These three English
composers were born within the five
years between 1900 (Bush) and 1905 (Rawsthorne)
with Berkeley sandwiched in the middle
in 1903. They make appropriate disc
mates in these LP derived performances
sourced from that august ZRG series
of golden memory.
Berkeley’s Violin Sonatina
offers three movements of treasurable
reward. Its opening is lit with lissom
lyricism which is undercut by a jagged
and unsettled counterblast, a recurring
feature of an unsettled first movement.
The aloof melancholy of this wartime
work’s slow movement is followed by
a theme and variations, which include
a quizzical waltz. The Bean-Parkhouse
duo – how one misses such players as
Hugh Bean, Alan Loveday (still with
us but not playing), Fred Grinke and
David Martin - plays with just the right
amount of warmth. Berkeley’s Sextet
followed in 1954. It’s very well written,
finely distributed in terms of colour
and constructed in modified sonata form.
As ever with him there’s a recognisable
French influence – a touch of hauteur
and Gallic wit in the first movement
certainly. The slow movement opens with
a keening fugue – again like the opening
of the Violin Sonatina and so much of
Berkeley’s writing, unsettled and provisional
in tone. The finale though is keen,
expert and increasingly exuberant.
Bush’s Three Concert
Studies date from 1947, roughly bisecting
therefore the two Berkeleys chronologically.
The first is taut, tight, tense and
Slavic. The second is almost over-compensatory
in its expressive sweep whilst the finale,
Alla Bulgara, is evocative and
sinuously attractive and as unexpected
as the finale of Rubbra’s Second Violin
Sonata where the cape and sash suddenly
appear out of nowhere. There are some
very pleasing little things as well
from Bush. The Cruel Sea Captain,
from Two Ballads of the Sea was
dedicated to John Ireland – spiced up
folk music. There’s a lovely Galliard
and a supple lyric Air from the Op.54
Suite. Corentyne Kwe-Kwe is exuberant
and dynamic. These piano pieces are
all played by the composer.
Finally we turn to
Rawsthorne’s Quartet for Clarinet, Violin,
Viola and Cello of 1948. This is a work
by turns pawky, stark, pensive, quizzical,
assertive and rugged – not least the
decidedly rugged dance rhythms that
animate the finale. It’s expertly crafted
but doesn’t aim to ingratiate.
Fine notes and unproblematic
transfers enhance a collection played
by some of the elite players of the
day.
Jonathan Woolf