SIDE ONE (26:30)
CHARLES EDWARD IVES, who was
undoubtedly the first “modern” American
composer, was born in Danbury, Connecti-
cut in 1874; for most of his career he was a
“Sunday” composer, pursuing an active ca-
reer as an insurance executive. Ives’s major
works, mostly written before 1920, are as-
tonishingly prophetic of more recent devel-
opments in harmony, rhythm, and tonality,
but perhaps their most distinctive quality is
in the way they capture the rugged, homely,
and ebullient personality of American life.
Ives died in New York, a few months before
his eightieth birthday, in 1954.
In 1922, Ives published at his own ex-
pense a collection of 114 songs, and these—
together with those that he wrote later—
provide a useful opportunity for examining
the raw material of his art, for his main mu-
sical techniques are used in the songs as in
the larger orchestral and chamber works, and
his interest in song-writing lasted throughout
his career, from his days as a 14-year-old
church organist onwards, His favorite themes
—recollection of childhood, and that major
20th-century preoccupation, lost innocence
—crop up frequently in these songs, and this
record covers a wide cross-section of his work
in this medium.
1. THE GREATEST MAN (1921) (1:30)
Feit Uife to’ nocteavod? Uetoah a clidld'a?pontiaits Gf
town life is portrayed through a child’s portrait of
his/her father and through the rapid changes of mood.
The song is to be sung “in a half-boasting and half-
wiitful way”.
My teacher said us boys should write about some
great man, so I thought last night ’n thought about
heroes and men that'd done great things, ’n then I
got to thinkin’ ’bout my pa; he ain’t a hero ’r any-
thing, but pshaw! Say! he can ride the wildest hoss
’n find minners near the moss down by the creek;
’n he can swim ’n fish—we ketched five newlights,
me ’n him! Dad’s some hunter, too—oh, my! Miss
Molly Cottontail sure does fly when ‘he tromps
through the fields ’n brush! (Dad won't kill a lark
’r thrush.) Once when I was sick ’n though his hands
were rough he rubbed the pain right out. “That's
stuff!” he said, when I winked back the tears. He
never cried but once, ’n that was when my mother
died. There’s lots 0” great men, George Washington
n Lee, but Dad's got ’em all beat holler, seems to me!
_—Agne Collins
2. AT THE RIVER (1916) (1:58)
ithe great revivalist hymn (later arranged by Copland)
is here surrounded by characteristically chromatic chords
of an almost Delian nature.
Shall we gather at the river, where bright angel feet
have trod, with its crystal tide forever flowing by
the throne of God? Yes, we'll gather at the, river
the beautiful, beautiful ‘river; yes, we'll gather al
the river that flows by the throne of God.
fs Mise SGA a cali Rag pcter
3. ANN STREET (1921) (:50)
the song is prefaced by an imposing piano introduc-
tion; the piano tremolos after the words “But business,
both feet” represent the intersection of two busy thor-
punueaten (the piano part is marked “Nassau crosses
‘nn St.”’).
Quaint name, Ann Street. Width of same, ten feet.
Barnums mob Ann Street, far from obsolete. Narrow,
yes, Ann Street, but business, both feet. Sun just
hits Ann Street, then it quits—some greet! Rather
short, Ann Street...
Mausioe Morrie
4. A CHRISTMAS CAROL (2:04)
A simple setting of Ives’s own words, in the tradition
of such 19th-century American carols as “O Little Town
of Bethlehem”.
Little Star of Bethlehem! do we see thee now? Do we
see thee shining o’er the tall trees? Little Child of
Bethlehem! do we hear thee in our hearts? Hear the
angels singing: Peace on earth, good will to men! Noel!
O’er the cradle of a king, hear the angels sing: In
excelsis gloria, gloria! From his Father's home on
high, lo! for us he came to die. Hear the angels sing:
Venite adoremus dominum.
—Charles Ives
5. FROM “THE SWIMMERS” (1915-21) (1:29)
A wildly exuberant, harmonically complex setting of
Untermeyer’s evocative words.
Then the swift plunge into the cool green dark, the
windy waters rushing past me, through me, filled
with the sense of some heroic lark, exulting in a
vigor clean and roomy, Swiftly I rose to meet the
feline sea, pitting against a cold turbulent strife
the feverish intensity of life. Out of the foam I
lurched and rode the wave, swimming hand over
hand against the wind; I felt the sea’s vain pound-
ing, and I grinned, knowing I was its master, not
its slave...
iol bins Diaiideapate
6. WEST LONDON (1921) (3:27)
An arrangement of part of an incomplete overture
“Matthew Arnold” (1912). The music acutely echoes
the pathos of the first part of the poem, giving way to
the deliberately naive grandeur of the climax, followed
by a wistful final cadence.
Crouched on the pavement, close by Belgrave Square
a tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied. A babe
was in her arms, and at her side a girl; their clothes
were rags, their feet were bare. Some labouring men,
whose work lay somewhere there, pass’d opposite;
she touch’d her girl, who hied across, and begg’d,
and came back satisfied. The rich she had let pass
with a frozen stare. Thought I: Above her state this
spirit towers; she will not ask of Aliens, but of friends,
of sharers in a common human fate. She turns from
the cold succour, which attends the unknown little
Sede the enlacasiad teak end o6ints ws 60 x Satter
time than ours.
—Matthew Arnold
4. SOLILOQUY (1907) (:51)
Subtitled “‘a Study in 7ths and Other Things”, and also
described by Ives as “a parody of the Yankee drawl”,
ot astounding experiment has a complex metrical
scheme.
When a man is sitting before the fire on the hearth,
he says “Nature is a simple Stoke Then he looks
out the window and sees a hailstorm, and he begins
to think that “Nature can’t be so easily disposed of!”
—Charles Ives
5. EVENING (1921) (1:48)
The theme of lost innocence pervades this nocturne,
with its rich, Bergian whole-tone chords.
Now came still Evening on, and Twilight grey had
in her sober livery all things clad; Silence accom-
panied; for the beast and bird, they to their grassy
couch, these to their nests were slunk . . . but the
wakeful nightingale; she all night long her amorous
descant sung: Silence is pleased . . .
—John Milton (adapted from “Paradise Lost’’)
9. CHARLIE RUTLAGE (2:43)
A dramatic cowboy narrative building up to a hectic
climax during which the pianist is instructed to play
with his fists.
Another good cowpuncher has gone to meet his fate;
I hope he'll find a resting place, within the golden
gate. Another place is vacant on the ranch of the
X IT; "twill be hard to find another that’s liked as
well as he. The first that died was Kid White, a
man both tough and brave, while Charlie Rutlage
makes the third to be sent to his grave, caused by a
cowhorse falling, while running after stock. "Twas
on the spring roundup, a place where death men
mock, he went forward one morning on a circle
through the hills; he was gay and ‘full of glee and
free from earthly ills, but when it came to finish
up the work on which he went, nothing came back
from him: his time on earth was spent. ’Twas as he
rode the roundup, an XI T turned back to the herd;
pape: Charlie shoved him in again, his cutting horse
e spurred; another turned, at that moment his horse
the creature spied and turned and fell with him—
beneath poor Charlie died. His relations in Texas
his face nevermore will see, but I hope he'll meet
his loved ones beyond in eternity; I hope he'll meet
his parents, will meet them face to face, and that
they'll grasp him by the right hand at the shining
throne of grace.
—Anon., (in Cowboy Songs, ed. John A. Lomax,
10. THE SIDE SHOW (1921) (:32)
A circus piece to words by the composer, with the piano
playing the role of an uneven merry-go-round. Towards
the end Ives, quotes the 5/4 Scherzo from Tchaikovsky's
“Pathétique” Symphony.
“Is that Mister Riley, who keeps the hotel?” is the
tune that accomp’nies the trotting-track bell; an old
horse unsound turns the merry-go-round, making
poor Mister Riley look a bit like a Russian dance,
some speak of so highly, as they do of Riley!
eas, Shon ae
Ll. THE CAGE (1906) (1:00)
Ives's words are a wry recollection of childhood. The
song’s metrical organization is complicated, and a feel-
ing of atonality is achieved by a vocal line in groups
of whole tones and piano chords of piled-up fourths.
A leopard went around his cage’ from one side to
the other side; he stopped only when the keeper
came around with meat, A boy who had been there
three houre began to wonder, “Ie life anything Uke
that
Charles Ives
12. A FAREWELL PO LAND (1929) (1:25)
A haunting song in which both vocal and piano lines
wind tortuously downwards, the latter from the top of
the keyboard to the bottom.
‘Adiatss dieul guy atid shore fodles. o'er the waters
blue; the night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, and
shrieks the wild seamew. Yon sun that sets upon the
sea, we follow in his flight; farewell awhile to him
and thee, my native land, goodnight!
George Gordon, Lord Byron
(from “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’)
13. GENERAL WILLIAM BOOTH ENTERS
INTO HEAVEN (6:00)
William Booth (1829-1912) was a London evangelist
who founded the Salvation Army in 1878; the poet
clearly had in mind, the Salvation-Army hymn “The
Blood of the Lamb”, but Ives does not quote this,
though he draws on other gospel songs, including
“Golden Slippers”. The song is a later arrangement of
a setting for baritone, chorus, and small orchestra
written in 1914 after Ives saw a newspaper review
quoting Vachel Lindsay’s poem.
“General William Booth” is one of Ives’s most brilliant
achievements, in which the jumble of polytonality, com-
plex tansy various different tunes heard at once, and
imitation by the piano of non-pianistic sounds (such as
een all work together to produce a dramatic
and compelling piece of formal mastery and vivid power.
Booth led boldly with his big bass drum—(Are you
washed in the blood of the Lamb?) saints smiled
gravely, and they sajd: “He's come”. (Are you
washed in the blood (j the Lamb?) Walking lepers
followed, rank on rank, lurching bravoes from the
ditches dank, drabs from the alleyways and drug
fiends pale—minds still passion-ridden, soul-powers
frallvermin-eaten, saints with mouldy breath, un-
washed legions with the ways of Death—(Are you
washed in the blood of the Lamb?) every slum had
sent its half-a-score the round world over. (Booth
nad, eines for more.) Every banner that the wide
world flies bloomed with glory and transcendent
dyes. Big-voiced lassies made their banjos bang,
tranced, fanatical they shrieked and sang—“Are you
washed in the blood Ue the Lamb?” Hallelujah! Lord,
it was uate to see bull-necked convicts with that
land make free. Loons with trumpets blowed a blare,
on, on upward thro’ the golden air! (Are you washed
in the blood of the Lamb?) Jesus came from the
court-house door, stretched his hands above the
passing poor. Booth saw not, but led his queer ones
round and round the ee court-house square.
Yet in an instant all that blear review marched on
spotless, clad in raiment new. The lame were
straightened, withered limbs uncurled, and blind
eyes opened on a new, sweet world. (Are you
washed in the blood of the Lamb?)
—Vachel Lindsay (adapted)
SIDE TWO (23:05)
Born in Berlin in 1932, ALEXANDER
GOEHR came to England when he was one
year old; he studied at the Royal Manchester
College of Music and later with Messiaen
at the Paris Conservatoire. Though not vast
in quantity, his output covers most musical
forms, including a Violin Concerto, a Little
Symphony, chamber music, and choral
works; and running through his career has
been an interest in solo voices, from Five
Songs of Babel, Op. 1 (1953), through The
Deluge (1959), for voice and chamber en-
semble, and culminating in his opera The
Death of Arden, produced in Hamburg in
1967. Although in his early works he fol-
lowed post-Webernian lines, his style has
become progressively more approachable,
and the Four Songs from the Japanese (1959)
exemplify the clarity of his thought and the
influence upon him of Schoenbergian expres-
sionism. The poems, with their aphoristic
brevity, suit especially well his natural con-
centration of thought and close-knit manner
of construction; within the short space of
these four songs, he varies with great sub-
tlety his chosen thematic and rhythmic cells.
The choice of words, too, is characteristic,
for the mood of tragic loneliness is one that
he has explored before in his music.
(6:03) SONGS FROM THE JAPANESE, Qp. 9a
1.(1:04)
Things have never changed since the time of the
Gods—the flowing of water, the way of Love-three
years thought of her; five years sought for her; for
one night only held her in my arms.
It. (1:05)
Do torrents spare the fresh bloom flower, and is the
moon not wreathed in cloud? Say then: no storm
will blow this night.
11. (0:50)
I love and I love, hum insects to the lights, but
never-cry-fire-fly I’ sing my wings to ashes—rather
be silent than open my heart to one who loves me not.
IV. (2:40)
The truth is: Shadow and shape alike melt like the
Snowman after the fifteenth night moon, the heart
wanes and darkness comes with love, all things
change in this world of sorrow. But Love's ways
neter chanoe of pronialin-nécds in. chanke:
GERARD SCHURMANN (born in Hol-
land in 1928) has lived most of his life in
England; at the age of 21 he was appointed
Dutch Cultural Representative in Britain,
after which he became a conductor with the
Dutch Radio, Hilversum. On his return to
England, he studied with Alan Rawsthorne,
and has since—apart from occasional appear-
ances as guest conductor with various Euro-
pean orchestras—devoted himself to com-
position. His music covers a wide range of
forms, from orchestral works, much chamber
music, and two ballets, to music for many
feature films.
Chuench’i, which is also published in an
orchestral version, was written in 1966 to a
commission from Marni Nixon. The seven
songs represent the emotional progress of
a woman, symbolized by her recollections
and experiences of Spring from childhood
through adolescence to maturity, the whole
being framed by two songs representing the
beginning and ending of Spring (“New
Corn” and “At the End of Spring”).
Apart from its unifying subject matter,
Chuench’i is further bound together by the-
matic relationships between the songs and
by an unusually rich and important piano
part. These are not songs with piano accom-
paniment, but rather chamber music for
voice and piano. The contrapuntal quality
thus obtained enables Schirmann to con-
centrate his musical thought even further,
so that structurally the cycle might be seen
as a set of very free variations.
After the first song, welcoming the arrival
of Spring, a boy and girl tease and dream
the day away in “Plucking the Rushes”. In
“Shang Ya!”, which acts as a kind of scherzo,
the vows of friendship are furiously deter-
mined and even petulant, a mood which
gives way to utter serenity and repose in a
description of a Spring evening. The vitality
of the toccata-like “Look at that little bay
of the Chi” reflects the breathless excite-
ment of the woman looking at her lover.
In “Self-Abandonment”, Schiirmann catches
to perfection the mood of the poet awaken-
ing from a drunken sleep to discover that
Spring has passed, and the full return to
the material of the opening song in “At the
End of Spring” brings a resigned acceptance
of the passing of time, though not without
its final suggestion of wistful regret.
CHUENCHT, A Song Cycle from the Chinese,
translated by Arthur Waley (16:56)
I. New Corn (2:04)
Swiftly the years, beyond recall. Solemn the still-
ness of this fair morning. I will clothe myself in
spring clothing and visit the slopes of the Eastern
Hill. By the mountain-stream a mist hovers, hovers
@ moment, then scatters. There comes a wind blow-
ing from the south that brushes the fields of new corn.
—T’ao Ch’ien
II. Plucking the Rushes (1:08)
Green rushes with red shoots, long leaves bending
to the wind—you and I in the same boat, plucking
rushes at the Five Lakes, We started at dawn from
the orchid island; we rested under the elms till
noon. You and I plucking rushes had not plucked a
handful when night came! alae
Ait. Shang ral (0:07)
Shang Ya! I want to be your friend for ever and
ever without break or decay. When the hills are all
flat and the rivers are all dry, when it lightens and
thunders in winter, when it rains and snows in
summer, when Heaven and Earth mingle—not till
then will I part from you. Shang Ya!
—from Oaths of Friendship
IV. Flowers and Moonlight on the Spring River (3:45)
The evening river is level and motionless—the spring
colours just open to their full. Suddenly a wave
carries the moon away, and the tidal water comes
with its freight of stars. ie COR Sea
V. Look at that little bay of the Ch’i (2:07)
Look at that little bay of the Ch’i, its kites-foot so
delicately waving. Delicately fashioned is my lord,
as thing cut, as thing filed, as thing chiselled, as
thing polished. Oh the grace, the elegance! Oh, the
lustre, oh, the light! Delicately fashioned is my lord,
as a thing of bronze, a ce of white metal, as a
sceptre of jade, a disc of jade. How free, how easy
he leant over his chariot-rail! How cleverly he
chaffed and joked, and yet was never rude!
—from The Book of Songs
VI. Self-Abandonment (3:03)
I sat drinking and did not notice the dusk, till falling
petals filled the folds of my dress. Drunken I rose
and walked to the moonlit stream; the birds were
gone, and men also few. : tne
Vil. At the End of Spring (3:28)
The flower of the pear-tree gathers and turns to
fruit; swallows’ eggs have hatched into young birds.
When the Seasons’ changes thus confront the mind,
what comfort can the Doctrine of Tao give? It will
teach me to watch the days and months fly without
grieving that Youth slips away; if the fleeting world
is but a long dream, it does not matter whether one
is young or old. But ever since the day that my
friend left my side and has lived an exile in the
City of Chiang-ling, there is one wish I cannot quite
destroy: that from time to time we may chance to
meet again. his eld
—Notes by JOHN McCABE
MARNI NIXON (born in Altadena, California) grew up in a musical family: she
and her parents and three sisters played enough instruments to form a small domestic’
orchestra. Her earliest interest was in the violin, but she soon took up singing instead,
influenced in part by the great advantage of having absolute pitch. A juvenile acting
career, including extensive work with the Pasadena Playhouse, led her into musical
theatre and thence into opera. She worked with such experienced operatic mentors as
Hugo Strelitzer, Carl Ebert (one of the founders of the Glyndebourne Opera in Eng-
land), Jan Popper, and Wolfgang Martin.
In addition to such coloratura roles as Zerbinetta, Filine, and Despina, Marni Nixon
has mastered many of the most difficult works in the modern repertoire. She has partici-
pated in a number of premieres, including the first American performance of Boulez’s
two Improvisations sur Mallarmé and several songs of Stravinsky under the composer's
direction, as well as in such projects as Robert Craft’s recording of the complete works of
Webern, in which she was the featured soprano soloist. In recent years Miss Nixon has
won a particular kind of notice that approaches notoriety: she has contributed the
dubbed singing voices of the leading actresses in such musical films as West Side Story,
My Fair Lady, and The King and I. Since then she has made her on-screen film debut
Recorded in London by PYE RECORDS LTD.
coordinator TERESA STERNE,
(in The Sound of Music) and appeared in her own right in stage revivals of The King
and I, Lady in the Dark, and My Fair Lady.
Marni Nixon is married to Ernest Gold, a leading Hollywood composer-arranger-
conductor. They live with their three children in Los Angeles.
JOHN McCABE (born in Liverpool in 1939) can trace his absorbed and many-
sided interest in music partly to a childhood accident that, by keeping him out of
school until the age of 11, forced him to rely very much on his own resources for enter-
tainment and for self-expression. During this isolated and precociously creative child-
hood McCabe became a fluent pianist and—nourished on records and on what he played
for himself—a prolific composer, with thirteen symphonies and an opera to his credit
during those first eleven years. A temporary “retirement” from composition lasted until
he entered Manchester University, where he studied with Thomas Pitfield and began
to compose seriously. After taking his Mus.B. degree, McCabe studied, and subsequently
taught, at the Royal Manchester College of Music. He spent the year 1964-65 studying
with Harald Genzmer at the Munich Hochschule fiir Musik. John McCabe’s parallel
careers as composer and concert pianist have enriched and fertilized one another: his
creative work has lent a special insight to his performances of contemporary music.
cover art BILT, GREER art director WILLIAM S. HARVEY
NONESUCH RECORDS, 1855 Broadway, New York, N.Y.
THIS STEREOPHONIC RECORD IS PLAYABLE ON ANY MODERN MONO PHONOGRAPH EQUIPPED WITH A LIGHTWEIGHT TONE ARM & DIAMOND STYLUS
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