Ernest John MOERAN (1894-1950)
Cello Concerto (1945) [28:44]
Serenade in G - original version (1948) [23:18]
Lonely Waters* (1924/31) [8:01]
Whythorne's Shadow (1931) [5:01]
Guy Johnston (cello)
Rebekah Coffey* (soprano)
Ulster Orchestra/JoAnn Falletta
rec. The Ulster Hall, Belfast, Northern Ireland, 5 February 2012 (Serenade,
2 Small Pieces), 6 February 2012 (Concerto)
NAXOS 8.573034 [65:18]
In recordings terms it could be said that The Ulster Orchestra is the most
experienced Moeran ensemble in the UK. The bulk of that material was recorded
with Vernon Handley on the stick for Chandos. It comes as something of a surprise
to realise that the last of those recordings was made as long ago as
1990 - and featured the only other full version of the Serenade offered
here too. For the major work here - the Cello Concerto - one has to go back
to 1986 for the most recent competitor: Raphael
Wallfisch with Norman del Mar and the Bournemouth Sinfonietta. Before
that you must find your way to 1969 for the seminal performance by inspiration,
wife of Moeran and dedicatee Peers
Coetmore. Aside from a Naxos
disc of the Symphony and Sinfonietta which came about only because another
session was cancelled this is the first new disc of all Moeran orchestral
works in just about a quarter of a century. Personally I do not consider the
reconstruction of the notional Second Symphony to be 'real' Moeran and its
companion work on that Dutton
disc - the Festival Overture - is minor at best.
That being the case, Moeran aficionados will not need to read this review
- they will have bought the disc already. For those new to the considerable
cause I'm pleased to say that this is a very impressive disc. Moeran's is
an elusive idiom; played too sentimentally the dark undertow is missed and
played too neo-classically the sense of pained pastoral rapture is lost. One
cannot imagine that conductor JoAnn Falletta has had many opportunities to
programme Moeran during her various tenures in the USA so all the more credit
to her for finding just the right 'touch' so impressively in the bulk of the
music offered.
To my ear cellist Guy Johnston is the most impressive of the three players
to have recorded the principal work. Coetmore's recording is an obligatory
purchase on Lyrita for the reasons mentioned above. That wonderful Lyrita
disc also includes the two other Coetmore-inspired works; the Cello Sonata
and the small Prelude. Unfortunately by the time she came to record the concerto
with Boult she was in her mid-sixties and for all her musical insight what
we hear is technically fallible. In contrast Wallfisch was at the very beginning
of his recording career - this was one of his earliest concerto discs and
while it is good neither the interpretation nor the recording are from Chandos'
top-most drawer. Johnston came to the world's attention when he won the BBC
Young Musician of the Year in 2000 despite breaking a string during his final
- stunning - performance of Shostakovich's 1st Cello Concerto.
Moeran's Cello Concerto is a far more dark and troubled work than one might
expect or indeed initially sense. Moeran's last years were shadowed by increasing
worries about his inability to focus or concentrate and the concern that this
might foreshadow a descent into total mental collapse. In part this explains
the repeated attempts to complete the Second Symphony which at various times
he reported to friends as being all-but complete. If you look at the small
tally of Moeran's output the last orchestral work is the Serenade dating
from 1948. However, dig a little deeper and it becomes clear that this work
is in fact linked to the suite Farrago from 1932 and its 'lightness'
belies the struggle with which it came in being. Returning to the Concerto;
its genesis is wholly a result of Moeran's infatuation with Coetmore. Theirs
was a curious relationship - more idealised than practical, indeed much of
the time they were married was spent apart with Coetmore on tour and Moeran
trying to escape his devils by drink and travelling to Ireland. It is this
sense of a lyrical - often Irish - idyll juxtaposed against an often manic
gaiety that characterises the work. Johnston plays with just the right musing
rhapsodic freedom and with a beautifully unforced tone in the works many slower
(brooding?) passages. The three movements are marked Moderato, Adagio
and Allegretto which does reflect the somewhat muted spiritual world
it inhabits.
The sudden juxtaposition of jaggedly flamboyant brass writing does - and should
- come as something of a shock - track 1 4:56. Here Falletta, having been
such a sensitive accompanist to the earlier introverted mood drives the music
forward impressively. Her Ulster players respond as to the manner born. Timings
overall for Wallfisch and Johnston are very similar [28:36 to 28:44] but Johnston
favours a more extreme range of tempi. Some might argue that this makes the
music feel more sectionalised, less organic but I feel this is an insightful
choice ultimately revealing the work as less cosy and comfortable than
I had previously thought. The reason the extremes of mood work - literally
manic one might say - is explained insightfully by Geoffrey Self in his 1986
book The Music of E.J. Moeran (Toccata Press). He offers a very lucid
analysis of the work which at its heart shows that all the musical material
is tied together by what Self describes as a "parent cell technique". Essentially
this is a well-tried method by which even the most diverse music in the work
can be traced back to a four-note musical cell - the 'parent' of all that
follows. This deeply-laid foundation allows Johnston and Falletta to explore
the extremes of the emotional range/dynamics/tempi of the work without it
collapsing into a sequence of fragmentary episodes. Wallfisch's more considered
approach is beautiful and accomplished for sure but less challenging.
The central Adagio contains the most heart-felt and lyrically impassioned
writing in the entire concerto and the performance here reinforces my impression
that this is now the single finest version available. The finale has always
felt just a little forced in it faux-Irish bonhomie. Self notes here and elsewhere
some fascinating parallels in terms of melodic outlines with the famous Dvořák
B minor concerto. Once again it fits more logically in the dramatic arc as
defined by the performers here. Johnston captures the capriciousness of the
writing to perfection and while it is by no means an overtly virtuosic concerto
for virtuosity's sake he sounds completely at ease with any of the technical
hurdles Moeran presents.
Dating Moeran's works is rarely straightforward. Often the music would evolve
over an extended period absorbing influences along the way; any given piece
may seem to have a variety of styles at work. This is especially the case
with the Serenade. As mentioned, parts of the work originated in a
1932 Suite. By the time of its 1948 premiere under Basil
Cameron this had expanded into the eight movement Serenade given
here although when the score was published two movements; No.3 Intermezzo
and No.7 Forlana were removed. According to Lionel Hill in his book
"Lonely Waters - the diary of a friendship with E J Moeran" (Thames, 1985)
this was simply a decision to make the work more concise and therefore appealing
to programmers. Again there have been two other commercial recordings. Handley
on Chandos
in Ulster offers this fuller eight movement version. He also recorded it in
the 1960s with the Guildford
Philharmonic Orchestra. Hickox on EMI with the Northern Sinfonia plays
the published score (CDC 7 49912 2 then 7 64721 2). Given that that version
also has a rather blurringly resonant recording it rules itself out fine though
the actual playing and interpretation are. The Ulster Orchestra of 1990 vintage
give their contemporary colleagues a very stiff challenge and if pushed I
would opt for the earlier version with Handley finding a fraction more wit
and Chandos a tad more sophistication in their engineering. Again though Falletta
has to be applauded for her direct, bright-eyed and unfussy approach. The
spirit of Peter Warlock hangs benevolently over the work and in the spirit
of his Capriol Suite this Serenade entertainingly recreates.
To quote Self; "[the] element of pastiche ... is here sedulously cultivated
... stylistic inconsistency is very much part of the work, but it in no way
spoils music of charm, boisterousness, and quasi-Gallic wit".
None of the movements are longer than five minutes and all are ear-ticklingly
appealing in the best traditions of 'light' music. It is hard to agree with
the Naxos cover-note writer that this work is "much-admired" - but treated
as a minor but wholly enjoyable romp it deserves a toe-hold in the repertoire.
I particularly enjoyed the Galop (No.4) with the Ulster brass in rollicking
form and the flowingly elegant Rigadoon which captures the bittersweet
lilting nostalgia that Moeran made so much his own.
The disc is completed by the Two Pieces for Small Orchestra - Lonely Waters
and Whythorne's Shadow. On disc especially these two works are nearly
always linked but that is no more than a publisher's expedience - they have
little in common excepting their considerable beauty and undoubted craft.
Dating is again an issue with both works. They were published as a pair in
1935. The writer Hubert Foss dates the former to 1930/31. Self refers to a
Peter Warlock article which mentions a work with this name in 1924. This was
around the time Moeran collected his Six Folksongs from Norfolk but
the published works exhibit a maturity and sureness of touch which Moeran
did not possess in the early 1920s. The likelihood is another work of extended
genesis and possible multiple versions. What is certain is that the work we
now have is a miniature masterpiece. Nay-sayers would probably cite it as
a prime example of cow-pat music at its most pastoral. The dedication to Vaughan
Williams shows a spiritual kinship with the older composer but this is most
certainly not a rose-tinted view on a Rural England that never existed
outside of a Hardy novel. There are other editorial considerations too. Moeran
offers two endings, one - his preference - with a singer; "So I'll go down
to the Lonely Waters, Go down where no one they shall find me." In his preface
to the work in the published score Moeran wrote: "... it is preferable to
perform the piece in the version with the voice part, but it should be understood
that the singer need not be a professional one, in fact anybody with a clear
and natural manner of singing may sing the verse. And in any case, the singer
must be in an unobtrusive position, sitting at the back of the orchestra or
out of sight altogether."
Given this clearly stated preference it is rather disappointing that some
of the other fine recordings of this work - Handley on Chandos and Dilkes
on EMI - opted for the instrumental version. The only other performance I
have heard with a singer is the lugubrious Jeffrey Tate on EMI (7642002) with
a far too heavily voiced Anne Murray. The field was wide open then for a definitive
version with voice. Unfortunately Falletta and her producer, Tim Handley,
make a miscalculation here. Their soprano Rebekah Coffey has a perfectly attractive
voice but she sings in such a 'trained' and correct way with ev-e-ry syll-a-ble
carefully enunciated. How easy it would have been in the wonderfully generous
acoustic of the Belfast Hall to place her - or preferably someone more idiomatic
- in the distant balcony - a voice heard through the mists of morning. These
two pieces are also the time when Falletta's instinct to keep the music moving
lets her down. Handley takes a rhapsodic 9:20 for Lonely Waters and
a pensive 6:30 for Whythorne's Shadow. Falletta takes a flowing 8:01
for the former but a too brisk 5:01 for the latter. To give another comparison
- Neville
Dilkes by whose performances I'm guessing many people, myself included,
'learnt' these pieces snips another minute off Falletta's time for Lonely
Waters [7:06] without it feeling rushed but expands Whythorne's Shadow
to 6:45. Certainly, the miniature tone-poem that is Lonely Waters can
take either extreme. Dilkes' push through to the impassioned climax gives
the work a moment of pained ecstasy. Sadly though, his EMI recording does
show its age now.
Whythorne's Shadow is considered to be Moeran's Memento Mori
for Peter Warlock who died in 1930. Warlock had rediscovered the Elizabethan
composer Thomas Whythorne in a 1925 pamphlet and published an edition of his
partsong As Thy Shadow Itself Apply'th in 1927. So in one brief work
Moeran acknowledges his debt to Warlock - and through him to the liberating
influence of Elizabethan music - as well as the poignancy of loss combined
with release. Release because Warlock has exercised a not wholly beneficial
influence on Moeran through the 1920s. The work is written in mainly compound
6/4 time. This is a notoriously hard tempo to hit just so: too slow and it
lumbers, too fast and it becomes mindlessly rum-ti-tum. Unfortunately Falletta
falls into the latter category and to be honest the piece goes for little.
The score gives a clear tempo indication - dotted minim (half-note) circa
48. Falletta plays it at around dotted minim 68. This is a huge difference
- Falletta seems to be labouring under a misapprehension that in some way
this piece should be performed with some awareness of historical performance
practice. The entire playing style as well as being too fast is light and
lifted. I find this a very strange mis-reading; this is a 1930s work which
is an echo - a shadow if you will of an earlier style as it was
understood to be in 1930. It makes for a disappointing end to an otherwise
impressive disc.
A word about the disc's presentation and engineering. Paul Conway's liner-notes
are concise but informative. Producer Tim Handley and engineer John Benson
produce a lively and immediate sound in the excellent Ulster Hall. I have
always considered the early Chandos discs recorded there to be amongst that
label's very finest. Their Bax Symphony No.4 - can it really be 30 years old
this year? - won a Gramophone engineering award, I recall. By that yard-stick
the sound is a fraction more brittle. The strings in particular sound a little
thin and light with a degree too much front-desk prominence. To be fair, these
are not works that require an orchestra to sound as though they have a Straussian
sumptuousness. The woodwind are beautifully caught as indeed are the brass.
The hall gives an heroic ring to the jagged fanfares that Moeran favours.
Curiously the trombones feel a fraction further forward in the mix than their
trumpet colleagues. Cello soloist Johnston is well balanced - always clear
and with a warm tone - but not overly prominent. As I mentioned before, the
placing of soprano Rebekah Coffey is an error of judgement in production rather
than technical terms. In her own right her sound is well caught; I just happen
to think it is not the right sound.
For all the relative disappointments with the two closing miniatures the positives
on this disc far outweigh the negatives. indeed I hope that Falletta is encouraged
to investigate the rest of Moeran's fairly modest orchestral output. Certainly
a new version of the Violin Concerto would be most welcome. Alongside the
classic Boult/Lyrita
disc of the Symphony and Sinfonietta this is a good place for a Moeran newcomer
to start a collection and a compulsory purchase for all other acolytes.
Nick Barnard
A good place for a Moeran newcomer to start a collection and a compulsory
purchase for all other acolytes.
See also review by Rob Barnett
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