The virtue of listing
the contents in this 2 CD selection entitled ‘The best of Gilbert
and Sullivan’ is that you can decide if your favourite items,
or enough of them, are included. I also indicate in the heading
where musical numbers directly follow one another. The selection
is reasonably representative but a little less even across the
operettas than the comparable 2 CD ‘The very best of Gilbert
and Sullivan’ (Decca 460 0102, available in the UK, selection
details) taken from the stereo D’Oyly Carte recordings of
the following generation. Items I was surprised were not in
this Naxos compilation are Yum-Yum’s ‘The sun whose rays are
all ablaze’ in The Mikado and the Duke of Plaza-Toro’s
song, ‘In enterprise of martial kind’ in The Gondoliers.
The 1948 Pinafore
overture shows this is a smooth CD transfer of bright, clean
sound though not especially full bodied. The orchestra is better
at the faster material, the oboe cantilena somewhat fragile.
The featured principals are characterful. Ella Halman’s ‘I’m
called Little Buttercup’ (tr. 3) gleeful rather
than absolutely pure voiced, Leslie Rands’ Captain Corcoran
very spruce and thoroughly likeable in his suave public relations
if clearly getting on a bit. Rands was brought back for this
recording having retired the year before at the age of 47! Fittingly
most magnetic is Martyn Green’s Sir Joseph Porter. His parlando
style in ‘When I was a lad’ (tr. 5) is unique and distinctive,
wonderfully droll and totally believable. The spoken element
subtly increases and the tempo slightly decreases as the song
progresses to point up its end message.
To compare the stereo
D’Oyly Carte Pinafore dating from 1959 in the Decca compilation,
the sound is livelier, the orchestra more spirited, the skill
of the accompaniment more appreciable, the chorus slightly fuller
and firmer. But the principals aren’t necessarily better than
their predecessors, just different. Gillian Knight’s Buttercup
is stylishly phrased, Jeffrey Skitch’s Captain courtly and John
Reed’s Sir Joseph of mellifluous bonhomie. These later singers
are more laid back. There’s less emphasis on articulation which
gives the earlier singers more character.
To return to these,
the 1951 Patience fields a very lively orchestra and
some confident principals. Margaret Mitchell’s Patience is a
touch prim but rather more arch and brings Joyce Grenfell to
mind. Darrell Fancourt’s Colonel oozes pacy self-assurance even
recording at the age of 65. Martyn Green’s Bunthorne is most
memorable with a dramatic, sly recitative and suave ‘If you’re
anxious for to shine’ (tr. 11) in which he sings more than usually
and pleasantly too. He’s back to his parlando in ‘So go to him
and say to him’ (tr. 13), with a portly Ella Halman’s Lady Jane
an excellent foil. In between Alan Styler is a straightforward,
fairly dry Grosvenor in his song of whimsy. Finally the quintet
introduces in this context as soloists a reasonably fresh Neville
Griffiths as the Duke and an avuncular Peter Pratt as the Major.
Peter Pratt understudied
and succeeded Martyn Green. He gives us the title character’s
song of The Sorcerer in the 1953 recording in a cultivated,
very personable manner with just a touch of grisliness to stimulate
you in the central section but more to excite you as the flurries
of quavers towards the end of the first and closing sections
create a feel of runaway momentum. You wonder how he gets his
tongue around it all. John Reed, who understudied and succeeded
Peter Pratt, uses more parlando in his 1966 recording featured
in the Decca 2 CD set mentioned above, with more humour, more
control of diction and phrasing and a more melodramatic central
section, but Pratt has a certain inscrutability that I find
more attractive.
Next comes a selection
from Ruddigore from 1950 where Martyn Green outshines
his colleagues. In ‘I know a youth who loves a little maid’
(tr. 16) he provides a stylishly understated, affecting picture
of the lovelorn and bashful alongside which the greater projection
and up front emotion of Margaret Mitchell is rather a jarring
contrast. In the patter trio, ‘My eyes are fully open’ (tr.
19), he maintains rapid delivery without missing out any words,
which is more than Ann Drummond-Grant and Richard Watson quite
achieve though the trio ensemble has splendid aplomb. Between
these two items we get the fa-la soloists’ quartet and chorus
part of the Act 1 finale, a madrigalian manner for the soloists,
neatly done and showcase for lusty choral style, delivered unaccompanied
if not with the utmost polish. Then comes the ghost’s high noon
in which Darrell Fancourt shows animated directness, full atmosphere
revealed by the chorus and orchestra and the soloist’s “grisly,
grim goodnight”.
From the 1954 Princess
Ida comes just King Gama’s ‘If you give me your attention’
(tr. 20) in which Peter Pratt starts off quite genially but
the unctuousness soon takes over. Music and diction are skilfully
matched with crusty relish. In comparison John Reed’s 1965 version
in the previously mentioned Decca compilation is more melodramatically
spat out parlando. Pratt gives you more of the music and in
doing so reveals something more reptilian about the character.
CD1 ends with a
more generous selection from the 1950 Gondoliers. It
finds Leonard Osborn and Alan Styler light, sunny and gallant
in their opening duet. In ‘When a merry maiden marries’ (tr.
22) Yvonne Dean has a fresh, smiling, carefree voice but she’s
too close-miked or over projects. In the excerpt from the Act
1 finale we hear the pearlier voice but more prim diction of
Muriel Harding. Leonard Osborn pours forth the high notes of
‘Take a pair of sparkling eyes’ (tr. 24) as if his life depended
on it but also offers a meditative quality at times. The chorus
gives us a heady, pacy Cachucha and the orchestra is spirited.
‘In a contemplative fashion’ (tr. 26) neatly moves from the
four lovers in unison via one voice in turn over the others
to all chaotically independent while the opening of the finale,
which goes with a swing, benefits from a voice added above the
rest, Margaret Mitchell with a fine top B flat.
CD2 begins with
the 1951 Iolanthe and an Overture in which the orchestra
shows a greasepaint alertness and nuance and has a satisfyingly
cleanly articulated clarinet solo in its slow section. The Peers
enter in sprightly fashion and their chorus is hearty in voice.
Here simultaneously is both splendour and comedy. Fisher Morgan
provides an authoritative, sturdy, but also whimsical sentry’s
song in its benignly thoughtful way. Eric Thornton is similarly
cogent with a more heroic voice appropriate to his nostalgic
patriotic sentiments. The outstanding item is again from Martyn
Green, this time with the nightmare song, a masterly exhibition
of the creation of animation with total clarity of diction and
with neither breathlessness nor any apparent haste. The trio
‘If you go in’ (tr. 6) is graced by fine, lightly lilting ensemble
and festive orchestra.
Trial by Jury
from 1949 is represented by the Judge’s Song in a performance
which finds Richard Watson, the chorus and orchestra all equally
robust. John Reed’s 1963 recording in the Decca compilation
mentioned earlier is less aristocratic, more conversational
but Watson enjoys himself more and shows more variety with touches
of parlando, especially in characterizing the rich attorney.
The 1949 Pirates
selection begins with Leonard Osborn’s Frederic at least attempting
lyrical ardour to overcome the rather prim chorus of maidens
but he’s outclassed by the purer voiced coloratura of Muriel
Harding’s Mabel, or rather a snatch of it because as you’re
looking forward to ‘Poor wandr’ing one’ the excerpt ends. However,
we get more of Mabel in ‘When the foeman bares his steel’ scene
and for ‘Ah! Leave me not to pine’ (tr.11), evidence that Harding’s
is the finest of the ladies’ voices of this period. In the latter
Osborn matches her tenderness, if with rather wilting tone.
Meanwhile Martyn Green’s Major-General song displays his customary
ease of delivery and affability. There’s an even more genial
quality about Richard Watson’s Sergeant of Police. He exudes
enjoyment in his famous song without needing the comic exaggeration
of the text Owen Brannigan, admittedly memorably, brings to
his 1967 recording on the Decca compilation referred to earlier.
In 1949, on the other hand, the pirates’ chorus of ‘cat-like
tread’ is a good deal more spirited than the orchestra.
The three items
from the 1950 Yeomen make sombre listening. ‘I have a
song to sing, O’ (tr. 14) is an elegy for lost opportunity,
Martyn Green and Muriel Harding living through unhappiness and
facing it with resolution, yet the sadness lingers. Even ‘Oh!
a private buffoon is a light-hearted loon’ (tr. 15) becomes
an increasingly bitter account of rules for jesters. Green begins
very droll, stylishly incorporates parlando and ends in withering
philosophising with the melody dead. The quartet ‘When a wooer
goes a-wooing’ (tr. 16) is all soft focus and gentle sorrow,
sensitively done with Green by his closing solo on the edge
of tears.
Enjoyment is restored
in the selection from the 1950 Mikado. Leonard Osborn
is in rather bleating mode as the wand’ring minstrel except
for the more bracingly forthright military and nautical sections
but a breezy chorus introduces the Lord High Executioner and
Martyn Green delivers his list of those who won’t be missed
with the elegant sparkle of an engagingly conversational manner.
The three little maids from school, Margaret Mitchell, Joyce
Wright and Joan Gillingham, are clearly having fun. Darrell
Fancourt’s Mikado is admirably direct, seeming larger than life
in voice and personality, crowned by a mighty laugh and wheeze
before the refrain returns in ‘A more humane Mikado’ (tr. 21).
Osborn has a similarly straight approach in ‘The flowers that
bloom in the spring’ (tr. 22) but it’s subverted by Green’s
different tone which takes in what sounds like ventriloquism
for his ‘Tra la’s. Green shows himself more intimately and humanely
in the Tit-willow song, delivered in simple, unaffected manner
without caricature before the finale sweeps along.
To sum up, this
Naxos Historical selection gives a fair perspective of the range
of interpretative quality of the Decca mono series of recordings
made by D’Oyly Carte between 1948 and 1954. The recordings themselves,
and copies used for the transfers, also vary. Curiously, although
there’s a spread of dates on both CDs, there’s generally more
surface noise, greater density and less feel of restoration
on CD2 than CD1. In fully scored items chorus and orchestra
are very much subordinate to the soloists. The value of the
recordings may be thought to be that they are closer to the
original performances. Martyn Green understudied Henry Lytton
who had understudied George Grossmith, the originator of most
of the principal comedian roles. But equally they show how that
understudying was simply a grounding on which artists could
place their own distinctive stamp. The glory of this selection
is the inimitability of Martyn Green, Peter Pratt, Darrell Fancourt
and Richard Watson.
Michael Greenhalgh