United Notions by Toshiko And Her International Jazz Sextet MetroJazz (E 1001) Publication date 1958

 PERSONNELS

Nat Adderley, cornet on Jane, Strike Up the Band, United

Notions; Doc Severinsen, trumpet on other titles; Rolf Kuhn,

clarinet and alto sax; Bobby Jaspar (courtesy of Riverside

Records), flute, tenor and baritone saxes; Toshiko, piano;

René Thomas, guitar; John Drew, bass; Bert Dahlander, drums.

Recorded in New York City June 13, 1958 at Beltone Studios.

Supervision: LEONARD FEATHER.

Much has been written in recent years about the tremendous

interest overseas in American jazz, and of the consequent trips

abroad, (some of them officially sponsored by the State De-

partment) of many of our leading musicians. The cause of

these trips was clear enough—simply a matter of insistent de-

mand followed by constant supply—but the effect has been

less thoroughly studied. It has become gradually more evident

throughout the 1950s: musicians abroad, deprived of the chance

to hear live American jazz during the war years and often

unable to obtain more than a handful of American records,

have at last begun to catch up with us in their feeling for the

jazz language.

No more striking illustration has been offered of the spread

of this musical influence than the Newport International Band,

assembled in the summer of 1958 by Marshall Brown, using

talent sought out in 18 countries, and presented at the New-

port Jazz Festival. The soloists in that band were, at least, on

a level with the average front-rank U. S. jazzman, and at best

(notably the baritone man from England Ronnie Ross and

the French trumpeter Roger Guerin) were much more, offer-

ing examples of improvisation that might well be envied and

studied by most run-of-the-mill executants on this side of the

Atlantic.

The fact is that if he has a feeling for the rhythmic and

harmonic essence of jazz and spends enough time studying it,

certainly it will be easier for the foreigner to speak jazz with-

out an accent than to converse in perfect English. This is quite

clearly true of the group heard on the present LP.

All the foreign-born musicians in the International Jazz

Sextet, as well as their leader, speak English with enough of

an accent to make their overseas origin immediately obvious

to the most casual listener; yet when they take a solo chorus

the language of jazz becomes a complete leveler and it is im-

possible to determine who came from where.

Toshiko, who heads this multilingual group, was born

Toshiko Akiyoshi in 1929 in Dairen, Manchuria, the youngest

of four daughters of a Japanese textile merchant. She studied

piano for nine years. After the occupation of her native coun-

try by the Chinese, the Akiyoshi family became part of a

shipload of refugees, carrying only the bare essentials of their

valuables and allowed to take out of the country a sum equal

to about $3 per person. Regaining Japan, the family settled

in a country home owned by Toshiko’s father. At this point,

supposed to enter medical school, she went without telling her

family to the Yamada Officers’ Club and took a job as pianist

in the club's orchestra.

After working with various Japanese jazz units she headed

several small combos from 1951, playing at leading coffee

houses. During those years in Japan she played regularly with

the 289th U.S. Army Band, and was twice heard as guest ar-

tist with the Tokyo Symphony. Then in November 1953 she

was heard by Oscar Peterson, who was in Japan with the

Jazz at the Philharmonic troupe. The result of Peterson's dis-

covery of this improbably located talent was Toshiko’s re-

cording debut in a Tokyo session for Norman Granz.

In January 1956 Toshiko arrived in Boston to study on a

scholarship at the Berklee School of Music. She has been

there ever since, but during vacations from school has worked

in several American night clubs, usually leading her own trio

at Storyville in Boston or the Hickory House in New York.

My statement in The Encyclopedia Yearbook of Jazz (1956),

that since her arrival here she has shown “a superb technique

and an ever-greater mastery of the Bud Powell style, of which

she has become one of the outstanding disciples”, still holds

good. In fact, I believe today she has outstripped the idol she

once tried to emulate and is one of the half-dozen most dy-

namically expressive pianists in all of jazz.

Each of the instruments surrounding Toshiko in her Inter-

national Jazz Sextet is played by an artist who reached the

United States from a different foreign country, with the sole

exception of the trumpet, which remained in American hands

throughout.

Bobby Jaspar was born in 1926 in Liége, Belgium. After

working with various combos, mostly in Paris, throughout the

early 1950s, he won first place in the Jazz Hot poll both as

tenor saxophonist and combo leader, and emigrated to the

U. S. in April 1956. He worked with the combos of J.

J. Johnson and Miles Davis; recently he returned temporarily

to Paris, taking with him his own all-star American quintet.

He is married to the American singer Blossom Dearie.

Rolf Kuhn, born in Cologne, Germany, in 1929, took up

clarinet at 12, escaped from East Germany in 1952 to join a

jazz group, and was strongly influenced by the clarinet of

Buddy De Franco. After broadcasting with his own quartet

over an American station in Berlin and winning several Euro-

pean jazz polls, he came to the U. S. in May 1956, and spent

several months with the Benny Goodman band and with the

posthumous Tommy Dorsey orchestra.

Nat Adderley, born in Tampa, Fla. in 1931, is the younger

brother of the alto saxophonist Julian “Cannonball” Adderiey,

with whose quintet he was heard until 1957; since then he has

worked chiefly with the J. J. Johnson Quintet. Carl “Doc”

Severinsen, who replaces him on some tracks, is a greatly un-

derrated musician whose talent has been hidden for several

years by the obscurity of an NBC house job, though he

emerged in the spring of 1958 as a regular member of the

band on the NBC-TV educational series, The Subject Is Jazz.

This is his first jazz combo recording date.

René Thomas, though he participates in this album as an

emissary from Canada (he has lived in Montreal in recent

years) actually is an old friend and colleague of Bobby Jaspar,

whose home town is also René’s. Born in 1927, he studied

guitar at the age of 11 and is entirely self-taught. Though still

a resident of Canada, where he has done TV and club work,

he came to the U.S. in 1957 and worked briefly with Sonny

Rollins, who (along with Zoot Sims, Chet Baker and countless

other American musicians who have played with him) con-

siders him the greatest “undiscovered” guitarist on the scene.

John Derek Drew, born in 1927 in Sheffield and raised in

Liverpool, England, worked with many British name bands

before emigrating to the U. S. in 1954. He has been seen here

with the Neal Hefti band, the Gene Krupa quartet, the Bar-

bara Carroll trio, as well as with a symphony orchestra in

Miami; currently he is free-lancing busily around New York.

Bert Dahlander (his full name is Nils-Bertil Dahlander)

was born in Gothenburg, Sweden in 1928. After working lo-

cally with a Swedish radio band and with his own quartet, he

soon rose to acceptance as Sweden’s number one drummer.

First coming to the U.S. in 1954, he worked with a house

group at the Bee Hive in Chicago, backing Wardell Gray,

Sonny Rollins and Sonny Stitt, then spent a year on the road

with Terry Gibbs. After touring in Europe with Chet Baker

he returned to the U.S. in 1957, rejoined Gibbs for a few

months, and for the past year has been a member of the Teddy

Wilson trio.

A cosmopolitan atmosphere is established at the opening

of this LP when Toshiko, speaking Japanese, introduces her-

self and says that she would like to present the members of

her International Jazz Sextet. The sidemen announce their

names and home towns, each speaking his native tongue.

The group then sails into Broadway, a head arrangement

of the jazz standard first introduced by Count Basie’s band in

1940. Tenor and guitar in unison play the release of the open-

ing chorus. Bobby's tenor then occupies the spotlight for three

choruses in one of his most noteworthy solos on records, its

aggressively swinging quality impelled in large measure by the

support of an exceptional rhythm section. René Thomas fol-

lows with three choruses that will mark his introduction to

most American listeners; then Toshiko has three, the last of

which she leaves largely open to Drew’s walking bass. Bert

Dahlander takes the bridge in the “out” chorus.

Sukiyaki, written by Jaspar for this session, has a 24-bar

minor chorus. Toshiko, Doc Severinsen, René Thomas, Bobby

Jaspar (on flute) and Rolf Kuhn have a chorus each, followed

by three choruses of fours in which Toshiko alternates guitar,

trumpet, baritone (Jaspar) and clarinet.

Swingin’ Till the Girls Come Home is a 12-bar blues com-

posed in 1951 by Oscar Pettiford. In this head arrangement

attractive use is made of flute and clarinet to achieve a light

and graceful ensemble color. René Thomas establishes a cli-

mactically constructed pattern for the soloists—two choruses

accompanied by walking bass only, one chorus with drums

added, and a fourth with the additional impulse of the piano.

After the solos of Doc, Rolf and Jaspar there are a couple of

choruses of flute and clarinet fours that were spontaneously

developed during the recording of this take. Toshiko’s four

choruses follow, showing her in a mood of slowly increasing

funkiness, before the airy ensemble takes over for the final 24.

United Notions, the Toshiko original that provided a name

for the album, owes its title to a suggestion by John Drew.

Harmonically simple (except for the intriguing use of fourths

in the voicing of the release), the melody provides a frame-

work for solo choruses by René Thomas, Bobby Jaspar (his

first recorded solo on baritone saxophone), Rolf Kuhn, Nat

Adderley, John Drew and Toshiko.

Civilized Folk is one of two originals contributed to the

session by Bob Freedman, a talented young writer, formerly a

teacher at the Berklee School, who has been heard around

Boston as an alto saxophonist (with the Herb Pomeroy band)

and as intermission pianist in local clubs. With Kuhn’s clarinet

leading the light-textured three-horn lines, the ensemble recalls

the quality of the old John Kirby sextet. Clarinet, guitar, tenor

and muted trumpet have a chorus each and Tosh takes two.

Strike Up the Band is a fast, boppish arrangement by

Toshiko of the Gershwin standard. Rolf Kuhn plays alto sax

on the opening chorus. The doubling by Bobby Jaspar enables

the combo to split up the last two blowing choruses into eight

four-bar segments, each on a different instrument—cornet, flute,

guitar, clarinet, bass, drums, tenor, piano. The solo chorus after

the opening ensemble is Nat on cornet; the bridge of the clos

ing ensemble chorus is Doc on trumpet.

The session ends with the second Bob Freedman original,

Jane. (Actually this is a typical liner—note inaccuracy, for the

fact is that we recorded Jane at the beginning of the session;

the tracks on a jazz LP very rarely represent the original order

in which the tunes were recorded.) Bobby sticks to the tenor

here and, like all the soloists, is clearly at ease improvising on

the changes of this unpretentious piece of material.

A concluding suggestion: if you're in the mood for blind-

fold-testing a friend who believes he can distinguish East and

West coast, male and female, American and foreign musicians,

this session provides the ideal testing ground. With its scope

of origins extending from Portland, Oregon to Tampa, Florida

and from Gothenburg, Sweden to Dairen, Manchuria, it is a

cinch to baffle your friend and to prove only one very simple,

basic truism: that good jazz knows no boundaries.

12 Sinfonie Di Concerto Grosso by I Musici; Alessandro Scarlatti; William Bennett; Hans Elhorst; Lenore Smith; Bernard Soustrot Musical Heritage Society (MHS 827429A) Publication date 1986

 Alessandro Scarlatti

(1660-1725)

12 sinfonie di concerto grosso

SIDE 1

Sinfonia No. 1 in F Major for Two Flutes, Strings and Continuo

1. Allegro—Adagio —Allegro —Adagio—Allegro

Sinfonia No. 2 in D Major for Trumpet, Flute, Strings and Continuo

2. Spiritoso—Adagio —Allegro Adagio —Presto

Sinfonia No. 3 in D Minor for Flute, Strings and Continuo

3. Vivace —Adagio —Andante —Adagio—Allegro

SIDE 2

Sinfonia No. 4 in E Minor for Flute, Oboe, Strings and Continuo

1. Vivace —Adagio—Allegro—Adagio —Allegro

Sinfonia No. 5 in D Minor for Two Flutes, Strings and Continuo

2. Spiritoso, e staccato Adagio —Allegro—Adagio —Allegro assai

Sinfonia No. 6 in A Minor for Flute, Strings and Continuo

3. Vivace —Adagio—Allegro —Adagio —Allegro

SIDE 3

Sinfonia No. 7 in G Minor for Flute, Strings and Continuo

1. Moderato—Moderato (Allegro) —Grave—Allegro

Sinfonia No. 8 in G Major for Flute, Strings and Continuo

2. Allegretto —Adagio —Allegro —Adagio—Vivace

Sinfonia No. 9 in G Minor for Flute, Strings and Continuo

3. Vivace —Adagio —Moderato —Adagio —Allegretto —Menuett

SIDE 4

Sinfonia No. 10 in A Minor for Flute, Strings and Continuo

1. Vivace —Adagio—Allegro—Adagio —Allegretto

Sinfonia No. 11 in C Major for Flute, Strings and Continuo

2. Spirituoso—Lento—Allegro —Adagio—Allegro

Sinfonia No. 12 in C Minor for Flute, Strings and Continuo

3. Adagio—Andante giusto—Adagio—Andante moderato

William Bennett, Lenore Smith, Flutes

Bernard Soustrot, Trumpet

Hans Elhorst, Oboe

| Musici

SINFONIA NO. 8 ING

The opening Allegretto starts in canon between the first and second violins, with the

cadence familiar in 18th century string writing; the echo idea is kept up throughout the

movement and also plays a big part in the finale. The flute part is treated as a solo in

the two Adagios flanking the central Allegro, a fully worked-out fugue on a terse half-bar

motif. The closing Vivace is a lighthearted exploitation of dotted rhythm.

SINFONIA NO. 9 IN G MINOR

As in Sinfonia no. 7, the key of G minor seems to be the catalyst helping Scarlatti

produce a work of greater seriousness. The opening Vivace is very fully scored; the first

Adagio opens as a quartet for flute and upper strings, soon developed and enriched by

cello and continuo. The central Moderato is a fully worked-out double fugue followed

by a charming duet for flute and continuo (Adagio) and a gigue-like Allegretto. An addi-

tional Menuett completes this Sinfonia.

MHS STEREO 827429A

A DIGITAL RECORDING

Also Available on 2 Chrome Cassettes MHC 229429Z

SINFONIA NO. 10 IN A MINOR

Formally this Sinfonia closely follows the design of the first four movements of no. 9,

and the opening Vivace resembles the technique found in no. 5: tutti punctuating the

string line. Of the two Adagios, the first is an accompanied flute solo and the second

a quartet for flute and upper strings which develops into a fully orchestrated texture.

The final Allegretto (3/4) is binary in form.

SINFONIA NO. 11 IN C

The opening Spirituoso defines C major in no uncertain terms; after closing on the domi-

nant, there follows an E minor Lento with a concertante flute part and an interesting cello

line. The central Allegro in C major starts off as a fugue and becomes a development

section in a more modern sense halfway through. An Adagio (A minor) closes on G; the

final Allegro once again outlines the C tonality.

SINFONIA NO. 12 IN C MINOR

This Sinfonia opens with a stately 19-bar Adagio, generally very richly textured. Following

that, in C minor (Andante giusto), is a splendid fugue on a chromatic subject. A spacious

E-flat Adagio has a running eighth-note bass; this bass is soon taken over by the viola

and second violin in unison, giving a delightfully airy sound. The final Andante moderato

is a gigue-like binary movement with many juxtapositions of forte and piano.

Joan Ashley

More than 30 years of phenomenal success, scores of outstanding recordings, and an extensive list of

international awards and tributes have crowned | Musici with the aura of legend. The group was formed

in 1952 when 12 students from the Academy of Santa Cecilia, who had often played together for pleasure,

gave their first public concert. Their success was so complete and so immediate that by the end of that

same year they had toured not only Italy, but also Spain, Portugal, and France. In the next two years they

appeared in England, Holland, Belgium, Austria, Germany, Scandinavia, Switzerland, and Hungary. Soon

overseas tours to the United States, Canada, Japan, Australia, and Central and South America established

their fame worldwide. Their early European triumphs included appearances at festivals in Graz, Menton,

Copenhagen, Aix-en-Provence, Salzburg, and Edinburgh.

Although most clearly associated with baroque music, playing an important part in promoting a wider ap-

preciation of Vivaldi and the lesser-known Italian composers of that period, | Musici has a much wider reper-

toire: the ensemble has won equal praise for its performances of such composers as Bart6k, Britten, Barber,

and Frank Martin. In the field of recordings, | Musici has been more successful than any other group of

its kind. Its first Grand Prix du Disque was awarded in 1956 for Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, a recording which

has since gone platinum and has become a staple of classical record collections everywhere. The Christmas

Concerto (Grand Prix du Disque), Vivaldi’s La stravaganza, (Edison Award), and Vivaldi’s La cetra (German

Record Critic’s Prize) are but a few on the impressive list that followed. The orchestra has also recorded

with such renowned instrumentalists as Heinz Holliger, Severino Gazzelloni, and Don Smithers. In 1977

| Musici celebrated its Silver Jubilee, receiving tributes from the world of music, the international music

press, civic dignitaries, the Italian government, and the Vatican State. It was a measure of the universal

esteem in which the ensemble is held.

MORTON GREEN

MEMORIAL

RECORD LIBRARY

MHS STEREO 8274290

A DIGITAL RECORDING

Also Available on 2 Chrome Cassettes MHC 2294297

SINFONIA NO. 10 IN A MINOR

Formally this Sinfonia closely follows the design of the first four movements of no. 9,

and the opening Vivace resembles the technique found in no. 5: tutti punctuating the

String line. Of the two Adagios, the first is an accompanied flute solo and the second

a quartet for flute and upper strings which develops into a fully orchestrated texture.

The final Allegretto (3/4) is binary in form.

SINFONIA NO. 11 IN C

The opening Spirituoso defines C major in no uncertain terms; after closing on the domi-

nant, there follows an E minor Lento with a concertante flute part and an interesting cello

line. The central Allegro in C major starts off as a fugue and becomes a development

section in a more modern sense halfway through. An Adagio (A minor) closes on G; the

final Allegro once again outlines the C tonality.

SINFONIA NO. 12 IN C MINOR

This Sinfonia opens with a stately 19-bar Adagio, generally very richly textured. Following

that, in C minor (Andante giusto), is a splendid fugue on a chromatic subject. A spacious

E-flat Adagio has a running eighth-note bass; this bass is soon taken over by the viola

and second violin in unison, giving a delightfully airy sound. The final Andante moderato

is a gigue-like binary movement with many juxtapositions of forte and piano.

Joan Ashley

Timings:

Side 1: 6:18, 7:57, 6:58/21:09

Side 2: 7:56, 8:01, 7:12/23:15

Side 3: 6:32, 6:25, 8:14/21:17

Side 4: 7:38. 7:05. 10:09/24:58

mastering: BIN Kipper, Masterdisk Corp.

Cover Art: Alessandro Scarlatti

Jacket Design: Jayne Travis

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 86-743102

Licensed from Philips Classics Productions, an activity of Phonogram International B.V., Baarn, The Netherlands

® 1981 Phonogram International B.V.

© Musical Heritage Society, Inc., 1986

Manufactured in the U.S.A. by

‘Musical Heritage Society

1710 Highway 35, Ocean, New Jersey 07712

This record, manutactured with Teldec’s DMM

Technology (Direct Metal Mastering), sets new stan-

dards for a sound of superior purity, transparency,

and dynamics. No annoying echoes and surface noise

disturb the listening pleasure,

Alessandro Scarlatti, who was born in Sicily in 1660 and died in Naples in 1725, is

generally known as a composer of operas. Well-practiced in the art of writing orchestral

overtures and symphonies for these, he began, on June 1, 1715, to compose a set of

12 sinfonie for strings, continuo, and an assortment of wind instruments. In the autograph

manuscript (in the British Museum) he draws attention to the “concerto grosso” elements

in their construction, contrasting the solo and tutti timbres. Dr. Charles Burney refers

to Scarlatti as “recherché and learned” compared to some of his Italian colleagues; he

certainly uses the more old fashioned techniques of fugue and echo effects but with an

extraordinarily light touch, in a dexterous manner which emphasizes his importance in

the development of the early classical style.

SINFONIA NO. 1 IN F

The 24-bar opening Allegro demonstrates the concerto-grosso quality in two short sec-

tions for solo violin accompanied by flutes purling along in thirds. A D minor Adagio follows,

the bass line falling chromatically through the octave during the course of the movement's

15 bars. The heart of each sinfonia is a longer fugal movement, in this case an Allegro,

in which there is a very nice interplay between tutti and solo elements (highlighting the

viola, violins, and cello in turn) within the formal bounds of a fugue. The short Adagio

is for flutes and cello; the cello part is richly satisfying, as so often is the case with Scarlatti,

who frequently accompanied the cello virtuoso Francischello and became increasingly

aware of the potential of the instrument. This nine-bar modulating bridge carries the music

from D minor into F major in the Allegro finale, which possesses a characteristic dotted

rhythm.

SINFONIA NO. 2 IN D

Orchestration details in these sinfonie, such as the rhythmic interplay between violins

and woodwind at the start of the opening movement of no. 2, Spiritoso, suggest that

they were written for the concert hall rather than “to drown out the din of a courtly public

arriving late for the theater” (Raymond Meylan). The first movement is lightly scored

with scalar patterns for the strings and the woodwind pointing up the harmonic changes.

The desired timbre for the trumpet may be assessed from Scarlatti’s own estimate that

the sound of one trumpet was equivalent to that of four fiddles. The trumpet is silent

in the short connecting Adagio; the central Allegro is again a fusion of fugal and concerto-

grosso elements with a hint of dotted rhythm at the close, reminiscent of the French overture

style. The second Adagio is 22 bars of an insistent dotted rhythm played by a quartet

consisting of a flute, two violins, and a viola. The final Presto is a strong and clearly

defined binary movement with concertante sections for the cello.

SINFONIA NO. 3 IN D MINOR

The 19-bar opening Vivace makes much play of sixteenth notes in thirds. The Adagio

is a flute solo with cello accompaniment (the harpsichord is silent) in lyrical dotted-rhythm

counterpoint; violins and viola soon take up the pattern, and for the rest of this short

movement it is shared among all parts except the second violin, in extremely light-textured

writing. The central movement is an Andante in church-sonata style with much voice-

leading, using a motif made up of a bar of repeated notes followed by an upward leap

of at first a seventh and later a variety of intervals. A 12-bar Adagio in flowing eighth-

note counterpoint is characterized by a distinctive cello entry: sixteenth-note octaves.

The binary Allegro bears the same distinctive rhythm as the finale of Sinfonia no. 1.

SINFONIA NO. 4 IN E MINOR

The opening Vivace establishes a good partnership between flute and oboe against

the strings. This gives way to a G major Adagio. The fugal Allegro, using two contrasting

motifs, contains an episodic duet for flute and cello. These two instruments begin the

ensuing Adagio and are gradually joined by the other instruments for a seven-bar tutti

before the final Allegro, a gigue in 12/8.

SINFONIA NO. 5 IN D MINOR

The opening of this movement, Spiritoso, e staccato, starts off fresh with string lines

punctuated by a tutti comment. The established pattern continues through an Adagio,

which links the first movement to the central fugal Allegro. The second Adagio is per-

formed without continuo and leads to the final Allegro assai.

SINFONIA NO. 6 IN A MINOR

Although less distinguished, the opening Vivace continues the pattern of the splendid

cello line: a gradual descent of more than an octave before the cadential bars. There

is a flute and cello duet in the Adagio; the fugal Allegro, as so often is the case with

Scarlatti, starts off as a full-blown fugue, then gets caught up and ends in a lengthy

episode. The Adagio connects the middle movement to the fugal Allegro finale, which

enjoys a fate similar to that of the first Allegro.

SINFONIA NO. 7 IN G MINOR

The style of this work varies. The opening Moderato is much more fully scored than

any movement in the preceding pieces. The customary linking Adagio section is absent,

and the fugue (Moderato) has a longer and more chromatic subject than is usual and

is more fully worked out. The Grave has a much richer overall texture; the final Allegro

has the typical brilliance of a Venetian finale.

Giselle Ou "Les Wilis" (Complete Ballet) by Adolphe C. Adam; The London Symphony Orchestra; Anatole Fistoulari Mercury / Mercury Living Presence (SR2-9011 / OL2-111) Publication date 1961

 GISELLE

Giselle is the supreme achievement of the Romantic Ballet. Officially its several con- wey

tributors were Vernoy de Saint Georges and ‘Théophile’ Gautier: (Book), Adolphe Adam, . )

(Music), Pierre Ciceri (Scenery), Paul Lormier (Costumes), and Jean Coralli (Choreog-

pari

Gautier, reading Heinrich Heine’s De 'Allemagne, was much attracted by the story

of “snow-coloured Wilis who waltz pitilessly . . . in a mist softened by German moonlight” eis:

and said: “Wouldn't this make a pretty ballet!” The Wilis, according to Heine, are affianced

maidens dead before their wedding day, unable to satisfy during life their passion for ag

dancing. Meyer’s “Konservationslexikon” defines the Wilis as a species of vampire, the os

spirits of betrothed girls who have died as q result of their being jilted by faithless lovers.

The theme of Giselle is unique and ideal, because its mainspring is dancing. Gautier first é

thought of using Victor Hugo’s poem, FantOmes, in which a young.girl dancing all night ;

at a ball catches a fatal chill. Since this offered little dramatic action, he consulted the

prodigious librettist, Vernoy de Saint-Georges, who speedily devised the story of Giselle and

her ducal suitor, Albrecht, betrothed to the Princess Bathilde, who disguises himself as a

peasant and courts Giselle with tragic consequences.

Adam's score for Giselle, conceived in the cantilena style typical of Bellini and Doni-

zetti, was composed in little more than a week, according to Gautier. It abounds in flowing

melodies and simple dance rhythms, their colour and mood attuned to the various dramatic

situations. In the description of the ballet which follows, the music references are to the

original French piano score of 1841. There are nowadays some cuts and departures from the "=

original plan. No. 12, for instance, illustrating a scene of villagers pursued by Wilis, is

now omitted.

The first Giselle was Carlotta Grisi and her husband was Jules Perrot, the famous dancer

and choreographer, both friends of Adam. Neither the original poster nor progamme of +

Giselle bears any mention of Perrot’s name, but La France Musicale (July 4, 1841) discloses .

that “Perrot . . . has arranged all his wife’s pas and scenes.” Coralli was responsible for the fF

dances of the Wilis, which Gautier acclaimed as “pas, groups, and attitudes of exquisite .

novelty and elegance”

Giselle, ou Les Wilis had its first performance at the Paris Opéra on June 28, 1841,

preceded by the third act of Rossini’s opera Moise. The cast of the ballet was as follows:

Grisi was born on June 28, 1819, at Visinida, in Upper Istria. A product of La Scala, her

teacher there being a Frenchman, Guillet, she met Perrot in 1836 while dancing in Naples.

Gautier praised Grisi’s Giselle as “the greatest . . . triumph since ‘La Sylphide’.” “Carlotta,”

he wrote, “danced with a perfection, lightness, boldness, and a chaste and refined seduc-

tiveness which place her . . . between Elssler and Taglioni . . . she was nature and artlessness

personified.”

Now here is a description of the ballet. There is an overture (Introduction. Allegro con

fuoco) at the conclusion of which the curtain rises on—

ACT I

A German valley, with Giselle’s cottage in the left foreground, and that of the

disguised Duke Albrecht, who is known to Giselle as Loys, on the right. Round

the foothills of a castle-topped summit, a few vines grow; a road runs before.

Peasant girls, chattering and beckoning, pass beyond Giselle’s cottage. Albrecht enters,

attended by Wilfrid, who conceals in the cottage his lord’s cloak and sword. Albrecht,

peasant clad, dismissing Wilfrid, knocks on Giselle’s door, listens; then hides (No. 2 Entrée

du Prince [sic] Moderato).

Giselle emerges dancing; she pauses, surprised to find herself alone. Albrecht blows

kisses; hearing, she tries to find him. Stepping back, they collide as he approaches. In a

tender love scene, Giselle, overcome with shyness, tries several times to escape, but Albrecht

gently restrains her. Her arm within his, they dance.

He wishes to swear eternal fidelity, but she feels the vow ill-omened, and plucks the

petals of a marguerite, saying: “He loves me, he loves me not!” She bursts into tears; but

Albrecht retrieves the flower, triumphantly proclaiming “He loves me!” Giselle, comforted,

dances happily with him. Hilarion, appearing, shakes his fist angrily.

Again the lovers dance; Giselle, kissing her finger, presses it to Albrecht’s brow and runs

away, to be confronted by Hilarion, who -upbraids them, then kneels before Giselle and

declares his love. She turns aside; imploringly he clutches her dress, but Albrecht hurls him

away. Hilarion retires, vowing vengeance. (No. 3 Entrée de Giselle. Allegro non

troppo).

Albrecht embraces Giselle. The village girls, returning, greet Giselle, who invites them

to dance with her. Afterwards, Giselle’s mother appears, warning her that she will dance

herself to death and become a Wili; she shepherds her indoors. The girls and Albrecht exit.

(No. 4 Allegro louré. Retour de la Vendange).

Hilarion goes to Giselle’s cottage; before he can knock, a hunting horn is heard. He

breaks into Albrecht’s cottage and hides inside.

The Prince of Courland, his daughter Bathilde, and their hunting-party enter, seeking

refreshment and rest. Wilfrid knocks at Giselle’s. cottage. Her mother and village girls set

out a table: Giselle, appearing, curtsies to Wilfrid, mistaking him for the Prince. Bathilde

praises Giselle’s beauty to her father. While Wilfrid attends them, Giselle kneels beside

wae caressing her rich dress. Bathilde, turning, questions her kindly. Giselle replies

at she spins and weaves, but “my heart’s delight is to dance,” and she begins a few steps,

ending in a curtsey. Again, her mother predicts her fate as a Wili, but Giselle is unheeding.

Bathilde bestows her necklace upon Giselle, who, overcome, kisses Bathilde’s hands

(No. 5 Allegro. La Chasse, Ist Part). A peasant girl and youth entertain the Prince

and his suite with dances (Interpolated Pas de Deux with variations, by Burg-

miiller).

Giselle begs the Prince to rest in her cottage. The Prince and ladies go within, the

Prince handing Wilfrid his hunting-horn, instructing him to sound it if his presence is

required (No. 5 Allegro. La Chasse, 2nd Part).

Hilarion steals out, carrying Albrecht’s sword; he hurries to show it to Giselle, but,

hearing girls’ voices, he hides it under a bush and retires (No. 6 Allegro. Scéne d’Hil-

arion).

The girls knock at Giselle’s door, and beg her mother to allow Giselle to dance. At last

she agrees, and when Giselleappears she is crowned Queen of the Vintage. She dances: her

friends applaud, and in the ensuing ensemble Giselle and Albrecht fall into each other's

arms. (No. 7. Allegro marcato. Marche des Vendanges).

Suddenly Hilarion rushes forward, forces the lovers apart, and declares Albrecht an

imposter: fetching the sword, he displays its jewelled hilt. Confused, then enraged,

Albrétht seizes Hilarion and is about to run him through: but Wilfrid stays his arm. The

sword falls to the ground.

_ Giselle, horrified, runs to her mother; Hilarion furiously sounds the Prince's hunting-

horn.

The Prince, Bathilde, and her ladies return. Bathilde goes to Albrecht enquiringly, and he

kneels, kissing her hand. Giselle steps between’ them. “Are you his betrothed?” she asks

Bathilde. Bathilde inclines her head in assent.

Giselle drags off the necklace, runs sobbing to her mother, and collapses. Her mother

loosens her hair, and Giselle rises, then falls again.

* At last she raises herself, but the shock has affected her reason. She makes pitiful gestures

of bewilderment; her limbs are stiff and awkward. Remembering past happiness, she

relives the flower test; then her foot touches the fallen sword. She seizes its point, sweeping

the hilt over the ground: the onlookers recoil. Suddenly, she plunges it into her breast as

Albrecht tries to stop her. Giselle falls into her mother’s arms; then goes to attack Bathilde.

Her father raises a protective arm, but Giselle turns back. The hunting-party leaves.

Giselle, believing herself to be dancing with her lover, struggles to perform the familiar

steps: but her movements grow weaker. An icy cold steals over her limbs. She stumbles

along the fringe of frightened onlookers: falls at the feet of her grief-stricken mother, and

beckons to Albrecht. In a moment of clarity, she touches his cheek forgivingly, then dies.

Albrecht kisses her face and hands; seeing Hilarion, he drags him forward, then hurls

him aside. Hilarion staggers; Albrecht seizes his sword, but Wilfrid again arrests the blow.

Albrecht, dropping the sword, kneels beside Giselle’s body. The onlookers gather about

their dead friend (No. 8 Allegro. Final).

ACT Il

A moonlit forest clearing before a sinister pool, bordered with wild flowers

and water plants. The drooping foliage of aspens and weeping willows trembles

in the chill night air. 'To the left, beneath a cypress, is a mound, flanked by a cross

bearing the name - GISELLE.

At curtain-rise Hilarion is kneeling beside Giselle’s grave,, until a flash of lightning,

followed by a peal of thunder, fills him with fear and he flees (No. 9. Andante sostenuto.

La Halte des chasseurs).

Myrtha, Queen of the Wilis, enters and dances about the glade; then, with two magic

branches, she casts a spell in preparation for the assembly of vengeful spirits. They are to

be joined by Giselle. Bidding them remove their veils, Myrtha orders them to dance, and

vanishes. (No. 10. Andante. Apparition et Scéne de Myrtha). Later she returns; the

Wilis surround the tomb and Myrtha extends her branch, upon which Giselle emerges

from her grave, and at Myrtha’s command dances alone. (No. 11. Apparition de Giselle.

Andante moderato). Then Myrtha orders all to forsake the glade (No. 12. Allegro

moderato. Entrée des Paysans. Part only used).

Albrecht enters seeking Giselle’s grave. Discovering it, he decks it with flowers. Wilfrid

urges him to leave, but is told to withdraw.

As Albrecht kneels beside the grave, Giselle drifts towards him, then vanishes. He rises

wonderingly: now and again she reappears, then dissolves into a wreath of mist. He prays

for her return, to find her phantom form beside him. They dance briefly together, then she

vanishes, to return holding a flower in each hand. Again they dance; she boypds away,

tossing first one flower, then the other, to Albrecht, who catches them as ie to

vanish into the woods (No. 13. Andante. Entrée d’Albert et Wilfride).

Enter Hilarion, terror-struck and pursued by Wilis. Twisting and turning, he is whirled

into the fatal pool to drown.

Myrtha and her Wilis depart triumphantly, but quickly return. Now Albrecht is men-

aced, and Giselle glides before her lover and entreats the Queen to spare him. When she

refuses, Giselle directs Albrecht to the Cross’s sanctuary. The Wilis try to intercept him,

but the Cross glows strangely; Myrtha opposes her magic branch, which breaks. She

commands ‘Giselle to dance, hoping to entice Albrecht from the protecting Cross, The

a vainly implore the help of the Wilis (No. 14. Allegro feroce. Entrée d’Hilarion).

Giselle dances, supported by Albrecht. (No. 15. Andante. Grand Pas de Deux). Then

the Queen orders her to dance alone, and forces Albrecht to follow, until he should die

of exhaustion, Just as his tortured heart feels as though it must burst, the foliage becomes

tinged with a rose-coloured light. A distant bell strikes four o'clock. The power of the

Wilis is over; their pale forms melt in the growing light. Albrecht struggles to his feet;

Giselle glides toward her tomb and vanishes into the cold earth. Albrecht collapses before

the Cross. (No. 16. Allegro con moto).

NOTES BY CYRIL BEAUMONT

NOTES ABOUT THIS RECORDING

Mercury is proud to add this recording of Adam’s classic Giselle to its series of complete

ballets, especially because it completes the “Big Six” of repertory favorites, sharing this

exalted prominence with Tchaikovsky's three major works, The Nutcracker, Swan Lake

and Sleeping Beauty, and Léo Delibes’s two, Coppélia and Sylvia. Like the others, Giselle

has entered the realm of favor as much for its music as for its affecting, timeless story and

opportunities for virtuoso dancing.

The recording sessions took place in London during the early summer of 1960. On the

stage of Watford Town Hall, the members of the London Symphony Orchestra were

arranged in their normal concert placement, an advantage for both recording engineers

and balletomanes, since the accompanying ensemble in a ballet performance would be

crowded into the pit. Besides the usual strings, the scoring calls for double woodwinds,

two horns, two trumpets, one trombone, timpani, and harp. Adam’s music is distinguished

by his delicate solo writing; most of the instruments of the orchestra play alone at various

times over fragile accompanying groups, thereby contributing much to the grace and

charm of the ballet. These solos provide the listener with an index to the Living Presence

technique of recording which flawlessly captures the individual timbre and colors of each

instrument, as well as the balance and contour of the entire ensemble.

Three microphones were used for the stereophonic recording, one for the monophonic,

and they were hung slightly in front of the orchestra, somewhat out into the auditorium.

‘Tests and level checks dictated the plane and elevation of their location, but once they were

positioned, they were not moved at any time during the sessions. The three channels of

sound which were caught by the microphones for stereo were transmitted directly to

recording machines without any tampering or monitoring on the part of engineers; in

other words, the quieter passages of music were not electronically “boosted” nor were

louder sections compressed. The same is of course true for the single microphone version.

Musical balance, nuance, and all dynamics were controlled solely by Maestro Fistoulari, and

it is his conception of the score which is cut onto these discs. The Mercury classical staff

believe that only in this way can a performance of music be accurately captured in a

recording.

Wilma Cozart and C, R. Fine collaborated on the basic recording set-up and procedure;

Harold Lawrence was the recording director, and Robert Eberenz was the engineer and

technical supervisor. Miss Cozart mixed the three-channel original tape into the two-channel

stereo version and George Piros made the tape-to-disc transfer. John Johnson made the

monophonic transfer.

OTHER RECORDINGS OF COMPLETE BALLETS FROM

s MERCURY’S UNIQUE LIVING PRESENCE SERIES:

TCHAIKOVSKY The Nutcracker. Deluxe two-record album. Minneapolis Symphony,

Antal Dorati conducting. (Monaural only) OL2-101

TCHAIKOVSKY Swan Lake. Deluxe three-record album. Minneapolis Symphony, Antal

Dorati conducting. (Monaural only) OL3-102 (Also available on three single records.)

TCHAIKOVSKY The Sleeping Beauty. Deluxe three-record album. Minneapolis Sym-

phony, Antal Dorati conducting. (Monaural only) OL3-103 (Also available on four single

records.)

DELIBES Coppélia. Deluxe two-record album. Minneapolis Symphony, Antal Dorati con-

ducting. SR2-9005 /OL2-105

DELIBES Sylvia. Deluxe two-record album. London Symphony, Anatole Fistoulari con-

ducting. SR2-9006 /OL2-106

STRAVINSKY The Firebird. London Symphony, Antal Dorati conducting. SRg0226/

MG50226

STRAVINSKY Petrouchka (1947 version). Minneapolis Symphony, Antal Dorati con-

ducting. SR90216/MG50216

STRAVINSKY The Rite of Spring. Minneapolis Symphony, Antal Dorati conducting.

‘SR90253/MG50253

RAVEL Daphnis et Chloé. Minneapolis Symphony, Antal Dorati conducting. MG50040

(Monaural only) ;

Hi-Fi With The Grenadier Guards by The Band Of The Grenadier Guards London Records (PS 104 / PS.104) Publication date 1958

 The Spirit of Pageantry march was written in

1909 at a time when its composer, Percy Fletcher,

had still to win a position of prominence in the field

of British light music. The piece won a prize in the

competition organized that year by the Worshipful

Company of Musicians and this success played

an important part in bringing Fletcher’s name be-

fare the public. He was later to become known

particularly as a composer of choral and descrip-

tive music and also as an orchestrator of outstand-

ing accomplishment. For many year’s he was mu-

sical director of His Majesty’s Theatre in the Hay-

market and during this period was responsible for

the orchestration of “Chu Chin Chow”, the mu-

sical show whose record number of consecutive

performances still remains unbeaten.

The Cerempnial March which follows will im-

mediately be recognized at the Grand March from

the opening of Act 2 Scene 2 of that grandest of

operas Aida. It is a march composed on a scale

befitting an opera which was planned not merely

as a musical but as an international event. Aida

was , originally commissioned by the Khedive of

Egypt fot a grand performance to mark the open-

ing of the Suez canal in 1870. But international

events are subject to international pressures and,

although both the opera and the canal were com-

pleted more or less on time, the grand performance

did not take place until the following year. The

Ceremonial March is now often played in Britain

at the ceremony of the Trooping of the Colour as

the Queen inspects the line of guardsmen.

The march Lustspiel is the work of Keler Bela,

a 19th century composer of Hungarian origin who,

after brief careers as a lawyer and a farmer, studied

music in Vienna and became at the age of 35 a

bandmaster in the Austrian army. In addition to

marches he also composed a number of overtures,

dances and pieces for solo violin all of which,

however romantic in conception, still showed the

crisp brilliance of the martial music which was his

true forte.

Hi. J. Amers, the son of a north-country music

teacher, was so impressed as a young man by a

visit to the Glasgow Exhibition of 1901 that he sat

down immediately on his return home and com-

posed the Wee Macgregor Patrol in honour of the

great achievements of Scotland. He later became

the first director of the newly-formed R.A.F. Cen-

tral Band and was also for a time the conductor

of the Metropolitan Police Band.

Suppé who was born in 1819 and died in 1895

is now remembered for only a handful of works

of which, in addition to the famous Light Cav-

alry overture, “Poet and Peasant” and ‘“Morn-

ing, Noon and Night” are perhaps the best known.

In his lifetime, however, he composed well over 30

operettas. Being of Belgian descent and brought

up in Italy he was singled out in Vienna, his city

of adoption, not only as a foreigner but as a noted

eccentric. His house was always decorated with

skulls and it is said that he habitually slept in a

coffin.

John Ansell made his name as musical director

of the Alhambra Theatre in Leicester Square and

was one of the pioneers of broadcasting in Britain.

He was appointed conductor of the Wireless Or-

chestra in 1924 and was the first ever to hold this

post. The Windjammer Overture is on of a number

of pieces which demonstrate his powers of vivid

musical description and delineation.

Rounding off the programme is the march

Hielan’ Laddie whose melody hails from so far

back in the Scottish musical tradition that no com-

poser’s name can be assigned to it with certainty.

It finds, however, an appropriate place on this

record since it is the regimental quick march of

the Scots Guards. It here serves as a final flourish

as the band of the Grenadier Guards marches on its

way.

The regiment of the Grenadier Guards was

founded by King Charles II in 1656 as “The Royal

Regiment of Guards” and later as further guards

regiments were established in the late 17th and

early 18th centuries it became known as “The First

Regiment of Foot Guards.” Its present name was

granted by royal decree following the battle of

Waterloo “In commemoration of their having de-

feated the Grenadiers of the French Imperial

Guard upon this memorable occasion.”

Here is a reminder that the tradition of the

Grenadier Guards, and indeed of other guard regi-

ments, does not rest merely on the fine uniforms

and precision drill with which they are associated

in the public mind. They are in fact crack troops

and in the three centuries since their foundation

have always been regarded as the most loyal, most

valiant and most professional of soldiers. Not the

least of their distinctions, however, is a fine tradi-

tion of military music, for the history of such

music in Britain seems to have had its beginning in

the Grenadier Guards.

in 1685 a warrant was signed by Charles II

authorizing the maintenance of twelve hautbois in

the companies of the King’s Regiments of Foot

Guards in London and in the accounts for 1686

there are references to “liveryes for the hautoyes”

and for six drummers, their uniforms being

trimmed with silk and silver lace. By the middle

of the 18th century when such music as the marches

of Handel was being widely adopted for military

use the Grenadier Guards had an excellent band

according to Dr. Burney, the English musical his-

torian and father of Fanny Burney the diarist.

In the latter half of the 19th century the band

has as its conductor the famous Dan Godfrey and

at the beginning of the present century it began the

first of a series of tours which have encircled the

globe. The visit of the band to the United States

in 1904 represented the first occasion on which

British troops had set foot on American soil since

the revolution. Today the band clings to its pride

of place in representing the country on all great

occasions.

Death And Transfiguration / Metamorphosen by Richard Strauss; Otto Klemperer; Philharmonia Orchestra Angel Records (35976 / S 35976) Publication date 1962

 Side One

TOD UND VERKLARUNG, Op. 24

(Death and Transfiguration)

Strauss was 81 when he penned his farewell to

the Good Old Days in Metamorphosen. Tod und

Verklarung, on the other hand, takes us back to

1889, when he was 25. It was his fourth symphonic

poem, and comes in order between Don Juan and

Till Eulenspiegel. The symphonic poems of Strauss

have their source in those of Liszt, and this one is

the most Lisztian of all, because it is more generalized

in content, less concerned with details of thought

and character. Strauss’s great friend and mentor Alex-

ander Ritter wrote a poem about the story of Death

and Transfiguration, and Strauss printed this at the

head of his score. But the music was written before

the poem, and our impressions of Death and Trans-

figuration are accordingly as valid at Ritter’s—so

long as we regard it from a sympathetic Straussian

viewpoint.

The tone poem is about a man who lies dying in

his room. The atmosphere of death hangs heavy

over the sick bed. A gentle woodwind tune suggests

that he is dreaming of far-off happy days. A spell of

agony tacks his body but his spirit is victorious over

death as over the world, because he is a man, and

has an immortal soul. He dreams again of his child-

hood and youth. The music becomes more impas-

sioned, and then we are back in the sickroom again.

He grows weaker, his pulse beats more and more

slowly; at last he sinks back and yields to death. But

out of darkness comes the real victory—release from

the world, transfiguration. The solemn theme of

transfiguring triumph, which is the spirit’s victory

over death, wells up gradually to a superb climax

from which it relaxes into eternal serenity.

Side Two

METAMORPHOSEN

(Study for 23 solo strings)

Strauss once said in his youth that he had begun

creative life as an iconoclast and would end it as an

old master. He was implying that the newfangled

fashions of today always become the dusty clichés

of the day after tomorrow; but he spoke more pro-

phetically than he knew, for the Richard Strauss

who broke impetuously through the sound barrier

in Elektra came back at the end of his life to the

classic style and idiom which he had learned to

handle in his apprentice years.

In 1941, when he put Finis to his last opera,

Capriccio, he firmly intended to retire from compo-

sition: “My next piece will be scored for harps,” he

wrote to his friend Clemens Krauss. But the Paradise

Philharmonic Orchestra was not ready to employ

him. For some years he amused himself, and left

posterity deeply grateful, with instrumental cham-

ber works mostly of concertante nature. These are

exquisitely uncommitted. But in the autumn of 1943

the Munich State Opera House was destroyed in an

air raid; this was the theatre where Strauss had

learned his trade, and it had been for him the symbol

of the old musical life in his native city. His grief

was intense, and at about this time he began to sketch

an Adagio for strings. As it grew, it became a dirge

for the old Munich of the early twentieth century;

a theme of specific mourning was removed and used

in the revised version of Strauss’s Munich Waltz.

Then the theme of the Adagio, beginning with four

repeated notes, acquired a distinctive dotted rhythm

for the drooping notes that followed, and Strauss

realized that it was akin to a phrase from the Funeral

March of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony. So the

Adagio was diverted to become an essay in thematic

ttansfiguration, or metamorphosis, and the string

orchestra became defined as a body of 23 specified

string soloists (ten violins, five violas, five cellos,

and three double basses). In the spring of 1945 Paul

Sacher commissioned a work from Strauss for his

Zurich orchestra, called the Collegium Musicum;

this was the final incentive, and by April 12 the com-

pleted work was ready; it was performed by the

dedicatees in the following January.

It one analyzes Metamorphosen, it is found to be

based on four distinct thematic fragments some of

which sprout into new themes as the work pro-

gresses. It is probably most useful to summarize such

an analysis as follows: The theme due for meta-

morphosis is the one given out by two violas soon

after the start of the work; it begins with four G’s,

but before this the cellos and basses have suggested

a preludial theme, a quite short, ascending, question-

ing phrase. As the violas’ theme gradually turns into

the Eroica tune (ultimately revealed by cellos and

basses in the closing bars of the work) so the pre-

ludial idea and its fellow-travellers on this road ac-

company and encourage it in its growth. One of

these thematic companions may suggest King Mark

in Wagner's Tristan and Isolde; another seems

connected with Mandryka in Arabella, Strauss’s last

pre-Nazi opera. Metamorphosen is still the single

movement that Strauss first conceived, but Adagio

increases now to Agitato and then sinks back to

Adagio.

Notes ©1962 WILLIAM MANN

Catalog Card Numbers R 62-1413 (mono) and R 62-1414 (stereo) apply to this recording.

Instrumental Music by Elisabeth Lutyens; Iain Hamilton; Dartington String Quartet; Katherina Wolpe; Leonardo Wind Quintet; Joan Dickson; Margaret Kitchin Argo (ZRG 5425) Publication date 1965

 Elisabeth Lutyens writes:

Of these three works the String Quartet was written

first, in 1952, and the Bagatelles the last, in 1963.

| had written three string quartets (scrapping the

first) in 1938; part of an intention to write a ‘classic’

set of six, which the outbreak of war prevented my

realising.

Fourteen years later | planned a set of three quartets.

| wrote Nos. 5 and 6, though | have since scrapped

them.

No. 6 is the only work (apart, of course, from film

scores and musical ‘journalism’) that | have written at

‘a sitting’. | remember starting at 2.30 one afternoon

and not moving from my table till it was finished.

| had thought, on starting, it would become a four

movement work but on finishing the first movement

the only procedure my ear, mind and logic was

demanding was a reprise of the first movement—

which, to me, now sounded different—and, being

convinced, this is what | did.

| also had at the back of my mind something that

Vegh (of the Vegh string quartet) had said, in reference

to a Bartok quartet about the relative ‘heat’ and ‘cold’

that contrast movements. In this instance, the first

movement is all ‘heat’, appassionata and movement

including glissandi between notes—nothing is still.

The second movement, in contrast, is frozen, senza

espress—and pianissimo.

The Wind Quintet was written at the request of the

BBC for the début of its newly formed BBC Chamber

Ensemble (now called the Leonardo Ensemble and

consisting of the present players) at an Invitation

Concert on January 1961.

| remember, initially, having no wish to write for

this combination but, having accepted the com-

mission, | had to achieve a metamorphosis in myself

to want to do it and, moreover, write a strong, clear

work which, | felt, the medium demanded. The phrase

‘ich muss’ was in my mind and | even looked at the

Beethoven quartet thus prefaced wondering if | could

base the work on this motif—so descriptive of my

intentions. Though this proved impossible, the

‘character’ of the idea remained with me and dominates

the mood of the first movement. This is in four parts:

a first statement in moderate tempo of the basic

material; a slow section followed by a palindrome of

the opening and ending with a palindrome of the

first slow section.

The second movement has the character of a

scherzo but without trio and the last movement, after

a slow interlude, consists of statement, three variations

(the second being a chorale) and a coda which is a

palindromic reprise of the beginning of the work.

The Quintet is dedicated to Catherine Lacey, an

actress of lace made with steel—as | wished the work

to be!

The five short Bagatelles for piano were written for

Katharina Wolpe, who plays them here.

To be briefly autobiographical, | had just returned

from the Holland Festival (where | had had a work

performed by the Danzi Ensemble) and during the

course of my stay | had visited the Van Gogh Exhibition.

In one of the rooms there was a series of paintings all

done during the months preceding his death; landscapes

dated May-August-November, etc.

| was deeply impressed with this apparent sim-

plicity of approach—just each day—each month—

painting what one sees in front of one; the tiresome

fret over ‘style’, being ‘in the mood’, ‘something to say’

and other obfuscations seemingly absent.

On my return home | just put Monday, the so and

so date, on a piece of manuscript paper and wrote

what | wanted to write that day; and so the next and

the next (then, of course, | was interrupted by the

writing of a film score). With the eventually completed

five pieces | had my ‘entity’.

fain Hamilton writes:

The Three Pieces for Piano Op. 30, were written in

1955 for an album of piano music by various composers

which was intended for the moderately accomplished

pianist. For this reason they employ little of the virtuoso

technique to be found in the earlier Piano Sonata of

1951 or the later Piano Concerto (1960) and Nocturnes

with Cadenzas of 1963. The pieces are marked a//egro,

lento and vivo and the short work is in the nature of a

serenade or divertimento. It is the first of my works

which uses a series but there are strongly tonal

influences throughout.

The Sonata for Cello and Piano was composed in

1958 for Joan Dickson; it was commissioned by the

University Court of the University of Glasgow under

the regulations governing the McEwen Bequest. The

first performance took place at the University of

Glasgow with Joan Dickson and myself. Written at the

same time as the Sinfonia for Two Orchestras, it bears

certain resemblances to that work. Both are cast in

several short sections which are played without a

break; in the case of the sonata there are Seven SECUONS.

The first, third, fifth and seventh are cadenzas, the other

are movements of a less improvisatory nature. The

outer cadenzas are for both instruments; the second

for cello alone; the third for piano alone. The various

sections bear very close relationship to each other

regarding basic compositional material, this having

however nothing to do with interrelated thematic or

motivic material but rather with intervallic relationships.

©) Argo Record Company Limited, London, 1965

Concerto For Organ, Strings, Timpani And Percussion / Concerto For Piano by Charles Chaynes; Marie-Claire Alain; Yvonne Loriod; Serge Baudo Musical Heritage Society (MHS 1088)

 Charles Chaynes was born in Toulouse in 1925 and studied

music at the Paris Conservatoire, where he was the pupil of

Darius Milhaud and Jean Rivier. In 1951, he obtained the Premier

Grand Prix de ‘Rome, and remained at the Villa Medicis from

1952 to 1955. There, he wrote symphonic works in which his

personality already asserted itself. In Rome, he composed his

First Concerto for String Orchestra, premiered at the Bordeaux

Festival in 1954, and the Ode for a tragic Death, first performed

at the Vichy Festival in 1956, a piece of which Robert Bernard

praises the “‘sober and virile eloquence” in his History of Music.

Charles Chaynes’ list of compositions includes Concertos for

Trumpet, for Violin, for Piano, for Organ, a Symphony a Second

Concerto for Orchestra, a Serenade for Wind Quintet, a Sonata

for Violin and Piano, "J/lustrations pour la Flute de Jade,” Etudes

linéaires for Chamber Orchestra, thus showing the composer's

partiality for instrumental music, though this is by no means

exclusive.

Charles Chaynes has defined his position for himself, by

writing: “Always a partisan of a wholly atonal music, I wish to

safeguard a total independence towards any school. The choice of

the musical material must result only from taste, from instinct

(of course, also from reflexion), but must not be conditioned by

a technique fixed a priori. It is only the self-knowledge acquired

by regular work that can fix a limit to that freedom. Above all,

it is important, always to retain a great artistic curiosity, to re-

main always open and available for any kind of enrichment of

the personality.” One could not say it in clearer terms. Let us

add, however, that this “atonal” musician has the faculty of en-

hancing, by dazzling colours and sturdy rhythms, a language of

which it was believed for a long time (and quite wrongly) that

it was only convenient for a morose and pessimistic expression.

Primacy of the emotional element, respect and curiosity towards

technique, rejection of pre-established schemes, independence

towards the different schools, the will to express himself in clear

terms, those are the leading lines which we find both in the Piano

Concerto and in the Concerto for Organ, string orchestra, kettle-

drums and percussion.

The CONCERTO FOR ORGAN, STRING ORCHESTRA,

KETTLEDRUMS AND PERCUSSION (after the Spiritual Can-

ticle of the Holy John of the Cross) was completed on 3rd

September, 1966. It has three movements: Slow, mysterious-

Allegro; Very slow, Very fast. The composer himself is introduc-

ing this work: “The writing of this Concerto has been conditioned

directly by the Firm ERATO. It is dedicated to Marie-Claire Alain,

for whom I have a lively friendship and a great admiration since

many years. The organ is an instrument that has fascinated me

since my childhood, for every Sunday I was at the organ loft next

to my mother, who was an organist in Toulouse. The instrument’s

great possibilities impressed me and tempted me since a long time.

Though I withdrew before the difficulty of writing a piece for

organ alone, I went to work with passion as soon as I was to

write a piece for organ and orchestra. It is the care for tone-

colour research that prompted me to choose the formula “string

orchestra and percussion,” the latter being often used in dialogue

with the solo organ. The work is an illustration in three parts of

poems taken from the Spiritual Canticle by the Holy John of the

Cross. The recollection of my reading of these poems during a

journey through Castile provoked the psychological shock which

incited me to base my Organ Concerto on the extra-musical frame

provided by the strange atmosphere of the poem of the Holy John

of the Cross. Each movement is the musical comment of a precise

poem. This comment tries to translate into music the thirst of

love, of peace, of exaltation, of beaming joy, of dramatic feeling,

that pervades these poems.”

Where werest Thou hidden, my Beloved one?

Thou hast forsaken me amid my lamentations:

Thou hast taken to flight like a stag,

After having wounded me;

I have gone out after Thee, screaming,

But Thou werest already gone.

(The Soul and her divine Spouse).

After a long expectation

He climbed on a tree, and with stretched arms

He remained nailed and died,

His heart cruelly stricken by Love.

(The forsaken Shepherd).

With flowers and emeralds,

Chosen in the early morning,

We shall make bunches,

Blossoming in Thy love,

And tied with one of my hairs.

Into this paraphrase of a mystical text Charles Chaynes has

put the better part of himself. The whole composition is subordi-

nate to the expressive element (at the end of the second move-

ment is to be found a musical translation of the beating of a heart,

in accordance ‘with the text by the Holy John of the Cross), but

this primacy of feeling does not implicate a contempt of technique,

on the contrary. Such a combination of tone-colours is dedicated

by the laws of absolute music: and it is “as a musician” that

Charles Chaynes has wanted it and realized it, but in doing so,

he followed the always unexplainable suggestion of the instant,

or, if one prefers, his inspiration.

First performed in 1966 by Yvonne Loriod, the PLANO CON-

CERTO only calls for a small orchestra: 2 flutes, trumpet, harp,

kettledrums, percussion and strings. It adopts the traditional

division into three movements, but within each movement, it

retains a very great freedom, devoid of any reference to classical

schemes: ‘The architecture only depends upon the logical corres-

pondence of the different elements and of the successive expressive

values.” In the first movement (Lento misterioso - Allegro), the

music “gradually emerges from a short introduction made of

wavering calls of the soloist over a pianissimo back-ground of the

orchestra.” This introduction leads, through a crescendo, to a

thythmic and vigorous Allegro, which gradually exalts itself. The

second movement (Adagio molto espressivo) is conceived like ‘‘a

succession of musical ideas, linked together in an order of growing

feelings: crescendo of intensity and of lyricism.” It ends in an

atmosphere of appeasement. The third movement (Allegro risoluto

con esaltazione) is overflowing with life, very colourful, and

grants a great part to the soloist’s virtuosity.

JEAN ROY

Modern Jazz Perspective by Donald Byrd; Gigi Gryce Columbia (CL 1058) Publication date 1957

 The idea of this album came from a pro-

jected college concert tour by the Jazz Lab

and Jackie Paris. It had been planned to

devote the first half of each concert to a

swift outline of some of the root channels

of jazz with the blues as a primary linking

element. The second half of the concert was

to represent several of the “modern jazz

peepee being worked out in the Don

yrd-Gigi Gryce Jazz Lab. (A previous

visit to that functional, not at all hermetic

laboratory was made in Jazz Lab: Don Byrd-

Gigi Gryce, CL 998.)

In adapting this aac to a program

for a record album, the facts of time made

it necessary to sketch the opening outline

in broad chronological and stylistic skips.

Gryce, therefore, is eager to underline his

realization of the importance of the New

Orleans-Dixieland ethos as well as the im-

mense Duke Ellington contribution and

other aspects of the story of jazz that are

not included in the present tour. Because

of the time factor and the nature of the in-

strumentation, a detailed, inclusive history

of jazz up to the modern period was not

intended. What is aimed for on the first

side is the projection of several of the basic

changes in jazz perspectives during the first

four decades of this century.

The wordless, instrumentalized singing on

the first three tracks is by Jackie Paris, 31,

regarded by most musicians as the most

convincing, if not the only young male

modern jazz singer. Paris possesses what

Leonard Feather has described in his En-

cyclopedia of Jazz as ‘‘a true jazz sound” of

unusually arresting warmth and a superior

feeling for time, for pulsating rhythm. A for-

mer professional guitarist, Paris is an ex-

cellent musician with, as Gryce notes, “a

fine ear for chord structures.” Gryce wrote

out the melody for the numbers on which

Paris is heard, and Jackie based his “‘blow-

ing” on those written lines. As a brilliant

singer who has scuffled for years, Paris is

no stranger to the blues.

The first track, Early Morning Blues, 1s

actually in two parts. The second part is

Lee Sears’ Now Don’t You Know. The easy-

rocking beginning is meant to connote one

of the early forms of the blues, the blues

that came in part from and mingled with

church music. There is a gospellike flavor

and beat to this section, and Gryce further

feels there is a rural set to the music, a

quality that recalls dimly the field calls that

came into the church very close to the be-

ginning of the Negro’s experience in America.

When the tempo quickens with a drum in-

troduction, Now Don’t You Know begins.

This latter statement is meant to jump the

decades (actually, centuries) to a blues char-

acteristic of the early Basie band. “It’s of

the time,’ Gryce makes the almanac more

specific, ‘‘when Pres was even playing clari-

net with the band.” Paris sings a simple,

developing blues figure; at one time, Byrd

plays a brief muted solo behind the vocal,

the mute also bringing this period alive for

Gigi. And Paris’ shout chorus at the end

was felt by Gigi to have the feel of the

typical Basie shout chorus, the climax ride.

The new world acomin’ is signaled by a

a taste of Salt Peanuts, added by Wynton

elly.

Don Byrd’s Early Bird, Gigi explains,

‘is the kind of blues that could be termed

early Parker. The horns would play a figure

together for two or four bars, and then the

soloists would finish it out, improvising for

themselves. In contrast with some of the

other things Byrd did, these were more melod-

ic, more subtle in a way and more simple.

This particular one is a 24-bar type blues

with the basie blues changes without too

many alterations. Charlie had a basic blues

feeling, incidentally, for everything he

played. He lived the blues.” Or the other way

around. In this and the following track,

Paris’ hornlike singing recalls the time

when Jackie played 52nd Street during the

dawning of early modern jazz.

Don Byrd’s Elgy (named for his wite’s

initials— Lorraine Glover) represents another

familiar aspect of Parker’s routes. ‘‘It’s in

the vein,” Gigi points out, ‘“‘of Scrapple from

the Apple. Byrd would sometimes base things

of his on chords similar to J Got Rhythm or

Honeysuckle Rose; and in this tune, the

changes are basically Honeysuckle Rose with

a few alterations. This, then, is a 32-bar

theme in which the harmonic structure is

somewhat more complex than in Karly Bird.

It’s a further indication of the continuing

blues influence in modern jazz by which I

mean the blues ‘feeling’ since this is not a

classically constructed blues.’

Benny Golson’s Stablemates (arranged by

Gigi Gryce) was written by Benny originally

for Herb Pomeroy’s unit at the Stables, a

night club in Boston. Miles Davis, however,

was the first to record the song which is

now becoming a kind of modern jazz stand-

ard. ‘“‘We chose it for this album,” Gigi ex-

plains, ‘because it represents in a way the

early Miles Davis of the forties both in the

instrumentation (French horn, baritone,

etc.) and in the fact that it’s a Miles-type

melody. I remember Miles took to it right

away and recorded it from the only lead

sheet there was of it at that time a couple

of years ago. I say it’s a Miles-type melody

because it isn’t the usual run-of-the-mill

tune, and it also gratifies Miles’ taste for

the unusual in structure and tasty changes.

It’s a 36 rather than a 32-bar tune. It breaks

down into the first 14, an eight-bar bridge

and the final 14. The harmonic patterns are

not unusual in themselves but the chords

do fall differently. It’s a beautiful, fresh-

sounding work, and it also continues the

blues influence to a degree. There’s blues in

nearly everything Miles does these days,

and I think he learned the blues in large

part from Byrd.”

Gigi feels, in general, that “it’s essential

to a jazzman to be able to feel the blues.

But it’s not hard to get familiar with the

blues,” he adds, “if you have to make your

living as a jazz musician.”’

Gigi’s Steppin’ Out (arranged by Benny

Golson) ‘is meant to represent to some ex-

tent,’ Gigi says, ‘‘some of the free type of

vamp-style introductions and_ interludes

Max Roach and the late Clifford Brown

were evolving. By ‘vamp-style,’ I mean that

the introduction and sometimes the inter-

ludes might be based on one or two chords

that would be carried by the bass and piano.

The other instruments would be playing

simple melodie figures freely around this

base, sometimes contrapuntally and some-

times independently. I guess you could call

them improvised flashes of riffs that did not

have, however, the continuity of solos. Be-

cause we had nine pieces in this number, it

would have been difficult to set up a com-

pletely free situation with each man going

his own way, so Benny wrote a sort of con-

trapuntal introduction to substitute for the

Roach-Brown vamp-style as it was, for

example, on their arrangement of J Remem-

ber April.”

The last three tracks are examples of

several of the ways the Jazz Lab is currently

trying to develop. ‘‘We’re working,” says

Gryce, ‘‘in different forms; in attempts at

fresher chord structures; in experiments

with effects by way of more subtle dynamics

and at other times with more specifically

descriptive means.’’ Social Call, a title sug-

gested to Gigi by his wife as he hummed the

tune to her while they were on the way to

a social call, has been recorded before, in-

cluding one version with lyrics by Jon

Hendricks. (If your imagination allows, the

final statement of the melody, even without

lyrics, says the words, “social call.”) The

song is among the simpler numbers in the

Jazz Lab’s book and represents, according

to Gryce, ‘the earlier things we started out

doing. It’s strong melodically. Structurally,

it’s 34 bars with ten instead of the usual

final eight, the extra two bars being a tag

on which we also improvise.”

While with Lionel Hampton’s band a few

years ago, Gigi played North Africa, in-

cluding Casablanea, and while still there,

excerpts from what later turned out to be

An Evening in Casablanca began forming

into a song. “‘I guess,” he adds, ‘‘you could

eall the introduction Arabianlike. It’s also

an attempt to describe musically what I’d

seen and felt. It had been the warm part of

the year; it was dusty; the winds were

blowing; and yet it was relaxed. It’s based

on a minor key and ends in major and some

of the inner harmonic workings are a little

unorthodox. The first statement is 24 bars;

there’s an 8-bar bridge; and then a final 14.

We do another thing differently here in that

we switch parts. After the introduction, the

trumpet takes the melody while the alto

plays the moving harmony part in the back-

ground. At the bridge, the alto takes melody

and the trumpet plays the background. The

alto keeps the melody from the bridge

throughout the latter part of the return of

the theme. Then there’s an interlude remi-

niscent of the introduction followed by a

piano solo. The trumpet takes the bridge

of the piano solo ad lib and the alto freely

improvises the last statement of the theme

toward the end of which the horns come to-

gether for a retard ending.”

Satellite was written during the first pub-

lic speculation concerning what later ma-

terialized as Sputnik. “It’s rhythmic in

structure,’ Gryce begins, “in that the mel-

ody is syncopated; there are triplets and

while there’s a long melodic line, it’s not

characterized by long duration of whole

notes and half notes. It’s a 82-bar piece

with a four-bar tag. Another element of the

song is that the improvised blowing is on a

different set of changes than those of the

theme. I feel this sort of thing should be

done more often because a new set of chords

provides fresher materials for blowing and

allows for a change of tone color. You know,

although you can change your dynamics by

playing louder or softer, you can also change

them by altering the tone color, as we do

here. In this case, the tune is written in D

flat and then there’s a modulation going to

C, and it’s in C that the two horns blow

their improvised choruses. It works this

way: the statement of 32 bars is followed

by a four-bar modulation and then there

are 64 bars of blowing on the new set of

chords. The new set of changes is related to

the basic feeling of the tune although is not

related to the chords of the theme. Another

modulation leads to a piano solo in the

original key. After a four-bar drum inter-

lude following the piano solo, the two horns

play a variation of the theme in 3/4 against

the 4/4 of the rhythm section and then

finally the horns merge with the rhythm

and swing out.’’

The perspectives in modern Jazz labora-

tories will continue to change and develop,

and one of the most active, inventive—and

empirical—chemists in the field will con-

tinue to be Gigi Gryce as this excursion

further indicates.

—Nat Hentoff

3 Woodwind Quintets by Franz Danzi; New York Woodwind Quintet Nonesuch (H-71108) Publication date 1966

 Organized in 1947, the New York Woodwind Quintet is heard exten-

sively in concert as well as in numerous recordings. Its coast-to-coast tours

of the United States and on far-flung tours abroad evoke consistently en-

thusiastic response from audiences and critics alike. The group has been

twice honored with invitations from the United States State Department

to tour for the Cultural Presentations Program, and in this connection has

performed throughout South America, Southeast Asia, Japan and numerous

countries of the Orient.

",.. 40 notch in every department.’ —The New York Times

"Each player is a master of his trade, possessing not only the skill

of the virtuoso, but also the greater knowledge of how to subordinate

this skill to purely musical ends.”—Daily Mail, Singapore

"... bigh art of virtuoso wind playing.” —Stuttgarter Zeitung

Franz Danzi, German born, of Italian descent, was of

Mozart's generation (born seven years after Mozart, in

1763), but musically he belongs to a later period—he lived

on almost twenty-five years after Mozart. Danzi was a child

of Mannheim, where he was born and where for many years

his father was a cellist in the famous Mannheim orchestra.

The stamp of Mannheim is curiously upon Danzi’s music—

he studied under Abbé Vogler, who was extremely influ-

ential there—even though its style, as exemplified by

the present Quintets, is of a later time, paralleling carly

Beethoven and Carl Maria von Weber. For, like a number

of other second-generation children of Mannheim musicians,

such as Karl Stamitz and Peter von Winter (cf. Nonesuch

H-1014) Danzi was educated in the midst of the celebrated

musical ferment that drew musicians from the whole of

Europe to the little town of Mannheim.

The Mannheim orchestra was assembled, at the behest

of the Elector Karl Theodore, by Anton Stamitz in 1744—

at the tail-end of the late-Baroque period—and quickly be-

came not only the outstanding orchestra in Europe but the

center for a dynamic new style of composition and per-

formance. In matters of brilliance of technique and execu-

tion, and receptiveness to stylistic innovation, Mannheim

was supreme in Europe, from the 1750s straight through

until 1778, when the Elector moved his court to Munich and

the famous orchestra was broken up. (Only months before,

Mozart on his way to Paris had stopped off to re-visit Mann-

heim for a considerable stay; when he returned, en route

back to Salzburg, the orchestra was already disbanded.)

Inevitably, many musicians disliked the florid Mannheim

mannerisms and found the music superficial. Leopold

Mozart, a pedagogue and solid conservative, had harsh things

to say about such fripperies. But his more gifted son was

enormously stimulated, perceiving the latent power (for his

own genius) in the technical devices practiced at Mannheim

while agreeing with his father as to the slightness of most

of the actual music.

‘The musical sons of the Mannheimers grew up, thus, in

the midst of a quasi-carnival atmosphere, a sort of long-run

musical “show” famed for its superb display, its fantastic

precision, its unique style. Technique in all its aspects,

stylistic purity, a wealth of outward stylistic innovations—

these were the things that mattered first in Mannheim, and

these were the fascinations that brought the world of Euro-

pean music in a constant pilgrimage to hear the famed

Mannheim sound. In turn, many of the second generation,

trained in Mannheim, joined the orchestra. Karl Stamitz,

son of the founder, began playing in it at sixteen and re-

mained eight years before breaking away on his own. Franz

Danzi was considerably. younger, by almost a generation.

He, too, studied with his cellist father and entered the or-

chestra at fifteen, but his tenure was short, for that was the

very year in which the Elector moved away to Munich. It is

probable, then, that young Danzi was playing his first cello

parts in the orchestra during the weeks when Mozart, 3

youth of 21, was staying on in the small city, fascinated alike

by the stimulating musical atmosphere and a girl named

Aloysia Weber—whose younger sister he eventually married.

When the Elector moved his court to Munich, most of

his musical establishment went with him, including the

elder Danzi, The son, however, stayed with the “rump”

musical group remaining at Mannheim, to make a first

success as a composer of German opera. Five years later,

upon his father's retirement, the younger Danzi moved on

to Munich to take his place; then in 1790 he married a

singer and with her, at last, broke away to embark upon’

a long tour of Germany and Italy, to return to Munich as

second in command under Peter von Winter, also Mann-

heim-born. The rest of Franz Danzi’s life is of less interest

to us; his wife died in 1800 and he “retired” for seven years,

but came forward again, still in early middle age, as Court

Conductor at Stuttgart and then, finally, at Karlsruhe, where

he died in 1826. During these years his opera output was

significant, as a musical link to Weber and the later Ro-

mantics, and we hear some of this in his Quintets, as well.

In fact, a good deal links Weber and Danzi. Weber too

had studied with Vogler, and spent some time in Stuttgart

while Danzi was there. The two men were close friends,

and Danzi performed Weber's operas at Karlsruhe im-

mediately after their premieres elsewhere.

The stamp of Mannheim is on these Quintets in two ways.

First, of course, is the suave polish and perfection of the

writing, the matchless ease of expression, the fluent, grace-

ful thematic ideas. Though they are, again, not Mannheim

in style but of a later time, the essential quality of the Mann-

heim polish is clearly still present. That city provided a

superb professional background for any young musician's

training.

Secondly, and perhaps even more typical, is the almost

conscious “lack” of profound content in these little works,

One must tread carefully here, among mere words; for the

Danzi expression was deliberate, and desirable at the time.

The tradition of woodwind music was still strongly that of

the divertimento, the cassation—music for casual entertain-

ment, if of a refined sort—as we know not only from

Mozart but even from Beethoven, whose early works abound

in that sort of expression. Hence, with the exception per-

haps of the G minor Quintet, Opus 56, No. 2, (the first

to be republished in modern times) and portions of the

later E minor Quintet, Opus 67, No. 2, this music is gen-

erally more bland than profound. Danzi, the true Mann-

heimer at heart, was no man to strain the bounds of a given

style or medium—as Mozart was ever ready to do when

inner forces prompted him. In that sense, Danzi was no

Romantic, as was Mozart. In the nineteenth century, it be-

came fashionable to force—or to appear to force—all sorts

of aesthetic boundaries, in the name of Art! In Danzi’s late

18th- and early 19th-century world, musicians still produced

music in proper style and according to local proprieties, as

naturally as one dresses properly for a social function. There

was little aesthetic rebellion in Danzi’s musical make-up.

‘What more? Merely that in his time, Danzi is very much

preoccupied with those newly sweet twists of lushly chro-

matic harmony which then intrigued all composers, but to

our ears now often sound more sentimental than significant.

The very opening phrase of the first of our Quintets, Opus

56, No. 1, sums up the whole sound of that day, with its

honeyed diminished seventh chord, turned as blandly as a

raised eyebrow, as polished as a hostess’ smile. Danzi was

immensely skillful at this then-new harmony, as many a

succeeding passage will show, though he was not at all a

Romantic in these formal, well polished little works.

Even so, it is interesting that the composer cannot keep

his unctuous, almost oily music quite as formal as it seems

to try to be. Danzi waxes serious in spite of himself, im-

pelled by a musical language that is innately emotional, re-

flecting the newest expressive fashions of his time—those

same elements with which Weber, Beethoven and Schubert

were building the Romantic movement.

EDWARD TATNALL CANBY

Symphonie Fantastique by Sir Thomas Beecham; Hector Berlioz; Orchestre National De France Seraphim (S-60165) Publication date 1958

 “What, Tommy Beecham dead? And I’m still

alive?” So spoke a drunk in Hampstead High

Street on the afternoon of March 8, 1961, when

London newspaper placards announced that Sir

Thomas, at 81, was gone. The words expressed

what many felt — that it was surely an excessive

insolence of fate that so singular a man and artist

should at any age be taken.

In his own field, Sir Thomas had become a fig-

ure approaching Churchillian stature — “one of

the great character symbols of his country,”

Charles Reid, in High Fidelity, called him. He

was ‘poet and visionary and pure stylist of

sound,” wrote Desmond Shawe-Taylor of the

London Sunday Times, adding, “The inner es-

sence of the man has been captured on the in-

numerable gramophone recordings he has left

us. We had better continue to cherish these, for

if all genius is unique, that of Beecham .. . is

more unique than others.”

The family Beecham was born into made the

famous Beecham’s Pills, which kept much of

England regular. The young Thomas was edu-

cated at Rossall School, received the basics of

composition from Dr. Sweeting, later from Var-

ley Roberts at Oxford, and then went on to in-

tensive study of music on the Continent. In 1899

he founded an amateur orchestral society at

Huyton. In 1902 he substituted for Hans Richter

in a concert by the Hallé Orchestra and

astounded everyone by conducting the Beetho-

ven C minor symphony from memory, a feat

which was not then common practice. There-

after he obtained desirable conducting posts by

what was for him the simplest means: he estab-

lished his own orchestras — the New Symphony

in 1906, the Beecham Symphony, with which he

made his reputation, in 1909, the great London

Philharmonic in 1932 (in the opinion of many,

the finest orchestra of its time; Léon Goossens

was first oboe, Reginald Kell principal clarinet),

and the splendid Royal Philharmonic in 1947.

Sir. Thomas! accomplishments were many. He

greatly enlarged the music-listening, public in

England and reshaped its tastes. He vigorously

promoted opera, the ‘service for which he was

knighted in 1915. His three seasons beginning in

February, 1910, are legendary: In a total of 28

weeks he staged 190 performances of 34 operas,

most of them new or virtually new to London.

His concerts gave vigorous new zest and life to

old symphonic warhorses and championed ne-

a o

glected works which might otherwise still lan-

guish. He created vaster audiences for Haydn

and Mozart. He reclaimed from limbo Liszt’s “A

Faust Symphony,” Goldmark’s “Rustic Wedding”

Symphony, and symphonies by Balakirev, Lalo

and Bizet. He singlehandedly saved Delius from

total extinction.

Recordings were for Beecham a lifetime pas-

sion. He recorded prolifically, seeking always

demandingly and tirelessly to combine the best

possible musicianship with the best possible re-

corded sound. Wrote David Hall in 1948, “As a

recording conductor, he is incomparably the

greatest,” adding in Stereo Review in 1961 that

“During an era that saw the prime of such giants

of the baton as Toscanini, Stokowski, Koussevit-

zky, Furtwangler, Mengelberg and Bruno Walter,

Sir Thomas surpassed them all when it came to

documenting on records a personal kind of mu-

sicianship.’” Wrote. Roland Gelatt: ‘(He made

music like nobody else and in every measure

gave himself away. When a new Beecham disc

arrived, one put it on the, turntable with the cer-

tainty that boredom would not ensue. A Bee-

cham recording was invariably an event.” Wrote

Robert C. Marsh: “Sir Thomas did not merely

make a great many records; he made a great

many great records.’

He had little time for moderns, ignoring even

Stravinsky and Bartok, but otherwise his sym-

pathies were vast. He seemed a specialist in al-

most everybody and in addition to the compos-

ers previously named, his repertoire included

Handel, Beethoven, Brahms, Mendelssohn, Schu-

bert, Schumann, Wagner, Richard Strauss, French

composers through Debussy, Russians from

Glinka and Tchaikovsky to Prokofiev, and Scan-

dinavians from Grieg to Sibelius.

His admiration for Berlioz endured for more

than half a century until his death. Beecham re-

cordings of ‘Harold in Italy” and the “Te Deim”’

were outstanding. Oddly enough, his first re-

cording of the Symphonie fantastique was long

in coming. When he did record the work at last,

at the close of the 1950s, he made two versions,

one in mono and the other, shortly afterward, in

stereo sound. Only the mono was issued in the

United States, where Robert C. Marsh wrote of

it in High Fidelity: ‘There is nothing in the cata-

logue that can touch it for interpretive insight,

zest, or the achievement of the composer’s

unique effects.””

In England, where the stereo recording was

released, Denis Stevens in The Gramophone

called it “a genuinely French Fantastique, won-

derfully performed and superbly recorded.” Sir

Thomas’ Symphonie fantastique of Berlioz in

stereo sound is now released for the first time in

America, adding yet another treasure to the

growing catalogue of superlative Beecham re-

cordings on Seraphim. = Rory Cry

If there is one thing that everybody knows about

Berlioz’ life and work, it is that he fell wildly in

love with the Irish actress Harriet Smithson,

whom he first saw when she was acting Shake-

speare in Paris in 1827, and that, inspired by his

passion for her, he wrote the Symphonie fantas-

tique. What is less widely known is that the sym-

phony, so far from being written with haste and

in a fever of emotion, was the product of much

consideration and self-control.

In February, 1830, Berlioz wrote to a friend,

“| was about to begin my symphony . . . it was

all if"my head but | cannot write a thing. We

must wait.’ However, the work was completed

that year, and given its first performance in the

Conservatoire, under Francois Habeneck, on De-

cember 5, 1830. The work was greeted with

marked enthusiasm. Nonetheless, the always

self-critical composer subsequently made a num-

ber of far-reaching revisions to the symphony.

Furthermore, he wrote in the following year a

sequel entitled Lélio, ou le Retour a la vie. This

monodrame lyrique was designed for a stage

performance in which the Symphonie fantastique

should act as a purely instrumental introduction.

Although the opening of Lélio was designed

to afford the necessary musical contrast with the

close of the symphony, the monodrame is pri-

marily a dramatic, rather than a musical sequel,

taking its-lead from the well-known program

which Berlioz attached to the symphony. While

it is true that this program may illuminate certain

musical events, it is equally true that it may fal-

sify or cheapen our response to the work as a

purely musical organism. Berlioz’ own hope

“that the symphony can provide its own musical

interest independently of any dramatic inten-

tion” is amply fulfilled by the music, and in view

of the fact (almost always ignored) that Berlioz

expressly demanded the suppression of the pro-

gram, apart from the movement titles, when the

symphony is played without its dramatic sequel,

the advantages of considering the work as a

piece of pure music can be enjoyed with a clear

conscience.

‘As for the romance which inspired the sym-

phony, its development is a story of the most

lifelike irony. Miss Smithson refused the barrage

of letters which Berlioz directed at her, avoided

the first performances of the symphony, and res-

olutely declined to meet the composer. Ulti-

mately, however, she capitulated to his unremit-

ting courtship and the two were married. The

graceful actress then suffered a series of mis-

fortunes. Her popularity declined, she was hissed

off the stage, she suffered an accident which

marred her beauty and left her a querulous in-

valid. She and Berlioz were separated. Harriet

Berlioz died penniless in Montmartre in March,

1854, and seven months later Berlioz remarried.