THE MUSIC OF ALGERNON
ASHTON (1859-1937)
By Rutland Boughton
The
first part of the article appeared in
1906 in "Musical Opinion" and the second
part in the "Musical Standard" of the
following year.
The Chamber Music
To attempt a thorough
examination of this branch of our composer's
work.within the limits set by this article
would be as if to place the universe
under a microscope. Only a very broad
kind of analysis can be attempted here.
His chamber works include four sonatas
for violin and piano, foyr for 'cello
and piano, besides smaller pieces for
similar combinations; also, two trios
for piano, violin and 'cello, two piano
quartets and two piano quintets.
But there may be others
of which I am not cognisant.
(1) These works
contain the most important, - the greatest,
noblest and most beautiful music he
has written. (Of his orchestral works,
symphonies, etc. I cannot speak, as
they are in manuscript.) Here we will
consider four works only.
First, the Violin Sonata
in C minor (Op 86). The first movement
is built on a broad theme, noble as
a giant-crag and as hard in quality.
And when I say "hard" it is in
a spirit of admiration. There is plenty
of effeminacy in modern music, plenty
of tremulous gush, plenty of gloom that
is morbid rather than natural and terrible.
Far different is the greater part of
Ashton's art. The vigour of manhood
pervades it, clearness and health inform
every expression of it, and the deep
feeling which lies at its root is tempered
in the expression by a reserve that
is peculiarly English.
Mr Fuller-Maitland, in his book on
"English Music in the Nineteenth Century",
stands for nearly all that is healthy
in modern tendencies; but, strangely
enough, to Ashton he is scarcely just.
He says:
His concerted chamber
compositions show a great wealth of
invention and a remarkable skill in
structure: but it seems that only the
severer moods of the great masters appeal
to him very strongly, and he is content
to follow or even to surpass them in
intricacy, forgetting that they have
in all cases been delightful to listen
to as well as clever.
I doubt very much whether
Ashton, when composing, concerns himself
much with the moods of the 'great masters,
severe or otherwise; his work is not
a reflection of a single tendency in
other composers, but a whole hearted,
blazing expression of his own many tendencies.
The chiefest of them is stern and strong,
and therefore this predominates; but
to say that his work is without charm
seems very far from the mark. However,
we will get to our violin sonata.
The second subject
affords a relief to the general grim
atmosphere. Like the majority of Ashton's
second subjects, it is lost in the first:
that is to say, its thematic quantity
and its atmospheric quality are entirely
subordinate to the emotional colour
already given. There are bars of tenderness,
of playfulness even. But manhood sounded
the note; and, although womanhood and
childhood have a place in Ashton’s emotions,
it is a place quite inferior to the
masculine element. This first movement
is like his retirement from the world;
his most intimate self communings. A
quiet, tender theme is a announced and
then lost or, rather, veiled in the
sanctuary of the composer's soul. A
friend of mine, playing through this
movement, enquired where was the melody;
and truly the violin part is not the
most grateful. But then we have so strange
an idea of melody. Is melody always
to be obvious to be true? Is not the
first subject of the C minor Symphony
of Beethoven melody? Is the lyric everything
in art? True the lyric is the soul of
the art; without a lyrical impetus there
can be no great artist. But just because
it is the soul it is never obvious in
the greatest art. Great artists do not
carry their hearts on their sleeves
nor their souls on their shoulders;
but deep down in the light of their
eyes it shines through. So, deep down
beneath the shades of the demisemiquavers
of Ashton's Lento, I see the glimmer
of a delicate heart that will not give
itself undesired and unsought. The Finale
of this sonata is a movement to which
one cannot easily find the key. Such
.movements as these do much to account
for Ashton's non-recognition. But because
other movements of his have long remained
enigmatic to me and then have quite
suddenly yielded up their secrets, I
am loath to put this one aside as a
mere thing of notes.
The Piano Trio in A
major (Op. 88) is a work for which I
have no words of sufficient admiration.
(2)
As with nearly every work by
this English master, one's first feeling
is of disappointment. This mere diatonic
unison for a first subject! What can
it mean? How can it interest us in these
days of well spiced harmony and of strange
and reckless modulation This Ashton
is altogether too simple and comfortable
in his themes; too complex and uncomfortable
in their development! That is the first
impression the writer gained from this
Trio; and it was put aside as uninteresting;
But the work had left its mark. The
memory of it seemed deeper than the
actuality; and a more sympathetic, enquiring
re-study of the work discovered something
of it nobility and its loveliness. And
what one would at first call thin, poor
and unmeaning seems now calm, deep and
convincing with the beauteous logic
of genius. There is not a weak phrase
nor a strained sound anywhere; and yet
the effect is absolutely melodious and
is harmonically rich. The five-bar subject
of the Larghetto is practically built
upon three notes; but from that subject
the composer extracts a wealth of beauty,
unconceivable until one has realized
it, and he clothes it in all the colours
of the rainbow. The Scherzo is one continuous
delight. Here Ashton decides that his
tunes shall be obvious, and accordingly
he foots, it with the very peasant on
the green. Nothing more rhythm ically
buoyant and frankly humorous has fallen
from his pen. The Finale is a triumph
of brilliancy and of strength; it is
also a triumph of magnificent technique
subdued to great art purposes. The first
theme itself has a distinct affinity
with the principal subject of the first
movement; the second theme is constructed
on one of the most splendid rhythms
it has ever been my joy to know; and
in the course of development the composer'
calls upon themes from the first allegro
and the slow movement. I am very sorry
for the musician who can know this movement
ar:-td not be carried away by its impetuous
vigour, not be lost to all consciousness
but that of the composer. In this great,
living work Ashton seems to me at his
best. Each movement has its own distinct
individuality, and yet the work is one
great organism from which no movement,
no page, no bar, could be detached without
infinite loss. All Ashton's work possesses
this organic wholeness; but in this
Trio the fact is emphasized by the deliberate
carrying over of themes to the finale,
where they all blossom out afresh with
new force, in new loveliness. (3)
In many of his works there is a psychic
relation of material' which I attribute
to the unconscious unity of intuitive
art; but in this work the relationship
is consciously recognised by the composer.
Wagner's dramatic principle of the leading
motive has influenced even the purely
musical forms of symphony and of chamber
work. Sometimes the result has been
interesting, sometimes forced and unnatural.
The mere transference of theme from
one movement to another will strike
a false note unless there be some intimate
psychic relation between them, - a relation
of mood, atmosphere, feeling and essence.
Ashton, in this Finale, does not merely
carry forward his themes as if they
were entries in a ledger: he does not
merely transfer them to lend a superficial
air of unity to the various limbs of
the, work, for that unity is already
evident, irrespective of thematic material.
Nothing so cheap, so obvious! First,
the slow movement subject creeps in
at the tail end of another phrase and
is developed afresh according to the
new need; then is added an inverted
form of the first theme of the Allegro;
and then the composer reverts to material
peculiar to the movement, - to the splendid
rhythm already referred to; a phenomenal
rhythm, stark and strong, a rhythm which
passing through a vulgar mind would
have become cheap and polka like, but
which in its place her is as much nobler
than the polka as the backwoodsman is
nobler than the pirouetting dandy.
The slight analysis
made above of a section of this Finale
will perhaps suggest to the reader an
effect of scrappiness. The fact that
definite theme succeeds definite periods
is one of the characteristics of Ashton's
work: he never surrenders himself to
that vague padding which is commonly
called "development". His music is chockful
of thought from first bar to last. And
it is one of the mysteries of his genius
that, notwithstanding this close succession
of bloodful themes, he never loses his
threads, never becomes irrelevant, never
descends to patchwork. Of course, this
packing of fibre makes an immense demand
upon the listener and is another point
which accounts for our disgraceful neglect
of his compositions.
Of the three forms
which art takes, the epic is the least
obvious and must contain the maximum
of sheer intellectual grip. The dramatic
form flashes, flickers and fades with
every movement of the action; it is
informed by terrestrial as well
as by spiritual life. The lyric is that
concentration of feeling which carries
all before it and may well be trusted
to make its own logical shape. Arbitrary
forms of song and of opera are always
obviously false. But the epic is a work
of cooler blood; both drama and lyric
may - nay, must - be there and may bud
forth in points of detail, but over
all is the broad line of impersonal
strength, external both to action and
emotion, although necessarily sympathetic
therewith. Now, in music drama and in
lyrical song the musical phrase will
assuredly rise, expand and fall with
rapidity, according to the necessity
of the emotion. But in symphonic forms
we are face to face with an art which
has its own laws, - laws essentially
differing from those occasioned by the
movement and passion of drama and of
lyric. The symphonic form is a sort
of musical analogy to the epic; in it
the feeling may become sublimated to
a lyrical rapture, and even the drama
may intrude (only enough to prove the
human sympathy of the epicist, not a
step further). In the symphonic form,
accordingly, we must confidently look
for the great broad line which shall
declare the nature of the art. Wagner's
noble art is only to be spoken of with
reverence, with thanks, but certain
musicians, appreciating its power without
having the faintest idea of its nature,
have striven to introduce the short,
vivid phrase of the music drama into
the broad, spacious forms of the symphony
and of its congeners. In vain may we
look, in the majority of modern orchestral
and chamber works, for that sky sweeping
line which declares the epic genius.
But it is ever present in Ashton's work:
sometimes clear as a sky of summer blue,
sometimes dull and dark like miles of
winter cloud, sometimes lurid and broken
as a stormy sunrise, sometimes radiant
and spark'ling and o'erarched with rainbow,
- but in some form or other is always
there. Ashton's art is of the same kind
as the Iliads, the Beethoven symphonies
and the art of Watts; deep as they,
noble as they, full as they, inevitable
as they, with the same broad line as
they.
Let us have a glimpse
of his Quartet in C minor (Op. 90),
for piano, violin, viola and cello.
Is it possible to imagine a simpler
theme than that with which the work
opens. Is it possible to imagine a more
remarkable change of atmosphere with
a minimum of thematic change than that
which occurs at the twenty-fifth bar?
(Note, too, how the second subject is
foreshadowed.).' Is it possible to imagine
such wonderful results 'with less means?
Is it possible to imagine a contrast
which shall be at once more complete
and more apposite than the second subject?
And mark how natural is the succession
of emotional thought, how freely it
flows, how straightforward it is! And
yet there is nothing obvious. Ashton
seldom does what we expect him to do;
but, when we understand what he has
done, we feel how infinitely superior
it is to our expectation. The obvious
is true, indeed; but it is everybody's
property and needs no art to emphasise
it. The greatest artists take the obvious
for granted and direct our attention
to truth and to beauty, every bit as
natural, which would otherwise escape
our more superficial minds. What Turner
does with landscape, Ashton does with
melody.
The slow movement is
based upon a theme as simple as a song
of Mozart, - as childlike, as tender
and as beautiful. It is developed to
a length which only the most sympathetic
performance can vindicate. But it is
not for me to pronounce judgement upon
the length of a work unless it contains
soulless episodes: and such I do not
find in this movement. The Intermezzo,
which takes the place of a Scherzo,
is humorously demure; and, as in nearly
all Ashton's humorously inclined pieces,
the playful expression is restrained
and refined. On rare occasions our composer
can be boisterous; but, as a rule, his
humour suggests eye twinkles rather
than practical jokes.
The Finale, is great,
tough and brawny. The soft commencement
suggests an immense power held in reserve.
Here is a theme of such grip that even
its 'p’ delivery suggests strength!
As an instance of the peculiar psychic
relation of the, various movements,
note the modulation at the sixteenth
bar: we are expecting C m inor, but
the composer boldly plunges into F minor,
- and this is' an exact parallel to
the ninth bar of the first movement.
It is not to be expected that this coincidence
is a deliberate mannerism (Ashton is
too full of resource to descend to such
paltry methods), No, it is a tiny illustration
of ,the fact that his musical thought
only moves through channels relevant
to itself. During the course of his
music we meet with an infinity of theme,
emotion, ,characterisation, figure,
development and suggestive power; but,
notwithstanding that infinity, One main
thought, One great spiritual trend.
What music this Finale is! How the giant
rejoices in his strength! This is the
music of elemental humanity, exulting
in the open, naked to the sun, to the
rains and to the snows; shouting, aloud
to the heavens, glorifying itself and
renewing its glory, - and thus the glory
of its first great cause! And how tender
the second subject! Even as true manhood
will preserve a certain childlikeness,
so here juxtaposed with that stalwart
music) we have tones of infant surprise,
- soft and loving wonder of the child
as it accepts the miracles of life and
asks no futile questions about them.
Strength need not, should not, stay
the capacity for wonder; and note how
Ashton develops his child-music without
allowing it to lose its first simplicity.
While a living composer can deliver
himself of noble music like this there
is a marvellous hope for us. If the
manhood of Britain were not sound, Ashton
could never have been born among us.
How much we need this art of his! How
much we need a great strong art that
shall pull us together and shall bid
us be men, - open our eyes to the mystery
of beauty, breathing into us the spirit
of the child. For unless we be as little
children the kingdom of the earth -
no less than the kingdom of heaven will
exist for us with locked doors! There
is music and music to spare which may
appeal to specialised musicians. There
is music, alas! ,and music to spare,
which has a degrading tendency upon
men. But of modern music - instinct
with all that is pure and noble, all
that is loving and lovely - I know none
so great as the music of Ashton. To
charm, in the sense of to tickle the
senses, is never his aim. And this attitude
of his has brought upon him the charge
of austerity. Austere? Why, the man
is brimful of joviality and of tenderness.
But he always tempers his seductive
expressions with a sterner' spirit;
so his joviality never becomes buffoonery
nor his tenderness sentimentality. To
the student who would wish to approach
Ashton on his less stern side, I would
urge him or her to seek the marvellous
Op. 128, the Sonata in B flat for 'Cello
and Piano.
The more modern music
I study - German, English, French, Italian,
Russian the more assured do I feel that
in Algernon Ashton we possess the greatest
living composer - not the greatest living
musical creative artist - but the chief
of them who worship and express themselves
in pure tone. Perhaps this attitude
may be made clearer by referring to
Brahms and Wagner: the former was the
greater musician, the latter the greater
artist, the former lived in and for
the art of tone, the latter lived a
wider, deeper life and drew the art
of tone unto him as he drew the drama,
that his vast intuition might find adequate
means of expression. The greatness of
Brahms lay in the absolute expression
of his own personality; the greatness
of Wagner in his sympathy, in his capacity
for unifying himself with the whole
world's joy and sorrow, beauty and ugliness.
Brahms concentrated his musical thought
upon himself. Wagner was a magnetic
power, great enough to diffuse himself
without loss through most of the phenomena
of life. Brahms was like an oasis in
the desert - a deep pool of beauty and
refreshment which one reaches with delight,
but which one has to reach with some
toil Wagner was like a mighty river,
springing from the veins of eternal
life and rushing through the land of
humanity, fertilising and enchanting
it and pouring out its beauty at our
very feet. There is a far journey to
the music of Brahms; but the art of
Wagner flows to our very thresholds.
And so I say that though Brahms, in
his depth and desert-setting, was the
greater musician, Wagner, in the lavishness
of his universal feeling, was the greater
artist. Similarly, though I cannot regard
Ashton as the greatest artist of our
time, as a creator of tonal beauty he
is unapproached by any living composer
except Max Reger.
To give grounds for
my faith, let us consider the chief
constituents of tonal beauty and see
how they are exemplified in Ashton's
fourth sonata for piano and 'cello.
This particular work is, chosen because
it is the least austere of those of
his compositions which are known to
me, apart from his small piano pieces.
Beauty has two main
elements, tenderness and strength and
any high degree of beauty is impossible
where these are not present in wedded
sovereignty. Take the human face, first
putting aside that superficial prettiness
of features which is unsupported by
tenderness or strength; we see gentle,
loving faces, where the loose mouth
and chin inform us that the underlying
tenderness has no buttress and we refuse
them as an approach to ideal beauty
of physiognomy; no less do we refuse
those faces all strength and vigour,.
but wherefrom the eye promises no kindliness
and the lip no caress. Strength without
tenderness is cruelty and tenderness
without strength imbecility and only
from those faces where the two are joined
in something approaching balance do
we get our idea of facial beauty.
So, too, in pure music
- in music un associated with any poetic
idea whereby we may decide as to the
truth of its emotional expression
- in pure music we are forced to seek
an ideal standard of value in the balance
of the constituents of beauty, as distinct
from prettiness. And from this position
we reject the weak tenderness of Mendelsohn
as we reject the face of the kindly-glancing
imbecile and, on the other hand, as
we reject the strong face of cruelty,
so do we reject the music which delights
in ugliness, discord and contortion.
Of course, this standard is purely ideal;
most great pieces of music will incline
more or less in one or the other direction,
and according. to the inclination of
our own individualities shall we enjoy
them; but we shall certainly find that
in all the greatest art there is a very
near approach to perfection of balance.
A glance at Beethoven's C minor Symphony
will prove the contention in musical
art. The first subject in the first
movement is strong without tenderness,
the second both tender and strong; in
the second movement, the theme is almost
entirely tender, the episodical matter
both strong and tender; the mysterious
Scherzo is more difficult to divide,
but, if anything so unearthly can he
either, it is strong rather than tender;
and while the finale is preponderately
strong, there is scarcely a bar in which
we do not feel the beat of Beethoven's
great,' loving heart. The C minor Symphony,
then, on the whole, inclines to the
side of strength; but the inclination
is so slight that it nearly approaches
our ideal standard. Of course, this
balance of itself does not constitute
great art - there are many other points
of necessity, physical, psychic and
spiritual - but, face to face with absolute
music we are unable to judge of form.
or significance, and therefore the criterion
of beauty is all that is left to us.
Let us now, therefore, apply it to this
Sonata of Ashton's.
First, let it be understood
that Ashton's music is nearly always
strong sometimes to the degree of ruggedness.
Some of his music is like stretches
of rock - as firm, noble and austere.
As with Beethoven and most northern
artists his inclination is on the side
of sternness. However, in the first
movement of this sonata he allows the
tenderer side of artistic bi-sexuality
a freer play. Both subjects incline
to tenderness. There are rough episodes,
and beneath the most loving eyeglance
we feel the firm-set mouth; but, on
the whole, this is continuously tender
music. As ever with Ashton, the themes
are not decked out with glittering novelty
and harmony of gems; but also, as ever
with him, there flows an undercurrent
of value which haunts one afterwards
(as many a face of quiet loveliness
haunts one), and one returns to the
music in the certain expectation of
finding fresh, true and lovely thought.
Here and there in this movement hovers
a wistful smile, just a hint of the
humour which, when occasion' serves,
expands, in Ashton's music, to a typical
English merriment - a curious combination
of sobriety and jollity. Herein, however,
this humour has little place and even
its calmer expression is flickering.
The Lento is
altogether a sterner movement - an excellent
example of the real Ashton. Tenderness
is present, wrapping the main thought
as the oak-leaves wrap the tree, delicately
trembling all about it with gentle beauty,
but emphasising rather than hiding its
strength. The two elements of beauty
are present in the Finale of the C m
inor; there is scarcely a bar where
tenderness is not present and there
is scarcely a bar wherein strength does
not predominate.
In the Finale the balance
is not continuous; it sways at one time
towards one side, at another towards
the other. All the same, it is there.
The theme beginning at the bottom of
page 28 is lovely in its gentle grace.
And a curious humour pervades the movement
- a sort of fantastic cocksureness that
is perfectly delightful. The piece might
almost be headed "Malvolio".
On the whole, this
work, more than any other of Ashton's
known to me, inclines to the tender
side of the balance. But the big, strong,
broad outlines and the reserve which
Ashton so loves are ever present. He
seems to pour out great musical thought
as easily as the lark trills its delight
in cloudland. If this is his scale for
a sonata, I am wondering what his symphonies
must be like. I wish one could get them.
But they are never performed - not even
a four-hand. arrangement published,
sb far as I know. Indeed, it is, probable
that the very greatness of Ashton's
musical thought is' a hindrance to contemporary
appreciation. It is not they who live
on the mountainside that see the mountain.
One serious defect
Ashton has. He lacks the virtue of Disobedience.
It proves itself in the stereotyped
Ashtonian form. But it proves itself
still more seriously in the texture
of his musical thought. He, like Brahms,
is one of those artists who look out
upon the world of humanity, are disgusted,
horrified, or saddened, seeing that
Art and Life are not one thing
as they ought to be, but two. So, instead
of using their art to get to humanity,
and fighting the world for. the sake
of art, they build up walls with their
art-material to hide the world from
them. Bach, Beethoven and Wagner fought
the world, and their art bears witness
to their struggle; its very texture
proclaims their love for humanity, and
tears the bodily forms of the art in
its desire to get its spiritual thought
expressed. Place on the other side Mendelssohn
and Brahms - the one weak, the other
strong - and we see how these (quite
sincerely, of course) sought in their
art a hermitage from the meanness, boredom,
and unkindness of the world. And let
it be noted that neither of them needed
to disobey the traditions of their art,
because the art itself, unassociated
with the realities of life, encompassed
the whole ,of their desires. Ashton
is one with them, and suffers with them
their defect - which is not necessarily
the defect of their good qualities.
To these last let us look in Ashton,
and learn that music may have strength
without hardness, tenderness without
weakness, simplicity without superficiality,
reserve without dullness, breadth without
thinness, humour without vulgarity,
richness without extravagance, and depth
without pretence.
RUTLAND BOUGHTON
FOOTNOTE
The first part of the article appeared
in 1906 in "Musical Opinion" and the
second part in the "Musical
Standard" of the following year.
1. The scores listed below may
be ordered from The Ashton Society,
65 Wrottesley Road,
London NW10 5UL.
2. A CD of
the lovely Piano Trio, may be obtained
from the Ashton Society.
3. Ashton was
enchanted by the street-cries he heard
about him and relates, in the Diary
of 1882, how some of the main themes
of the Piano Trio had their origin in
the cries and snatches that came to
him unbidden from the street vendors
advertising their wares in and around
Hamilton Terrace, St John's Wood, where
he was living at the time.
4. It was Rutland Boughton who
was to conduct the first performance
of Ashton's symphony in G Major (the
second of five symphonies) on 2nd September
1910, at the Arts and Crafts Exhibition
of that year, in Birmingham Town Hall.
ALGERNON ASHTON
1859 - 1937
The scores listed below
may be ordered from the Ashton Society
65 Wrottesley Road, London NW10 5UL
PIANO QUINTETS
1. C Major Op.25
2. E Minor Op. 100
PIANO QUARTETS
1. F Minor Op.
34
2. C Minor Op.
90
PIANO TRIOS
1. E Major Op.77
2. A Major Op. 88
3. B Minor Op. 123
PIANO/CELLO SONATAS
1. F Major Op.
6
2. G Major Op.
75
3. G Minor Op.
115
4. B Major Op.
128
PIANO/ VIOLIN SONATAS
1. D Major Op.
3
2. E Major Op.
38
3. C Minor Op.
86
4. A Major' Op.
99
PIANO/VIOLA SONATAS
1. A Minor Op.
44
PIANO SONATAS
1. E Flat Minor Op.
101
2. G.Major Op.
150
3. B Major Op. 161
4. D. Minor Op.
164
5. F Sharp Minor
Op. 168
6. A Minor Op. 170
7. C Sharp Minor
Op. 172
8. F Major Op.
174
TWO-PIANO MUSIC
1. March & Tarantella
Op.30
2. Serenade Op.40
3. Suite Op.50
4. Toccata Brillante
Op. 144
ALGERNON ASHTON
"In vain may we look, in the majority
of modem orchestral and chamber works,
for that sky-sweeping line which declares
the epic genius. But it is ever present
in Ashton's work: sometimes clear as
a sky of summer blue, sometimes dull
and dark like miles of winter cloud,
sometimes lurid and broken as a stormy
sunrise, sometimes radiant and sparkling
and o'erarched with rainbow - but in
some form or other, it is always there
... what Turner does with landscape
Ashton does with melody!"
Rutland Boughton
"The more modem music
I study, the more assured do I feel
that in Algernon Ashton we possess the
greatest living composer - not the greatest
living musical artist perhaps - but
the chief of them who worship and express
themselves in pure tone."
Rutland Boughton
"Ashton's music asks
a great deal of listener and performer
alike, and makes few concessions. to
either - but those who can enjoy musical
thought for its own sake, and appreciate
the tonic qualities of such bracing
virility will want to widen their knowledge
of Ashton' s works."
Gerald Abraham
" one of the most
shamefully ignored of English composers,
with a long list of what, for me, are
unqualified masterpieces to his credit
"
Harold Truscott
"No other English composer has produced
anything like the series of eight piano
sonatas which Ashton left behind him
... when the first of these was written
in 1878, English music had indeed come
alive with a vengeance. ....."
Harold Truscott
Patrick Webb
The Ashton Society,
65 Wrottesley Road, London NW10 5UL
Complete
list of works
