Recordings of music
directed by their own composer have
an in-built value, and when that conductor
is one of the best-loved and most highly
respected of composers among musicians,
you can expect stunning results.
Malcolm Arnold would
have been around 69 when this recording
was made – certainly no spring chicken,
but even with the slower tempi in this
performance there is no sense of this
being a ‘tired’ or old man’s recording.
The commitment from the players is beyond
question, and with an audible, almost
incredible attention to detail in the
playing this is a rather special CD
to have.
I know and admire Vernon
Handley’s Arnold cycle, but do not have
his Liverpool Philharmonic recording
to hand. Comparing timings with Andrew
Penny and the National Symphony Orchestra
of Ireland you might think that there
had been some shenanigans with cuts
or missed repeats – 13:00 opposed to
Arnold’s 18:48 in the first movement,
and 11:36 against 18:40 in the third
Andantino. Listeners who are
used to other versions should suspend
their expectations, sit back and allow
the great man to tell the story as he
came to hear it 30 years after it was
first performed.
The booklet notes deal
extensively with the exotic percussion
used, the relationship between popular
and classical music whose barriers Arnold
was always keen to blur, and also provides
brief analyses of each movement. The
overall impression is one of deeper
understanding, and to my ears, greater
stature for this work.
The first movement
is a case in point. The mood at each
point of this musical journey is filled
with double-entendre challenges
– rattling percussion inviting dance
or implying military menace, strings
draping themselves across the winds
like Mantovani. It seems a shame that
‘that tune’ at 3:25 comes out a little
slower than the previous section – I
originally suspected an edit and a tea
break – but it rolls along sweetly enough,
right up to that crackingly sardonic
dissonance at 5:52 which makes your
trousers fall down, instantly. When
it returns at 11:57 (and 16:02) something
similar happens with the tempo, so MA
knew what he was doing after all – silly
me, with my trousers around my ankles.
If you were in any doubt as to the wisdom
of the pacing of this movement, hang
on until the brass counterpoint at 7:02,
which echoes on in the memory long after
all the lights have gone out. There
is no drama missing in the development
either, which would fit in well in any
James Bond chase sequence. You will
love the laughing horns at 14:06 as
well – the list goes on…
There are some remarkable
effects in the second Vivace ma non
troppo movement, with some orchestral
colours you may not have noticed before.
Arnold gives himself space to allow
each nuance to develop properly, each
quasi-quote to suggest and tease, keeping
the listener on the edge of his seat
– if he can remain seated.
The third Andantino
movement is a monument of suspense,
a sustained, slowly rocking brace of
melodies being drawn out into an adagio-rondo
of Mahlerian proportions. The little
touches of orchestral brilliance are
beautifully understated, glissandi in
the brass just peeping through, slight
portamenti in the strings in one or
two places, and superbly played solos.
The whole thing is like a Rembrandt
etching engraved on a block of gold:
weighty, richly colourful, but with
a simplicity of line which is uniquely
Arnold.
Fugue-like finales
are not unknown phenomena, but Arnold
whips up a brutal wake-up call to drive
away the reveries of the third movement.
The military march at 6:28 tears down
the pompous artifice of bristling moustaches
and polished uniforms as effectively
in music as Michael Bentine did in words,
and the penultimate string apotheosis
at 8:25 is an object lesson for all
our 1990s tintinnabulists.
The recording is superb.
From rumbling bass drums to sparkling
percussion - tuned or untuned, the ear
is given a treat which will linger,
and for which the brain will demand
refreshment at unbidden moments. This
may not be the ‘definitive’ Arnold 4,
but no fan of his should be without
this version, which turns a remarkable
and memorable symphonic achievement
into a 20th century masterpiece.
It’s certainly one to which it’s worth
raising a symbolic ‘pint of Pimms’.
Dominy Clements
see also review
by Colin Clarke
The
Lyrita Recorded Edition
for
details
London Philharmonic Orchestra/Malcolm Arnold
