Lilburn’s death in June 2001 coincided with the latest recordings
of the three symphonies, rightly characterised as the heart of his creative
work, and music of the most impressive cast. The First Symphony dates
from 1949 and was premiered two years later. If the North Island of New
Zealand was his paradisiacal home and his studies with Vaughan Williams
gave structure to his symphonic thought, the First is a work that reflects
both influences – that of nature and the musical means by which its immensity
and beauty can most properly be conveyed symphonically. The result is
a symphony of power, mystery, delight, structural sagacity, sure pacing
and gathers up its fairly clear lineage – Vaughan Williams himself, Sibelius
– into a cohesive narrative.
Opening with a trumpet fanfare motto and a sense –
ever present in Lilburn - of prescience and anticipation the opening
movement passes through reflective stasis, the return of that craggy
motto theme and the sense of the immensity of space. The Sibelian analogies
are unavoidable I suppose but what is rewarding about Lilburn is his
mastery – even in this relatively early work – of symphonic thought,
of reiteration, of the use of silence and reflection, of never becoming
bogged down. His string writing is variously austere and soaring – or
both – and the way in which themes return reinforced, swollen and teeming
with new life is especially exciting. At 7’48 sonorous strings and sinuous
cor anglais saturate the narrative only to dissolve again; when that
trumpet figure returns we sense the length of the distance come. The
second movement opens out with stirring violins and brass fanfare responses.
The symphonic line of his argument is engineered by myriad little details
– quirks of orchestration, extreme attention to single line woodwind,
the twisting lines of the strings, the effective and insistent use of
brass paragraphal points, all of which convey colour and meaning. The
end of the movement is visited by a kind of Tallis theme, modal and
becalmed and essentially noble. Over rumbling, ominous lower strings
a sense of open air and warm-hearted freedom is gradually generated.
Those pervasive fanfares have now mutated and are fulsome and grandly
affirmative and grow in amplitude and confidence. At 7’40 a serious,
cello resonant theme of mellow beauty courses through the music which
rises up to the flourish of a final fanfare of unbridled power.
The Second Symphony, completed 1951 but only first
performed in 1959, is in four movements. Once more Lilburn is expert
at conveying a sense of symphonic expectancy – with the rise and fall
of the argument flecked and haunted by oboe and horn passages and strings
barely concealing their striving for momentum. Some eruptive passages
lead a flute solo – static, pregnant with meaning – before the serious
sounding trumpet and string peroration moves in a cantilever to include
wind and horn reminiscences, internalised and absorbed, in the final
page. Lilburn’s music has often been held to be a kind of pictorialism,
reflective of the peaks and valleys of New Zealand’s landscape – I’m
sure this is so, but what runs through this writing is a superb grip
on architecture and a sense of structure and form compelling entirely
on its own terms; lovers of Sibelius and Tubin will be welcome in this
landscape. The invigorating freshness of the Scherzo reminds me of nothing
less than Peggy Glanville-Hick’s Etruscan Concerto – herself another
Vaughan Williams pupil - the same exultant prairie freedom runs through
it though not one quite as ebullient as the Australian composer’s. Nevertheless
nimble and quick witted strings scintillate and the rather American
sounding writing is cut short at 3’02 by the central panel of the movement,
a long breathed, "long bow" melody with decorative roulades
pirouetting around it. A magnificent, life affirming and joyful movement
– stop whatever you are doing and listen to it now. In contrast the
slow movement is eloquent and unselfconscious, again long breathed but
this time a little pertinently aloof. The Finale is fresh and melodically
attractive with punchy trumpets, sylvan flutes, stern lower brass and
rather philosophical-reflective strings which leads to some fugal writing
but ends in torrents of almost ecstatic simplicity and lyricism.
The Third of Lilburn’s symphonies is a one-movement
fifteen-minute work composed in 1961, premiered the following year and
first recorded in 1968. In five connected episodes this is a tense,
complex, avowedly modern work with much use of entwined wind and brass
blocks. After 6’55 brass fanfares – a distinctive feature of Lilburn’s
writing whatever the stylistic imperatives – and scurrying strings create
a sense of imminence, immediately undercut by the bassoon and by a sense
of dissipated momentum. Lilburn’s adoption of a highly personalised
use of serial technique never subordinates the orchestral material;
his recognisable traits are ever present though suitably condensed here.
The fourth episode in which the solo trumpet leads on to an ominous
build up of material – laconically noted by Lilburn as "concerned
with some dialogue for brass" – is impressive not least for its
superb handling of short motifs and blocks of material. The "fragmented
coda" that Lilburn notes is a species of analytic terseness and
ends the symphony on a note of ambiguity and unresolved complexity.
This is a work that demands concentrated and repeated hearing; it wears
its learning lightly but presents a carapace that is sometimes forbidding
and stern.
These works have been recorded before. With the same
orchestra John Hopkins has recorded all three (Continuum CCD1069), Ashley
Keenan recorded No 2 in 1975 – coupled with Hopkins’ First and Third
(it was Hopkins who was both dedicatee of the Third and who first recorded
it). Doubtless others are around but this new set, with the impressive
James Judd is a major achievement in its own right. The New Zealand
Symphony Orchestra play with sensitivity, judicious weight and technical
expertise and Judd is an affectionate and strongly engaged Lilburn conductor.
Tremendous sound as well – an excellent disc in every way and a first
port of call for those who want to get to know these splendid symphonies.
Jonathan Woolf
Information received
Mr Woolf claims that Douglas
Lilburn's Second Symphony was not given its
first performance until 1959, although written
in 1951. This refers only to *concert* performances,
but it was given at least three broadcast
performances before then:
The first performance was given by the NZBCSO
under Warwick Braithwaite in December 1953
(YC network). The second performance was by
my late husband Georg Tintner, with the NZBCSO,
broadcast on 14 December 1954. He also gave
the first Australian performance of the work
with the Sydney Symphony Orchestra in a broadcast
on 7 April 1955.
A tape of the Braithwaite performance is held
at Radio New Zealand Archives, as is a tape
of a performance my husband conducted, which
is undated; it could be either the 1954 broadcast
or the broadcast (with NZBCSO) of 16 August
1964.
Tanya Tintner
Also see review
by Neil Horner
James Judd