see
also Volume 2
Montague Phillips and
I go back a long way. In fact, I first
came across him in Llandudno about a
third of a century ago. I had recently
discovered the delights of English music
and was beginning to assemble a collection
of records and piano sheet music. In
Mostyn Street there was a wonderful
second-hand bookshop. I believe it is
still there. It was an Aladdin’s Cave
for both me and my father. He was soon
engrossed in the poetry section and
I found the cupboards full of music.
It took me a fortnight to inspect all
the music that ‘Di the Book’ had in
his shop. Of course I bought all sorts
of stuff. Some of it was good, some
bad and some downright indifferent.
Plenty of piano music I could not play
then and still cannot play. Yet it was
cheap; a few shillings for handfuls
of the stuff. My father had found the
collected works of that great Lancastrian
Poet, Francis Thompson and was clearly
delighted. I had found some songs by
Montague Phillips which appealed to
the romantic streak in my boyish nature.
These were ‘From a Lattice Window,’
and, if I remember correctly ‘Sea
Echoes.’ Of course, I had to wait
until I returned to school before I
could try them out with one of the sixth
form girls who sang a bit. Something,
though, went wrong. We never performed
them together. I think she felt that
Bach or Schumann was more in her style
than an unknown Londoner. Yet the composer’s
name has been at the back of my mind
ever since. A few years later I met
an old church warden in the Lake District.
We were both organists and we chatted
about music and beer and Alfred Wainright.
One thing we had in common was our liking
of so-called ‘light music’. I told him
of my interest in Gilbert & Sullivan
– I had recently been a ‘lord’ in Iolanthe.
He chatted about The Maid
of the Mountains and one or two
other half-remembered operettas. Then
he told me that he had met his wife-to-be
during a performance of The Rebel
Maid. This work is perhaps Montague
Phillips’ best known piece.
The name went to the
back of my mind for a number of years
until Hyperion brought out their wonderful
recording of Joseph Holbrooke’s
Piano Concerto No. 1 ‘The Song of
Gwyn ap Nudd’ Op.52. Naturally,
I avidly read the CD’s learned programme
notes by Lewis Foreman. And there in
the second paragraph something hit my
eye - a list of piano concertos by British
Composers. Some of these I knew - Scott,
Delius and Stanford; but amongst the
many that I had not heard of was one
by Montague Phillips. I happened to
be in the Royal College of Music Library
and looked up the composer in Grove.
There was not much about his life but
a partial list of his works made me
sit up. Here was a catalogue containing
not only one piano concerto but two,
a symphony, various overtures and character
pieces, cantatas and piano works. True,
many of the titles in the list suggested
a ‘light’ or ‘salon’ music tendency
rather than anything weightier. However,
this was not a big issue; as Philip
Scowcroft suggests that there is certain
ambivalence between serious and light.
More thoughts about this later. I remember
looking at the list and shrugging my
shoulders. I would never hear any of
this music; of that I was convinced.
A few years later I
was delighted to buy the White Line
‘British Light Overtures’ CD Volume
3. Amongst many treats on this disc
was Montague Phillips’ Overture: Hampton
Court. It was the first track I
played; I was eager to hear what this
music sounded like. I was delighted
and surprised by this charming work.
We associate ‘things London’ with Eric
Coates, of course. But here was
a composer who was beating the master
at his own game. This music echoes the
feeling of grandeur, history and the
fine gardens at this national treasure.
It is sustained in places and full of
good tunes and sparkling orchestration.
We find, not only a sense of pageantry
but also a curious wistfulness. This
mood makes the overture work for me.
It is a number that would and should
take its place in the active repertoire
of British Light Music. Curiously, perhaps,
it acts as a kind of pendant to the
Surrey Suite Op.59 on the present
disc.
I will not in this
review give an outline of Montague Phillips’
life and works – this has been admirably
done by Philip Scowcroft in his extensive
writing on Light Music on Musicweb.
see SERIOUS
OR LIGHT The
Experience of Montague Phillips by Philip
L. Scowcroft
Symphony in C
minor
Chronologically the
first set of pieces on this disc is
the Symphony in C minor. Unfortunately
this work is not complete. The holograph
was lost in Germany on the outbreak
of the First World War. However the
orchestral parts remained and we are
fortunate that the composer chose to
reconstruct the Scherzo and the
Adagio during the early nineteen-twenties.
These were apparently revised and issued
as two orchestral miniatures – A
Spring Rondo and A Summer Nocturne.
Lewis Foreman notes
that the orchestral parts of the two
outer movements survive – and he suggests
that one day they may be reconstructed.
The Symphony was originally composed
between 1908 and 1911. It was first
performed at a concert in the Queen’s
Hall in May 1912, with the composer
conducting.
What we have here is
a tantalising glimpse of a ‘light’ symphony.
This is escapist music at its very best.
It glories in the kind of suburban atmosphere
in which the composer was living. However,
there should be no disparagement of
this fact. What counts is the artistry
that the composer brings to his materials.
There is no doubt that he is able to
handle the ‘stuff of music’ with consummate
skill.
The Spring Rondo
is in the form of a scherzo and trio.
The opening of this piece is almost
will o’ the wisp. There is considerable
instrumental colour here – Phillips
is well able to balance full orchestra
with passages scored for just a couple
of instruments. Sometimes the music
becomes almost archaic and then the
romantic sensibilities of the time come
to the fore. I would never wish to import
a programme into this music but the
‘Home Counties’ effect seems to spring
to mind. Here we have a composer enjoying
the good things of life; spring in the
Surrey woods perhaps? There certainly
seems to be a gaiety about much of this
music. However, the trio section becomes
a little more wistful; solo violin points
up a more reflective impression. There
is even a hint or two of Elgar in these
pages. The scherzo material returns
and the work ends in a blaze of brass.
The Adagio Sostenuto
or the Summer Nocturne is much
more profound stuff. This perhaps lets
us see the other side of the composer
to that of The Rebel Maid
and the songs. This movement opens with
a great sweeping tune which builds up
to an intense climax. This is a truly
great theme; any composer would be proud
of it. Once again I feel the influence
of Elgar. After the intensity of the
first statement of this idea the composer
shuts down a bit and soon the orchestra
is musing on material seemingly derived
from this opening theme. There is much
use of solo instrumentation. Nevertheless
the intensity is always trying to re-establish
itself. Of course it succeeds for a
while only to collapse back into retrospection.
Soon there is a quiet, meditative passage.
It is scored for three violins and viola.
However the pressure builds up very
quickly – the big tune reasserting itself
and carrying all before it. At times
this sounds deliciously film like. The
last minute is back to reflecting on
the summer’s day; a lovely solo violin
leads to a quiet close.
All in all this is
very tantalising music. I doubt if we
have many ‘light’ symphonies in the
repertoire. I can think of perhaps Eric
Rogers’ Palladium Symphony. However
as far as I know Eric Coates never conceived
a Symphony - although I imagine some
of his suites could almost count as
such. Montague Phillips’ essay in this
form may not be the most profound example
of this genre – however it is well crafted,
well scored and has some beautiful moments.
These two movements must present a strong
case for the restoration of the first
and last.
I love and respect
most of the British Symphony repertoire.
However I can safely say that I would
sometimes rather listen to the Summer
Nocturne than much that passes for
serious musical thought. It is a good
balance between a composer wearing his
heart on his sleeve and a degree of
subtlety that makes this good if not
great music.
Four Dances from
the Rebel Maid
The Rebel Maid
is Montague Phillips’ best known work;
there are still many people around who
have sung in amateur performances of
this operetta. It is a work that I have
never heard, although I have worked
my way through a few of the piano arrangements
of the dances. Although it was composed
during the Great War it was not until
1921 that it was given its first performance
at the London Empire Theatre. It was
not an instant success – perhaps more
to do with the effects of the coal strike;
people were unable to travel into town
for pleasure. The best known song is
the Fishermen of England. It
is interesting to note that the lead
role was written for his wife, the soprano
Clara Butterworth. The composer extracted
this present set of Dances from the
work shortly after the first performance
- they are Jig, Gavotte,
Graceful Dance and the Villagers’
Dance. They are delightful miniatures
in their own right. They have all the
attributes of good light music: good
tunes and contrast between sentimental
and gay moods.
Most important of all,
the scoring has a lightness of touch
that reveals the hand of a considerable
master of orchestration. I suppose my
favourite is the Gavotte – perhaps
because I have known the piano version
of this for many years. However, all
the dances deserve to be aired a bit
more often.
Arabesque Op.43
No.2
The short Arabesque
was the second of Two Pieces
composed as Op. 43 in 1927. The
first is an ‘air de ballet’ entitled
Violetta. Lewis Foreman suggests
that the Arabesque is a pastiche
of romantic Russian ballet music. On
my first listening to this piece I felt
that somehow the balance was wrong.
Yet on approaching it again I see that
it is actually quite a tightly constructed
little miniature. It opens with a theme
that reminds me of something in Roger
Quilter’s ‘Where the Rainbow Ends.’
This is a playful tune that seems to
work its spell throughout the music.
At first it is scored with a light touch
– flutes and oboes in dialogue before
the strings arrive. The woodwind then
engage in a delicate cadenza. After
these musings there is the happy music,
yet this is clearly related to what
has gone before. Soon there are more
overt echoes of the earlier theme and
the music dies away, only to have the
peace broken by a loud last chord. Altogether
a perfect moment of music, which is
very much a child of its time – but
none the worse for that.
A Shakespearean
Scherzo – ‘Titania and her Elvish Court.’
Philip Scowcroft describes
this as a ‘sparkling’ work; no better
adjective could be used. The programme
notes tell us that this work received
its first performance on 31st
July 1934. It is a tone picture of some
of the events from A Midsummer’s
Night Dream. I suppose that my imagery
of this scene is derived from the great
fairy paintings by Sir Joseph Noel Paton;
this music does nothing to destroy this
perception.
There are fairy trumpets
at the beginning of the work, somehow
metamorphosing into the horn of Oberon.
However the Elvish Court soon arrives
on the scene – there is a lot of ‘tripping
hither and tripping thither.’ The music
just bubbles along like a spring stream
in spate. There is much fine instrumentation
here – especially for the woodwind.
It is not quite a moto perpetuo – but
it comes close. About a third of the
way through this dainty theme gives
way to a lovely string tune. For the
rest of the work this tune tries to
reassert itself but never fully succeeds.
There is an interlude where the interplay
of strings and woodwind weave a particularly
magical spell before a little march
takes all before it. Much of this music
has a feel of Tchaikovsky about it;
it would make an excellent ‘scene de
ballet,’ in its own right. The music
ends with considerable excitement; quite
reminiscent of Eric Coates. Altogether
a fine Scherzo that lives up
to its promise to ‘depict’ Titania and
her Elvish Court.
A Surrey Suite
Op.59
For me this work is
the highlight of the CD. This is not
because it is necessarily the most musical
or because it has any great profound
statements to make about life and existence.
It is simply that this is a musical
portrayal of one of my best loved places
– Surrey and the Royal Park at Richmond.
To my mind this landscape epitomises
much that for me is England; the generally
wooded aspect of this landscape gives
point to this opinion, in spite of the
massive incursion of urban sprawl.
I have many happy memories
of exploring the park and the Surrey
countryside with a very lovely lady.
This music brings to mind happy Saturday
mornings wandering through a sun-dappled
landscape, long views towards Windsor
Castle and the secret vision of St Paul’s
Cathedral through the long ride in the
woods. The Market at Kingston
presents to me the bustle of a half
dozen market towns along the banks of
the Thames – including Richmond, Twickenham,
Teddington and Hampton Court; evenings
of drinking Fullers ‘Chiswick’ beer
by the river.
Montague Phillips lived
in the Surrey town of Esher for many
years, and no doubt spent much time
exploring the surrounding countryside.
The nineteen-thirties was a time of
rapid expansion of the boundaries of
Greater London. It was the time of Greenline
Country Buses. Esher, along with many
other places, was developing from sleepy
market town to dormitory town for the
sleep of commuters to the city. This
was the age of hiking and rambling at
weekends. Tudor style roadhouses and
pubs were the order of the day. Ploughman’s
lunches were devised by the Milk Marketing
Board to sell more cheese.
The music of the Surrey
Suite is presented in three movements:
Richmond Park; The Shadowy
Pines and Kingston Market.
It is perhaps wrong of Lewis Foreman
to suggest in his programme notes that
‘the Surrey that Phillips knew was not
choked with cars and over-development
as it is now...’ As noted above, by
the time this Suite was composed, much
of what we regard as urban sprawl was
well on the way; there were some three
million cars on the road and bypasses
and dual carriage-ways were becoming
common. What Phillips is doing is what
we all do from time to time. He was
re-creating musically an image or a
picture of what he felt Surrey used
to be like – or more appositely what
he would like it to be like. Nearly
seventy years on, the Surrey I think
of or walk hand in hand down a country
lane at Shere, is much the same as depicted
here by Phillips. It is as much a creation
of the mind as a description of an actual
landscape.
The first movement
opens with a walk or perhaps a canter
through the park. This is fine music
that is lightly and subtly scored. The
main tune is sequential in an almost
Handelian manner. Who could not be happy
listening to this music? Who would not
want to be tramping across the grass
looking at the herd of deer and at St
Paul’s on the horizon? There follows
a slightly more melancholic tune – almost
Sullivan-esque in its demeanour. This
leads to an intense passage before returning
to the canter and close.
The Shadowy Pines
is a beautiful reflective piece. It
has an interesting and inspiring tune
for the main thematic material. The
composer quite obviously wears his heart
on his sleeve – but so what. This is
the loveliest moment on this CD. There
is a big climax which the composer closes
down into a gorgeous meditation for
solo violin. The movement finishes pianissimo.
The opening to the
third and last movement reminds me of
Benjamin Frankel’s well known Carriage
and Pair. This is a jaunt through
the town centre – probably in an open
top tourer rather than a chaise! There
is all the bustle we would expect of
a vibrant market town – although the
music makes room for a quiet pint in
a pub by the riverside. The brass scoring
is first-rate and the work finishes
with a good downward woodwind swirl.
Moorland Idyll
Op.61
This short Larghetto
was composed in 1936 for an ensemble
made up of members of the BBC Symphony
Orchestra. Lewis Foreman points out
that the whereabouts of the ‘moorland’
is not known; there are few clues in
the music. However it is fair to say
what moorland it is not. There is none
of the bleakness of Holst’s Egdon
Heath; this is not a millstone grit
Lancashire landscape or Wuthering Heights.
Neither is it the softer heather-clad
slopes of Delius’s North Country
Sketches.
The landscape is not
wild – there is a country pub or a church
nearby. Perhaps it is the South Downs
or Chanctonbury Ring with views to the
sea. This is a sunlit landscape – there
are flowers and butterflies, not a Ted
Hughes’ desolation. However this music
is not impressionistic; it is not descriptive.
It is actually quite ‘film-like’ in
its structure and texture. Good light
music.
Revelry Overture
Op.62
Lewis Foreman in his
programme notes suggests that this piece
is the epitome of light music of its
time. He feels that it sounds so entirely
familiar that it must have been used
as an erstwhile BBC signature tune.
This is, he feels, how he first came
across this piece, however, he has been
unable to identify which programme it
was.
The music commences
as it means to go on – with a sparkling
curtain raiser. This is quickly followed
by a forward-moving tune. There is little
let-up in the general mood of this music
although I feel that there are one or
two weak points in the ‘middle eight’
where the inspiration seems to run dry.
However all is forgiven as the ‘well
known’ tune returns in all its glory.
This is decidedly happy
music. Here are none of the concerns
that were haunting other writers and
composers at this time. We do not find
reference to the rise of Nazism here
or the horrors of the Spanish Civil
War. The only reference to the current
political situation appears to be the
use of castanets!
This is pure escapism
and when we accept that this is the
case we can put weightier matter to
one side and take sheer pleasure in
a ‘damn good tune.’
I agree with Lewis
Foreman that this music sounds so unbelievably
familiar – especially the big tune.
Perhaps it is just a case that it is
an unconscious parody of all that is
best in light music melody construction.
It was first performed on New Years
Eve 1937.
Sinfonietta in
C Op.70
This work is the most
substantial on this CD. Of course the
Symphony would hold this honour when
and if the two outer movements are reconstructed.
The Sinfonietta was composed
in 1943 in the middle of the Second
World War. Lewis Foreman points out
that this work is ‘innocent and lacking
angst’. With this statement I partly
agree. True there are no tensions comparable
to say, Vaughan Williams’ Fourth
Symphony. However what I feel the
composer is doing is reflecting back
to quieter times (whenever they occurred)
and is perhaps looking forward to peace
in the future. Maybe this is reading
too much into what is basically a warm-hearted
and lyrical work. However there is a
certain wistfulness and longing here
which is perhaps not evident in some
of the other works essayed in the CD.
It is in this work
that Montague Phillips comes closest
to the mainstream British music of the
period. Of course he is no Britten or
Berkeley, but this work is far removed
from the Shakespearean Scherzo
written nearly a decade previously.
There is less here of the music of Eric
Coates and Haydn Wood and perhaps more
of the Forties film score type of tune.
Some of this music exhibits a depth
rarely associated with ‘light’ music.
The first movement
gets off to a good fanfaring start.
The tempo is Allegro risoluto. However
there are many tender and reflective
moments here. There is a lovely lyrical
moment pointed up with a solo oboe.
There are even some passages in the
‘development’ section that look forward
to the music of Malcolm Arnold.
The slow movement is
quite exquisite. The opening passage
is scored for oboe solo accompanied
by the harp. This music develops very
slowly with an almost Elgarian longing.
The oboe returns again to comment on
the more romantic string tone. The only
problem is that this movement is too
short. It seems like no time at until
the violin is reprising the theme quietly
to itself. Soon the movement dies away
into a dreamy silence.
The last movement is
a romp. It is entitled a Scherzo – and
this is entirely appropriate. We hear
the orchestra playing some interesting
rhythms of a kind not heard in this
disc so far. The contrast between sections
of this piece is effective. The sleeve-notes
describe the second theme as ‘perky’
and this is correct. After a brief climax
the music takes a march-like character.
There is nothing of the Crown Imperials
here though; it is a quietly sustained
effort that leads us back to the opening
music. Once again we aware of some very
interesting orchestral effects – for
muted brass and percussion. The work
ends with a nice brassy peroration.
This CD represents
an ideal introduction to the music of
Montague Phillips. In fact it is the
only recording (apart from the Hampton
Court Overture mentioned above)
which allows us to make an evaluation
of this competent, imaginative and largely
forgotten composer.
Philip Scowcroft is
right in pointing out the ambivalence
that exists between the ‘lighter’ and
the more ‘serious’ sides of Montague
Phillips. Apparently the obituarist
of the Times noted him as a composer
in the ‘light’ tradition
The truth about Phillips
is probably a bit more subtle, as these
recording shows. He was of the opinion
that there was a place for ‘light’ music
for the ‘great majority of people who
lie between the ultra high-brows and
the irredeemable low-brows and who can
appreciate music that is melodious and
well written but not too advanced.’
However I am of the opinion that this
statement is not quite as simple as
it appears. I can quite happily cross
the boundary between so called ‘high’
and ‘low’ brow music – and I am sure
many people can. I find that some days
I want be involved with some complex
organ music by Olivier Messiaen or Bartók
string quartets. Other days I am quite
content to listen to Glen Miller’s Chattanooga
Choo-cho, Tales of a Topographic
Ocean by Yes or She Loves You!
Are these ‘high’ or ‘low’ brow?
What I do find about
music like that of Montague Phillips
is that it evokes a feeling of well-being
– it does not challenge my political
or religious sensibilities like say,
Tippett’s Child of our Time.
It allows me to indulge myself in my
innocence – to a time when life seemed
simpler and free from the ambiguities
of the present. Whether this is true
or not is academic.
Montague Phillips has
given us a corpus of music which is
extremely well written, it is tuneful,
it is interesting and evocative of past
times. It is self indulgent music and
as such it is as necessary to our well
being as treacle steam pudding and custard.
I thank my lucky stars that I can take
music like this off my shelf and sit
back and imagine myself tramping across
Box Hill or exploring the hidden corners
of Richmond Park. And what is more to
the point I can imagine all this without
the guilt that I should be applying
a more rigorous critical appreciation
to the music in hand.
I recommend this disc
to all lovers of English music and to
all those who love music that is tuneful,
well composed and thoroughly enjoyable.
The sound quality and the playing is
of course excellent. The sleeve notes
are essential and the cover picture
is so evocative at to bring a tear to
the eye.
I hope that this issue
proves to be popular and that Dutton
or some other enterprising recording
company will issue one or other or both
of the two Piano Concertos.
John France
a further review from Stephen
Lloyd
In the days when light
music was taken seriously and given
regular slots in BBC radio programmes,
Montague Phillips was a familiar name.
This was especially the case during
the BBC Concert Orchestra’s ten years
under Vilem Tausky (who died in March)
who was a friend of the composer. Yet,
amazingly, none of his works seems to
have been recorded on LP. Only the overture
Hampton Court has recently become
available on CD (British Light Overtures
Vol. 3 CDWHL2140). Marco Polo has so
far by-passed Montague Phillips in its
British Light Music series, so this
CD devoted entirely to his music is
greatly to be welcomed, with Dutton
in what might otherwise be regarded
as ASV White Line territory!
Montague Phillips was
born in Tottenham in 1885 and died at
Esher in 1969. From 1901 to 1905 he
studied at the Royal Academy of Music
where Frederick Corder was his professor
of composition. At the RAM he proved
himself a student of much ability, gaining
both Smart and Macfarren Scholarships,
as well as the Charles Lucas medal for
a Symphonic Scherzo. He was organist
and choirmaster at Wanstead in 1904
and at Esher in 1908, a post he was
to hold for 35 years. During the First
War he served in the RNVR and a posting
to Scotland, where he was stationed
with librettist Gerald Dodson, led to
collaboration over the light opera The
Rebel Maid for which he became best
known. Based on a book by Alexander
Thompson and with lyrics by Dodson it
was first staged at the Empire Theatre,
Leicester Square in March 1921 where
it ran for 114 performances. His wife,
Clara Butterworth for whom he also wrote
many songs, took the leading role, recording
four of them for Columbia. Another,
The Fishermen of England, became
a popular success. In 1926 he was appointed
professor of composition at the RAM.
Although Montague Phillips
composed a symphony, two piano concertos
(the second was revived in 1989 by Robert
Tucker at one of his annual Eton concerts),
a Phantasy for violin and orchestra,
and a few choral works, he gained greater
success with his songs, of which over
150 were published, and with his light
orchestral pieces which he frequently
conducted in broadcasts and with municipal
orchestras. Nature titles such as Forest
Idyll, A Hillside Melody, A Forest
Melody, Hampton Court,
In May-time, Dance Revels,
Three Country Pictures, Village
Sketches and The World in the
Open Air (the last five being suites)
suggest works of charm, freshness and
innocence – which is just what they
are. Montague Phillips’ music is distinguished
by a broad, almost Elgarian melodic
line, a lively pulse, and fresh orchestration,
nearer in style to Haydn Wood than Eric
Coates. It also has a rich vein of melancholy,
best exemplified by the long eloquent
tunes that open A Summer Nocturne
and The Shadowy Pines, the second
movement of A Surrey Suite.
This CD offers an excellent
selection, including A Surrey Suite
with its evocative titles Richmond
Park, The Shadowy Pines and
Kingston Market; this reviewer’s
personal favourite from much replaying
of a 1965 broadcast under Tausky (and
later ones: in 1976 conducted by Eric
Wetherell and another by Tausky in 1984).
It comes up freshly minted in a convincing
performance with Gavin Sutherland conducting
the BBC Concert Orchestra. Also from
Tausky days we have the Overture Revelry,
Moorland Idyll and the spirited
Shakespearean Scherzo ‘Titania and
her Elvish Court’ in which one should
forget Bottom and focus instead on Titania’s
quarrel with Oberon.
The earliest pieces
are two movements from the Symphony
in C minor that the composer himself
conducted at the Queen’s Hall in an
all-Phillips concert with the London
Symphony Orchestra in May 1912. It was
received favourably by the Times
critic, but with one suggestion: ‘One
wonders whether the composer will not
come eventually to the conclusion that
some pruning will be necessary, especially
in the first movement, and whether he
will not feel that his music requires
longer periods free from climax. Each
of these is somewhat in the same style,
a sweep up the gamut to a crash followed
by comparative peace or absolute silence,
and they come very often, and in all
the movements. They are so well managed,
however, and so exciting to listen to,
that the ear does not weary of them
at a first hearing at all; but one doubts
whether they will stand the test of
repetition and of time.’ Events made
Phillips carry out the suggested pruning
when, as Lewis Foreman tells us in his
informative note, the symphony suffered
a fate similar to Vaughan Williams’
A London Symphony in that the
full score was lost in Germany, its
composer having to reconstruct it from
the orchestral parts – or at least the
second and third movements which became
the Spring Rondo and Summer
Nocturne on this CD. It was, perhaps,
a happy consequence as ‘symphony’ is
too formal a title with which to yolk
these attractive yet by no means lightweight
pieces. (The Times review, incidentally,
seems to suggest that the slow movement
originally preceded the ‘scherzo and
trio’.) One probably has to go back
to 1966 for the last performance and
broadcast of these movements, again
under Tausky.
The Four Dances from
The Rebel Maid, as with any orchestral
extracts from show music, work better
for those who know the operetta. The
Jig is the orchestral introduction to
Act III; the charming pastiche Gavotte
is the dance that directly follows the
Act I vocal quartet Shepherdess and
Beau Brocade, the Graceful Dance
leads on from Abigail’s Act II song
I want my man to be a landlord,
while the last dance chronologically
comes after the Act III introduction,
though here without chorus. Although
very much of its time, The Rebel
Maid is a finer operetta than these
dance extracts on their own may suggest
and is worthy of reviving by some amateur
operatic company. Set in 1688, the story
concerns the invasion of the Prince
of Orange at Torbay and abounds with
plots, disguises, treachery and love.
The libretto may creak but this is overcome
by the music which contains many fine
numbers, most notably those written
with Clara Butterworth in mind. In 1966
Vilem Tausky broadcast a substantial
selection that certainly whetted this
reviewer’s appetite.
The latest work here
– and the last on the disc - is a BBC
commission, the Sinfonietta in C, which
Phillips premièred in September
1943. In the first movement we find
him quickly shaking off the shackles
of the work’s formal title as he leads
into one of his broad tuneful melodies.
The wistful mood of the middle movement
makes one feel that some nature title
would have sufficed, and if the boisterous
last movement is marginally less satisfactory,
interest is at least maintained by the
rhythmic variation of its themes and
the contrast of moods. A delicate Arabesque
completes the roll-call of works. There
are no duds here. For anyone who enjoys
tunes with a dose of nostalgia, this
is definitely a disc to have. So switch
on the BBC Light Programme or the Home
Service, sit back and relax ...
Stephen Lloyd
Montague Fawcett
Phillips (1885 1969)
List of Key Works
| |
Stage Works
|
|
|
The Rebel Maid
|
|
1921
|
|
The Golden Triangle
|
|
1921?
|
| |
|
|
| |
Orchestral
|
|
|
Boadicea: Overture
|
|
1907
|
|
First Piano Concerto
|
|
1907
|
|
Symphony in C minor
|
|
1911 (rev 1925/25)
|
|
Phantasy for Violin &
Orchestra
|
|
1912
|
|
Heroic Overture
|
|
1914
|
|
Second Piano Concerto
|
|
1919
|
|
In Maytime
|
|
1923
|
|
A Hillside Melody
|
|
1924 (rev 1946)
|
|
Dance Revels
|
|
1927
|
|
Violetta, Air de Ballet
(arr.)
|
|
1927
|
|
Arabesque (arr.)
|
|
1927
|
|
A Forest Melody
|
|
1929
|
|
Three Country Pictures
|
|
1930
|
|
Village Sketches
|
|
1932
|
|
The World in the Open
|
|
1933
|
|
A Surrey Suite
|
|
1936
|
|
A Moorland Idyll
|
|
1936
|
|
Revelry Overture
|
|
1937
|
|
Empire March
|
|
1941
|
|
Sinfonietta
|
|
1943
|
|
Festival Overture
|
|
1944
|
|
Hampton Court Overture
|
|
1954
|
| |
|
|
| |
Piano
|
|
|
Berceuse
|
|
1910
|
|
Nocturne
|
|
1910
|
|
Violetta, Air de Ballet
|
|
1926
|
|
Arabesque
|
|
1927
|
|
Jacotte
|
|
1928
|
| |
|
|
| |
Chorus & Orchestra
|
|
|
The Death of Admiral Blake
|
|
1913
|
| |
|
|
| |
Voice & Orchestra
|
|
|
The Song of Rosamund
|
|
1922
|
| |
|
|
| |
Voice & Piano
|
|
|
Dream Songs
|
|
1912
|
|
Sea Echoes
|
|
1912
|
|
Calendar of Song
|
|
1913
|
|
The Fairy Garden
|
|
1914
|
|
Flowering Trees
|
|
1919
|
|
From a Lattice Window
|
|
1920
|
|
Old World Dance Songs
|
|
1923
|
see
also Volume 2
BBC Concert Orchestra/Gavin Sutherland 