Following
its premičre in 1887, Stanford’s Third Symphony, the “Irish”,
achieved an international success which is difficult even to
imagine today, when anybody wishing to hear it has to hunt down
one of the two recordings – soon to be joined by a third if
no mishaps befall this new cycle. Its favourable reception in
Germany led to Stanford’s being invited to conduct a concert
of his music with the Berlin Philharmonic in January 1889. The
principal offering was his specially composed Fourth Symphony.
So far as I am aware he remains the only British composer to
have conducted a one-man concert in Berlin. However, if he hoped
it would become an annual event, this was not to be, though
he returned in 1895 to conduct more British music, not all of
it by himself. The Fourth Symphony was very warmly received.
Nevertheless, for as long as a Stanford symphony remained in
the international repertoire – at least until the First World
War – it remained the “Irish”.
Though
Stanford did not call the work his “German Symphony” he might
well have done, for it contains some neatly inserted references
to his hosts as well as a motto paraphrased from Goethe’s “Faust”:
“Thro’ Youth to Strife, Thro’ Death to Life”. This motto aroused
some perplexity as to how it actually fitted the music and Stanford
later withdrew it. Strangely, the writer of the Naxos liner-notes,
Richard Whitehouse, ignores the issue altogether.
Under
the circumstances the clear reference in the opening theme to
the F-A-F motto used by Brahms, most notably in his Third Symphony,
can hardly be a coincidence, though no other commentator has
ever pointed it out to my knowledge. It fits the programme too
well: “Freie aber Frohe”, “Free but happy”,
the motto of innocent youth. The resemblance of the second theme
to the first of Brahms’s “Liebeslieder Walzer” op.52 has been
remarked, but its significance becomes plain only in the light
of the F-A-F motive; the young man’s freedom has to come to
turns with the burgeoning of love. Treated now tenderly, now
passionately, the love theme is often interrupted quite brutally
by the F-A-F motive, until in a final accelerando the love music
gets the better of it. All this is absorbed into a masterly
use of classical form, making for a movement which sidles in
with apparent innocence but proves to have considerable range.
Aside
from the programmatic significance, the use of this theme may
have been a sort of “thank you” gesture to his German hosts,
since it was in Germany that Stanford had met Jennie Wetton,
by now his wife. When he returned to Berlin in 1895 he brought
with him his First Piano Concerto, which contained a further
allusion to the “Liebeslieder Walzer” theme. It may seem curious,
or even improbable, that Stanford should have gone to the trouble
to insert in major works such cross-references, the definite
interpretation of which he only knew himself. The nearest to
a systematic discussion of Stanford’s use of quotation would
appear to remain my own, available
on this site, though more recent commentators such as Jeremy
Dibble (“Charles Villiers Stanford: Man and Musician”, Oxford
2002) and Paul Rodmell (“Charles Villiers Stanford”, Ashgate
2002) have obviously remarked on the existence of a number of
cases.
Vernon
Handley’s pioneering recording (Chandos) and David Lloyd-Jones’s
new one take very similar views of this movement, brisk but
unhurried in the F-A-F-inspired theme, relaxing without indulgence
in the love music. However, I find that Lloyd-Jones has a fraction
more lift to the phrasing at the beginning and is a tiny bit
more affectionate with the lyrical moments. Phrase by phrase
there’s little in it, but over the span of the movement I find
Lloyd-Jones more engaging. It also helps that he, or his engineers,
avoid moments of brass-heaviness which sometimes beset Handley.
Much has been said about Chandos’s love of reverberant, brassy
sound, but I also sense that Lloyd-Jones himself is more cunning
about giving the brass their head when they have thematic material
but marking them down when they haven’t.
The
first part of the Intermezzo was lifted bodily from Stanford’s
recent incidental music for “Oedipus Tyrannus”. To this he added
a central trio, mostly for strings only, concluding with a revised
and abbreviated version of the “Oedipus Tyrannus” music. We shall
never know for sure whether this was a ploy to meet a deadline,
but since the Intermezzo originally represented the moment when
storm-clouds appeared on the horizon for the house of Oedipus
it certainly fitted the programme. With its restless chromatic
lines it is a haunting creation and it is understandable that
the composer wished it to be heard more widely. Moreover, the
Berlin concert also included the Prelude to “Oedipus” so Stanford
may have had some further hidden agenda linking the works.
The
performance of this movement brings a problem. The original
Intermezzo was marked “Allegretto agitato” – the Naxos track-list
erroneously has “Allegro” – to which Stanford added “(ma moderato
in tempo)” in the Symphony. By no stretch of the imagination
can Handley’s performance be considered more than “Andante”
and there is not a trace of agitation. The music simply sits
there, stagnating. It is a tribute to its inherent strength
that it still retains a modicum of sense.
Lloyd-Jones
is fractionally faster – half a minute shorter overall – though
in the trio his tempo sounds identical to Handley’s. This is
already enough to improve matters, and by digging into the viola
counter-phrases at the beginning he allows a trace of agitation
to ruffle the surface. Taken in isolation it is in fact very
beautiful, with a sort of misty sadness. But you can’t take
a symphonic movement in isolation. There’s a long slow movement
to follow and the Symphony is made to have two slow movements.
Not surprisingly Paul Rodmell, presumably basing himself on
the Handley recording, has remarked that the Symphony “sags
seriously in the middle”. I am quite convinced it needn’t do
so. Unfortunately Lloyd-Jones, by marking Handley’s “Andante”
up to an “Andantino” – definitely no more than that – can only
be said to have attenuated the results of a wrong decision.
For what it’s worth, I have taken the vocal score of “Oedipus”
to the piano and played the Intermezzo at what might normally
be considered an “Allegretto”, and I have studied the orchestral
score, and I see no reason why Stanford’s clear directions cannot
be followed. There was less personal interpretation of tempo
markings in the 1880s than there is today; “Allegretto” meant
for Stanford the same thing as it did for Brahms and I should
be interested to hear Handley or Lloyd-Jones try to conduct
the Intermezzo of Brahms’s First Symphony at the “Allegretto”
tempo they think right for Stanford.
Stanford’s
“Death” movement opens with what sounds like operatic recitative
from the violins. Though it sounds very free it is actually
worked out as a fugue. This leads to a funeral march which includes
some notable proto-Elgarian phrases. In a major-key episode
the recitative theme is transfigured to suggest a vision of
the after-life. There are some powerful climaxes and towards
the end of this very fine movement there is a premonition of
the rising motive which is to dominate the finale.
Both
performances rise to the occasion. However, in the tranquil
major-key episode Lloyd-Jones gives the wind-players more space
to phrase with the result that the adaptation of the recitative
theme sounds natural whereas with Handley it seems a little
forced.
The
finale undertakes the impossible task of depicting life after
death. It caused some puzzlement with contemporary commentators
and it is probably for this reason that Stanford preferred to
suppress the programme. He would seem to have taken his cue
from the final words of “Oedipus”: “Therefore, while our eyes
wait to see the destined final day, we must call no one happy
who is of mortal race, until he hath cross’d life’s border,
free from pain”. Thus the apparent happiness of youthful freedom,
which opened the Symphony, is contrasted with the genuine happiness
to be attained in the life to come. All very well in theory,
but as interpreted by Handley and Lloyd-Jones – of which more
below – Stanford’s vision of the after-life seems a bit like
the eighth square of “Though the Looking-Glass”, “all feasting
and fun”.
There
is a curious formal feature to this movement. Firstly – pace
Lewis Foreman in the notes for the Chandos issue – it is
no more a rondo than is the finale of Brahms’s First Symphony.
It is in sonata form but with the main theme repeated in the
tonic at the start of the development. More importantly, Stanford
uses a device he had already used in the finale of the “Irish”.
During the development a new theme is alluded to – here the
baroque-like theme in dotted rhythm – which then returns in
triumph at the end of the movement. Richard Whitehouse’s notes
ignore this theme.
I
shall have to say at this point that I first studied this Symphony
in score about ten years before the issue of the Handley recording.
During those years the finale had stuck in my head at a slower
pace – “Allegro non troppo” in fact, as written. A certain resemblance
on paper – not a thematic similarity – to the great theme of
the finale of Brahms’s First Symphony seemed to suggest a fairly
broad treatment, swinging rather than lolloping as these performances
do. At this tempo the dotted-rhythm theme would register more
strongly and the “Maestoso” conclusion would have its due weight.
I was quite aghast when the Handley recording came along and
treated it as a sort of jolly dance. Lloyd-Jones takes exactly
the same view. He does seem to have grasped the significance
of the dotted-rhythm theme and manages to close the Symphony
with a more effective “Maestoso” but, as in the second movement,
I feel he has only attenuated the effects of a wrong decision.
However,
I shall have to admit that when I had access to a score all
those years ago I began to copy it out, but only got to the
middle of the third movement. Thus, while I am sure of my ground
when I speak of the second movement, in the case of the finale
I have never been able to re-study it and try to decide if a
broader approach would really work. But I do remember feeling
that, while I had no doubt of the quality of the first three
movements, I wondered if the themes of the finale were strong
enough to bear the weight Stanford placed on them. However,
until we have a recording which gives the composer the benefit
of the doubt and plays the music at the written tempo, we shall
never know for sure whether it works or not.
1912
was the centenary year of the Philharmonic Society and both
Stanford and Parry were commissioned to provide a work lasting
about twenty minutes. In both cases this was achieved by means
of formal innovation; Parry was even uncertain whether to call
the result a symphony at all, initially describing it as “Symphonic
Fantasia – 1912”. Now known as his Fifth Symphony, it is widely
considered his orchestral masterpiece.
Stanford
seems purposely to have avoided the sort of weight of utterance
which would suggest a summation of his symphonic career. A fleeting
suggestion of Beethoven’s Eighth Symphony at cadence points
in the second movement – but nowhere else – may provide a hint
that he was addressing the problem of how to write a work which
had substance without attempting earth-shaking drama. So successful
was he that a number of the work’s most original features are
barely noticeable. According to Dunhill, Stanford was particularly
pleased that he had solved the problem of writing a full-scale
symphony which played in under 25 minutes. The trouble is, both
available recordings stretch to 28-and-a-half, so evidently
some of the tempi are too slow.
Not
the first movement, I think. All commentators have remarked
on the generally contented, lovable nature of this movement.
To achieve this character in the key of D minor is unusual to
say the least, if we think of famous D minor symphonies by Beethoven,
Schumann, Bruckner and Dvořák, or Brahms’s First Piano
Concerto. It was already evident from the much earlier Piano
Quintet (available on Hyperion CDA67505), also in D minor, that
Stanford’s Celtic nature means that for him a minor key is not
necessarily sad or tragic, nor a major key necessarily happy.
He shows a certain ambivalence in this respect towards the accepted
tenets of western music. The minor key does not prevent the
opening from being one of the most serene symphonic openings
in the literature.
A
movement in D minor should by rights have its second subject
in F major, but Stanford’s slips in on the oboe in F minor
before the strings take it up in the major. Again, its contented
character seems impervious to whether it is in the major or
the minor. The recapitulation brings a bewitching moment as
a new phrase from the bassoon veers the music into D major and
the first theme is therefore taken up in that key. However,
after some moments of apparent indecision the music closes in
the minor.
Although
both themes are gentle and lyrical, the transitions and the
development are extremely vigorous, resulting in a satisfyingly
varied movement, controlled with the hand of a master. Furthermore,
this major-minor ambivalence ultimately gives a somewhat unsettled
feeling to its apparent contentment. All is not quite as meets
the ear.
Both
performances are very similar. As is his wont, Lloyd-Jones is
a trace more affectionate in the lyrical moments, but in such
a concisely argued movement there is much to be said for Handley’s
slightly greater urgency.
The
second movement uses the backdrop of a set of variations to
create a double minuet and trio where the reprises are varied
so that the original stately opening develops into real scherzo
material. Handley’s performance sounds soggy at the beginning.
It is a difficult opening since Stanford has provided nothing
like a pizzicato bass which might immediately establish the
minuet character, but I feel a slightly swifter tempo overall
would give it more lift and, since the tempi are all interrelated,
provide a more bubbling scherzo spirit later on. Lloyd-Jones
begins fractionally faster, which already sounds better, but
for much of the movement he seems almost identical to Handley,
so there’s not much in it really. I suggest that about half
the excess timing is accounted for by this movement.
The
slow movement and finale are linked. The former is another set
of variations on a gentle theme which nonetheless produces the
nearest Stanford comes in this symphony to anything at all dark
or dramatic. Interestingly, the first of these darker variations
(no.2) is in the major key and the second (no.4) soon leaves
the minor. In between these is an exceptionally beautiful variation
dominated by a clarinet solo. In view of Stanford’s penchant
for thematic cross-references, I wonder if there is any significance
in the fact that variations 5 and 6 are dominated by a rising
motive identical in its notes – though not its rhythm – to the
principal theme of the finale of Symphony no. 4?
By
the end of variation 6 the tempo has quickened and the finale
bursts in with a blaze of D major glory. In one sense this is
variation 7, but it is also a sonata movement in its own right,
using the variation theme as its first subject and the clarinet
theme from variation 3 as its second. Richard Whitehouse, by
the way, seems unaware of these thematic connections and has
counted only five variations.
The
moment of D major glory is quickly sidestepped and is in fact
never re-attained. The development section slips into D minor
for an extended reminiscence of the theme from the first movement
– again unremarked by Whitehouse. The variation theme then returns
in D major, but it steals in calmly, as though the vision is
far off. A crescendo does not lead to its triumphant restatement
but gives way to the amiable second subject. Attempts by the
brass – in distant keys – to suggest that a grandiose return
of the principal theme is in the offing are brushed away by
an accelerando and an exuberant coda. A brilliant ending which
nevertheless leaves the impression that something higher and
greater was unable to establish itself. So much for Edwardian
self-confidence. In its quiet way this work contains more of
the discomfort of great art than is immediately apparent.
Again,
little difference between the performances. I suggest that the
remainder of the excess timing is to be found in the variations.
Both conductors are long-drawn and romantic, consistently with
the modern tendency to take slow movements slower than used
to be the case. However, here I complain less since they arguably
use the extra time to extract a greater degree of poetry. The
Ulster clarinettist is a more expressive soloist in the glorious
third variation and there are occasional hints that time was
running out in Bournemouth. One or two solo phrases could profitably
have been retaken. Just two days for two symphonies is cutting
it fine.
Still,
if there could be some reason to prefer Handley in no. 7, Lloyd-Jones
is clearly preferable in no. 4. If this pattern continues it
looks as though the Handley cycle will soon be superseded. Neither
should be regarded as definitive, however.
Having
taken issue with Richard Whitehouse’s rather superficial notes,
I must conclude by doing so again. Firstly, I don’t think anyone
regarded Stanford as the “grand old man” of British music at
the time of his death in 1924. He had made too many enemies
for that and the honour went to Elgar, his own reputation now
declining. Stanford and the still-surviving Mackenzie and Cowen
were just considered yesterday’s men.
More
importantly, I don’t think that Stanford’s symphonies are “central”
to his achievement and they certainly don’t cover “the greater
part of his career”. At the time he completed his Seventh Symphony
that career still had 13 years to go and only the first two
of the six Irish Rhapsodies had appeared. So in terms of his
orchestral output he gradually lost interest in the symphony
in favour of the rhapsody. However, the symphonies are not really
central to his output in the way this can be said of Brahms
or even Tchaikovsky. Central to his achievement are the works
involving the human voice, while the symphonies are offshoots
of his capacity to be convincing in a wide range of forms.
Christopher
Howell
British
Composers on Naxos page
Bournemouth
Symphony Orchestra/David Lloyd-Jones
