Is it a sign of aging when one is regularly reminded of the
first time one encountered this or that piece of music? Four
of the items in this marvellous recital appeared on what I think
was Dame Janet Baker’s very first recording, “An Anthology of
English Song”, a Saga LP, the young singer so sensitively accompanied
by Martin Isepp. Nothing will ever diminish the pleasure of
listening to that disc, and I am sure many will feel the same,
but it is a measure of the quality of this one from Sarah Connolly,
that the performances can be enjoyed just as much, and on their
own terms. In the two songs by Herbert Howells that appear in
both collections, Connolly makes out a convincing case for a
larger scale and canvas. King David, at a slow basic
tempo, and with many lingering hesitations throughout, becomes,
at five minutes, a very big song indeed, and I think some of
the narrative is lost, some simplicity also, and perhaps, paradoxically,
even some of the rapture too. I wouldn’t always want to hear
this magnificent song given like this, nor Come Sing and
Dance quite so full toned and imposing as this either. But
the singer’s viewpoint is perfectly valid, and her singing is
magnificent. Later in the recital she delivers equally beautiful
performances of Howells’ delightful Gavotte and Lost
Love. This last, which I had not heard before, is to words
from Songs from the Chinese by Clifford Bax, brother
of Arnold. There is nothing overtly Chinese about them, but
there is a certain delicacy that Howells’ music matches perfectly.
A late work, it is so bare and fragile that many would not,
I think, recognise the composer.
The recital opens with a group of four Britten songs, three
of them folk song arrangements. Britten understood that the
strophic form of folk song allows more for mood painting than
word painting, and Connolly and her superb accompanist understand
this too, so that individual words might be highlighted, but
for reasons of expression over and above the word itself. Listen,
for example, to the singer’s way with the word “back”, in the
phrase “I leaned my back up against some oak.” Such treatment
might become a mannerism from a lesser singer, but here, and
throughout the recital, it is done with impeccable taste.
In truth, I don’t much care for John Ireland’s exultant response
to Sir Philip Sydney’s text in My true love hath my heart,
and this song brings out the only negative response I have to
Sarah Connolly’s singing, an occasional tendency to allow vibrato
to dominate the voice in louder, more passionate passages. Tryst,
on the other hand, is a beautifully atmospheric song, its unresolved
close underlining the wait for the beloved’s arrival. Her
Song is a masterly response to Hardy’s words. The music
is exquisite, and the word will also have to do, inadequate
though it be, for Connolly’s performance, alive to every word,
every nuance of every word, certainly one of the most beautiful
performances I have ever heard of this song.
Gurney’s two songs also receive performances as fine as any
you are likely to hear. The subtlety of the singing can be heard
in the two first notes of Sleep, where Connolly’s swells
remain tasteful and refined. Michael Head consistently found
highly attractive music to carry the words he chose, without
necessarily finding, or perhaps even seeking, much in the way
of psychological insight. Between the two Head songs lies the
single item from Warlock, on the face of it a conventional enough
response to Bruce Blunt’s five stanzas celebrating the minor
creatures, unmentioned and forgotten, who witnessed the birth
of Christ alongside the ox and the ass. But listen closely,
and you will perceive just what is missing in Head’s songs,
and just what we are missing because of Warlock’s early and
tragic death.
The booklet notes about all these songs were written by Michael
Pilkington, and they are just the job. Knowing that Warlock
and Blunt were arrested, drunk and disorderly, in Cadogan Street
in 1927, is just the kind of anecdote that helps appreciation
of music, and the notes are full of such details. Richard Rodney
Bennett’s three-song mini-cycle is introduced by Meg Peacocke,
who wrote the words, and who is the composer’s sister. The singer
also tells us that she wanted to include some songs by “a living
composer who was somehow connected to the other music recorded
here.” Well, the fact is that these songs stick out like a sore
thumb, but no matter, because they are tremendous. The three
poems explore different aspects of couples on fashionable continental
trips in the 1920s. Those who know Bennett’s music will not
be surprised at how adept he is at integrating twenties pastiche
– foxtrot and tango – into his own style, nor at the gently
touching piano postlude that follows the revelation that a bundle
of old postcards shows how, decades ago, the couple “once…were
seen to be in love”.
Malcolm Martineau’s accompaniments are immensely subtle, detailed
and full of character. His role in the success of this recital
is immeasurable. All the sung words are provided and the recording
is faultless. In short, this is a most beautiful recital of
English song. I feel sure it will do for a young collector what
Janet Baker’s did for me so many years ago, and praise doesn’t
come higher than that.
William Hedley
See also
review and Recording of the month by John Quinn
Sarah Connolly (mezzo); Malcolm Martineau (piano) 
