As we reach the fourth
instalment in the magnificent Chandos
Berkeley Edition it is worth pausing
briefly to consider the factors that
have contributed to the quality of the
series so far.
Firstly, the playing
of the National Symphony Orchestra of
Wales and the various soloists under
the supremely consistent baton of Richard
Hickox has been exemplary. Secondly,
the recordings are some of the finest
Chandos has produced in recent years.
They are superbly engineered with a
true sense of orchestral perspective
and an impressive reproduction of the
excellent acoustics of Swansea’s Brangwyn
Hall (the exception here being the St.
David’s Hall, Cardiff recording of Michael
Berkeley’s Organ Concerto which
is no less impressive). Thirdly, having
a complete set of the Lennox Berkeley
symphonies of this all-round quality
is a joy in itself. Finally, the opportunity
to hear Michael Berkeley’s music alongside
that of his father has been a fascinating
experience. Not that they immediately
have that much in common; it is partly
the sheer contrast that provides the
interest. The father is emotionally
restrained in his inspiration whilst
lean in his orchestration in a manner
that at times can seem more French than
English. It gives clear pointers to
both his studies with Nadia Boulanger
and his friendship with such figures
as Poulenc. Michael, on the other hand,
shows a predilection for the bold orchestral
gesture. Here, music of considerable
violence and dissonance sits alongside
a deeply-veined lyricism often bound
in substantial and cohesively-constructed
one-movement structures.
Nowhere is this better
demonstrated than in the Organ Concerto.
This is one of the first major pieces
written following self re-reassessment
of his compositional language and the
resulting adoption of a more modernist
stance. In point of fact the roots of
the work go back to his childhood and
in particular to his time in the choir
of Westminster Cathedral. Into the music
Berkeley weaves other strands, notably
a quote from his own early Easter motet.
This cuts a bold contrast with the prevailing
dissonance, creating what Berkeley himself
describes as "diatonic lies"
within the music. Stravinsky, an earlier
major influence on the composer also
rears his head in the fanfare-like figures
that blaze through the texture at around
5:45. In the way Berkeley constructs
his harmonies and textures there is
more than a hint of Lutosławski.
All of these strands are woven together
with impressive assurance and conviction.
At the opening of the
Organ Concerto, Berkeley uses
multi-layered trumpets, each a semi-tone
above one another and in free time.
The resulting effect is magically to
evoke the Easter cortège of choristers
as they process through the cathedral
at the start of the Easter service.
In a similar way ritual plays its part
in the Viola Concerto, written
for the Lichfield Festival in 1994.
It was extensively revised in 1996.
Here the music is darker in tone, imbued
with an intense and passionate lyricism
that Paul Silverthorne captures with
searing expressive power. This register
with particular power in the passages
that exploit the upper register of the
instrument, of which there are many.
By far the longer span of this concerto,
again cast in one continuous stretch
of music, is slow in tempo. That said,
Berkeley never allows the listener’s
attention to wonder as he guides his
way through an ever-fascinating web
of orchestral textures that are often
considerably reduced to allow the soloist’s
anguished melodic line to penetrate.
Lennox Berkeley’s Voices
of the Night shows the composer
at his most impressionistic. Indeed,
Berkeley himself described the piece
as an ‘impressionistic nocturne’ concerned
with the "mysterious atmosphere
of night", whilst also alluding
to Walt Whitman and a line from his
‘Song of Myself’, "I am
he that walks with the tender and growing
night". What emerges is a suitably
twilit tone poem, the lean textures
partially emerging from the darkness
part way through before subsiding once
again in an atmosphere of uneasy calm
with a singular tolling bell chiming
distantly in the background.
Of the four symphonies,
the Second is probably the most difficult
to get inside although this performance
makes the strongest possible case for
its place in the repertoire. Lacking
the concentration and concision of the
one-movement third yet not as expansive
in conception as the three-movement
fourth, the symphony gives the impression
of falling between two stools despite
its four-movement structure. Berkeley
substantially revised the work in 1976,
some eighteen years after it was written
for the City of Birmingham Symphony
Orchestra who, early in 1959, gave its
premiere under the baton of Andrzej
Panufnik. Most of the changes involved
the scoring, the composer wishing to
move away from "keeping the various
orchestral colours distinct" although
as Anthony Burton points out in his
informative booklet notes, "the
use of the orchestra in blocks of string,
woodwind and brass sonority is still
one of the distinctive features".
The mysterious, opening of the first
movement, marked Lento, soon
gives way to the first statement of
the principal allegro theme although
it is the music of the initial lento
that ultimately returns to bring the
movement to a close. A bitter-sweet
though never boisterous scherzo follows
after which the slow movement commences
hauntingly, with strings creating an
uneasy tension. The affirmatory finale
is in a bright, D major and brings the
symphony to a positive conclusion. Throughout
the performance Richard Hickox’s control
is taut yet beautifully pliable, He
shapes the instrumental phrases with
impeccable care and one senses a conductor
totally at home with his repertoire.
Magnificent playing
from the BBCNOW then, coupled with soloists
of the highest possible quality in Thomas
Trotter and Paul Silverthorne. The result
is another winner of a disc and once
again I find myself awaiting the next
instalment with impatience.
Christopher Thomas
Paul Silverthorne (viola) Thomas Trotter (organ)