish - man’s eternal Prime - we are presented with a glimpse of the unending day, surpassing the earthly dawn of which Vaughan could write: heark! In what Rings, Page revised 26.06.03 |
