These are the first substantial works by Patric Standford that
I have encountered. There is a considerable amount of information
about him and his music on the website
of his publishers, Edition Peters, who have published all three
works here recorded. Readers are also referred to a review
by my colleague, Gary Higginson, of a CD that included Standford’s
The Prayer of Saint Francis interrupted by bells. In
that review Gary, a sometime pupil of Standford, tells us quite
a bit about the composer as well as commenting on the work in
question. Some time ago, our editor, Rob
Barnett, was also most enthusiastic about some other works
by Standford though, sadly, the pieces in question aren’t commercially
available. Since Gary and Rob wrote those articles Standford’s
A Christmas Carol Symphony has appeared on disc (review)
but so far as I know that’s it as far as representation of his
music on disc is concerned.
From the good biographical note in the booklet by John Talbot
I learned that Standford’s teachers have included Rubbra, Malipiero
and Lutoslawski. On the surface I’d say there’s least evidence
of Rubbra’s influence in the music on this disc but pupils shouldn’t
be mere imitators of their teachers and Patric Standford is,
without doubt, his own man.
As Standford makes clear in a booklet note on the music, first
symphonies often follow several false starts – one thinks of
Brahms, of whom more anon – and his own First Symphony was at
least his third attempt in the genre. It sounds as if the work,
which was completed in 1972, is written for a fairly large orchestra
including a sizeable percussion section. Cast in four movements,
each bears the name of one of the four seasons. We start with
‘Spring’ and anyone whose idea of the English Spring is a gentle
pastorale is in for a shock. Standford’s Spring bursts
out with an eruption of energy – one is almost put in mind of
the sudden strength of the Russian Spring, though not as violently
as depicted by Stravinsky. There’s a confident, bounding figure
at the very start which crops up several times during the course
of the movement. This is vigorous, big music, confident in its
voice and strongly scored for the orchestra. The writing is
often busy yet the textures never sound overloaded. There’s
clarity in the writing and the orchestration is always interesting.
The slow movement, ‘Summer’, is for strings alone and, in the
composer’s words, “represents a strongly optimistic and dynamic
memory of [Sir John] Barbirolli” – over the years Standford
had attended many of Barbirolli’s Hallé concerts in his native
Sheffield. Isn’t it strange how we all hear things differently?
The composer talks of “summer warmth” in this movement yet I
don’t get that at all. I find the music serious and, at times,
astringent. The music, which exploits the resources of a string
orchestra very effectively, doesn’t sound very English to my
ears. I don’t find the language very warm, which is not to say
that I don’t admire the music. The scherzo, which depicts ‘Autumn’,
contains glistening, fleeting music. Standford talks of “weak
sunlight shimmering on beads of rain covering vast spider webs,
the sighing of falling leaves, and evening lamplight reflected
from damp pavements.” Here I do get at least some of
what the composer mentions. The orchestral writing is ever-shifting
and ingenious. The finale, a ‘Winter Epilogue’ “depicts a winter
that vigorously fights against the cold with bursts of energy”.
Fittingly, the scoring is often chilly and the writing is frequently
powerful.
This symphony may have been a long time in the making but it
represents a confident, often arresting, first essay in the
genre. Having found his symphonic voice Standford has gone on
to write several more. However, so far as I can see, his 1974
Cello Concerto remains to date his only full-scale concerto.
It is played here by its dedicatee, Raphael Wallfisch, who is
playing a slightly revised version of the original score. The
work was conceived while Standford and his wife were spending
the summer of 1974 in Baden-Baden as guests of the Brahms-Gesellschaft
and staying in part of the very house where Brahms spent each
summer between 1864 and 1873. The resulting concerto is a homage
to Brahms and is built around the fifth movement – ‘Ihr habt
nun Traurigkeit’ – of the German Requiem.
The first of the three movements opens with an impassioned,
long-breathed theme for the soloist over a series of pounding
low B flats in the orchestra. This initial episode sets the
tone for much of what is to follow in the movement. It’s searching
music and I found it far from easy to listen to or absorb. That’s
not a criticism, by the way, rather it’s an indication of how
intellectually challenging the music is; to my ears it’s at
least restless, if not troubled. Standford describes the second
movement as “a flight of midsummer madness”. He also says that
the music is “largely in animated pianissimo”. From
reading that, and picking up a reference to Mendelssohn in the
note, I’d expected a gossamer-light movement but that’s not
really what we get. There’s an awful lot of fast, spiky writing
for both soloists and orchestra, which I must admit I don’t
find too congenial but the music never really seems to dip below
mf at best. It’s possible that the otherwise exemplary
recording is too close, though I don’t think so. There is some
lightness in the music but, as I hear it, the tone is mainly
serious in a way that seems to me to be at variance with any
thoughts of Mendelssohn.
The finale opens with an extended passage for the soloist which
has the character of a cadenza though parts of it are accompanied.
It’s in this movement that the references to the Brahms Requiem
are most pronounced – or, put another way, I’ve struggled to
discern any references in the preceding movements. Here, however,
Standford does something rather interesting. As he puts it he
“merges quotations [from the Brahms fifth movement] … into its
own texture.” It’s intriguing how the Brahms quotes drift into
and out of the foreground. In fact it occurred to me while listening
that if I took out my score of the Brahms I might find that
Standford had grafted his own music straight onto the skeleton
of the Brahms movement – I didn’t do that exercise, by the way
and I’m sure he hasn’t done that though the Brahms quotes are
often so extensive as to give that impression. Perhaps it’s
the strong – and familiar – Brahms melodic foundation that makes
me like this movement most of the three but I like to think
it’s more a case of admiration for the concept and the cleverness
with which it’s executed.
The disc concludes with The Naiades, originally a movement
from Standford’s Second Symphony (1980). The Naiades were mythological
water nymphs. Appropriately, therefore, the music is extremely
light and airy. The scoring is consistently transparent and
the music never ceases to move – it’s fast and busy throughout;
it’s almost a moto perpetuo. This is sheer delight.
The writing – and the highly accomplished orchestration - is
a prodigious feat of sustained delicacy and dexterity. It’s
a highly engaging piece and here
there is a lightness both of touch and tone that is truly Mendelssohnian.
If I’m absolutely honest I like this side of Patric
Standford’s musical personality while I respect the side that’s
on display in the Cello Concerto.
It’s very good that these pieces have been made available on
disc for they are well worth investigating. So far as I can
tell – the music is all new to me – Standford’s music has been
extremely well served by the Royal Scottish National Orchestra
and that doughty champion of unfamiliar British music, David
Lloyd-Jones. The sound quality is extremely good.
John Quinn
Raphael Wallfisch (cello)