The picaresque details
of Grofé’s early life are entertainingly
set out in Victor and Marina Ledin’s
sleeve-notes for this SACD/CD. It would
probably be easier to list those careers
he didn’t try, rather than those he
did, but his big break came when Paul
Whiteman signed him to his eponymous
band in 1917, first as a pianist, then
expanding his portfolio as assistant
conductor, orchestral librarian and
orchestrator. It was with his orchestration
of Rhapsody in Blue that he hit the
headlines and from this time we can
date his growing confidence in writing
original works of his own. These were
of the cinematic/landscape rich variety,
strong on local colour and scenic vibrancy,
responding to nature and incident with
immediacy, strength and imagination.
Those who are interested in Whiteman’s
sometime cornet soloist, the brilliant
alcoholic Bix Beiderbecke, tend to filter
his classical influences through the
erstwhile band leading violinist – but
it was more likely Grofé who
was the real influence; Beiderbecke
always cited Debussy, Delius and MacDowell
as significant influences, though the
same can’t always be said of his orchestrating
and composing mentor Grofé –
though equally it often could.
The three works on
this disc span his compositional life.
The Mississippi Suite (1926) is a four-movement
evocation of the river, opening with
Father of Waters – strong on
fine rolling drums and a sense of watery
expectancy in the lower strings (had
he been listening to Vltava – I’d put
my money on it) and some exotica redolent
of (Red) Indian music – though somewhat
less subtly than Amy Beach evoked Eskimo
music (sensitive types should substitute
"Native American" and "Inuit"
at this point.) There’s plenty of impressionistic
whirl and quite a deal of brassy bite
as well. His Huckleberry Finn
second movement teems with juddering
brass and also a Swanee whistle (not
high on my list of novelty favourites
I have to admit) but it’s probably best
to see this as a Yankee Til Eulenspiegel
in fun fair mode. Languorous impressionism
certainly does course through Old
Creole Days before the frolicsome
Turkey in the Straw barnyardisms and
colour of the Mardi Gras finale
– with a splendid jazz-based finale.
The Grand Canyon Suite
(1931) is in five movements, ranging
from the burgeoning eloquence of Sunset,
to the clearly Francophile The Painted
Desert. He’s not afraid to entrust
the opening of the central panel, On
the Trail, to a violin solo or then
to spice things with a Will Rogers cowboy
tune, some terpsichorean fun, or add
a sentimental lullaby and then top things
off with a wistful, handkerchief-reaching
music box passage. I admired the descending
horn motif in Sunset, a lovingly
Delian moment (and a sure sign of that
early musical inheritance, nurtured
in the Whiteman band) as well as the
warmth of the last movement Cloudburst,
with its thunderous rainstorm and triple-tongued
trumpet flare.
In 1961 he wrote the
Niagara Falls Suite, a highly cinematic
and descriptive four-movement piece.
The massacre movement – settlers ambushed
by tribes - is tensely argued and then
bursts into "ambush" mode
and we also have a movement redolent
of Waltzing delicacies in the Honeymooners
(is there an allusion to Keep the Home
Fires Burning or is it coincidental?)
The most compelling of the movements
however is the last, the Power of
Niagara, which is saturated in siren
wails and industrial anvils, and has
climax piled upon climax – not subtle,
certainly, but exciting.
As I said this is a
Super Audio CD (SACD) but is perfectly
compatible with ordinary systems (like
mine). I can’t vouch for its surround
sound capacity but it sounds full of
depth and wide spectrum response on
my less than state-of-the-art equipment.
The performances are splendid as well
and cap a salutary salute to Grofé.
Jonathan Woolf
Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra/William T. Stromberg