Malcolm ARNOLD (b. 1921)
Symphony No. 7 (1973)
Symphony No. 8 (1978)
National SO of Ireland/Andrew
Penny
rec 21-22 Feb 2000, National Concert Hall, Dublin, Ireland (in presence of
composer)
NAXOS 8.552001
[63.55]
Crotchet
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recommendations
I reckon that I might, just this once, be forgiven for climbing up onto my
soap-box for a minute or two, so please bear with me. There's a question
that seems to be on everybody's lips at the moment (July 2001), and that
is why, in this year of all years (for those who need the hint, look
at the above heading), there isn't even a single shred of Arnold being
played at the Proms. The one thing that's on nobody's lips is, of course,
the answer. I did rather wonder about this, and took it on myself to enquire
of the BBC. In reply, I received the usual diplomatic straight-arm stand-off:
"I am sorry that you are missing the inclusion of music by Sir Malcolm Arnold
in this year's BBC Proms. In fact, his 80th birthday will be celebrated by
the inclusion of his music in Proms in the Park on the Last Night [Big
Deal!] . . . The Proms continue to present a wider range of music than
any comparable festival, and this year many British composers are featured
as part of our pastoral theme." For some unaccountable reason I was not entirely
satisfied with this reply. I wrote again, repeating the substance of my questions
and suggesting that as a licence-payer, I was entitled to some straight
answers (so you can see how cross I was!). The questions were, in summary,
"Why is Arnold STILL being shunned by our greatest musical platform?", "How
can you possibly justify omitting him ENTIRELY from this year's [proper]
Proms programme?", "What has he done to deserve such treatment?", and "Surely,
haven't all the people that he might have upset retired by now?" I pointed
out that these were straight questions that I have heard asked by all manner
of music-lovers, from 'simple' listeners to respected (if not all internationally
renowned) musicians, but all of them people who are, quite frankly, puzzled
and disgusted by this state of affairs. Of course, there was no response
at all to this second letter, other than the expected resounding silence.
I had one other question, also unanswered: "Why is there a 'wall of silence'?"
We might well wonder. Nowadays, most things only have to show the merest
smidgin of popular appeal and the Media and Big Business Boys roll
out the Profit-Mongering Band-Wagon. Yet, here's our very own Malcolm Arnold,
with a discography that is quite frankly staggering for a composer who has
been "shunned" by the Musical Establishment for decades, whose music is warmly
received wherever it gets played, who is pretty well universally acknowledged
as a class act when it comes to brilliant orchestration, memorable melody,
and punchy rhythm, and whose symphonies are every bit as bone-crunching as
anything of Shostakovich's, in short as big a Band-Wagon as anyone could
wish, so where are the movers and shakers? Somewhere - anywhere - else, it
seems. In a world where even Wagner's music is showing signs (however tentative)
of getting a toe-hold in Israel, you do have to wonder at the unfathomable
attitude of our supposedly free and enlightened BBC. Yes, I know that Arnold
will be "Composer of the Week" in October, and that the BBC Philharmonic
will be featured playing all the symphonies. Commendable as that is, let's
also remember that these will be studio recordings, and that "Composer of
the Week" does not exactly command a "peak time" slot. No - it's good, but
it's nowhere near good enough: Arnold's music is something of which we should
be proud, not something that we coyly sneak under the counter. It really
is about time that they came clean.
Diatribe over? No, not quite. If I were religious, I would thank my God firstly
for all those dedicated amateurs who through the years have doggedly insisted
that Arnold's music is of value. With due respect to all the other stalwarts,
I cannot praise too highly the achievements of the Slaithwaite Philharmonic
Orchestra and their conductor Adrian Smith who, to quote Keith Llewellyn
(Secretary of the Malcolm Arnold Society), have in the last five years or
so been utterly unparalleled in their championship of Arnold. In that period,
they have performed (take a deep breath!) the Cornish Dances, the
Little Suite No. 1, the Second Clarinet Concerto, the Fantasy
on a Theme of John Field, and (incredibly) Symphonies Nos. 2, 4,
and 5. To mark Arnold's 80th birthday, in October they
will be playing the Philharmonic Concerto (and how often do you hear
that played "live"?). If I may make so bold, that little lot is very
much like what should have been performed at this year's Proms - what do
you reckon? By the way, has anyone opened a book on which bit of Arnold "pop
trivia" will actually be played at Proms in the Park?
I mentioned Arnold's impressive discography, providing the second reason
for me to indulge in a little burst of Deo gratia, being strong evidence
that there are at least some musical and recording professionals who show
very creditworthy signs of being "free and enlightened" enough to invest
both time and money (and possibly risk reputations?) in putting the music
of Arnold before us. Of course, it's not as high-risk a venture as we might,
in an unguarded moment, tend to think. They're not daft: as businessmen,
they know that large swadges of musical punters love Arnold's music, and
pretty well all of it at that. I suppose it's just that, as yet, a
lot of them haven't quite woken up to that fact. Maybe they are suspicious
- I know quite a few who are. Arnold's reputation as a "jester" is so dominant
that willy-nilly it colours our impressions of all his music. Even the symphonies
sound outrageous and wear a mask of superficiality, so it's all too
easy to slip into the easy belief that there's nothing of note tucked away
behind the "clown's mask". But, if you have so inclined and then out of sheer
curiosity lift up the corner of that mask, you're in for one hell of a surprise,
believe me! I am studying (inasmuch as that is possible for a "musical
illiterate") the symphonies in some detail, and in all the five I have worked
through to date have discovered layers of meaning lurking, coiled and ready
to strike, beneath that all-too-easily digested exterior. All by my little
self, I have uncovered a wealth of ingenuity, innovative (that'll
surprise one or two!) structures and strategies, original or unusual symphonic
processes, and emotions of a singularly personal, intimate nature (and, as
I am wont to insist, if I can do that, anybody can). In this last
Arnold is both like Shostakovich (although generally Arnold's symphonic processes
are much more closely argued) and yet very different. Shostakovich, like
most composers, speaks in "universals", while Arnold, like very few others,
speaks at the rawest, reddest, "flesh-and-blood", man-to-man level - which
can be a marrow-chilling, blood-curdling experience. How many composers has
this Fair Isle produced in the last fifty years who can do that to the insides
of a chap's head, then have him laughing his socks off fifteen seconds later?
As it happens, most of the ones I can call to mind can actually manage both
- though regrettably I must add "for entirely the wrong reasons".
Nowadays, Arnold's music is championed in the professional arena by the likes
of Chandos and the ubiquitous Naxos (yes, we're finally getting round to
it!). The conductor on the present CD, Andrew Penny (like me a Yorkshireman,
though otherwise not much like me!), cannot be praised too highly for his
selfless dedication to Arnold's music. This is the final instalment of his
complete set of the Arnold symphonies (a total of five discs, and at a real
Yorkshireman's price!). So far, he has never been less than fascinating while
at his best (to my ears, especially in Nos. 3 and 4) his interpretations
have been absolute belters. While it isn't strictly necessary for an interpreter
to understand (whatever we take that to mean) the music that he's
interpreting - he simply has to get the right sounds into our lug-holes -
for so much of the time Penny manages to thrust, through the morass of
transducers, wires and sophisticated technical digiry-pokery, a thoroughly
convincing impression that he really does understand every note. I'm not
trying to imply that he doesn't: it's just that many who do understand what
they're conducting for some reason don't manage to convey that to us!
Penny's "band" on these recordings, the National Symphony Orchestra of Ireland,
has come in for a wee bit of stick, basically because they're not as accomplished
as the Vienna Phil. - "strings sounding a bit thin", "ensemble not ideally
polished" sort of thing. Well, personally, I'm glad they're not! Arnold's
symphonies, in particular, thrive on a bit of technical discomfort - those
bits where the players are struggling a little are also the parts where they
are striving their hardest. It puts them that crucial notch nearer the corner
of the performing spectrum occupied by "dedicated amateurs", and those of
you who have ever witnessed "dedicated amateurs" with their collective fangs
deep into the scruff of the neck of some fortunate work, playing as if their
lives depended on it, will know exactly what that implies.
Of course, it would all be wasted effort if the recordings were execrable.
However, our good fortune prevails: although different engineers and producers
have been involved, the sound quality of this Naxos cycle has generally been
more than acceptable - and often a sound for sore ears. Actually, I'd have
been surprised if it had been otherwise. Having (for want of a more suitable
term) "engineered" the recordings of the Slaithwaite Phil's performances,
I have first-hand experience of a slightly less than obvious side of Arnold's
technical artistry, which is that his orchestration simply sits up and begs
to get into your microphones. You can, almost literally, stick a pair of
mics. in front of the orchestra, adjust them simply to let the "right amount"
of hall ambience leak in, and Bob's your uncle, the job's a good 'un! The
only real danger is the temptation to over-egg your pudding, by playing
microphonic acupuncture with the body of the orchestra. Who was it, in BBC
Music Magazine, having extolled the virtues of minimalism in microphony,
finished by boasting of making a recording of a large-scale work with "a
mere" ten microphones? TEN! What on earth did he need all those for? This
brings me neatly to my only real objection to this CD. Credited as Producer
and Engineer is Tim Handley, well-known and deservedly respected in the business.
Yet, although the general sound quality is excellent (and ear-wateringly
excellent, at that), the woodwind are quite evidently "spotlit", in the grand
old manner of CBS in the 1960s. In fact, on those occasions when he (or she?)
has a solo, it sounds as if the first horn is making a special trip from
his seat to the "soloist's spot" in front of the violins to play it (then
nipping, with a commendable combination of "quick and quiet", all the way
back again). But don't read too much into this, as it amounts to less than
even a farthing's worth of tar, and a long way short of spoiling the ship.
Look on the bright side - I did, drooling over the detail in the delicate
percussion, the keen edge to the upper strings (that's the upside of "thin"
strings - they can cut like a knife!), the earthy growlings and rumblings
from the other end, and the relish with which cavernous brasses explored
their bottoms (of their ranges, that is). Actually there's one bit, near
the end of the first movement of the Seventh, where Arnold combines
these booming bass brasses with the tam-tam to give a passable imitation
of the Messiaen of La Transfiguration, though I'll lay odds that this
is sheer coincidence. The sound, though, is positively succulent. Somebody,
about now, is bound to ask, "Yes, but isn't the sound of the RPO/Handley
on Conifer [nla] even better by comparison?" Maybe it is. But if you think
that's going to bother you, simply avoid comparing them in the first place.
Then, I really don't think you'll be at all disappointed.
OK, what about the music? Well, you should listen to it first, and certainly
before reading the accompanying notes, which I would take with a healthy
pinch of salt. Keith Anderson, who has penned many a Naxos note, provides
a bit of potted biography. While hinting at the dark chasms yawning under
the fragile, frivolous veneer (tread carefully, lest ye be lost!), he loses
a brownie point for his "[In 1943 Arnold] volunteered for military service,
but was discharged after shooting himself in the foot" - without even
wondering why a "conshie" should join up in the first place, and then
take such a drastic measure to get more or less straight out again (and,
I might add, go back to what he was doing up until he got in!). Actually,
it's worse: the wording even manages to imply that the injury was accidental
rather than deliberate! I also wondered about Arnold's "film scores, of which
he has written some eighty", largely because the last time I counted it came
to "some one hundred and eighteen" (perhaps one of us had better check again?).
Following on, Richard Whitehouse's discussion of the music itself blends
straight facts with interpretations that start out in the right direction
but then, in spite of the occasional effective bon mot like "lacerating",
pull their punches, almost breaking out in maidenly blushes when set beside
the brazen edifice of the music. For example, having noted that the
Seventh is dedicated "To Katherine, Robert and Edward" (the composer's
children), and that the music has an "extreme emotional aura", it's a bit
limp to simply conclude, "Whether or not the dedication conceals a deeper
personal intent is something on which to ponder." Crumbs, that puts it on
the level of deciding whether we're going to have Corn Flakes or Rice Krispies
for brekkie. Perhaps if it were also mentioned that Arnold's symphonies,
without exception, are tantamount to entries in his personal diary, and that
one of those three children was autistic, and that in those days autism carried
a significant social stigma, we might be encouraged to spend less time pondering
on the "whether or not", and more on the import of this desolate and lacerating
(yes, it is a good word!) music. We have it from Piers Burton-Page
that each movement contains a loose portrayal of one of Arnold's three children.
I think that we should weigh these words with care: this is not to say that
each movement is a portrayal, so the question as to whether these
movements amount to portraits "of savage cruelty" doesn't really arise. Any
cruel savagery is I feel limited to what's going on within the composer's
own mind.
The same goes for the discussion of the Eighth Symphony: it's fine to suggest
that "the . . . character . . . suggests a parallel between the troubled
history of the Irish people and his personal circumstances at the time -
soon to collapse into a seven-year period of virtual musical silence", but
it might have set that context more forcefully to point out that Arnold's
life was coming apart at the seams, and that this particular period culminated
in an (unsuccessful) suicide attempt. The closing comment, "the certainty
of that conclusion, indeed the actual emotional character of what is being
concluded, is left for the listener to judge" is also true enough but leaves
me perplexed. For a start, it is qualified by "As so often in Arnold's
later music" (my italics), which incorrectly implies that his earlier
music was not lacking in "certainty". Has Mr. Whitehouse never heard the
First Symphony? But, more pointedly, can you name me even one
piece of music, by anybody, which does not leave its import "up to the listener
to judge"?
Maybe I seem to be nit-picking. Well, dear reader, I leave that up to you
to judge, but I would have thought that the booklet space would have been
better filled with a bit more meat and a bit less of the two veg. of literal
descriptions of the music. Bearing in mind what I have suggested about Arnold's
musical character and the "life-dynamics" that drive his inspiration, I feel
that the writer should have held off telling us what the music does, and
risked more (or even "all") on telling us what the music does to him.
And, in fair and honest answer to the inevitable fair question: I am
in the process of putting my money where my mouth is, but if we go up that
street now, we'll be here all week!
And so to the present efforts of the NSO of Ireland and Andrew Penny. The
recent Fifth got a bit of a mixed reception, in effect varying between
"refreshingly direct" and "underplaying the hand Arnold dealt him". I feel
no punches being pulled here, and I've got the bruises to prove it. The first
movement of the Seventh is graced with a hair-raising ferocity that
yields little or nothing to the rivals that I have heard (notably Handley).
That obsessive, maddening "Boom-cha-cha, boom-cha-cha" motive bulldozing
its way through flurries of flesh-eating harpies sounds quite sufficiently
nightmarish, an impact that is due in part to the lack of comfortable upholstery
in the upper strings (another dozen violinists might well have spoilt it!).
The vaguely bluesy music of the second subject, which would have fitted nicely
into one of those old black-and-white B-movies where a "lonely gumshoe
frantically searches the dark and drizzle-misted streets", is given just
the right blend of romantic flow and aching urgency. Towards the end of the
movement, this appears in the grotesque guise of "Kenny Ball and his
Over-Indulgent Jazzmen". Penny captures its fun-filled yet fearful quality
with peerless, stinging accuracy. In fact, throughout the entire disc, he
seems ever alert to the expressive potential of the sheerly sonic opportunities
offered by Arnold's electrifying palette. The notorious cow-bell is a case
in point. Arnold requires this to be struck hard enough to bash its brains
out, had it got any, a savage contrast with Mahler's treatment of the
"instrument". Cow-bells, of course, are really designed to be played like
spinets, which traditionally bear the legend Fait Plus Douceur Que
Violence. Equally of course, Arnold was well aware of that - if he'd
wanted it to sound like one of Wagner's anvils then that's what he would
have used. Ergo, it's supposed to sound like there're rough hands
around its metal throat, forcing it to produce a strangulated noise almost
like somebody hitting an old galvanised bucket with a mop-handle. And, by
golly, that's exactly what it does sound like here!
The second movement starts off, and generally continues, with a halting tread,
an exhausted sound of desolate trombone set over bone-weary strings.
As the music progresses (or is that "regresses"?) into Shostakovichian two-part
strings, Penny leans on the incidental discords as the two lines, too dog-tired
to bother avoiding each other, collide. We are transported to the Limbo of
a Lost Soul, where Arnold is trying to tell us what his "personal circumstances"
are doing to the space between his ears. The obsessive muttering of untuned
percussion is commonly interpreted as being associated with Edward's autism,
though few seem to note the sudden, isolated lashing out, extreme violence
flashing out of nowhere then evaporating. The first time I listened to this
recording, it gave me coronary palpitations (Should this CD come with a
Government health warning?). The stealthy, insidious shift of atmosphere
from listless dejection to evil menace and thence to wide-eyed panic is effected
by Penny with horrifying vividness. Following the portentous symbolism of
three belts of the mop-head on the old galvanised bucket, the final climax,
a huge leaden slab of delirium tremens, melts into a tremolando
slithering which, in Penny's inspired hands, sounds disconcertingly like
slimy snakes worming and wriggling through the insides of your head.
After that little lot, the finale sounds positively prosaic. Seasoned
Arnold-o-philes will of course know that he ever rings the changes. Think
of the Fifth Symphony where, after the shock of the sudden, disastrous
end of the scherzo, he launches an almost classical-sounding
rondo - but then, after the enigmatic central episode, causes the
materials to "rot away from the inside", craftily preparing the ground for
that extraordinary denouement which is thus (contrariwise) a shock
that we can see coming but are in effect "powerless to prevent". Something
of that holds here. The main theme, a jagged, edgy march, seems to operate
(relatively speaking) in accordance with classical "rules", but eventually
peters out leaving eerie throbbing and muttering. A veil is drawn back, and
we find ourselves in a sort of "music-box nightmare" (how many films
have made use of just this device?), a miasma of jangling bells and muted
brass, a dizzy harp and whirligig piccolo. Then the interjection of a beltingly
good orchestral imitation of an Irish jig seems to clear the air, but it
whirls itself out leaving us stranded, back in the clutches of that weird
dream. Corrupted by this psychotic experience, the march returns as a monstrous
threat. Again the cowbells toll, and the symphony dies in a dark blaze of
implacable chords. Penny goes way, way over the top - which is, of course,
the only proper approach to this music. He and the Irish orchestra are simply
stunning.
What's the Seventh "about"? I don't "know" it all that well as yet,
but my impression pro tem. is best summed up courtesy of Dante: the
first two movements are Inferno and Purgatorio, while the finale
tries to aim for Paradiso, but fails and falls to the Forces of Darkness
- in the end, All Hope is Abandoned. In fact, the picture on the CD is highly
apposite: doesn't it look like a concrete prison wall fronted by a series
of wooden posts, the tops of which have been scorched black - presumably
by something within the wall? I am, of course, presuming that we are
viewing it from the outside!
Turning somewhat abruptly to the Eighth, we find an opening theme,
very much in the "Rambo" mould of the First Symphony, set against
a second subject that sounds rather less like the "Irish marching tune" of
its origin (the music for the film, The Reckoning) than a cross between
He Who Would Valiant Be and Onward, Christian Soldiers, and
more than a chip off the old "Moody and Sankey" block! There are those who
consider that such tunes, "common as muck and twice as thick", have no place
in the hallowed halls of a symphony (shades of Mahler's Third!), even
if they are integrated into the argument. Arnold, of course, in his Fourth
Symphony, managed a supreme double-bluff: out of seeming bloody-mindedness,
he stuck in a "Come Dancing" tune that sounded entirely gratuitous, provoking
purple wobblers in all the ivory-tower purists. Except - it wasn't (gratuitous,
that is): it actually played a vital role in the musical and dramatic structure
of the movement. Anyway, interesting as that might be, it's time we got back
to the plot! In spite of their similarly combative nature, this movement
is a very different kettle of fish from the Seventh's first movement,
for now (it seems to me) the second subject is not fighting a losing battle
against the aggressive first subject. Arnold was not a film composer, but
a composer whose innate style made film composing an inevitability. Here,
as in many of his symphonic movements there is an almost cinematographic
scenario bent to symphonic use. At first, in a manner similar to the first
movement of the Third, the first subject lashes out at the passing
tail of the second, but then turns to subversion, gradually diverting it
from the paths of righteousness, so that when the innocent-sounding march
appears in full at the heart of the movement it has become tainted with those
aggressive characteristics. However, from then onwards the little march (secure
in its faith?) gradually extricates itself and walks away, with scowling
snarls (and maybe even the occasional half-brick) hurled at its receding
back. When it is almost fully restored, a curtain of mist descends. Penny,
in latching onto all of this - and the dream-like quality (almost a hang-over
from the finale of the Seventh!) - comes up trumps again, playing
out the unfolding drama to vivid - and utterly enthralling - effect.
When we come to the second movement, it is tempting to continue that analogy
to the Third Symphony, although in the Eighth there is much
less of that feeling of descending into the pits then working back up to
a grim resolution. But there is something of that pattern! This movement
begins on a sad note, regretful and uncertain. It meanders almost aimlessly
through its variations until there comes a point where a feeling of waiting,
of expectancy, emerges - and it is at this point that the tinkling begins.
What sounds like (and certainly ought to be) a baleful memory of the
first movement provokes a crisis, following which the tinkling is bolstered
by a deep chorale and a distant snare-drum implying a "recession of hostilities".
By the time that we're even half a bar into the finale, the Third
Symphony pattern is literally screaming for our attention! Again, Arnold
calls on a classical structure to represent "normality" - at least apparently,
as the jolly skirling ritornello of this rondo is interspersed
with three contrasted episodes, each of which in its own way is disconcerting
(please, can somebody pin down the origin of the solo clarinet tune of the
third episode - I can't, and it's driving me potty!). The final and most
tutti furioso occurrence of the ritornello is overtaken by
an even faster coda, a short, sharp shock of grim resolution, or perhaps
panic from sudden realisation that the stratagem has failed. The bog-standard
but battering closing cadence leaves us in no doubt - we cannot be sure!
Throughout these two movements, Arnold maintains his ceaseless flow of super
sonic invention: be it horn duetting with tuba, or vibraphone with timpani,
Penny doesn't miss a trick. At first hearing, I thought that the tempo of
the finale was a bit - just the merest fraction - pedestrian, but let me
assure you that I was thoroughly mistaken: Handley is too fast, as
witness Penny's razor-sharp judgement of the accelerando into the
coda.. A learned scholar might be tempted to ask, "Ah, but what sayeth the
score?" Quite frankly, I don't know, and nor do I care. In Arnold's triumvirate,
the composer sits in one corner, the interpreter in another, and the listener
in the third. Each has his own part to play in this "social act" - and mine
is to respond to the other two together.
Although initial experience might lead us to think that these two symphonies
are "broadly similar" we find, as familiarity dispels ignorance, the two
diverging. The "problem" (defined by Arnold's "personal circumstances") is
perhaps the main point of commonality, but the sufferer and his responses
have changed. Once you start to see the difference, Andrew Penny's acutely
perceptive interpretations immediately drive in a wedge. Look at it this
way: once you have accepted the slight but perceptible spotlighting the recording
is superb, once you have accepted the (minor) limitations of the orchestra
the playing is superb, and once you have accepted the "subject matter" the
music is superb. That's not all that much to have to accept, is it? Like
it or not (and some quite clearly don't), Arnold has the ability - and the
sheer guts - to express with uncommon candour the sorts of rock-bottom human
feelings that polite people keep behind closed doors, and with an impact
that can be lacerating (I really do like that word!). This is
uncomfortable, but also a rare and precious gift. With this in mind, perhaps
the most fitting tribute that I can offer, on this final instalment of Andrew
Penny's terrific complete cycle, is that he managed to scare the s**t out
of me, and no mistake!
Paul Serotsky
Rob Barnett also listened to this recording
Approach this "approachable" music with caution - Arnold's Seventh
Symphony merits an "18" certificate with additional warnings for the
faint-hearted! Rounding off their highly recommendable complete set of the
Arnold symphonies, Andrew Penny and the NSO of Ireland may well have saved
the best until last. Electrifying music given highly charged performances
- buy it, and be damned!
Naxos are the first company to have completed the Arnold symphony cycle.
It has been a long and slow process starting with that most forbidding of
works - the Ninth Symphony back in the mid 1990s. The wait has been well
worthwhile. Naxos are not the first to couple these two symphonies; that
honour went to Vernon Handley on Conifer CDCF177 (nla but please see
the review for additional information
from LM).
Apart from the pedestrian issues of numerical sequence the coupling of the
two works has other strengths; they contrast well. The Seventh is not an
easy conquest; at least not when you compare the Fourth, Fifth and Sixth.
The Eighth is just as raw but far more approachable. Amid the angst it still
deploys turns of phrase and long unblushing tunes you might easily associate
with the English Dances and the Cornish Dances. The years he
spent in Ireland (1972-77) are also logged in these two symphonies.
The Seventh is dedicated to his children (Katherine, Robert and Edward).
It was completed at the home of his friend William Walton on the island of
Ischia. Arnold had helped considerably in realising Walton's ill-omened score
for The Battle of Britain a couple of years previously. The symphony
was a New Philharmonia commission which Arnold conducted with them at London's
Royal Festival Hall on 5 May 1974. The laggardly first broadcast performance
came when the BBCSO was conducted by the composer on 16 March 1977. Since
then it has been conducted by Handley, Groves, Penny, Hickox and Downes.
It is typical of Arnold that, in the first movement, he uses a macabre fractured
ragtime (8.20) as well as making grim sport with the tattered wraiths of
his own more popular works like the Concerto for Two Pianos Tree Hands
(Phyllis and Cyril). This is Arnold playing the evil clown-master.
Bernstein's brilliance is also suggested and it is a wonder that 'Lenny'
did not take an interest in the symphonies. Arnold is at core more of a musical
soul-mate to Bernstein than Schuman ever was. Bernstein and Arnold also share
Mahlerian tastes. At 12.22 (I) a great sliding tune is developed with an
eye to lichen-bedecked Hollywood studios. This is a symphony with the character
of night and of daylight remembered from vantage point of night: a psychological
Guernica progressing towards a grim finality
The late-Mahlerian second movement drifts like someone's 'Dark Night of the
Soul' - the aural equivalent of a Francis Bacon picture. A Bachian chorale
variant (9.40) familiar from the first movement reappears here (as it also
does in the finale at 2.33) amid tom-tom pattering. The music rises to the
dull clang of cowbells at 12.01. A gaunt trombone call also rears up which
annotator Richard Whitehouse links with the role of the same instrument in
Shostakovich's Fifteenth Symphony.
After two meaty movements (16.23 and 13.58) the Allegro is only 7.43.
Happy - well, not directly. This is happiness viewed through smoked glass
from the experience of disillusion. The cowbell returns as a harbinger of
dissolution in all three movements. Irish bodhran and whistles and the Celtic
prettification of the harp make a frank appearance (like a lucid interlude
amid a continuum of disturbing visions). Could there, I wonder, have been
greater body to the Irish strings. Again those terminal bells (negation not
valediction) ring out dully - speaking of decay.
I recall listening to the broadcast premiere of the Seventh on the BBC with
a friend and finding it unforthcoming. Expectations were high - elevated
by the Fifth Symphony (a master work - probably the masterwork - of
the Cornish years) then recently recorded for EMI by the composer. It remains
a tough proposition but worthy of persistence.
After the Seventh, the Eighth is almost a relief though no soft touch
emotionally speaking. In the first movement (5.30) the business in hand is
advanced through a Sankey-style marching hymn which drifts into sharp focus
and out into blur amid cordite and tears. In this his film music meets the
talismanic English and Cornish dances. In the andantino a tender
film-style tune floats freely. Note the lovely oboe phrasing at 0.55 and
the bassoon's sad legato at 3.53. The theme is put through many colouristic
transformations. A dance-style Vivace forms the core of the finale.
This is a very moving symphony which is certain to make a direct and responsive
impact.
The Eighth was commissioned by Rustam M Kermani Foundation and was premiered
by the Kermani-supported Albany SO conducted by Julius Hegyi on 5 May 1979.
Worth noting that Kermani's foresight and acumen also resulted in commissions
of the Rubbra Sinfonietta and several George Lloyd symphonies The
scorching first UK performance of Arnold 8 was given by the then BBC Northern
SO conducted by Charles Groves on 2 October 1981. The First London performance
came on 26 November 1982 when the Young Musicians SO were conducted by James
Blair (whatever happened to him? He broadcast some exciting repertoire for
the BBC in the 1980s - Havergal Brian Violin Concerto, Arnell's Lord Byron
and Rawsthorne's Symphonic Studies - and then disappeared from
view).
The Naxos recording shows no sign of budget cutting corners. It opts for
a slightly closer microphone placement than the Conifer and we can rejoice
in the intimate flurries of vibrant instrumental colour.
This CD is a more than worthy peroration to the Naxos series. Who knows …
perhaps Naxos will next be issuing all nine as a boxed set. I would place
this cycle very high indeed - only one half step down from my all time preference
(regrettably unavailable) the Conifer cycle conducted by Vernon Handley.
Rob Barnett
Chandos have just announced the completion of their Arnold cycle. On two
discs for the price of one, Rumon Gamba conducts the BBC Philharmonic
in symphonies 7,8 and 9 plus the Oboe Concerto (Jennifer Galloway).
We hope to review this next month: CHAN9967
Sir Malcolm Arnold
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