The 1970s origins of many of Lyrita’s too long delayed CD revivals need hold no fears for any purchaser. The forty plus year old sound remains an object lesson taught by the analogue tradition to the digital era.

The recordings here first appeared on various LPs from what was then known as the Lyrita Recorded Edition. Richard Itter’s Lyrita label was, from the very outset, a steadfast champion for Ireland. Overall he was the composer who had the largest number of LPs in the Lyrita listing. There were mono LPs of the piano music from Alan Rowlands, Eric Parkin’s stereo series, the chamber music and the songs. The orchestral LPs from Lyrita were from the period 1966-1971 and all were Boult-conducted:

SRCS32 Prelude: The Forgotten Rite; Mai Dun; Legend for piano and orchestra; Overture Satyricon
SRCS36 These Things Shall Be for baritone solo, chorus and orchestra; Piano Concerto in E flat
SRCS31 London Overture; Concertino Pastorale; Epic March; The Holy Boy; Minuet and Elegy (A Downland Suite)
SRCS45 Symphonic Prelude: Tritons; Two Symphonic Studies; Suite The Overlanders; Scherzo & Cortege (Julius Caesar)

The cover design for the CD booklet is taken from the Keith Hensby design for one of the original LPs and is based on an engraving of the Wren churches- clearly picking up the London reference.

Tritons is an early piece – which has curiosity value rather than anything else. The 40+ years since the recording session have lent the sound for this track a slight tubbiness but once the ear adjusts the brass sounds splendid with all the requisite grate and bite. Turning to a work of undoubted mastery, the effect in The Forgotten Rite is sumptuous - an object lesson in transparent scoring, sensitive interpretative choices and complementary recording technique. This is extraordinarily magical and fey music – gentle, dreamy and enigmatically beautiful. I noted at 6:10 a low key squeak.

The dream is blasted away by Mai-Dun. The title is taken from Thomas Hardy’s Wessex name for the earthworks known as Maiden Castle. It’s a dramatic piece which happily accommodates other influences including, in the aggressive French Horns at 1:20, Tchaikovsky’s 4th Symphony. This is mixed with Delian complexity (3:40). The horns sing out over top of searching forte strings at 4:20 and there are Baxian touches aplenty with at 6:18 a typical brass and percussion dance. As a performance this has more bite than Bryden Thomson on the even more splendidly recorded Chandos collection. However it is Barbirolli who gives this the best outing compromised only by 1940s mono sound on Dutton.

Both London and Epic March have also been recorded by Richard Hickox on Chandos. Hickox is in both cases more expansive than Boult. Boult’s London has sappy rhythmic bite and a glorious wide-stage orchestral image. The Epic March has full breadth and the splendour of a truly Elgarian nobilmente. In fact Ireland must surely have had the older composer’s warlike echoes of the Pomp & Circumstance No. 4 in mind. Lyrita missed a trick by not ending the disc with this piece. The recording misses not a detail: ‘ting’ of the triangle, the zesty side drum in left channel and rolling brass in the right; not to mention that affirmative warble from the brass benches at 5:41.

Rather like Bax, his flirtations with commissioned incidental music were invariably painful. He did not enjoy the BBC commission but on the evidence of Geoffrey Bush’s editorial work we can enjoy a stuttering Holstian scherzo full of jerky activity and a cortege of brooding epic melancholy. The cavernously sonorous clarity at 3:10 for brass and side drum is memorable.

Ireland sole foray into film music was for The Overlanders. Here the mediation between film and concert suite was done by Charles Mackerras – very appropriate given the Australian locale for the film. Scorched Earth has a Rawsthorne-like lyrical acidity – recalling the younger composer’s music for The Cruel Sea. The Intermezzo has a steady-as-she-goes swing in an open natural acoustic. In Brumbies Boult drives the music forward with muscular brusqueness. Note the fast flutter-tonguing from the trumpet. Night stampede has those magnificently burred and rolling horns and there is a majestic blast with which to end the suite.

The Lyrita reissue programme for the orchestral Boult-conducted Ireland will be completed in February and April 2007 with SRCD.241 and SRCD.242. The first will have Legend; Satyricon; Piano Concerto; These Things Shall Be and Two symphonic studies. The second is a mixed anthology: Ireland: Concertino Pastorale; The Holy Boy; Minuet & Elegy (Downland Suite) and Bridge: Rosemary; Suite for Strings; Sally in our Alley; Cherry Ripe; Lament; Sir Roger de Coverley.

The liner-notes for this issue are by three pillars of the Ireland quarter Julian Herbage, Harold Rutland and Geoffrey Bush.

A classic John Ireland collection – magically done. Not the essential Ireland apart from Forgotten Rite - for that you must go to SRCD.241 – but full of vitality and imagination.

-- Rob Barnett , MusicWeb International

The word ‘feroce’ appears in the directive for the first movement of Bax’s First Symphony. Myer Fredman does not disappoint – there is something of a ‘dare’ about the horns’ fate-like gesture at the opening of the work, a defiance that runs through this movement. Fredman secures impassioned playing from the LPO and paces the movement supremely well, so that the second subject, when it comes (three minutes in), acts as aural balm in its tender, lyrical, almost sotto voce demeanour. Rhythms, so important, nay vital, here, take on towards the end almost the significance they do in Holst’s ‘Mars’. And look out for moments of real magic, too (the flutes at 10’37ff). The second movement (‘Lento solenne’) is a dark and powerful elegy, hardly a place of retreat from the boundless energies of the surrounding movements (there are only three in total). The London Philharmonic’s concentration seems total. The finale boasts a big-boned introduction (Allegro maestoso) before the doors are opened on some glittering Baxian frolics.

Anguished harmonies seem more prevalent in Symphony No. 7, although some glittering moments bring contrast. The longer paragraphs carry with them a certain grandeur that is most affecting, a certain quiet nobility that inspires some sort of awe. The Lento (with a Piu mosso section marked, ‘In Legendary Mood’) is rather beautiful, although perhaps it is a trifle over-long (it begins to sprawl rather here). The ending is touchingly tender, though.

The finale begins with a nod to Britten in its open-air exuberance, and later features some brass writing that would not have disgraced Walton’s Crown Imperial. The close is certainly grand (although do I detect a hint of bombast?), and the noble, long-breathed string melodies are here even more effective because of Lyrita’s superb, warm recording. Of course we are in competition with Chandos’s Bryden Thomson and Vernon Handley, two conductors whose qualifications in this repertoire are fully acknowledged, not to mention David Lloyd Jones’s Bax recordings for Naxos. Yet Leppard’s instincts are accurate and always convincing.

This is a valuable disc, not least because it puts two substantive works by Bax side-by-side. Both performances do the scores justice and the recording is, as usual from this source, exemplary.

-- Colin Clarke, MusicWeb International

Adrian Boult brought tremendous authority to any recording he made of 20th century British works, having known the composers and often having conducted the premiere performances. These recordings, made in the early 1970s, demonstrate that age took not a bit of his musical command or energy on the podium. Boult was particularly associated with Gustav Holst (he conducted the public premiere of The Planets). Since this compilation presents some of the crown jewels of Lyrita's history, anyone with any interest in British music of the first third of the 20th century should consider this CD a mandatory acquisition. Beni-Mora is unusually picturesque and passionate; the Fugal Overture's wit and lyricism belies the impression of stodginess its title suggests; and the virtually unknown Japanese Suite charms and invigorates. The 30-year-old sound is still better--cleaner, clearer, and more natural--than most of the stuff major labels are putting out in standard CD sound today.

--Joseph Stevenson, ClassicsToday.com

I still remember how exciting it was to discover these marvelous tone poems: the mysterious darkness of November Woods, the watery depths of The Garden of Fand, and of course the magnificent vistas revealed in Tintagel. This last was the most familiar, from a classic Barbirolli recording for EMI of English overtures and symphonic poems, but I suspect that this was the next Bax disc that most collectors added to their libraries, assuming they could find it. The performances remain all that one could want: atmospheric, very well played, and beautifully engineered. We've come a long way in our knowledge of this fine composer since the days when Lyrita alone carried the torch for Bax, but these recordings wear their years very lightly and still offer as much listening pleasure as when they were new. For a single-disc collection of the major tone poems, you can't do better than this. [1/10/2007]--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Probably no other country turned out such a bountiful crop of minor masters as England in the first decades of the 20th century. E.J. Moeran was one of the best: his work is finely crafted, melodically appealing, colorful, and effectively structured, and this is the disc to own if you only have room in your collection for one sample of his output. The Symphony in G minor in particular stands with the finest works of the period. Yes, the music is derivative: of Vaughan Williams, Sibelius, and even Tchaikovsky (the start of the first movement's development section), but that doesn't matter. It's a terrific listen, and on balance Boult's is the finest performance of the work.

It has in abundance the qualities for which this conductor was rightly acclaimed: an effortless feeling of movement, ideal clarity of texture, firm rhythms, and all of this with none of the ensemble sloppiness that sometimes intruded on his interpretations. The performance also features Lyrita sonics that remain a touchstone to this day in terms of naturalness and impact. With by no means negligible couplings consisting of equally successful versions of the Sinfonietta (a substantial piece with a particularly imaginative central variation movement) and the Overture for a Masque, this disc is a classic any way you look at it.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

The London Philharmonic seemed to take Alwyn to its heart for these two eminently approachable symphonies in warm-hearted performances, recorded in crystalline detail yet with full-bodied sound.

The First Symphony was dedicated to Sir John Barbirolli and was composed in 1949. The first movement reveals a sure structural grasp (the music is always directional, always sure of where it is going); the second movement is a mercurial Scherzo revealing the LPO on magnificent, quixotic form. Accents are perfectly highlighted and there is a real sense of life coming from within. The Trio is an oasis away from the rhythmic verve of the Scherzo, making the rhythmic life the more effective when it bursts back upon the scene.

The hushed lyricism of the cello line towards the start of the Adagio ma con moto is a marvel here, phrasally tender and tonally lush. Surely this is the symphony’s peak, for it is here that Alwyn’s invention is at its most unforced. The finale, despite its ‘allegro jubilante’ marking, includes a fair few shadows that seem determined to rain on the music’s parade – things are not as clear-cut in Alwyn the symphonist as may be assumed from Alwyn the miniaturist.

The Fourth Symphony dates from a decade later. It begins in a gentle and undemanding fashion – the tonally-ambiguous melodic lines give the music a fluidity that is certainly most appealing. Climaxes are impressive (as in the First Symphony, there is no doubt as to the LPO’s dedication); the extended Scherzo (longer than the first movement, in fact) is marvellously sprightly. This gives way to the tranquillity of the finale, a tripartite Adagio-Allegro-Adagio structure, the final Adagio section of which contains the most moving music on the disc. Well worth exploring.

Booklet notes by the composer (for Symphony No. 1 only) are enlightening. Alwyn lists as his influences here as Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune and Richard Strauss’s Don Juan as well as Schoenberg, Szymanowski and Scriabin (the latter in particular Prometheus and the Poem of Ecstasy). Actually for all its fluidity of invention, the music is not quite as exciting as that heady list might imply – but it is tremendously involving taken on its own terms. At its best it can seem an exhilarating and rewarding journey.

-- Colin Clarke, MusicWeb International

Marin Alsop's recordings of Brahms' first two symphonies were good, at times very good, but not great. In particular, for all her basic musicality, the performances lacked a certain element of excitement, never mind actual risk-taking. So my expectations for this Third, the toughest of them all to conduct, were not that high. After all, some really great Brahmsians, including Toscanini and Furtwängler, have really screwed up this symphony. The latter's performances especially constitute some of the most hideously embarrassing documents ever left by a theoretically great artist. Indeed, in the entire history of the work on disc, there have been perhaps seven or eight truly great performances: Walter (Sony, stereo), Levine (RCA), Wand (his first one with NDR, on RCA), Klemperer (EMI), Jochum (EMI, with this orchestra), Dohnanyi (Warner/Teldec), and perhaps most surprisingly, Solti (Decca).


To this select list, add Alsop. This is not a judgment made lightly, but this is one hell of a fine performance of this most elusive symphony, perhaps closest in character to Dohnanyi's Cleveland version. It's interesting to note the dearth of German or central European orchestras in the above list, and this fact holds a clue to Alsop's success: her ability to keep the textures from becoming too heavy, and to keep Brahms' bass lines moving. Ordinarily, and particularly in the First and Fourth Symphonies, the typically dark, rich German bass is just the ticket, but not here. This symphony, with its obvious homage to Dvorák's Fifth in the same key, and its frequent recourse to syncopated rhythms in the middle registers of the orchestra, needs as much space around the notes as is consistent with lively tempos and well-sprung rhythms.


Part of the problem is of Brahms' own making. While the last three movements offer some of his finest orchestral writing, especially for the woodwinds, the first movement often comes across as a clogged-up mess. Conductors overcompensate for the lack of audible detail by playing the music too slowly. Alsop keeps the music moving, but also clarifies the underlying rhythm quite splendidly. As an example, consider the transition from the first to the second subject, and later on, the triplet accompaniments to the finale's heroic second subject. This is very good Brahms conducting: the tension never sags, no important details go unobserved (note the nicely touched-in contrabassoon just before the recapitulation), and nothing detracts from the evolving symphonic argument.


The Andante features beautifully blended wind playing in its serene outer sections and just the right touch of mystery in the central chorale. Alsop takes great care to observe the written dynamics, a big plus in the ensuing Poco Allegretto, which sounds so much better minus the usual excess of espressivo. Best of all, the finale is spectacular: swiftly exciting, with very present timpani and a tremendously explosive (but remarkably transparent) central climax. The coda captures that special, autumnal glow that Brahms builds into the scoring, but without sacrificing sufficient momentum to bring the work to a fulfilling (as opposed to a merely exhausted) conclusion.


The Haydn Variations makes an excellent coupling, and is equally well done. Alsop's excellent command of rhythm once again is very much in evidence, particularly in the Vivace fifth variation, and even without those darker, heavier bass lines the final passacaglia builds quite effortlessly to a joyous conclusion. Vividly detailed sonics seal the deal. The truth is that very few conductors manage to do all of the Brahms symphonies equally well, which is why the modern tendency to do them in fours is such a pity. This effort bodes well for the conclusion of Alsop's cycle, but at the same time it will be a tough act to follow. I hope she can do it; in the meantime, I'm more than happy to recommend this superb new recording as strongly as possible. [1/22/2007]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com