This 1987 recording
featuring George Lloyd conducting
his Symphony 4 is a reissue of Albany
Records AR002. That was just a CD.
This reissue is one of that relatively
rare breed today, a two-layer SACD
hybrid, so you get CD and higher definition
SACD stereo but no multi-channel,
surround-sound version, presumably
because the source recording is only
two channel. I compared it with the
original. The CD has good dynamic
range, plenty of body and glow. The
SACD is brighter, clearer, less glowing
yet with more subtleties of dynamic
range and detail apparent. But there
isn’t any greater density in tone
or spaciousness which surround sound
would bring. So if you have the original
issue and are happy with its sound
there’s no necessity to upgrade.
Booklet notes by
William Lloyd, George’s nephew give
the biographical background to this
work and thus stress how it represents
George’s personal rehabilitation,
but it’s a pity George’s terse yet
informative notes on the music, included
with the original CD, no longer appear.
So I’ll make some reference to them
in this review.
This is the first
time I’ve seen the symphony given
the nickname Arctic. This is
not on the composer’s autograph score.
What he wrote on the title page was
"A world of darkness, storms,
strange colours, and a far away peacefulness"
but his notes identify this with the
Arctic in the winter of 1941-42. I
wonder if Albany’s nickname is attempting
to invite comparison with Vaughan
Williams’ Sinfonia Antartica,
composed 1949-52. There are some resemblances
such as passages evoking the awesome
quality of huge forces of nature and
climatic conditions, a sense of vast
expanses. Both display heroic responses
to adversity. RVW is more epic and
resolute in character, Lloyd more
upbeat especially in the finale.
The performance itself
is a fine one. In the first movement
(tr. 1) the composer gets across well
the sheer variation of mood. He writes
its concern is with "the storms
and darkness, with only an occasional
glimpse of light". But the predominant
mood of the work is affirmative and
optimistic and it begins like a pageant.
Set against the summery fanfares,
however, are the autumnal glinting
half lights of the violins (e.g. at
0:41). Then there’s the nervous fluttering
energy of the strings from 1:38 and
their eerie skittering from 2:34.
There are awe inspiring brass climaxes,
the "terrifying aspects"
of the Arctic, at 3:20 and 7:52. But
by 3:37 creamy woodwind cries alternate
with supportive, intimate violins.
The return of the opening (8:18) is
wan because of the foreboding created
by the added scurrying activity. Chromatic
wailing from 9:10 and the relentless
progression of the strings’ storm
winds leads to a sense of maelstrom
from 12:29. But a rosy calm ensues
and at 15:46 the smooth big tune.
I compared the symphony’s
first and only other recording (Lyrita
SRCD.2258), made by the Philharmonia
Orchestra/Edward Downes in 1981 on
the two days following their world
premiere performance. Here are the
comparative timings:-
Timings |
I
|
II
|
III
|
IV
|
Total
|
Lloyd 1987 |
18:01
|
12:40
|
13:26
|
20:41
|
65:07
|
Downes 1981 |
17:10
|
12:39
|
13:17
|
19:46
|
62:54
|
Downes’ account has
greater momentum, more immediate edge
and engagement but less nuance of
shading, atmosphere and chill feel
that Lloyd brings. Downes’ analogue
recording is brighter with clear positioning
though less breadth, glow and density
than the digital Lloyd. Downes’ strings’
nervous rustlings are more exciting
but the brass climaxes, passing more
quickly, lack Lloyd’s sense of immensity.
Downes’ flute and oboe cries leading
to the second theme are more mournful,
his divided first violins’ response
more lusciously sighing. Downes’ second
theme itself is a luxuriating major
key one after this minor key meandering.
Lloyd is more laid back and subtle
in his presentation of it (4:38).
Similarly he brings more cogent weight
to a more meaty, clouded version of
part of this theme in this movement’s
development from 6:02 where Downes
sweeps forward. Downes presents the
bass clarinet’s tread at the outset
of the storm more spookily where Lloyd
(9:03) is relatively innocuous. Downes
build-up is more tense, Lloyd’s climax
more horrific. Downes displays a smooth
calm and heartfelt expansion of the
big tune. Lloyd is no less flowing
but more reflective, bringing to it
a graceful dignity and dreamy quality.
The slow movement
(tr. 2) begins with a very still,
calm expanse, but activity is also
within the calm as when the violas
echo the violins from 0:41 and then
the violins return as if interlocking
in an embrace. You appreciate the
rarefied atmosphere. There’s something
of Copland about it but Lloyd’s scoring
and harmonies seem to filter it through
Delius. He states this movement is
a recollection of travelling up the
Norwegian coast as far as the North
Cape nine years before 1941-42. Its
main, homely theme, is first presented
by clarinet (3:02), with a degree
of aloofness here, as if Lloyd is
content to be a spectator of the natural
splendour. The violins respond with
a more roseate tenderness but this
is offset by a raw, impassioned sequence
begun by the cellos (4:50), as if
beauty can only fully be appreciated
in the light of grim experience. The
strings crown the movement in a regal
take-up of the homely theme over a
fluttering heartbeat of an ostinato.
But there’s still an essential calm
about it all as Lloyd’s account conveys
its innate nobility through the control
of a certain reticence. At the close
we return to the expanse and the clear,
still skyline. Lloyd’s opening and
close achieve more pristine stillness
and poise than the brighter, atmospheric
but more immediate Downes who also
invests the articulation with more
feeling so the clarinet theme has
a more calming effect. Downes’ treatment
of its apotheosis on the strings is
resolute and stately but lacks Lloyd’s
inner dignity.
The challenge Lloyd
set himself in the scherzo was "to
produce an effect of brilliance without
using any brass instruments",
though actually he does use horns
at climactic moments. In the scherzo
(tr. 3) Lloyd gives us a dance of
both jocularity and restlessness,
but ever lightly pointed, especially
its second theme (1:05) which pauses
in mid air as if the male dancer is
lifting the female before us. A more
animated, albeit only mock serious
cellos’ led theme (2:04) encourages
more whirring from the violins and
percussion letting rip. The trio (3:56)
is a dreamy centre, its smoulderingly
sultry theme reminiscent of the second
‘movement’ of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Capriccio
espagnol. The violins get into
lullaby mode. Smooth phrasing makes
everything warm and comfortable. Lloyd
makes the scherzo return more urgent,
its rhythmic ingenuity more apparent,
but the second theme is rather brusquely
treated. The trio briefly returns
too, less relaxed this time and with
a solo violin now pirouetting around
the theme before a lively coda. Downes
is more forthright in the scherzo
dance, with more marked rhythmic emphasis
and whirligig excitement of its climax,
a more drawling trio, like a long
contented yawn and stretch.
Lloyd is a touch
diffident about his finale, pointing
out it has little to do with the Arctic
and is "mostly a series of quick,
march-like tunes" as if "when
the funeral is over the band plays
quick, cheerful tunes to go home".
But the uplifting, triumphant affirmation
is the point. Also, though Lloyd doesn’t
state this, I’d say the march themes
honour his fellow bandsmen, 17 out
of 21 who died when his ship’s torpedo
malfunctioned in 1942. The virtual
absence of the brass in the scherzo
points up the more their full bodied
presence in the finale. The introduction’s
evocative horn solo is the birth of
one march which jauntily reveals its
full colours at 3:34. But there’s
also a bracing atmosphere and dramatically
descending phrase of gritty resolve
in the trombones (4:20) before the
individual joie de vivre, even
impishness of the march theme returning
Till Eulenspiegel fashion as
a clarinet solo, to which the trumpet
responds with its own sunny march
(5:22). Then the strings have a more
noble march (5:45) but with gorgeously
fruity woodwind embellishments and
an even broader march at 7:06. The
tunes don’t outstay their welcome
as on repeat the accompaniment is
varied and the effect is like gradually
taking in more detail in a passing
parade.
From
10:26 the waves start to heave again,
skilfully worked up in strings and
full orchestra, but this swell isn’t
life threatening. A screeching wind
gets up at 12:45, countered by Janáček-like
horn volleys at 13:44 and all the
march themes are welcomed back
with a creamy breadth and brass writing
as exultant as Elgar’s. Downes’ introduction
has more dramatic expectancy and tension
released in the festive burst of the
Allegro. The elements of the
movement are clearly revealed at the
same time as being swept jubilantly
along. The trombones’ descending phrase
is more freely treated than in Lloyd’s
account but generally Downes injects
more edge into the articulation, bringing
an elevating feel of open air music.
Lloyd’s introduction is warmer and
smoochier. His greater control of
the tremolando accompaniment
makes you more attentive to it. His
more laid back display of the succession
of tunes has greater assurance, easing
the whole movement forward majestically.
On balance, then,
I’d say this Lloyd account is the
better of the two recordings available
and now in even better sound. Downes
is sometimes more gripping but Lloyd
provides more magic moments.
Michael Greenhalgh