Shakespeare Inspired
Edward ELGAR
(1857-1934)
Shakespeare’s Kingdom [2:47]
Thomas Augustine ARNE
(1710-1778)
When daisies pied [3:00]
Mervyn HORDER
(1910-1997)
When daisies pied [1:51]
Roger QUILTER
(1877-1953)
When daffodils begin to peer op.30/2 [1:19]
Eric COATES
(1886 -1953)
Who is Sylvia? 3:21]
Orpheus with his lute [2:13]
Julius HARRISON
(1885-1953)
I know a bank [2:28]
Charles Hastings Hubert PARRY
(1848-1918)
O mistress mine [1:22]
Stuart FINDLAY (?-?)
The poor soul sat sighing [2:29]
PARRY
Willow, willow, willow [2:28]
Benjamin BRITTEN
(1913-1976)
Fancie [0:57]
William WALTON
(1902-1983)
Under the greenwood tree [1:46]
HORDER
Under the greenwood tree [1:34]
PARRY
Take, O take those lips away [1:34]
Edmund RUBBRA (1901-1986)
Take, O take those lips away op.22/1 [1:42]
Geoffrey BUSH
(1920-1998)
It was a lover and his lass [1:56]
QUILTER
The Faithless Shepherdess op.12/4 [2:15]
Michael HEAD (1900-1976)
The homecoming of the sheep [3:42]
Cecil Armstrong GIBBS
(1880-1960)
Silver op.30/2 [2:56]
Ivor GURNEY
(1890-1960)
Sleep [2:56]
Teresa del RIEGO
[1876-1968]
Homing [2:15]
HEAD
A Piper [1:26]
Frederick DELIUS (1862-1934)
Twilight Fancies [3:48]
PARRY
When we two parted [3:22]
ELGAR
Pleading op.48/1 [2:34]
QUILTER
Hark! Hark! The Lark [1:00]
Ralph VAUGHAN WILLIAMS (1872-1958)
Silent Noon [4:26]
QUILTER
Love’s Philosophy op.3/1 [1:28]
Though I have no statistics to hand I presume that Shakespeare’s
lyrics have been set to music by more composers than those of
any other poet. In 1985 Hyperion, enterprising from its earliest
days, issued a record masterminded by Graham Johnson and called
“Shakespeare’s Kingdom”. The singer was Sarah Walker and the
composers were of well-varied nationalities, including a few
of Shakespeare’s compatriots. One or two of the songs on that
album turn up again on the disc under review. In 1992 Hyperion
and Graham Johnson returned to the subject with “Songs to Shakespeare”.
This time the singer was Anthony Rolfe Johnson, the composers
were all British and the ordering was chronological. Again,
a few of the same songs – but only a few – appear in this new
recital.
The Hyperion programmes were primarily aimed at a British audience,
though one hopes they travelled further afield. The present
CD had a different agenda. The Rheingau Musik Festival was planning
a series called “On the Wings of Song Through Europe”. Even
just twenty years ago they would probably have ignored Great
Britain on the assumption that no songs had ever been written
there. Instead they invited Michelle Breedt to provide an English
recital. She remarks in her note that she “was faced with quite
a daunting task” since “on the continent” the notion of English
art song “is quite a rarity”. Intelligently, she devoted the
first half of the programme to Shakespeare settings since this
provided her audience with the reference-point of an author
known to them. The second half is simply a swatch of favourite
– in the UK – English songs.
Michelle Breedt was born in South Africa and began her voice
studies there. Next came a spell at London’s Guildhall, where
she presumably encountered a few of the songs in the second
part of this programme. English is therefore one of her mother
tongues. However, her career has basically taken place in Germany
and in opera, though without neglecting lieder. My first encounter
with her was “Dvorák und seine Zeit”, a programme masterminded
by Thomas Hampson for the 2004 Salzburg Festival and issued
by Orfeo (C 656 0521). Breedt’s principal contribution was Dvorák’s
“Love Songs” op.83 sung in English. This curious decision was
made by Hampson who seemingly thought, on the basis of an edition
with English words, that these songs were actually written in
that language. In reality, and in spite of the high opus number,
they were culled from Dvorák’s very early cycle “Cypresses”
and were written in Czech. I dredge this up again – I discussed
it when reviewing the set – because Breedt seems to have learnt
from the episode a tendency to equate musicology with spending
half-an-hour in a music store. In speaking of a “daunting task”
she conjures up visions of hours spent in libraries grubbing
through long-out-of-print scores. In actual fact she has not,
so far as I can see, “discovered” anything that isn’t currently
in print. Eric Coates in serious vein, Julius Harrison and Stuart
Findlay sound mouth-wateringly rare but in fact an anthology
of Shakespeare settings currently available from Boosey &
Hawkes contains these and many other songs in the programme.
But I don’t want to labour the point since the programme was
basically aimed at a public with zero knowledge of the repertoire.
And in any case, the availability of those particular songs
doesn’t seem to have stimulated anyone to record them ere now.
Breedt also writes enthusiastically and often perceptively about
a number of the songs. Somewhat sloppily, though, she twice
refers to Findlay as “Finley”.
A similar mix of inspiration and approximation seems to have
gone into the preparation of the performances themselves. She
rightly remarks that “it was of the utmost importance to me
to stick as closely as possible to the dynamic markings cited
by each and every composer in this selection”. But it’s worth
getting the notes right too. On the last page of Harrison’s
“I know a bank”, the two semi-quavers to the word “musk” are
sung a tone lower than written. At the beginning of the last
line but one of Parry’s “Willow, willow, willow”, she shifts
the descent of the vocal line, before the pause, to the beginning
of the following bar. Sung and played as written a curious passing
dissonance is created, for which reason Breedt maybe took it
upon herself to correct the poor nut, but I happen to think
Parry knew what he was doing. In Head’s “The homecoming of the
sheep”, in the line “merry boys with shouldered crooks”, and
again when the same phrase is sung to “cormorants and seagulls
call”, she sings a B not a C sharp as written. In Gurney’s “Sleep”,
at the words “delight awhile” she sings a B flat not an A flat.
On the next page the word “idle” is divided into four semiquavers
plus two instead of five plus one as written. It may make little
difference but Janet Baker (Saga XID 5213; also Regis)
saw no reason to alter the composer’s intentions – as well as
correctly singing A flat on the previous page. In Parry’s “When
we two parted”, at the phrase “share in its shame”, the voice
goes down on “in” instead of “its”. At the end of this song
there is a minim rest, making quite a lengthy pause given the
slow tempo. Breedt and her pianist have better things to do
than sit looking at each other all that time so they cut the
rest out. Back in the 70s when Robert Tear and Philip Ledger
set this song down life went at a slower pace and there was
time for things like a minim rest. In Elgar’s “Pleading” the
dotted crotchet under “dull regret” gets about half its value.
And this in spite of a marked “rit.”, meaning that the note
might, if anything, have been profitably lengthened.
If this list seems long, I should add that I had available scores
to exactly half the songs on the disc, so according to the law
of averages a full list might be longer. But let us charitably
apply the presumption of innocence and suppose this not to be
so. On a slightly different tack, in “The Faithless Shepherdess”,
the internal rhymes of “Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love
…. soon lost for new love” surely prove that the anonymous poet
expect “adieu” to be pronounced “a dew” rather than in the French
manner, as Breedt does.
Which brings us to pronunciation. I was somewhat disconcerted
at first by Breedt’s very matronly delivery. “Who is Sealvyah?”
she asks many times, and later on there is “Titanyah”. Rs are
sumptuously rolled. On the contrary, while Hs are well present
in vital words they are often skimped in words like “him” and
“her”. The effect is almost as if she is guying an upper-crust
grand society dame of the 1930s. It’s true that most of these
songs were originally heard in drawing-rooms where people talked,
even sang, like that, but it sounds parodistic if repeated today.
However, it all adds up to a personality. After the initial
perplexity I found myself tuning to Breedt’s wavelength and
became quite fond of her as the disc went on.
It is, however, a manner of delivery that can lead to exaggeration.
Sometimes she digs into a word in a way that its context scarcely
justifies. Towards the end of “The homecoming of the sheep”,
at the line “Then sleep wraps every bell up tight” she inflects
“wraps” as though introducing a cutthroat, even conspiratorial
element into the proceedings. But perhaps the time has come
for a few comparisons. Some of these songs are rare, but several
have time-hallowed favourites demanding to be taken off the
shelf. First Janet Baker and Gerald Moore in Parry’s “O mistress
mine”. In the introduction Nina Schumann gives us a bumpy ride
compared with Gerald Moore. Janet Baker then sings her first
lines with a sense of unforced enjoyment. The result is that,
when she places a word slightly, which she does for the first
time with “low” at the end of the third line, the effect is
memorable. Breedt, by pointing practically everything, in the
end points nothing. So it is with Head’s “A Piper”, included
by Janet Baker on the early Saga disc mentioned above. This
time the pianist is Martin Isepp. Baker paints the scene deliciously,
the words tripping from her mouth. Everything depends on colours.
She does not slow down for emphasis, which Breedt does all too
often. This makes the song plain heavy. And the trouble is,
the song itself is rather flimsy, but we don’t notice this when
Janet Baker sings it. In Gurney’s “Sleep” line is fundamental.
Baker is clear with the words but never loses the line through
emphasizing details along the way.
However, there are strong compensations. It may seem unsporting
of me to say this only now, but Breedt’s voice is a splendid
instrument, rich, creamy and secure in the upper register, firm
in the lower one, evenly controlled with a wide dynamic range.
She can spin a pianissimo, as in “Silver”, where she makes the
unexpected decision to sing the high voice version, and brings
it off beautifully. In spite of the small misreading I encored
“I know a bank” immediately because it was such a lovely song,
sensitively handled. And not all the comparisons go against
her. Robert Tear’s version of “When we two parted” has the advantage
of Philip Ledger’s more insightful playing of the piano prelude
– Nina Schumann is more conventionally passionate. But Breedt
finds more in the song than Tear’s well-schooled, gentlemanly
reading reveals. It was a pleasure to listen again to John Shirley-Quirk’s
“Silent Noon”, a favourite of my schooldays (Saga XID 5211 –
see article),
but I’m not sure that I don’t find Breedt more vivid now. And,
while I thought Breedt occasionally robbed “Love’s Philosophy”
of its excitement with some overemphasis, turning to white-toned,
pretty-piping Jennifer Vyvyan’s inexpressive gallopade was to
remind myself that there were ways of singing these songs that
have hopefully been banished forever. I hope the Rheingau audience
were left wanting more and that Breedt might investigate the
repertoire further. She is not yet quite a natural in this repertoire
but she may yet become so. If she hasn’t heard Janet Baker’s
not very numerous forays into this repertoire I hope she will
seek them out. Nina Schumann sounds remarkably at home in the
piano parts.
As well as Breedt’s introductory note, there is an essay on
British song in general by Ruth Seiberts. Some of her comments
will sound strange to British ears. We may get tired of the
automatic pairing of Parry and Stanford in all history books,
but Seiberts has a solution for this: “Both Parry and Elgar
introduced a new direction to English music, away from Victorian
strictness and towards a freer engagement with musical material”.
We may also tire of the penny-in-the-slot emphasis on Stanford
as a teacher rather than as a composer. Seiberts has an answer
to that one, too: “A true English musical renaissance had been
prompted by Parry and Elgar. This is especially apparent with
Parry, who was a lecturer at the Royal College of Music. By
virtue of this position, he attracted talented students, many
of whom later went on to become composers themselves”. She then
goes on to mention that Vaughan Williams “studied under
Parry” [he studied for a while with Parry before going
on to Stanford, Parry was Principal of the RCM but didn’t
generally teach composition. Dibble's biography of Parry mentions
only two composition students: Vaughan Williams and - privately
- Tovey] and “was also keen to study with Elgar, but was
not accepted”. English musical history as she is wrote in Germany!
But all things considered, a warm welcome to the best – and
particularly the least recorded – things here.
Christopher Howell
Michelle Breedt (mezzo), Nina Schumann (piano) 
