This is an invigorating, 
                touching and impressive celebration 
                of the ever tuneful and often bewitching 
                talent of John Fox. He will be known 
                to denizens of BBC Radio, to aficionados 
                of staff arrangers of celebrated bands 
                (Harry Rabinowitz, Paul Fenoulhet) and 
                admirers generally of light music served 
                up with the kind of art that decades 
                have honed. He also happens to write 
                damn fine tunes. 
              
 
              
The title track is 
                a splendid opener, showing his rich 
                and sumptuous orchestration and from 
                time to time we encounter his own orchestrations. 
                Try Scarborough Fair, with its 
                wistful cantilena and VW string choirs 
                that show something of his daily-bread 
                work. I’d also draw attention to She 
                Walks Through The Fair for evidence 
                of his practical but poetic approach 
                to things that could otherwise be merely 
                scrubbed up and dished out - none of 
                that from Fox. Some Arnoldian moments 
                (Malcolm not Matthew) seem to hover 
                briefly over the Jovial Knights Overture 
                whereas we get a full-blooded tribute 
                to his hero Gershwin in Love Walked 
                In where his late wife Joy takes 
                the vocals so adeptly. 
              
 
              
His Suite Earth 
                and Space has some of the most advanced 
                sonorities here and they show that Fox 
                has tilled the soil. There’s a certain 
                cinematic and Holstian element here 
                in this compact little work but the 
                Ethereal Sphere, the first movement, 
                will certainly interest those for whom 
                Fox is otherwise "merely" 
                a light composer. There’s no stinting 
                some MGM moments, nor the baleful brass 
                of the Aliens, nor indeed the 
                swirling star vistas of the last tableau, 
                Visions. In all, this is a delightful 
                suite. 
              
 
              
The other suite is 
                the most touching, written in memory 
                of his wife, though the pain is recollected 
                through nostalgia and the living sonorities 
                evoked by their time together. It’s 
                cast in eight compact movements – only 
                the last breaks four minutes – and summons 
                up a rich array of times and places. 
                We journey onwards from the violins’ 
                coiled warmth of First Meeting 
                (lots of harp flutter, brass strength 
                and glittery percussive tints) and then 
                meet the bustle of Joy In a Mad Rush, 
                where aided by a drum kit and tambourine, 
                suspenseful strings and brass she scurries 
                around breathlessly – and collapses 
                exhausted at the end. The suite thrives 
                on contrasts of mood and colour – a 
                waltz, Scottish tunes – until the final 
                moments that evoke her passing, when 
                three doves flew down to sit on the 
                windowpane. Flute sonorities and harp 
                glissandi couple with gentle recollections 
                of Scottish songs in this touchingly 
                recollected and refashioned moment. 
              
 
              
Fox is one of our leading 
                composers in this genre and he and Gavin 
                Sutherland lead their various orchestras 
                with vigour, panache and sweeping authority. 
                This is lyrical and superbly crafted 
                music in the great line of British composers 
                in the genre. 
              
 
              
              
Jonathan Woolf