This
is a strangely difficult CD to listen to. Now this is not caused
by the profundity or any incipient modernistic characteristics
of the music. Anything but! Each and every piece on this recording
is a pleasure to listen to. However there is a snag. I played
a portion of this CD to a friend whose only comment was that
it all sounded alike. There is a distinct tendency to concentrate
on the first three tracks and then the rest is just a hazy mix
of happy ’fifties memorabilia. And that is my problem. As an
avid listener to Bach and Barber and Bridge (and The Grateful
Dead!), I tend to select a work, put it, metaphorically, on
the turntable and listen. When that piece is finished I think
of something else to do. Each of the pieces on this disc is
basically limited to one side of an old 78 rpm or perhaps 45
rpm disc. So one minute we are listening to Winifred Atwell
and the next to Hugo Winterhalter and his Orchestra. It is very
difficult to listen to objectively. The pieces all have somewhat
picturesque titles and evoke varying responses in our mind:
much of this music was written to be used with cinematic images
or even early television programmes and interludes. So how
should we approach this CD? Well perhaps the best way is to
make use of the stop and skip buttons. My personal approach
was to pick out the titles that appealed to me first.
Then I chose the composers whom I recognised and finally the
‘rest.’ Perhaps this is not the ideal way of reviewing a CD.
But somehow I had to a) keep up concentration and b) think of
some objective comments.
Now
the first really positive thing to say is that this CD is packed
with good tunes. Taken as individual moments of musical imagery
they evoke a number of things – beautiful women (sorry for being
sexist), happy days at the the seaside, nights in London
or New York and other pleasures of life. Some
of the titles were presumably witty in their day, although I
wonder if such gems as Poodle Parade, Bahama Buggy
Ride and Palsy Walsy would appeal to the ‘Gameboy’
Generation.
Music
of this era always seems to be immensely happy. I asked my father
about this once and his argument was that after the war and
the Atlee government (he, my father, was a staunch Tory) the
public were so happy to be largely free of rationing and utility
and ‘regimentation’ that they responded to the fantasies of
these composers. It did not matter that they may not walk down
‘On Fifth Avenue’ or even dance the Boulevard Waltz
or have any Panoramic Splendour[s]. The music was sentimental
and played to their dreams and perhaps more importantly, their
aspirations. And utility or not, all of them had affairs of
the heart – they knew The Magic Touch, they had attended
a Midnight Matinee and perhaps had ‘A Girl Called
Linda or went With Emma into Town. And who knows,
perhaps they had played Postman’s Knock and won a kiss!
And
then came Rock and Roll and much of
this music was passé. The pirate radio
stations and then Radio 1 swept away
the many Nelson Riddles and
their orchestras. Even the Light Programme
became Radio 2 and gradually stopped
playing much of this carefree music.
The demise of the pier head orchestras
took their toll. However it is a general
rule that any music that is popular
or light is bound to create a vast
number of forgotten names. We need
only think of the ‘one hit wonders’
in the pop music scene of the ’sixties.
So
what of the composers? Some are famous such as Robert Farnon,
Trevor Duncan and Anthony Collins. Others seem to ring bells
in the mind such as Jack Beaver and Laurie Johnson (Avengers
music). There are a number of arrangements such as Chaplin’s
‘Limelight.’ However the vast number of these composers seems
to be a bit lost in the mists of time. I had never heard of
Bernie Wayne, Paul Dubois or Cyril Ornadel to name three. Yet
a study of the CD liner notes reveals a number of interesting
details. For example, Paul Dubois was in fact a pseudonym for
Clive Richardson, whom I have heard of and surprise, surprise
Eric Spear wrote the theme to Coronation Street!
The
programme notes are extensive, and provide considerable insight
to most of these composers and their work. In fact, David Ades
modestly excuses himself from being even more prolific
with his annotations by citing ‘space’ limits on the size of
the CD booklet.
However
these notes are essential. There is
little enough information available
on many of these musicians far less
detailed studies. Of course Musicweb’s
own British
Light Music Index is a vital and
far ranging piece of scholarship which
commands huge respect.
Alan
Bunting has done a fine job in restoring the sound quality of
these works – so much so that I was hardly conscious of listening
to anything but a ‘new release.’
All
in all, this is a great CD. Do not be put off by the fact that
some of the composers are unknown or that some of the works
have somewhat dated titles. Every one of these works is a period
piece and should be listened to in that context. There is no
need to try to invest deep meaning in any of these works: they
are quite simply written to be enjoyed. My only caveat is to
pick and choose tracks. Do not fall into the trap of listening
to all 76 minutes and 26 tunes in one sitting.
For
the record my favourite piece is Ditto by Charles Strouse.
John France
see also Review
by Jonathan Woolf
