Celebrating English Song

Songs by Butterworth, Ireland, Venables, Vaughan Williams, Gurney, Quilter, Warlock, Moeran, Britten and Finzi.

Roderick Williams, baritone; Susie Allan, piano. SOMMCD 0177

The final concert in the Tardebigge series which gives its name to this disc was, fittingly, given by a singer and pianist who had contributed much to the concerts over many years. The roll of singers and pianists who performed at Tardebigge is illustrious, to say the least, but the singer on this disc was both a favourite of so many, and his approach so closely identified with the ideals of the series, that he was the logical choice to end many years of happy music making. The suggestion was made that the programme on that occasion should be committed to disc, and here it is.

The disc is a fine compilation of some of the most noteworthy English art songs,although those averse to melancholy, wistfulness or poignancy might wish to dip in and out as these moods tend to dominate the genre. Careful planning of the recital, however, means that any danger of an over-rich diet of suchfare is averted by strategic placing of more robust repertoire, such as Ireland’s Great Things or Gurney’s setting of Masefield’s Captain Stratton’s Fancy, together with the gentle humour of Venables’ Flying Crooked. Listening to the complete disc it is Gurney’s songs which stand out by virtue of their distinctive harmonic language. Ireland’s chromatic intensity is ideally suited to the genre, and in some ways is still underrated for its impact, for example in the poignant Housman setting In Boyhood and the variety of textures employed in the imaginative Youth’s Sweet Tribute. This setting of a Dante Gabriel Rossettisonnet handles this notoriously tricky poetic structure with aplomb. Ireland’s influence is clear in the music of Venables and a familial harmonic relationship can be heard in Moeran, Quilter and even Warlock. This contrasts well with Butterworth and theearly Vaughan Williams represented here, which look back more to the late nineteenth century. Yet it is Gurney’s harmonic world which seems totake us furthest into the emotional world of the poetry he sets, forexample in the shifting moods of BlackStitchel, each vividly presented. The inflections are melodic, harmonic and, crucially, structural, in terms of phrase lengths, which lengthen or contract according to mood. What Gurney achieves here is a fluidity which sets the music at the service of the poetry. In this, he shares a significant characteristic with Finzi, of course, although on this disc we do not hear Finzi setting Hardy, as was so frequently, and memorably, the case. What is often overlooked in considering Let us Garlands Bring is that Finzi is setting Shakespeare, albeit often, although not exclusively, Shakespeare writing song lyrics, such as ‘O Mistress Mine’. The challenges Shakespeare poses, not least in audience terms of familiarity with other composers’ settings, are met with exactitude by Finzi, particularly in the masterly ‘Fear no more’.

The performances are intimate, as befits the disc as a record of the Tardebigge experience. At times the recording might have opened out a little more frequently, as it does successfully for Captain Stratton, particularly with regard to the piano, which occasionally sounds a touch brittle. (It might have been good for the tuner to spend a little more time at the lower end of the piano as well, before The Vagabond, particularly.) Ensemble is tight and Susie Allan breathes with the singer but also takes the initiative when the music demands. Changes of mood are uniform between singer and pianist, and smaller-scale inflexions are seemingly effortless, including in the tortuous, if brief, white-knuckle ride for both performers that is Warlock’sJillian of Berry. The full, masterly rhythmic flexibility in these performances is only fully apparent when what is heard is compared with what is on the pages of the scores.
And the singer? It is instructive to hear this disc after Roderick Williams’recent performances as Billy Budd and Balstrode on the much bigger canvases of Britten operas. He remains for many the ultimate ‘English baritone’ voice, but comparison of this disc with operatic performances shows that this label has been earned, not won by virtue of belonging to any vocal ‘type’. Roderick Williams crafts each song, varying vocal timbre with finesse, and his range of colours is wide. Thus A Shropshire Lad has a lightness of tone to match the youthful age of the poetry’s subject, without darkening the vowel sounds. There is a seeming fragility in the sound (not the technique!) throughout the cycle, except when characterising the ‘wise man’ in the second song. This gives a much more meaningful context to ‘Is my team ploughing’ than performances where the vocal timbre is suddenly reduced just for that final song. There is similar restraint in Silent Noonwhich prevents the song from outstripping the perspective of what is an intimate, delicate poem. Elsewhere in the discgreater warmth of tone, and greater resonance is used, to equally good effect, particularly in Finzi, hinting at the weight of voice which the singer possesses, but uses sparingly in this genre. This is a singer who thinks carefully about the timbre he wants for different vowel sounds in different contexts. For example, endings of English words which can be tricky when set to music which elongates the vowel, such as ‘ness’, are carefully and always sensitively sung, and with varied colour. All the decisions which Roderick Williams makes are at the service of the text and the music. And, finally, to that seemingly effortless breath control: go no further than to the third song of A Shropshire Lad to hear how technique can be at the service of a song. The tempo is fluid but also has poise and is seemingly unhurried. Much of this is achievable because the singer can run two phrases together without seeming about to falter. For example, when the final verse is reached the singer manages ‘With downward eye and gazes sad, Stands amid the glancing showers’ in a single breath. In this song many singers breathe between every line of text, creating a hiatus in the flow of Butterworth’s irregular metre, and consequent bumps in the song’s path. Such is this singer’s technique that we barely notice him breathe and the music in this song, as with so many others on the disc, flows effortlessly and intelligently.

 

Martin Bussey

Finzi, Bax and Ireland Choral Music

Hyperion CDA68167
The Choir of Westminster Abbey; Daniel Cook, organ; James O’Donnell, conductor

Finzi: My lovely one; God is gone up; Welcome sweet and sacred feast; Let us now praise famous men; Lo, the full, final sacrifice; Magnificat.

Bax: I sing of a maiden that is makeless; This worldes joie.

Ireland: Greater love hath no man; Ex ore innocentium; Te Deum in F.

Several elements are striking in this very welcome recording which includes several of Finzi’s most significant choral works, and his most significant writing for the Anglican church. Most striking is the sheer musicality of the performances. Atmosphere, intensity and often musical exuberance are hallmarks of the disc. This is attributable in no small measure to James O’Donnell’s masterly control of structure, even in the shortest of pieces. These are sung, not as ‘mere’ service anthems from the repertoire, but with each work treated with musical integrity, shaped and phrased compellingly. This benefits several of the shorter, less familiar Finzi works in particular. Let us now praise famous men is a work whose composition for men’s voices and organ makes it less regularly heard than most of Finzi’s choral output. It is good to hear such a well-crafted performance. The starting point for all performances is the text, as treated by the composer, and the disc contains a fine array of texts, particularly in the Finzi pieces. The choir is simply one of the best around today and puts its skill fully at the service of the music. This bears greater scrutiny. In the case of several works on the disc, such as Finzi’s Magnifcat and the Bax pieces, the original singers envisaged for the top line were female, and were so in early performances. Hearing them sung by boys’ voices presents a different context. The boys rise to the challenges posed brilliantly, both in terms of musicality and technique. Their tone is robust but shows sensitivity. Above all, their voices give clarity to some highly complex textures without reducing the sound to the straightjacketed tone which is currently the fashion in some professional chamber choirs. The sound then comes fully into its own in works such as Lo, the full, final sacrifice, written for the boys’ choir of that immense well of artistic patronage, St Matthew’s Northampton, when under the care of Walter Hussey. The frequent passages in thirds which Finzi often writes for top lines have particular clarity in this recording and the boys negotiate Finzi’s upwardly leaping melodic lines effortlessly. Turning to the adult voices, another key strength of this recording is revealed. Westminster Abbey boasts immeasurable riches in the ‘back rows’, made up of singers who are foremost in their field as choral singers, often members of the many other professional groups in London. This cannot be underrated for its impact (listen, for example, to the solo bass in Ireland’s Greater Love). Exposed lines for, say tenors or basses, are always rich in sound, effortless,and fluently and instinctively phrased. (There is perhaps one moment of alto over-exuberance mid-Magnificat, but that can be forgiven). The high-quality singing of these voices also has impact on the sound of chordal passages. These benefit from a richness in the lower parts, including the altos, that only well-controlled mature voices can bring, creating balanced but highly resonant singing, particularly notable in the chromatic chordal challenges of Bax’s very fine I sing of a maiden. The imitative entries towards the end of this piece show all vocal parts off to their very best. The slow build-up of ‘All we shall die’ in This worldes joie benefits particularly from the even quality throughout all parts, as well as impressively sustained long phrases. One can only regret slightly the absence of Bax’s Mater orafilium from the disc as it would have been good to hear this fine choir in that most demanding example of twentieth-century English choral writing. Atmosphere is to the fore throughout the disc, aided probably by the fact that most can picture the surroundings in which the recording was made; and devoid of tourists! A key element of creating the atmosphere is the sound of the Abbey organ, superbly played by Daniel Cook. Placing Finzi’s My lovely one at the head of the disc creates an attractive sense of the vast spaces of the Abbey in its subdued mood. The organ introduction to God is gone up makes a dynamic contrast. It might initially lead the listener to look round for a royal procession, but the fulsome brass fanfares on this organ are entirely at one with the performance here. There is a majesty in this version of Finzi’s Ascension anthem which entirely suits the text and which can too often be missing in other performances. Perhaps one of the things that Finzi might have appreciated in the performances on this disc is the primacy of the text, to which the ear is directed time and again. Sometimes the resonant acoustic makes demands in terms of clarity but the sense of the poetry, the genre of many of the texts set here, is always foremost in a series of fulfilling performance

 

Martin Bussey

Herbert Howells’s Clavichord Music: Lambert’s Clavichord; Howell’s Clavichord.

Julian Perkins (clavichord) PRIMA FACIE PFCD065/66

There is something delightful about how the creativity of talented composers and performers is heightened when faced with supposedly limited resources. The poor reception of Howells’ Second Piano Concerto in 1925, provoked a crisis of confidence in the young composer. Following his acquaintance with the clavichord-makerHerbert Lambert, Howells began a new love affair with the clavichord, a domestic instrument of bygone ages, to compose some of his most surprising and inventive miniatures.

Not only are the pieces found in Lambert’s Clavichord (written in a summer flurry in 1927), and Howells’ Clavichord, written between 1941 and 1958, personal homages to friends and colleagues, each piece dedicated to a grandee of the English musical establishment, but they connect the composer with a past era of English musical glory. Needless to say, although the pieces of Lambert’s Clavichord are more obviously inspired by the composers and keyboard styles found in The Fitzwilliam Virginal Book, as Howells progresses into his later work for clavichord, we hear nods to other sound worlds from J. S. Bach to jazz. There is something gentlemanly about the way Howells absorbs and combines the styles of old music, and the music of his contemporaries (he directly quotesRubbra, Dyson, and Walton in the pieces dedicated to those composers), with music of a distinctly developed ‘Howellsian’ flavour. Yet, at the same time, one feels the composer cements his own reputation as a truly well-connected English composer. There is a sense that these pieces of great domestic intimacy also provide a snapshot of the whole of contemporary English musical society, with Herbert Howells as the epicentre.

Indeed, this first recording of the complete published clavichord music of Herbert Howells, actually played on the clavichord (John McCabe recorded the same works on the piano in 1994 forHyperion onCDH55152) seems to be a happy love triangle between composer, performer and the instruments played, and surely one that is welcomed, given the composer’s own penchant for the instrument. Reading the CD notes, one is struck by the labour of love that has gone into the recording. Affectionately dedicated to the late Ruth Dyson in her centenary year, who had previously recorded Lambert’s Clavichord and a selection of pieces from Howells’ Clavichord, there are detailed notes written by Andrew Mayes. There are also notes on the instruments and how they were chosen from the performer and the clavichord maker Peter Bavington: a Dolmetsch (1925) clavichord for Lambert’s Clavichord, and a Bavington (2015) clavichord for Howell’s Clavichord. For two pieces (‘Goff’s Fireside’ and‘Patrick’s Siciliano’) a delightful, yet intimately voiced Thomas Goff clavichord (1952) is used. At first, such a meagre homage to an instrument appropriate to Howells’ own era seems odd, but as is often the case with music of the greatest vision and ingenuity, the desire to choose an instrument that can capture both the essence of an authentic sound world needs to be balanced with the demands of the composer, especially when recording an instrument that normally functions at the lowest dynamic level. Furthermore, the sleeve notes warn the listener that they may experience a ‘certain amount of action noise’ as such instruments need to be recorded at close range. As a listener, such intimacy with the instruments feels a privilege, and it is beautifully judged by the engineers on this recording. It is one that can only be enjoyed in the modern age through sound recording. Gone are the days when every home housed a clavichord!

Julian Perkins’ performances match the originality and creativity of Howells’ music. Indeed, the playing itself champions the cause to hear these pieces played on the clavichord, such that the listener may find it difficult to return to the hackneyed sound-world of the piano. As Howells’ compositional skills seem to exist in a playpen of creativity, so Perkins’ playing evokes sounds one would think unimaginable on such an instrument. The performer’s experience of keyboard music of the past is a great asset to the skill and understanding with which he performs these works, which often foray into realms of advanced modernity. The lyricism of the playing in intimate gems such as ‘Lambert’s Fireside’,and the Purcellian ‘Wortham’s Grounde’ in Lambert’s Clavichord’; and ‘Goff’s Fireside’ (a real highlight on the 1952 instrument, and a striking change of colour on the recording), and the touching epitaph ‘Finzi’s rest’ in Howells’ Clavichord, is counterbalanced by playing of extraordinary zest and vibrancy. Perkins conjures a brass like fanfare in ‘E B’s Fanfarando’, whilst seeming to evoke mosquito-like buzzing from the quiet trills. A pleasing feel for the slow dance of the gentlemanly ‘Dyson’s Delight’, with its delicious English harmonic twists, is immediately offset by music that feels like it has emerged from the jazz-club in pieces such as ‘Jacob’s Brawl’, and ‘Hughes’s Ballet’. There are moments in these upbeat pieces that achieve a percussiveness that would be impossible even on the modern piano. Perkins’ touch at the keyboard often evokes the sounds of the lute and guitar, especially in the attractive ‘Julian’s Dream’ a homage to the lutenist and guitarist, Julian Bream. Howells’ Clavichord concludes with ‘Walton’s Toye’ an explicit extemporisation on Walton’s ‘Crown Imperial. Such deference to a musical colleague, whilst at the same time epitomising his own personal style, is indicative of the pleasure this collection of endlessly surprising pieces can give. Highly recommended for both clavichord aficionados, as well as the uninitiated!

 

Gavin Roberts

Nights Not Spent Alone: Complete Works for Mezzo-Soprano by Jonathan Dove

Kitty Whately, mezzo-soprano, Simon Lepper, piano. Champs Hill 2017 CHRCD125

‘We were very tired… We had gone back and forth all night’.

Edna St Vincent Millay’s words from ‘Recuerdo’, the first song of the album’s eponymous group of settings, could serve well as a cynical assessment of contemporary chamber composition. In an artistic period plagued by the micro-genre, composers often resort to fusing aspects of other genres in an effort to create something new, something subverting that defeatist mantra of everything having ‘been done’. When listening to Nights Not Spent Alone, Kitty Whately’s second album for Champs Hill Records, it might seem evident that Jonathan Dove is guilty of this trope; indeed, through the course of successive song cycles, aspects of jazz, folk, musical theatre, and even cabaret are detectable. The combinations, however, are deft. In setting texts from North American, Indian, Spanish and English poets, Dove succeeds in incorporating apt stylistic brushstrokes whilst retaining his distinctively rhythmic and harmonically expansive sound world. The resulting mien is something that sits between a Brittenesque take on English folksong and a more conservative American jazz standard, with a hint of minimalism along the way.

The ordering of works on the disc demonstrates great consideration towards narrative progression. The opening work, My Love is Mine, an unaccompanied song written in 1997 for a wedding, functions as an opening office, an ideological credo. Expansive, clean, folk-like, the idyll speaks of love and looking to spring. Whately throws down the gauntlet here, giving a powerful, warm, emotionally-present reading of this ebullient melody that establishes the quality of her tone for the rest of the album. This is developed through the variously intimate and excited Five Am’rous Sighs. A warmth reminiscent of Vaughan Williams negates any cheap eroticism in ‘Between Your Sheets’, leading to a boundless exuberance in ‘Finish’ and ‘All These Dismal Looks’, before settling into a more pensive, lontano air for ‘Venus’.

Cut My Shadow, containing the blackest texts of any of the cycles, sees Dove at his most barbaric: staccatissimo rhythmic cells and jazz-infused harmonies are in abundance. ‘Surprise’ and ‘Song of the Dry Orange Tree’, the first and final songs, are at once redolent of Bernstein (re-inforcing the theatrical subtext), but also suggest lesser-known Latin voices, such as the Argentinian Alberto Ginastera, and in a more contemporary context, the Spanish composer Antón García Abril. Dove seemingly communicates not only the blunt, yet evocative narrative of each text, but, through a fiery vocal line, the revolutionary character of Lorca himself. Indeed, Whately’s almost feral chest-voice declamation of the word ‘Madre’, set unrelentingly in a melismatic, forte falling phrase, is simultaneously angry, sorrowful and fiery; and entirely engaging. Alongside Latin flavourings, the presence of musical theatre is also felt. ‘Song of the Dry Orange Tree’, in particular, seems to owe a debt to the stylings of Sondheim: the restless motivic repetitions are voiced naturalistically, along with the accompaniment’s syncopated added-note harmonies and instances of melodic doubling, such as on ‘Free me from the anguish / Of seeing myself fruitless.’ The resulting effect is jazzily intimate and eminently theatrical. Mention must be made of Simon Lepper’s work in these songs. He masters the volatile Latin rhythms and presents them with great accuracy and élan.

The album’s new work. Nights Not Spent Alone, features texts decidedly naturalistic and nakedly dramatic for their time. This reveals something, perhaps, of the St Vincent Millay’s socialist-feminist views. The songs were commissioned jointly by BBC Radio 3, for whom Whately was a New Generation Artist, and the Royal Philharmonic Society’s Young Artists Scheme. Of the three poems, it is the first two, ‘Recuerdo’ and ‘What Lip My Lips Have Kissed’, that share the more consonant dramatic and musical language. The sense of contemplation and distance travelled that pervades these two songs owes a debt to late nineteenth and twentieth century English folksong and chamber works: Britten’s folksong arrangements, Finzi’s Earth and Air and Rain and Butterworth’s A Shropshire Lad can all be glimpsed through the sustained vocal line and figure-based, though expansive, piano writing. ‘I Too Beneath Your Moon’ acts as a synthesis between the bounding folk language and the more rhythmically barbaric stylings of ‘Cut My Shadow’. The piano is initially forward-driving, arpeggiated and restless, before changing into a more accented language akin to the earlier Latin sound world. Kitty Whately is afforded her most polarised dynamic moments in this work; from the rhythmic marcato of ‘the long necks / Of neighbours sitting where their mothers sat’ to the nakedly powerful operatic sound of ‘lust’, she makes full use of her vocal assets.

Kitty Whately is indeed a revelation. Traversing a range of emotions, styles and articulations, all with a certain melodic consonance, she shows a mature polish and assuredness. One of Dove’s defining talents in composing for particular artists is his ability to evoke the stylistic mannerisms of each specific voice. That the titular cycle does not immediately mark itself out as the one dedicated to Whately is a testament to her versatility and vocal maturity. She is gifted a set of works that rely neither on vocal pyrotechnics nor nebulous extended techniques, but rather on a dedication to the dramatic narrative through an inherent lyricism. Dove’s preferred technique in writing for the solo voices, evident in each work on this disc, is to write a sostenuto line for the voice, with rhythmic and stylistic gestures largely being found in the piano accompaniment. Even the more spiky, fractious moments in songs such as ‘Song of the Dry Orange Tree’ and ‘I Too Beneath Your Moon’ benefit from being constructed of consonant motivic cells. Whately’s warmth of tone and immediacy of response are the primary facets in realising an authentic, consistent sound across each cycle. She negotiates all her most operatic moments effortlessly, with a faster vibrato and more brilliance in her tone. One may perhaps perceive a certain shrillness in these moments; they are nevertheless dramatically appropriate and authoritative.

If the accompanist is indeed the key to deciphering Dove’s stylistic influences, the role of the pianist is equal in importance to the singer, and undoubtedly illustrative of the composer’s background as a repetiteur. Simon Lepper is responsive and impressively assured throughout the course of each work. Although appearing to have particular appetite for all the most energetic, rhythmic moments, he is deeply sensitive and responsive in the more intimate works. Matching the lyrical intensity of ‘All the Future Days’, he demonstrates an exquisite restraint combined with an ably nimble touch in the wonder-like ostinatos of ‘Autobiography’ and ‘Spider’, whose accompaniments are perhaps the most familiar in their pointillistic repetitions to those who are enthusiasts of Dove’s choral music.

Technically, the album is a triumph. The recording, production and mastering are superlative; the resulting sound crystal-clear, yet having the requisite warmth and resonance. The balance between the performers is extremely well-considered: the singer is always prevalent, both in terms of volume in the rounder sound of the disc’s more operatic episodes, and of diction in the porcelainic intimacy of quieter moments. Yet Lepper is strong enough to act perfectly as both support and foil where needed. It is the sense of narrative conviction in every respect: text choice, performance, and programme order, that marks this album as noteworthy among a sea of similar releases. What Dove brings to his work through reverence to the narrative, Whately and Lepper complement with emotional and stylistic sensitivity and authenticity. ‘From what I had to build with: honest bone / Is there, and anguish; pride; and burning thought;’ The prospect of more music stories from Whately, told with this level of engagement, this ‘honest bone’, is very exciting.

 

Henry Page

 

The Sunlight on the Garden; The Songs of Stephen Wilkinson

Mhairi Lawson, soprano; Clare Wilkinson, mezzo-soprano; James Gilchrist, tenor; Matthew Brook, bass; Ian Buckle & Anna Markland, piano.

It is very good to see this disc, which enables access to the music of one of the leading choral directors of the late twentieth century, but a figure whose musicianship and immense creativity goes far beyond the confines of choirs. Happily still with us at 98, Stephen Wilkinson directed the BBC Northern Singers for many years. His repertoire was famously wide and eclectic. Notably, it embraced the choral music of contemporary British composers such as John Gardner and Anthony Milner whose star has now fallen somewhat. This breadth of interest is evident in Stephen’s own writing, in which the legacy of Finzi can often be discerned. An interesting comparison can be made between Finzi’s setting of Proud Songsters and that on this disc. The songs on this disc show mastery of diverse styles but always at the service of the text and expressed in a distinctive individual voice. Herein lies one of the strengths of Stephen’s conducting and composing. His attention to detail as a conductor was legendary. The author was once the recipient of a private, individual session, because of unavailability for a rehearsal, in which minute details of rests, and where consonants were placed, were rigorously covered, but all within the context of what the text actually meant. Always demanding, Stephen’s demands were relayed with a twinkle in the eye that is reflected in several of the songs here. Clare Wilkinson, Stephen’s daughter, and one of the most expressive young singers around, has assembled a group of performers of the highest calibre in this recording.

Economy of musical language is a characteristic of many of the songs on the disc. There is always a singing approach to vocal lines, although this doesn’t mean an absence of rigour in the musical language. The chromatic language of At the manger, albeit underpinned by insistent pedal notes, gives a vivid sense of Mary’s apprehension. The spare setting of Jonson’s The Hour-Glass, with static vocal lines at times, brilliantly evokes the insistent and unstoppable march of time.

The songs are, typically for the composer, who is something of a polymath, very intelligent in their choice of texts. For example, only one verse of In the bleak midwinter is used. The first song is a somewhat ruthlessly but wisely pruned setting of Rupert Brooke’s Granchester. The songs are musical creations, not slavish recitations of the poems in music. At the same time, the clarity with which decisions were taken regarding the verses or phrases to be omitted enables the many razor-sharp, often epigrammatic, musical ideas which colour individual poetic images so effortlessly to stand out in relief. Central to the disc is a group of W.B Yeats poems, to which Stephen Wilkinson’s impressive intellect is absolutely well matched.To a Young Girl is brilliant in the prolonged rhythms of the vocal line which stretch across the apparently regular rhythmic figure of the piano part in an agony of fruitless longing.

Similarly, melodic lines which run across the metrical lines of O do not love too long enable the sense to be conveyed with great clarity; the message is simple, if dispiriting. Just occasionally an instinctive sense of a rhythmic pattern to suit complex phraseology of earlier days can seem to be at the expense of melodic invention. In passages of The Garden, Marvell’s philosophical musings take over from musical immediacy occasionally, although they always lead to a felicitous moment of music image-painting, for example in the final line. Setting twentieth-century verse provokes an instinctive, idiomatic melodic response, well shown in the setting of MacNiece’sThe Sunlight on the Garden, which is particularly adept in capturing the inner rhymes. The sweep and pacing of this setting is particularly memorable, captured perfectly by James Gilchrist and Anna Markland. There is a similarly instinctive response apparent in the setting of the fond memories of Eleanor Farjeon’s The Gate in the Wall.
Humour is a key characteristic of the composer’s artistic make-up, although amusement is always based firmly on intelligence rather than flippancy. Several of the later songs on the disc transfer the twinkle in Stephen Wilkinson’s eye into settings of amusing poetry. In many ways Edward Lear is an ideal song-writing companion. The well-known poems are artfully supported by deft harmonic inflections, a characteristic of the disc.

The piano writing in the settings is often spare. This is apparent from the setting of Granchester. Economical textures enable both clarity of text but also an understanding of Brooke’s sometimes lengthy groups of lines as they move slowly to their key point. This trait of Brooke is perhaps stretched to the ultimate in his fish-focused Heaven. Here, touches of lounge-bar harmony provide necessary relief to the poet’s rather too intense conceit of a fish heaven as a reproof to religious belief. Where textures are thickened, as in the essentially homophonic accompaniment to Joly Jankyn, it serves to underline, with a stylistic nod to Warlock, perhaps, the medieval origin of the text. Similarly, in Maude Gonne takes down a book, richness of harmony is key to the mood of regret.
The performances are of a calibre to match the songs. Occasionally voices sound perhaps a notch too far forward, but texts are always immaculately clear. The contrasts between the voices are used to excellent advantage, for example, the richness of Clare Wilkinson’s voice in Joly Jankyn being complemented by the ardour of Matthew Brook’s assertive conclusion to Eternal Summer. James Gilchrist’s crisp but cantabile lyricism is displayed at its best, particularly in the setting of Come away Death.So also is his deftness of touch, particularly in the Welsh-inflected humour of Chapels, a setting of a poem by hymn writer Fred Pratt Green. While never giving less than high-calibre vocal quality, all the singers capture the lightness which many of the settings require, while avoiding archness, for example, in the concluding stanza of The Owl and the Pussycat.Similarly, nimble and clean fingers are constantly characteristic of the fine array of accompanists.

 

Martin Bussey