The London Promenade Orchestra version
Analysed by Robert Walton
I first heard Caprice for Strings quite by chance in 1953 on a radio programme in New Zealand from 1YA Auckland. Because there was no back announcement, it remained unknown until I wrote to the station for information. Until then, the only Edward White composition I knew was TheRunawayRocking-Horse, the first ever light orchestral number that hit me for six in 1947. For me it was the most important composition in the genre since the million selling hit Holiday forStrings burst upon the scene in 1943. Caprice for Strings on the other hand, was recorded in 1946 but because it wasn’t commercially released, remained something of a ‘dark’ horse! Compared to TheRunawayRocking-Horse, it seemed almost classical in style but I had no idea it was the work of White. (Strangely enough, 1953 was also the year of another string-only feature Scrub,Brothers, Scrub, a clone of Caprice for Strings. According to the composer Ken Warner, Scrub, Brothers, Scrub refers to articulating repeated notes by means of a back and forth movement of the bow across the string. Hence the word “scrubbing!”)
The caprice or capriccio was a term first applied to some 16th century Italian madrigals but is now usually free in form and of a lively character. A typical capriccio is fast, intense and often virtuosic in nature. That seems to describe Caprice for Strings in a nutshell. It’s one of the classiest busy busy tunes in the light orchestral canon. So join me as I attempt to dissect it, trying to keep up with this frantic melody.
The first thing that occurred to me about such a ‘serious’ composition is the unexpected use of the rhythm guitar throughout the piece - virtually unheard of in the London Promenade Orchestra’s repertoire. To be honest I never noticed it the first time, possibly because of the poor quality of primitive wireless, which no doubt accounts for my original impression of a more classical arrangement. Anyway, the very presence of a guitar immediately reveals White’s dance band credentials in much the same way that Robert Farnon’s jazz roots are evident in his music. It’s a very demanding workout for strings, calling for absolute precision. No resting on one’s laurels and certainly no room for any “dead wood” amongst the players, which would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Just one player not pulling his or her weight can totally ruin a recording.
Of all the hyperactive compositions in light music, Caprice for Strings has to be one of the most difficult to get your head around. With all those fast notes in such a restricted range, the melody takes a bit of figuring out, but as soon as you’ve got the general idea it stays with you. In the key of G, this tight tune sounds to all intents and purposes like the rhythm of an automatic weapon. The note, which gives the phrase its character, is that of the constantly recurring E flat. Come to think of it, with appropriate words it could almost be adapted into an early form of rap! Heaven forbid, I hear you cry!
In the first break, arco violins go into pizzicato mode whilst the lower strings still bowed answer from below with some vital punctuation. Away we go again with all strings restored to arco, but before we know it, yet another break. (And I promised there would be no idleness in this exercise!)
Now for some welcome light relief from all this labour intensive concentration as the violins come up with three lots of beautiful broad downward brushstrokes, each time heading for the heights. This was the undoubted highlight of Caprice for Strings, the moment the piece came to life. Like The Runaway Rocking-Horse, Teddy White could always be relied upon to dress up his compositions freshly and imaginatively. As ever, the eager strings are in the wings waiting to dive in at the exact moment.
Then, serving as a complete contrast, the strings are given a new lease of life with a lovely lyrical tune of their own providing its own decorations as well as bending the melody when it takes their fancy. Finally it’s back to the start for a rerun of the wizardry of White bringing this brisk Bach-ish blend of bustling busyness to an abrupt close.
You may have noticed 2016 happens to be the 70th year of the creation of Caprice for Strings. So let’s celebrate the birth of one of the early masterpieces from the Light Orchestral Hall of Fame by simply giving this pioneering piece of pure poetry in motion an extra listen!
"Caprice For Strings" is available on "The Golden Age of Light Music: Grandstand: Production Music Of The 1940s” -- Guild Records GLCD 5220
I have been covering quite a wide range when writing these Notes and Suggestions essays, but I must say, I never imagined that I would be writing such an essay on this particular work. Of course, it comes from the fact that I attended a performance of it recently at Carnegie Hall as part of the Mid-America series where it is very often presented, usually conducted by the composer himself. And subsequently, I listened to a few performances of it on YouTube as I sometimes do when a work makes a sufficient impression on me so that I might want to partake of it further.
Mr. Rutter is a fairly popular, accessible and well known composer as contemporaries generally go. His style is a very interesting admixture of the pop offerings of recent years as exemplified by Andew Lloyd-Webber, combined with which is a strong influence of Ralph Vaughan Williams. Thus either of these aspects are to a considerable degree tempered by the other. Not every listener of serious music (or practitioner for that matter) will necessarily take to it, and one enthusiast of Mahler I met in recent years, hailing from the UK, admitted to me, regarding John Rutter, that "his sweet tooth was not sufficiently developed" to appreciate this music. To be sure, although my degree of appreciation is considerable, for a fact I do not necessarily like every note that he has put to paper, as will be seen. Overall, however, what I do admire, is the concerted effort to communicate with a prospective audience, which I feel in the final analysis is what is most important, and what I am speaking about is the music itself as distinct from what its intended purpose or symbolism may be. I additionally state this because most of what we are likely to hear of Mr. Rutter's music is written for chorus and choral ensembles.
Nowadays, the works of Mr. Rutter one is most likely to hear in performance are (listing them in the order that I acquainted myself with them) the Gloria, Requiem, and Magnificat. Of these three, the Requiem in my opinion is the work that best retains is essential quality throughout (except for its very opening which I will get to). The Gloria contains some wonderfully magnificent writing within its two outer movements, expressing for me full vitality and joy of life, but I have always intensely disliked the middle movement as suggesting the very antithesis of life, although the D Flat Major outburst two thirds of the way through does tend to stabilize matters for a short time. Any symbolic explanation I might be given in regard to this movement would mean nothing to me or cause me to change my impression. As for the Magnificat, the opening idea and indeed the entire first movement is the best part of the work, at least in my opinion, and we really welcome it when it is reprised at the very end. Listening to the second movement, I have always felt a need and an urge to find myself back in the first movement for some reason!
I have to mention for the moment the words of my dear late friend David Randolph who I'm sure would subscribe to what I'm bringing out.
Mr. Randolph was a firm believer in the essential absoluteness of music. That is to say, he endeavored to deal with whatever music he dealt with purely as music, claiming that the only thing that music in essence was capable of expressing was itself. This was even despite the fact that most of his conducting was involved with choral music.
For my part, I agree in the sense that we have only the music to deal with, that no two people will hear a given work in the same way. In this particular instance, I respond to the emotions that are suggested by the music but prefer to come up with my own mental images upon hearing the work, as with any other. In other words, I am not interested or concerned with any religious aspects upon which the work was purportedly based, nor do I subscribe to the notion that the work is constructed in the form of an arch with the fourth movement (which is a very short interlude) as the focal point. I prefer to hear this work in strictly my own way, my own manner, and in so doing, still feel that I am not in any way violating its essence.
When I mentioned this work to Mr. Randolph, he unaccountably told me that he was somewhat turned off by the rather "popsy" sound of the main idea in the first movement. As he supposedly did not come from such a background, this statement would be understandable. Speaking for myself, I have a very generous appreciation of the lighter forms of music, at least of a sort presented in good taste, and I have even written essays on some of these. It is all according to what one was brought up to appreciate - everyone's experience in this regard is different, but neither better nor worse than the next one's, and one should never feel ashamed of one's predilections or feel compelled to explain them away - we are all entitled to our preferences and to our likes and dislikes.
That said, I will now get on with this work. At the very outset, there is a passage which I must confess I find myself disliking, in the sense that the apparent atonality has nothing whatever to do with the rest of the work, and I cannot fathom its purpose. To be explained the symbolic meaning of it in context would tell me nothing. Nevertheless, it is something to get through until we emerge into some aspect of tonality - first on a second inversion F Major chord, with the bass moving upwards from C to D which eventually changes to a dominant of the prevailing key of the movement, G Major.
The rises and falls in dynamics should obviously be observed to the fullest for the proper emphasis wherever required. The main idea, wherever it may appear (in the choral parts) must always receive full priority. About two thirds of the way through it appears in the male voices while the female have some counterpoint against this. Until the latter take over the idea at the end of the phrase, the former must remain in front. Similarly, at the very end, as the movement is dying out over a tonic pedal, the imitations must always favor the voices that have the idea in its original position; i.e., on the downbeat.
Mr. Rutter frequently adjusts notation for singers apparently believing that in an alternate form it might be easier to read. I am always in favor, on the contrary, of notation that directly expresses what is really taking place in the music. Thus in this case, I would retain the one sharp in the key signature clear through (from the point that we first settle on G) even when the music has several flat accidentals, simply because the prevailing feeling is always on G. Put another way, a signature should always be directly reflective of the tonal sense, not necessarily of the presence or absence of certain accidentals. The profusion of F Naturals and E Flats is no sufficient reason to drop the one sharp signature.
In the next movement, it should be obvious that the solo cellist's intonation (on a part that appears and reappears intermittently throughout the movement) must be very accurate, considering that the part has numerous accidentals even though falling into recognizable melodic and intervallic patterns. The choral part will be subdued for the most part, except for any occasional swell in dynamics which are always important to bring out. The tonal feeling is a quasi C Dorian - not out and out in that mode - but rather making use of that scalar configuration that suggests it. The inconclusiveness of the whole thing should indicate that this movement is clearly not meant to be performed independently, nor as a matter of fact are any of the others. This quasi C Dorian by its nature will fall directly forward into the next movement, which with its very clear F Major will by nature provide a very direct tonal resolution.
This following movement, coming perfectly in its situation, is a most gorgeously beautiful affair which one should be able to listen to for its own sake and revel in, and not worry about any religious aspects that have been connected to it. Music often has the power to reach us on its own terms without any further intervening aspect, and we should be able to accept it on that basis without concern about any textual matters. This is why whenever I hear this movement (which frankly can move me to tears) I try to just listen to it and not to any words as I feel that the music is standing well above any such considerations. This, I'm sure, is what David Randolph would strenuously argue for.
The ending is most affecting and can be broadened for maximum effect. The soprano (who can do a lot for the whole movement's presentation independently of the text) should carefully place her last note, the high A, in such a manner as to be prepared to hold it for a duration, along with the orchestra. And this final moment should be given with the utmost delicacy of feeling.
I have commented on the following movement in a previous commentary on choral music generally, when I was dealing with both the Mahler Eighth Symphony and the Beethoven C Major Mass. This next fourth movement is a very short interlude serving almost as a reaction against the explicit sweetness of the preceding. The eighth notes of the parallel fourths at the opening should be given plenty of emphasis and accentuation, with a degree of declamation.
Previously, I have stated that this movement works admirably in its place within the total scheme but on the contrary is not a good setting of the liturgy - in this case the Sanctus section. The idea of compressing a whole section of liturgy into the space of a minute and a quarter - a Sanctus, Pleni, Hosanna, Benedictus, and Hosanna - simply does not work in that sense, in my humble opinion. I prefer to distance myself as far as possible from the text in this section so as not to spoil the beautifully musical effect of this coming where it does.
The C Major tonic sections should get plenty of emphasis, with a sharp pull back in dynamics in the portions that go into the submediant and later flat submediant. The culminating tonic sections, with the scalar tonic to dominant melodic canonic effect, will come out much stronger. And as I want nothing to do with the textual aspect of it, I would omit the up beat eighth notes to the motive as sounding rather affected even though necessitated purely by textual considerations and no other - musically they may be easily dispensed with.
The next movement, again, follows directly from what has just preceded. The dynamics at the outset are a sharp contrast, being very mysterious and rather lugubrious, somewhat as the first movement began, although in this case the tonal orientation remains very clear as continuing on C. The chorus enters with a motive which consists of a note with movement up a step and then immediately back, repeating this in sequence downwards. This is the basis of most of the movement, and only the dynamics need to be observed faithfully. Midway through, the tonal basis changes from C to F and then the dynamics should really pick up as forming the climax of this whole section.
When we finally emerge from this into a passage that is much more transparent and at the same time much more reflective, it should be obvious that the dynamics need to be pulled back, with a clear diminuendo as we come into this. The flute solo should be clearly heard and its prominence can do a lot for this passage. And the chorus should be quite subdued in its execution of this moment. I have mentioned the influence of Vaughan Williams regarding Mr. Rutter's work; one may note that in this passage that influence is quite pronounced, with in some measures actual quotations.
This ultimately dies out on an E Major chord as mediant of the key, with the definite intent of picking up from this point with the outset of the next movement. Mr. Rutter clearly wants the latter to follow segue, and most performances respect his wish, which to me seems quite legitimate. In fact, it is entirely possible to directly join the movements together by immediately starting the descending motive that begins the sixth movement directly upon the E Major chord of the preceding having been quitted. I would not consider to this end an overlap between the two and in fact never favor such devices. But on the other hand I have heard a performance or two in which there was a movement pause between the two sections which for me would be utterly perverse in this situation.
The movement that we now enter, with its prevailing oboe solo, should be taken in a very direct and unassuming manner. Its simple beauty almost rivals that of the third movement previously discussed. We learn that it was independently conceived from the remainder of the work but it should be no more independently performed than would be the case with any of the other movements - context is the most important factor in that regard.
There are some really touching moments, and the most should be made of them in performance, and noted by a listener aside from any textual considerations. At the point where we return to the opening material about midway through, a slight ritard to fall into it would be entirely appropriate.
The harmonies are altogether traditional, but as is often the case, particularly at cadences, an out and out dominant seventh is always assiduously avoided. Toward the end, it would almost appear that conventional harmonies will prevail, but the final cadences remain plagal.
Again, the outset of the final movement comes as a direct reaction to the preceding; the outset being dark and mysterious, although the feeling of E Flat Major comes fairly early, at first suggested rather indirectly. The soprano is given one more solo, and once again, needs to place her last note, a high B Flat, with extreme care - it should not be belted out by any means. All dynamics, I need hardly reiterate - need to be very diligently observed; there is a swell midway within this section and a pull back to the point where it ends.
In the vast majority of performances I have observed, the soprano soloist remains standing after completing her contribution, and does not reseat herself until the forgoing has finally passed into the next and concluding G Major section in 3/4. It is a very fine stage direction, and really should be observed as it is directly responsive to the music, and thus visually very satisfying. It may well be Mr. Rutter's own direction, but in any event, it would be wrong for the soprano to immediately plop down upon completing her solo work.
With the ensuing section, much of it will speak for itself, much of it quite beautiful, but unfortunately I have to make two comments regarding certain features which often bother me when I listen to this work.
One is the use of an enharmonic circle, occurring only once in this situation throughout this work, but the Magnificat is replete with this device. The fact that these always seem to proceed sharpwards, or against the natural direction of tonal movement creates for me an unsettling effect (has the composer ever considered writing some of these to proceed flatwards?). As thus evidenced in the Magnificat, it could almost be pointed out as a mannerism. This observation might be considered petty by some, but I am describing the effect that this has on me.
The other point would be the moment of reprise of the main material of the first movement. There is a solo oboe line that leaps up an octave and overlaps with the reprisal presentation at the first moment. I'm sure that there must be a symbolic explanation for it, which would normally not interest me, but for me this presents itself as a rough edge which a conductor somehow has to deal with, and not simply leave as it appears; perhaps a rebalancing, perhaps a dropping of the oboe line down an octave so that it will not stick out where not intended, perhaps to eliminate it altogether - I could not say at this point, but it is clearly as I see it something that must be given some attention, a detail that would be lost on most audience members but still a bit jarring to very sensitive ears.
The formal reprise now proceeds much like it did in the first movement, moving directly to the closing passage almost exactly as we had it before, only on this occasion more of a broadening might be appropriate as it is the very end of the work.
I sincerely hope that my comments here have been of some help. I always endeavor to write an essay of this type on a work that I feel merits this type of attention and careful study. As usual, I would welcome all comments.
Analysed by Robert Walton
There are very few tunes that make me cry. Sometimes Mahler or Farnon unleash a mini ‘Niagara’ in me, but Previn’s utterly sublime theme of total tranquility from the 1961 film “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” has all the elements to produce a similar reaction. Even the melody is crying out to be heard! For me it evokes some of man’s finest qualities: hope, joy, kindness, unselfishness and of course love. It’s like a religious experience. Only music can truly convey such feelings. Previn possesses a natural gift to tug at your heartstrings. The old romantic!
The story is about the lazy good-for-nothing grandson of an Argentinian beef tycoon who eventually finds his manhood as a member of the French resistance during World War 2. Sounding like the love theme from a big biblical movie, the first time I heard it I went into an emotional state from which I didn’t move until the music stopped. Like David Raksin’s Laura, it gives the impression of being based on a single fragment and then developed. It just grabbed me and there was nothing I could do about it. I was totally hooked!
I presume that’s how the Love Theme from The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse was born. Later Alan and Marilyn Bergman came up with a great lyric for Barbra Streisand entitled More In Love With You. (Incidentally Laura’s lyricist, Johnny Mercer had once encouraged Alan to become a songwriter). Without words, this poignant Previn tune remained comparatively unknown until Streisand included the song on her 2003 “Movie Album” finally giving it the recognition it deserved. And violinist Itzhak Perlman’s recording didn’t do it any harm reaching an even wider audience. Although André eventually got fed up with writing film music, he must have been pleased with this one. Don’t forget he’d come a long way since “Challenge To Lassie”.
In the bridge, the music moves on to a completely new level of film writing with a nod to atonality, but still making musical sense. Schoenberg by stealth perhaps! Clear evidence of venturing into tuneless territory in the style of the man who broke all the rules. After all, André and Arnold once played table tennis together in Los Angeles, so something must have rubbed off! If you’re interested in learning more about atonality, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is a good way to gently ease yourself into it. More and more music lovers have found the effort worthwhile. Certainly Percy Faith’s brilliant arrangement does it full justice. It only confirms my view that André Previn is without doubt the world’s most multi-talented musician.
“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse”
Love Theme by Percy Faith’s Orchestra
is available on the Guild CD ”Non-Stop to
Nowhere” (GLCD 5206).
Analysed by Robert Walton
As I’m sure you know, I get a great kick out of analysing light orchestral pieces, especially ones that are jolly and cheerful. Without doubt Mannequin Melody fits into that category perfectly. In fact it puts one instantly into a good mood. This Clive Richardson composition contains many of the qualities of the 1940’s Golden Era, including the presence of the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra conducted by Robert Farnon. You can’t ask for more than that. So let’s take a closer look at this latter day classic Mannequin Melody from 1958.
The piece opens with two sustained notes from the bassoon whilst the violins illuminate the chords with some appropriate lively decoration. Flying flutes flutter down to join one of light music’s most stylish tunes, Mannequin Melody. And there’s nothing quite so effective as a melody played by unison violins. They might be playing in the middle register region of the keyboard, but they give a definite impression of lower strings. Being on the same note creates a far more dramatic sound than if they were in harmony. (Just listen to the Melachrino Strings). This simple format really does give the tune the ultimate in exposure. Note on bars 7 and 8 of the first outing of the melody a pizzicato reminder of Holiday for Strings. Big Brother David is watching!
So let’s continue this soaring syncopated strain by one of the masters of this most British of genres. It depicts the post-war era when models on the fashion fairways were of normal size, not dangerously thin and certainly not looking miserable! Returning to the melody, the one-note violins magically metamorphose into harmony with the woodwind briefly taking over before repeating what the pizzicato strings were doing.
The sound of vibes and harp herald a full 32 bar middle section, much of it borrowed from Richardson’s own 1946 prototype Melody on the Move with strings, woodwind, muted brass and vibes. A case of recycling. If you listen carefully you will even hear echoes of Holiday Spirit.
Then it’s back for a final single-note saunter along the catwalk with the three main constituents, Clive Richardson, Robert Farnon and the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra, all adding their expertise to the finished product. This tried and tested formula works every time.
This Chappell recording of Mannequin Melody is available on the Guild CD “A Box of Light Musical Allsorts” (GLCD 5157)
John Suchet –
THE LAST WALTZ – The Strauss Family and Vienna
Hardback 277pp ISBN:978-1-78396-116-0
Published by Elliott and Thompson, London,
in association with CLASSIC FM RADIO.
Having written six books about Ludwig van Beethoven, upon whom he is an acknowledged expert, John Suchet has now turned his attention to the Strauss family – ‘dynasty’ as he describes it – and the Vienna of the nineteenth century.
It’s somewhat strange that the history of such a prolific group, (whose music is so well-loved and has maintained such universal enduring popularity), should be relatively unknown.
But a really fascinating story it is, and Suchet chronicles it in an eminently appealing way. He has quite obviously ’burned a lot of midnight oil’ researching his subject.
We learn about the two ‘Johanns’, father and son, together with Josef and Eduard, who at times were anything but a ‘happy family’, riven by tensions, feuds and jealousy, against the backdrop of a country undergoing an enormous upheaval as it hurtled, seemingly ‘kicking and screaming’, towards the twentieth century.
Throughout this personal and political chaos the Strausses continued to write the waltzes to which the Viennese – anxious to forget their troubles – danced and drank champagne !
The book is beautifully presented, and lavishly illustrated. Although not inexpensive, it is definitely a worthwhile addition to every serious music enthusiast’s library and would make a wonderful gift.
© June 2016
Orchestrated by Ravel
Analysed by Robert Walton
If ever there was a musical composition that captures a perfect moment of ecstasy, it just has to be Debussy’s Tarantelle Styrienne, but you’ve got to be quick. Blink and you might miss it! It gives a whole new meaning to the so-called excitable state. And if it hadn’t been for Ravel’s brilliant 1923 arrangement we might have never heard it. It was originally an early Debussy piano piece written in 1890 while at the Paris Conservatory. He was hoping to capitalize on the French love of the exotic, but rarely gets a mention in any books about his piano works. At the time, Debussy was having difficulty putting food on the table so there was some urgency about it. We owe everything to Ravel for drawing it to our attention and indeed bringing it to life. Well, that’s not quite true. We must thank the publisher Jobert for his suggestion to get it orchestrated.
There is no evidence that Debussy had either been to the province of Styria, in the south east of Austria or heard any music from there. As far as we know he simply borrowed the rhythm from the Italian tarantella and moved it, musically speaking, lock stock and barrel to Austria. Having said that, it’s not far from the Italian border. Vienna might be the home of the popular waltz but we are treated to a typical Neapolitan dance in 6/8 time, effectively a fast waltz. So if you haven’t already heard it, prepare yourself for one of the most amazing experiences you’re ever likely to encounter, albeit briefly.
Right at the outset I had better warn you not to expect too much in the transports of delight department. Ravel’s economic scoring is one thing but any ecstatic outburst is usually brief as in real life, and beautifully reflected in TarantelleStyrienne. In fact there are only two moments in the whole piece when the orchestra really takes off - shortly after the start and near the end.
A French horn opens up this exciting dance movement but you have to wait another 40 seconds before the strings come into their own with the first glorious 10 second outburst of pure joy. At that point one feels it could have been developed into a more complete melody. However, if any piece produces the feel-good factor then this is it - more the feel-fantastic factor. I briefly go into a sort of trance, accompanied by a rush of adrenalin with the biggest smile on my face. It’s almost as if I have been given a glimpse of the meaning of life or the secret of the universe. This pentatonic-type tune (black notes of the piano) owes much to the Scottish and Irish song style. Could this be the first of the rousing themes heard in Hollywood westerns in embryo? Perhaps it’s an early form of The Big Country by Jerome Moross or the orchestral impression Canadian Caravan by Robert Farnon. Anyway, food for thought as we eagerly await the final appearance of another fleeting moment of exhilaration.
So while we’re waiting, let’s examine what master musician Maurice has in store for us. Firstly there’s never a dull moment with an exquisite Ravel orchestration. His ability to mix and match the strings, woodwind, brass and percussion are legendary. With Debussy providing the groundwork, Ravel breathes new life into the original piano score. It’s a moving strict tempo kaleidoscope of orchestral colour with ever changing textures of light and shade. So it’s never boring but always building up to the next climax. When the brass plays, the by now famous short radiant tune, it hasn’t got anything like the impact of the string passage, so it’s back to the ‘wild’ waltz for some more gorgeous highs and lows. We are so mesmerized by the oboe that the rhythm seems to have disappeared. That might be the impression given, but the subtle fiery dance continues unabated. Gradually we become aware of this extremely successful exercise in the merging of two great musical minds. And all the while the music is working up to a final frenzied state, generating all that energy in just a few bars. As Count Basie would say: “One more time!”
After a distinct pause, stand by for your very last chance to wallow in what must be one of the shortest and most thrilling string phrases in all music.
One of the best versions ofTarantelle Styrienne is by the Philharmonia Orchestra conducted by Geoffrey Simon on Cala (CACD 1002).
On Google, the orchestral version is conducted by Alessandro Crudele, but if you want to hear the original Debussy piano piece you can follow the music as Zoltan Kocsis plays it.
by Roger Quilter.
For many years I have wondered why it is that whilst Roger Quilter possessed considerable talents as an orchestrator, this well-known work is almost always performed in an orchestral arrangement by Percy Eastman Fletcher.
The mystery was finally solved recently when I happened to be in contact with Dr Valerie Langfield, who is a music teacher and tutor based near Manchester. Dr Langfield has taken a great interest in the life and work of Quilter, and is the author of a very comprehensive and highly-acclaimed biography of the composer.
The definitive answer is that the Dances were originally conceived and written for full orchestra. Percy Fletcher was then commissioned to re-score the work for much-reduced forces, because it was considered likely to maximise its potential for sales and hirings in that form.
(It appears that Fletcher often undertook arranging work of this kind. I have come across another example - viz. his orchestral arrangements of some pieces by Samuel Coleridge Taylor, which I believe were made after their composer’s death).
The original full-orchestral score was never printed, and because it only exists in manuscript form it is seldom, if ever, performed.
Roger Quilter himself made and published further arrangements for solo piano and piano duet; the latter was given by Dr Langfield and fellow-pianist David Owen Norris at a Quilter festival some years ago.
© April 2016
(Sammy Fain and Paul Francis Webster)
Robert Farnon’s arrangement analysed by Robert Walton
When I first came to England from New Zealand in 1957 with my family, one thing I was determined to do was to meet my idol of music, Robert Farnon. But it wasn’t as easy as I had imagined. As time went by, for one reason or another, it was becoming increasingly obvious that I might miss him. Undeterred by this possibility, I then decided to take the bull by the horns and just present myself at his Gerrard’s Cross home. Nervously knocking on the door and not knowing what to expect, suddenly he appeared looking just like the photograph he had originally sent me. I needn’t have worried though because after an extremely warm welcome I was invited in and given a signed copy of his LP “Pictures in the Fire”. Mission accomplished!
Back down under I couldn’t wait to take the disc out of its sleeve, place it on the turntable and hear his latest creations. One arrangement that really stood out was the Doris Day hit Secret Love from “Calamity Jane”. Going straight in with no introduction, gentle strings in foxtrot tempo treat us to the classic simplicity and symmetry of a Farnon score with celeste and clarinet trimmings. Even with just the basic sheet music chords, the sound was like no other orchestra. So nothing unusual about the first 16 bars of harmony and orchestration.
Now the woodwind plays the melody. Following the words “The way that dreamers often do” something symphonic stirred in the strings. But there’s more. In the bar after “Just how wonderful you are” the most magnificent swell occurs, transforming the tune from a ditty into a miniature masterpiece. It literally took my breath away and over an hour later I finally identified that gorgeous chord of E9,11+,13 in the key of G. Robert Farnon was the first arranger to successfully employ shock tactics seamlessly, in the nicest possible way, in a simple song.
No need for altered chords in the bridge since we’re still reeling from that heavenly harmony. In complete contrast to singer Day’s strident strains, Farnon opted for a beautiful more laid back violin solo guaranteed to produce the inevitable goose pimples. The strings still enriched with that burst of musical uranium, wind down for more conventional chords. Then the orchestra sort of hovers, as if deciding what to do next. The woodwind, minus the rhythm section, repeats the bridge.
In the final 8 bars Farnon again turns up the heat with some magical examples of his own particular brand of slightly dissonant chords. The strings and woodwind suddenly slow down bringing this Great American Songbook standard to a perfectly natural Farnon finish with the guitar having the final say. Fain and Webster must have wondered what hit them!
Analysed by Robert Walton
It was my good friend composer and arranger Cyril Watters who first extolled the virtues of composer Frederic Curzon to me. Certainly there’s absolutely no doubt he was a superb craftsman. As a child I was already aware of his work especially in connection with the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra. Quite clearly though Curzon also had a flare for unusual titles like the eye-catching and indeed ear-catching Dance Of An Ostracised Imp written in 1940. It must have been bad enough being an imp without being ostracised as well, but somehow the composer managed to cleverly encapsulate this unwelcome mischievous child, elf or demon. So with a little help from Curzon, let’s try and get under the skin of an imp and find out what makes it so sociably unacceptable.
It’s unusual for a tambourine to appear in a light orchestral piece, but the jingle rattle off beats from this small single-headed drum of Arabic origin adds something to the mix. After quickly setting the scene with a four bar vamp (not unlike the clip clop rhythm of a horse), the strings enter with the tune in the key of G, but after only two bars are hijacked by the flute for another two bars in E flat. Back in G, the strings cut in for a further two while the waiting flute pounces yet again grabbing another two in E flat. Now in the key of B, the strings remind me of the opening phrase of Buttons and Bows.
And so this constant game of bouncing the melody between the two sections continues for 24 bars. More charitably it could I suppose be described as sharing and caring! Perhaps it’s the classical way of “trading phrases” like musicians in small-group jazz take it in turns to play solos. Dance Of An OstracisedImp is in many ways a modulatory nightmare keeping the listener on his/her toes trying to guess the next unexpected harmony. On first hearing some of the changes may seem a bit unconnected, but in the final analysis it all makes musical sense.
And then the cheeky imp emerging from its grotto makes its first appearance for the following 16 bars in the guise of an oboe. There’s a suggestion of Sidney Torch’s Comic Cuts about the orchestration. It cunningly darts about all over the place dreaming up trouble for whoever or wherever it fancies. The opening section is then fully repeated.
A 16 bar bridge begins with a very rich sustained note played by the lower G of the violins. Decorative woodwind dance above in various keys continuing the harmonic freedom of the first chorus. And then the imp re-emerges for another16 bars. The final 24 lead to a sudden coda with a giggling bassoon offering it up to pizzicato strings who end the piece, but not before the tambourine puts in a brief last appearance.
In some ways Dance Of An Ostracised Imp anticipates Robert Farnon because of its unconventional juxtapositions of harmony. However Curzon’s orchestral texture isn’t as light or as inventive as Farnon’s. Right near the end, I almost expected to hear the closing cascading strings of Farnon’s arrangement of Would YouLike To Take A Walk. They would have fitted Dance Of An Ostracised Imp like a glove.
Analysed by Robert Walton
Bronislaw Kaper had much in common with Victor Young. Firstly they were both Polish, could turn their hand to any sort of music, composed many film scores and as songwriters wrote some important popular standards. Three of Young’s were Stella by Starlight, My Foolish Heart and When I Fall in Love , while Kaper’s two major contributions were On Green Dolphin Street and Invitation.
Kaper was also capable of occasionally coming up with what can only be described as a pure light orchestral gem. The 1956 movie “Forever Darling” produced exactly that - Confetti . In fact it bore an uncanny resemblance to the British mood music model of the 1940s and 50s especially that of Robert Farnon. Did Kaper quite independently conceive this composition or was he directly influenced by what was happening across the pond? Judging by his songs, Kaper was more jazz orientated than most of the veteran Hollywood composers so would have had no problem with something bop influenced. In England, the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra gave definitive performances of this kind of material but the nearest thing in America just had to be the MGM Studio Orchestra conducted by Johnny Green which recorded Confetti . (Incidentally it was played by the John Wilson Orchestra at the 2013 BBC Proms as part of “Hollywood Rhapsody”).
Time now to follow the paper trail of Confetti , and discover what, if anything, we can learn from it. For starters the $64,000 question is who arranged Confetti? Was it Conrad Salinger? The percussion section was an integral part of the orchestration playing a vital role in the soundtrack of “Forever Darling” featuring tubular bells and snare drums.
The thrilling opening clearly has ‘Hollywood’ written all over it, sounding very much like title music. For a moment it could have almost been the start of Starlight Roof Waltz by the Melachrino Orchestra. All through the drum driven military style introduction we get constant hints of what is to come. By the time the melody starts, we’ve got the general idea. It’s like eager racehorses behind the starting gate that can’t wait to get away. Shortly after we’re up and running, the Farnon influence kicks in with the first of two bursts of exciting woodwind. We have lift off! They might be fiendishly difficult but the MGM players take it all in their stride. Then the answering phrase goes into the soaring string sound of the Queen’s Hall Light Orchestra with three jazzy discords of American brashness before returning to the jagged tune.
And before you can say ‘David Rose’ we’re into the kind of bridge dreamt up by the London born maestro. The strings, supported by a brilliant brass section, having gone up a gear, are now ‘singing’ their hearts out. Then the brass showing you what they’re made of go soli with the ever energetic woodwind.
Just like the beginning, the orchestra gives us as much time as we need to prepare for the thrilling final chorus. Then after those soaring strings reappear for the last time, we find ourselves in the coda where the orchestra employs all sorts of delaying tactics like toying with the tune and guiding us gradually towards a show stopping last chord reminiscent of Alcan Highway .
The building blocks of Confetti have come a long circuitous route from Los Angeles (David Rose) via London (Robert Farnon) and finally coming home to Hollywood and Bronislaw Kaper. To acknowledge a multinational musical marriage created by an American, a Canadian and a Pole, let’s celebrate this meeting of minds with those tiny pieces of paper of various shapes and colours!
The MGM recording of Confetti is available on the Guild CD of the same name (GLCD 5175)[See also this page ]