Recorded in: Henry Wood Hall, Glasgow 1 April 1987 Producer(s) Brian Couzens Sound Engineer(s) Ralph Couzens Philip Couzens [Assistant]

Here's a Franck D-minor Symphony in the classic French tradition of Paray and Munch: fast and exciting. In fact, at less than nine minutes, Tortelier's finale may very well be the swiftest ever, and tempos in both of the other movements never look back. Still, there's no trace of stiffness or lack of rhythmic flexibility. Others may well call it the "slim fast" approach or "Franck-lite," and the lack of self-indulgence does rob the quieter moments of some of their inherent mystery. I'm thinking here particularly of the symphony's opening, or the calm interlude in the finale just before the coda, where the "motto theme" returns accompanied by rich harp arpeggios, but it's not a major issue. Tortelier also isn't afraid to let the enthusiastic brass swamp the strings now and again, as at the end of the first movement's second subject, but my word, how those trumpets do ride the climaxes! In short, I'm not tossing out my favorites (aside from those listed above, these include Monteux/Chicago and Bernstein's DG remake), but this is much more than just another run-of-the-mill version.


The couplings also go well. Les Eolides has just the right skittish charm, and the Symphonic Variations pack considerably more energy than usual, though Louis Lortie's capable pianism must yield to Artur Rubinstein (RCA) and Ivan Moravec (Supraphon). I am less the impressed with Chandos' sonics. As with their recent Glinka CD, the big, reverberant acoustic works against the thrust of the performances. Something drier and crisper, with a better focus on cellos, basses, and timpani would have complimented Tortelier's approach much more readily. Nevertheless, if you love Franck's symphony, you'll enjoy this.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

This volume of Richard Hickox's ongoing series of recordings of the music of Ralph Vaughan Williams gathers some of the composer's works related to his opera 'The Pilgrim's Progress.' The opening work has an obvious connection, as a setting of a speech of one of John Bunyan's characters. The disc's centerpiece, the Fifth Symphony, was begun in 1938 using themes from the opera, which Vaughan Williams feared might not be performed. The remaining semi-religious works are in somewhat the same spiritual vein.
Although the entire program is well-performed, the Symphony stands out beyond mere length. Hickox and the London Symphony play their hearts out, bringing some of Vaughan William's best music to exquisite life. The stunningly beautiful Romanza and final Passacaglia alone make this disc well worth the price. Add three premiere recordings (including "The Pilgrim Pavement," composed for the Dedication of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City) and vivid recording, and the result--like the discs which preceded it--is no less than essential.

The works on this disc represent some of Boris Tchaikovsky's finest orchestral music, and the release marks the start of a mini-series of Boris Tchaikovsky's historical recordings which will feature some major Russian artists. These recordings from the 1980s, two of which are premieres, are here released for the first time.

*** This title is a reissue of a Japanese release with liner notes in Japanese. ***

Classical Music

Classical Music

*** This title is a reissue of a Japanese release with liner notes in Japanese. ***

This release contains two of Mozart's greatest concertos. 1784 found the 28-year-old Mozart at the peak of his popularity in Vienna, if we can judge by the fact that he composed no less than six piano concertos during that year. Piano Concerto No. 17 in G major, K. 453 was written in the early spring. Mozart completed it, according to the date he noted on the score and his recently-begun work-catalogue, on April 12. Scored for a small orchestra without clarinets, trumpets, or drums, K. 453 is one of the most graceful of all Mozart's concertos, typically mingling a sense of gaiety with melancholic undertones. A year and a half after the first performance of Concerto No. 17, Mozart completed Piano Concerto No. 22 in E flat, K 482, which he entered as completed into his work-catalog on December 16, 1785. Urbane and aristocratic in character, it gains a regal warmth of sound from the orchestra's inclusion of clarinets instead of oboes - the first time Mozart had done so in a concerto. Vassily Primakov plays Mozart's own cadenzas in K. 453, and those of Camille Saint-Saëns in K. 482.

Recorded live at the Wiener Konzerthaus on October 30, 1952.

Sergiu Celibidache was one of the truly unique, unconventional conductors of the 20th century. When Furtwängler was banned from conducting after the Second World War, Celibidache restructured the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra and conducted it until Furtwängler’s return. However, after Furtwängler’s death in 1954 and the subsequent appointment of Herbert von Karajan as his successor, Celibidache’s relations with the orchestra were broken off. Over the ensuing years, up to the moment that he took on the Munich Philharmonic in 1979, Celibidache never tied himself to a single orchestra for any length of time. Instead he led a truly nomadic existence as a restless artist. He seldom travelled to musical centres such as Vienna.
His concert with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra from October 1952, now released in its entirety by Orfeo thus offers interesting insights into a time when Celibidache still seemed to be weighing up his options. In Brahms’s First Symphony he comes across as more urgent in his tempi than was the case with the conductor we know from later years and from his later recordings. However, he was already outstanding in his sense of tone colour and in his ability to get his orchestral musicians truly to listen to one another. This is evident in 'Les Préludes'at the beginning of the concert, and above all in the 'Concerto for the Left Hand', played by none other than Robert Casadesus. With his pianistic refinement, French clarity and aristocratic command, it was not surprising that Casadesus became the interpreter of this work. In his collaboration with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra under Sergiu Celibidache, he succeeded in exemplary fashion in maintaining the tension throughout that is characteristic of this concerto, and in making the most of the grotesque nature of many of its episodes. A fascinating encounter between two great musicians.

"Nowhere does the CD make clear whether these performances were recorded before live concert audiences in Birmingham Symphony Hall on October 16–17, 2008; but, in concert or not, this is one of the more spectacular sounding symphonic recordings to come my way in some time. The dynamic range is awesome, and I’m pretty sure that for the first time I heard details of Tchaikovsky’s scoring, even in the most densely orchestrated passages, that I’ve never heard before.

It’s been such a long time since I last listened to Tchaikovsky’s Hamlet Overture, I’d forgotten what a seething cauldron of a witch’s brew it’s able to stir up. Part Romeo and Juliet and part Francesca da Rimini, the piece grew out of an invitation the composer received to write incidental music for a production of Shakespeare’s play. The project fizzled, but Tchaikovsky decided to put his efforts to good use in a concert overture cum fantasia that, had it been presented as an actual curtain raiser, would probably have upstaged the play it was intended to introduce. I mean, whoever heard of a 19-minute bombast-filled overture? There’s little in the way of musical storytelling or depiction of the play’s characters; and the big, heart-throbbing melody one expects from Tchaikovsky, atypically, never quite materializes. Rather, the work is more of a psychological study in the moods, motivations, and states of mind of the dramatis personae, most of which and for most of the time are angry and highly agitated. The Hamlet Overture makes for a logical discmate in that chronologically it’s exactly contemporaneous with the Fifth Symphony; both works claim 1888 as their date of origin. Again, as with the Symphony, Nelsons turns out a fantastic performance...He whips up the proceedings to quite a frenzied pitch; so, if you like loud and exciting passages to be really loud and exciting, Nelsons and the CBSO will not disappoint."

-- Jerry Dubins, Fanfare [1/2010]

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Classical Music

Classical Music

MAHLER Symphonies Nos. 1 and 2 1 • Bruno Walter, cond; 1 Nadine Conner (sop); 1 Mona Paulee (ms); 1 Westminster Choir; New York P O • MUSIC & ARTS 1264, mono (2 CDs: 132:17 & English only) Live: New York, 1 1/25 and 10/25/1942


Elsewhere in this issue I review a two-CD set of historic Bruckner symphony performances conducted by Bruno Walter. Here we have two more premiere publications of historic broadcasts, drawn from the same private collection recently acquired by Music and Arts, with the promise of still more to come. Their chief point of interest is that they are among the earliest recorded performances by Walter of works by the composer to which, far above and beyond any other conductor, he could claim a unique, profoundly personal connection, as Mahler’s longtime assistant and protégé, who led the world premiere performances of the Ninth Symphony and Das Lied von der Erde . To be more precise, this is the earliest surviving Walter account of the “Resurrection,” whereas the “Titan” is preceded by a 1939 broadcast with the NBC Symphony.


Back in 34:6, in reviewing a 1950 Vienna Philharmonic broadcast of the Mahler Fourth that also made it into my 2011 Want List, I briefly surveyed all of Walter’s surviving performances of that work—12 in all. The First ranks second (got that?) in Walter’s Mahler discography, with nine extant versions, given variously with the NBC Symphony, London Philharmonic, Concertgebouw, Bavarian State Symphony, New York Philharmonic, and Columbia Symphony. As in the similar tables in the Bruckner set review, if a particular performance has appeared more than once on CD, I have cited the best version currently in print (excluding versions included in large multi-CD anthologies); studio recordings are marked with an asterisk.




Date Orchestra CD or LP Issue (if any) Timings


04/08/39 NBC SO Music & Arts CD-1241 11:55 6:09 11: 19 18:04


10/25/42 NYP Music & Arts CD-1264 12:34 6:34 11: 27 18:55


10/16/47 RCO Tahra TAH 504 12:12 6:05 11:26 18:48


11/06/47 LPO Testament SBT 1429 11:47 6:05 10:38 17: 38


02/12/50 NYP Andromeda ANDRCD 9087 12:31 6:16 11:30 18: 50


10/02/50 BSSO Orfeo C 562 021 B 12:03 6:15 11:18 18:17


01/24/54 NYP Movimento Musica 01.106 12:20 6:17 11: 35 18:42


(LP only, Italy)


01/25/54 NYP Sony MHK 63328* 12:33 6:22 11:18 18:17


01/14 /61 CSO Sony SM2K 64447* 13:20 6:50 11:24 20:25


- 02/06/61


Again very much like Walter’s eight surviving performances of the Bruckner Ninth, the timings here indicate a remarkable stability in his interpretive approach among the performances pre-dating his March 1957 heart attack—and in this instance, even the 1961 studio recording differs in little else except the somewhat broader tempi in the outer movements. The sound of the 1939 NBC broadcast is surprisingly decent, a vast improvement on previous issues on other (and much less reputable) labels. For whatever reason, Walter’s 1947 performances in London feature noticeably quicker tempi than those of the same works in other venues. (A positively Toscaninian Beethoven Ninth issued by Music and Arts clocks in at a torrential 61:58, compared to his 1949 studio recording of 65:12, with most of the difference occurring in the first and third movements.) The London performance also unfortunately suffers from the poorest recorded sound (it is afflicted with noticeable tape wow and flutter) and sometimes dicey orchestral playing.


Several of these performances have been reviewed in these pages before, mostly with glowing praise. In 28:1 James H. North termed Walter’s 1947 Concertgebouw outing “magnificent ... a performance for the ages.” Jeffrey J. Lipscomb’s review of the 1950 Munich performance in 29:3 said that it “captures Walter’s artistry at its finest,” and he then placed it on his 2006 Want List. In 34:3 Boyd Pomeroy likewise lauded the 1939 NBC performance as “a reading of thrilling spontaneity, a combustible meeting of Walter’s totally idiomatic Mahler style with the distinctively bright, tightly focused expressive intensity of the NBC orchestra, which responds with total commitment.” He also commented briefly on the two 1947 renditions plus Walter’s two studio recordings, where his evaluations agree with those of his colleagues. The less positive reviews—Peter J. Rabinowitz on the 1950 New York performance in 13:3, and Arthur Lintgen on the 1947 London performance in 32:6—have faulted poor recorded sound rather than the interpretation. Except for finding the sound of the 1950 New York performance far more listenable than did Rabinowitz, I otherwise concur with all of the foregoing reviews and happily refer readers to them.


To their observations I will append a few of my own. The 1947 Concertgebouw and 1950 Munich performances feature a more mellow orchestral timbre than do those of their American counterparts, with Munich having the better recorded sound. However, the 1947 performance features the finest orchestral playing; it has a superior rendition of the treacherous double-bass solo in the third movement, and is the only live performance in which there is not at least one prominently cracked or blown note on the trumpets or horns (though such lapses are few and momentary in the other ones). The live 1954 New York performance cries out to be issued on CD; it has superior sound to the other live American recordings, and the crackling frisson of a live performance that the estimable studio account recorded the following day does not quite replicate. Unlike some critics who discount Walter’s 1960 account as relatively slack and a letdown from his previous versions, I still regard it as virtually nonpareil among studio recordings, even if I do prefer the greater tensile strength of the earlier monaural studio account. Mahler as a hyper-neurotic has been grossly overdone, and Walter’s balancing of what he called the Apollonian and Dionysian sides of the composer is a far more accurate view that reflects his own intimate acquaintance with Mahler’s personality rather than latter-day pseudo-Freudian projections upon it.


Unless and until the live 1954 New York account becomes available on CD, my top recommendations for the Mahler collector who wants a representative performance of the First by Walter would be either the 1947 Concertgebouw or 1950 Munich performance, along with the newly issued super-budget seven-CD set on Sony of all of Walter’s Mahler recordings for Columbia, just reviewed by Christopher Abbott as a “Classical Hall of Fame” entry in 35:6. As for this 1942 performance, while it is naturally a necessary acquisition for Walter collectors such as myself, it is a luxury acquisition for others; it is a typically excellent interpretation, but not sufficiently distinct from other and better-sounding Walter performances. Those desiring to hear Walter’s earlier thoughts on the work would do better to turn to the 1939 NBC outing.


Much the same can be said of the 1942 performance of the “Resurrection” presented here, though in this case there is considerably less competition. This is now the fifth performance by Walter of this work to appear in print, an extraordinarily high number considering the relative rarity of performances of it before the Mahler boom of the 1960s. As before, the following tables provide specific details. For all of the New York Philharmonic performances, Walter used the Westminster Choir; for the Vienna Philharmonic performance he employed the chorus of the Vienna State Opera Concert Society.


Date Orchestra / Soloists CD or LP Issue (if any)


01/25/42 NYP / Conner / Paulee Music & Arts CD-1264


05/15/48 VPO / Cebotari / Anday Archipel ARPCD 0082


12/05/48 NYP / Conner / Watson Bruno Walter Society BWS 1067/8


(LP only, Japan)


02/17/57 NYP / Stader / Forrester Music & Arts CD-1199(1)


02/17-21/58 NYP / Cundari / Forrester Sony SM2K 64447*


Timings for these are as follows:


Date Timings


01/25/42 22:06 9:59 10:18 4:40 32:30


05/15/48 22:28 10:53 10:56 4:38 34:47


12/05/48 22:20 11:24 10:54 5:13 34:35


02/17/57 21:30 10:36 10:44 4:39 33:01


02/17-21/58 21:37 10:35 10:43 4:11 32:26


Christopher Abbott reviewed and praised the deluxe Andante release (most regrettably out of print) of the 1948 Vienna performance in 26:6. (The current Andromeda issue, coupled with the 1950 New York performance of the First, appears to be a clone of the Andante issue, muddied with added bass reverberation.) Boyd Pomeroy (whose recent departure from these pages is a sore loss) waxed enthusiastic over the live 1957 New York performance in 34:5; an earlier issue (also by Music and Arts) was welcomed with equal enthusiasm by Abbott in 31:2, who also discusses the 1958 studio recording in his aforementioned recent Classical Hall of Fame entry in 35:6.


The Mahler Second is unique in Walter’s discography in being the only recorded work in his repertoire where his final performances are faster instead of slower than his earlier ones. Here, the 1942 performance is a few seconds behind the 1958 studio recording, and a bit ahead of the 1957 live performance, but all three are a few minutes faster than the two versions from 1948. As Abbott notes, this belies oft-repeated assertions that the post-1957 heart attack recordings led to a slackening of Walter’s interpretations; there is certainly no lack of energy and dynamism in this account. Moreover, this is a notable instance in which advances in remastering technology substantially alter discographic evaluations. The superlative deluxe Andante release of the 1948 Vienna performance transformed it from a dim-sounding mess to a listenable recording of considerable historic interest, even if in the process it revealed additional flaws (more on which anon). Boyd Pomeroy’s preference for the live 1957 performance over the 1958 studio recording was quite justifiable in light of the rather poor remastering that Sony produced of the latter for its “Bruno Walter Edition,” with a dry, constricted bass register. While this has been slightly but noticeably improved in the new boxed set reviewed by Abbott, that too would not be enough to change the assessment. But this evaluation must be radically altered once one hears the DSD (Sony SRCR 2334-5) or Blu-Spec (Sony SICC 20075-6) editions issued by Sony in Japan (the latter at least is already out of print, alas). Suddenly the entire frequency range is opened up to a hitherto unimagined degree, with a bass register that now has depth and warmth, and the choir finally emerging with the presence and impact one sensed it always had but felt was somehow imprisoned behind invisible sonic bars. (Special thanks to Fanfare reader and friend Robert Alps for both the information on these releases and for generous gift copies of them as well. Through him I have also just learned that by the time this review appears in print, Sony in Japan will have released some CDs in a newly upgraded sonic format, Blu-Spec2.)


Of these five performances, the one from Vienna in 1948 ranks a rather distant last place. While much improved by Andante, the recorded sound is still rather dry and boxy, with limited frequencies; the orchestral playing is surprisingly ragged (including a horrible cracked note in the crucial fifth movement trombone solo), and the choir not much better; and Rosette Anday’s wobbly, hollow-voiced attempt at the solo alto part is the kind of thing one hears on parody discs rather than in serious performances. This 1942 performance occupies the next-to-last position. It is very fine on its own terms, and if no other example of Walter’s art in this work survived it would be of immense value, but it is outclassed by all three succeeding performances. As in the 1948 New York performance (more on which shortly), the soloists and choir sing an English translation—revised by Walter himself—rather than the original German. Mona Paulee is a committed soloist, but her voice has more of a mezzo-soprano cast than the dark contralto one truly needed for the part. Nadine Conner, a Walter favorite for soprano vocal assignments who also sang supporting roles at the Met, fulfills her smaller role capably, and the Westminster Choir sings with power and enthusiasm.


In his typically superb program notes—which include fascinating details regarding behind-the-scenes negotiation of the Boston and New York orchestras with various musical figures and how these affected concert programming—Mark W. Kluge opines that this is “an account that is noticeably more rhetorical and dramatic than his later performances.” With this assertion I must respectfully disagree. Both the 1957 live and 1958 studio versions (the latter in its new Japanese remasterings) yield nothing on this score to the 1942, and indeed have more forward drive and energy. However, the real but frustratingly elusive prize is the live 1948 New York performance. It was released only in Japan on an ultra-scarce set of Bruno Walter Society LPs, though cassette and CD copies have circulated among private collectors as well. That is the performance to which Kluge’s observation rightly applies. It simply beggars superlatives—utterly titanic, of a white-hot intensity and level of interpretive inspiration that causes the limitations of a 1948 AM broadcast sound (superior to that from 1942) to fall away and leave one slack-jawed in dumbfounded amazement. In Rose Watson, Walter this time has the true contralto voice needed for the primary solo part; Nadine Conner repeats her fine rendition of her supporting role; both the Westminster Choir and New York Philharmonic play and sing as if their very lives depended on it, leaving their previous efforts trailing in the dust; and the audience roars and whistles its ecstatic approval at the close.


Music and Arts has done its usual superlative job with remastering and tape-to-disc transfer (by Aaron Z. Snyder and Eric Jacobs, respectively). These are both excellent performances that are necessary acquisitions for the committed Walterian such as myself. Anyone else who has the money and inclination to acquire them also will certainly get his money’s worth. The one major caveat is the existence of superior alternatives. Thus, an urgent personal plea to the good folks at M&A: how about issuing a two-CD set coupling the 1954 performance of the First and the 1948 one of the Second? That would be a must acquisition for every lover of Mahler and for collectors of historic recordings alike.

FANFARE: James A. Altena

Chandos' Featured Release for February will be the final recording made by Richard Hickox, intended as the first in a cycle devoted to orchestral works by Goossens. Offering the premiere recording of Goossens's Phantasy Concerto for Piano and Orchestra, and the rarely recorded Symphony No. 1, this disc serves as a tribute to Hickox and his remarkable legacy of recordings on Chandos. Though principally remembered as a conductor, during the 1920s the prolific Eugene Goossens was regarded as among the foremost British composers alongside Bax, Bridge and Walton. Sadly, his music has been all but forgotten, for the colourful, expressive nature of his music fell out of fashion in the 1950s and 1960s. A recent reviewer of Goossens's music wrote, 'If you have ever gleaned the idea that Goossens is inclined to grey modernism or to windy rhetoric, prepare to have your preconceptions well and truly shattered'. His music is suggestive of fellow composers of the era, notably Holst and Bliss. Having grown up in Britain, Goossens accepted an invitation to come to the United States as the first chief conductor of the Rochester Philharmonic Orchestra in New York State. He was there for twenty years, before moving to Australia where he served as Chief Conductor of the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. His music and character proved a great influence on the Australian classical audience and he is recognised as one of the most important figures in Australian musical life. The rewarding Phantasy Concerto, Op. 60 for Piano and Orchestra was written for the celebrated Spanish pianist José Iturbi who gave its first performance in 1944. 'The work, particularly the slow movement, was influenced by my re-reading at that time of Edgar Allan Poe's The Devil in the Belfry, and might be said to reflect something of the fantastic and sinister character of that story, though in no way being a literal depiction of it', wrote Goossens. The concerto was the outcome of a discussion between Iturbi and the composer over the lack of new piano concertos and especially on a smaller scale. The result is a four-movement piano concerto in compressed sonata form. The soloist plays more of a concertante role than in a display concerto, his part tending towards being integral to the orchestral texture. Goossens used the word 'conversational' to describe this relationship between soloist and orchestra. This premiere recording is coupled with the melodious and imaginative Symphony No. 1. The Melbourne Symphony Orchestra is regarded as Goossens specialists and here perform with Howard Shelley as the piano soloist.

Classical Music

Virtuoso bravura paired with elaborate detail - Vivaldi’s cantatas for soprano and basso continuo combine of the rousing effects of the operatic stage and the sophistication of intimate chamber music in a unique manner. One can rightly claim that Vivaldi went to the very limits of what can be depicted while offering a true summation of the Italian baroque cantata. The soprano Camilla de Falleiro and the basso continuo specialists of the Accademia Apollinea ensemble ignite the passions for which this magnificent music of the Italian High Baroque is so well known.

At last a version of this legendary work for pleasure, analysis and study.

I am normally something of a 'completist' when it comes to music. And that includes works that may not necessarily reflect a composer at his or her best. If Bloggs wrote 101 songs then, if at all possible there should be at least one fair recording made of each – if for no other reason than to provide context. The best can then be compared to the not so good and can be seen to shine. Ivor Gurney may be an exception to this rule: there is much debate about his ‘unplayable and un-publishable’ songs and chamber works yet many folk want to give these an airing - even if it means damaging the composer’s reputation. Imagine a neophyte finds a CD of Bloggs’s Unknown Songs. Further, imagine that they are not very good. Could this put our friend off not only Bloggs but also English lieder? Perhaps they would be best left un-played and unrecorded? Other issues arise, such as the composer’s intentions. Did they regard these pieces as worthy? Or did they suppress them? This argument has surfaced with the repristination of the early music - which had been believed destroyed - by William Alwyn and suppressed works by RVW. I hasten to add that I am grateful for these CDs and have especially enjoyed hearing the former’s tone-poem Blackdown and the latter’s Heroic Elegy.

Let us turn to The Crown of India. Most Elgar enthusiasts will know the Suite derived from this ‘Imperial Masque’. It has been issued in a number of recordings over the years, including a fine version from Chandos with the Scottish National Orchestra conducted by Sir Alexander Gibson. The March of the Moguls has also been a popular extract. However, up until this present CD, it has not been possible to hear the complete work in its original format. The question is: is this a worthwhile project?

Firstly let’s dispose of the anti-Imperial argument. There are two (at least) approaches to history. One is, I guess relative and the other is absolute. Some people will refuse to give any credence to an historical personage if they were involved in any activity that is now regarded as politically incorrect, even if it was not always regarded in this light. Men like Cecil Rhodes and Clive of India are despised or at best belittled by ‘liberal’ society. Yet, surely it should be possible to admire the achievement of a woman or a man who did much good work with their involvement in world affairs. Obviously parts of their careers can be justly criticised, but the person themselves cannot be separated from their milieu. Few people in the world are truly forward-thinking: most of us, both living and dead are and were children of our time.

I can hear people condemning this present work as jingoistic - as imperial nonsense. It is a work that sets the British Empire up against the people of India. As such it could be argued that it should be consigned to the dustbin of musical history. We no longer think in terms of Britain Ruling the Waves (except at The Last Night) nor do we necessarily regard the British way of life as being something that must be imposed on other cultures. Things, perhaps, work the other way round these days. So can we justify listening to and perhaps even enjoying this Masque? Only if we can enter the historical setting in our mind’s ear without too many feelings of guilt! However, we ought to judge this work - or any work - on its musical and literary merits rather than its political and cultural resonances down through the years.

The Crown of India is a masque that was written and performed in 1912 to celebrate the visit of King George V and Queen Mary to Delhi. This was part of a ‘durbar’ in that city as part of the celebrations for their coronation as the Emperor and Empress of India. The masque was commissioned by a certain Oswald Stoll and combined a libretto by Henry Hamilton and the music of Edward Elgar. The work was given its first performance at the Coliseum Theatre in London on 11 March 1912. The masque ran for two performances a day for two weeks. At that time the Coliseum was a variety theatre rather than the opera house we know today. Ironically, Diana McVeagh points out that Elgar’s music was performed alongside a programme that included “gymnastic equilibrists, a ventriloquist, a Russian harpist, a scene from Barrie’s The Twelve Pound Look, continental mimes, with the Tannhauser Overture as interval music.” It must have been quite an evening!

The work was conceived in two tableaux, separated by an interlude: it is made up of a dozen pieces or scenes. The first tableau is entitled ‘The Cities of India’ and the second ‘Ave Imperator’. The format called for the personification of ‘India’ and the cities of Agra, Delhi, Calcutta and Benares and also England (not the United Kingdom) by St. George. The chorus consisted of a cast of thousands including Mogul Emperors, Princes, Guards, Executioners, Courtiers, Fan-Bearers, Ladies Attendant Syce (grooms), Litter Bearers, Heralds, and Trumpeters. The work is scored for contralto, bass, chorus and orchestra. However it was not conceived for a symphony orchestra as such but a typical theatre ‘pit’ band of the era although it was considerably ‘augmented’.

It will be helpful to note the tableaux in a slightly simplified list:-

1(a) - Introduction, and (b) Sacred Measure
2 - Dance of the Nautch Girls
2(a) – India greets her cities
3 - Hail, Immemorial Ind! (The Homage of Ind)
4 - March of the Mogul Emperors
5 - Entrance of John Company
6 - Rule of England (St. George’s Song)
7 - Interlude
8 - Warriors' Dance
9 - Cities of India
10 - Crown of India March
11 - Crowning of Delhi
12 - Ave Imperator

In the first tableau the cities of Calcutta and Delhi, personified by the two speakers, plead to be made India’s capital city. In the second, the Emperor rather diplomatically resolves the contention. He states that “… Delhi to be his capital names, And of his Empire, further makes decree, Calcutta shall the premier city be”.

Percy Young has noted that in the early months of 1912 Elgar had moved into Severn House and was conscious “not only of its nobility but also its expense.” So it is fair to say that the commission came at the right time and contributed to the finances.

It is important not to be too critical about the text of the masque. It is easy to write off Henry Hamilton’s libretto as ‘doggerel’ but it was very much a period piece: it is what would have been expected at the time. However, the composer was not overly impressed with the political tone of the words but was able to see the possibilities it presented for producing a colourful score. Elgar was able to cut a number of the worst parts of the text and began composing the music and falling back on mining some earlier works and sketches as he did so. Music rescued from The Sanguine Fan, Falstaff and the Apostles has been identified.

So what are we to make, musically at least, of this massive period piece? Percy Young in his 1955 study of the composer has captured its mood. He writes that “despite the skilful spread of motive, there is no genuine consistency in The Crown of India, but vivid flashes of imaginative treatment, combined with instances of tenderness and charm.” It is a judgement that holds well today.

The make-weights on the second CD are useful additions to the catalogue of Elgar’s imperial, or less pejoratively, his ceremonial music. The Imperial March Op.32 was composed in 1896-7 and was the composer’s first essay in this genre. It was commissioned by Novellos to mark the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria in 1897. At the same time Elgar also received a commission to write The Banner of St George. The Imperial March received its first performance at a Crystal Place concert on 19 April of the same year. Interestingly, this piece is more in the style of what Eric Coates was to compose some quarter of a century later. There is no great pretence at writing profound music – instead it has a tune that has “a spring in its step, and a sunny dance-like trio”. Elgar was not the first to compose this kind of March. Parry had written a fine example in his incidental music for Hypatia. It was however his first essay in what was to become a long line of ceremonial marches. Diana McVeagh notes that it was the Imperial March that “first carried his name throughout the land”.

The Coronation March Op. 65 is a totally different piece. Gone is the light-heartedness of the earlier piece, to be replaced by music that has a depth of emotion and variety of mood that is rare in a work of its genre. The March was a ‘laureate’ work commissioned for the Coronation of King George V in 1911. It has been well said that the composer is mourning the death of the old King rather than cheering the accession of the new. In many ways it has the air of a funeral march rather than a rumbustious paean of welcome for the monarch. I have no doubt that this is one of the best marches that Elgar wrote – or anyone else for that matter. One strange fact associated with this piece is the fact the composer had already written the main opening theme for a projected ballet based on the tales of Rabelais! It is assumed that he abandoned this project because of Victorian prudery and pressure from his wife Alice.

I have always had a soft spot for the Empire March even if it is not the best of the bunch. This work was composed in 1924 to inaugurate the British Empire Exhibition held at Wembley in that year. It is interesting, if somewhat poignant, that this is one of the very few works to be completed after the death of Alice in 1920. The Elgar Society webpage suggests that “it is but a pale shadow of his earlier marches, lacking the distinctiveness and decisiveness of melody which so characterised his more successful marches …” Yet there is an interest in these pages and a certain backward glance to happier times.

I am not quite sure why Chandos have chosen to give two versions of The Crown of India – one with the spoken text and one without. I would have thought that a single version would have sufficed for what is a very uneven work. However, if it had been a single CD, there would have been no room for the three Marches. Furthermore, I doubt if this work will receive many concert performances, in spite of the fact that the Elgar Society have just published the full score. I imagine that if it is performed it will be in the edited version.

All this being said, and I have not really made my mind up about this piece yet, this CD is a must for all Elgar cognoscenti even if they are, like me, not over-enthusiastic about the main event. I enjoyed some of this music. I certainly enjoyed the fine performances by Sir Andrew Davis, the soloists and speakers and the BBC Philharmonic. I appreciate the amount of work that Anthony Payne has invested in this project to realise the score. But was it worth it? I will probably not listen to this work again but I will occasionally play The Crown of India Suite. However, it is important to know that a version of this legendary work is available for pleasure, analysis and study. The amount of effort that has been required to realise this masque may seem to some a little excessive and perhaps misdirected.

Perhaps the project can best be summed up in two quotations from the sleeve-notes. The first is from Nalini Ghuman: “( The Crown of India is) a fascinating work of imperialism: historically illuminating and often musically rich, it is nevertheless a profoundly embarrassing piece - a significant contribution to the orientalised India of the English imagination.” And the second is written by Andrew Neill. He concludes his essay by suggesting that ‘although Elgar’s subject is now out of fashion we can hear how, despite its tendentious nature and poor quality, Elgar rises above Hamilton’s text with colourful music of great variety … it may not be India, but it is Elgar, who did this sort of thing better than anyone else.”

-- John France, MusicWeb International

2009 release. BBC Philharmonic Fionnuala Hunt leader, conducted by Rumon Gamba. Recorded in Studio 7, New Broadcasting House, Manchester, England December 9 &10, 2008. Premiere recording of Electra, Op.79 (1963) Ballet in One Act.

THE COMPLETE CONCERTOS FOR ORG

SINFONIE NR. 4 G-DUR

Classical Music

SIBELIUS: Symphonies Nos. 1 and 4

Includes work(s) by Carl Stamitz. Conductor: Drostan Hall.