The Fourth is the last
of Vaughan Williams’ nine symphonies
to appear on the Naxos label. Paul Daniel
was the conductor on the recent recording
of A Sea Symphony, also with
Bournemouth forces, and the others were
conducted by Kees Bakels. They are all
successful performances and often rather
more than that. The current recording
falls into this latter category.
Vaughan Williams made
disparaging comments about his Fourth
Symphony, even going so far as to write,
in a letter to Sir Henry Wood, that
he didn’t like the work much. Reading
Vaughan Williams on his own music is
often a puzzle, however, and teasing
out what he really thought can be a
challenge. Two years after the first
performance he went into the studio
and conducted a recording himself, and
he pondered over a single note for more
than twenty years before finally changing
it, so he must have thought the work
had some merit. It is an extraordinarily
concentrated piece, little more than
half an hour in length – though it seems
longer – and a good performance can
leave the listener in a state close
to shock even today. The slow movement
is cold, distant and wanders like a
precursor of the finale of the Sixth
Symphony, and the scherzo is full of
galumphing humour. But what one remembers
most once the work is over is the tension,
passion and – apparently – seething
rage of the two outer movements.
Paul Daniel launches
into the first movement in properly
ferocious fashion and for the most part
yields little to the best of rival versions.
The only comparative disappointment
comes early: the second subject of this
first movement is one of Vaughan Williams’
most sublime tunes, and others have
achieved violin playing of greater passion
than we have here, and more importantly,
have found more significance in the
difficult accompanying repeated chords.
The slow epilogue to this movement is
particularly successful though, as is
the slow movement, one of the most difficult
Vaughan Williams nuts to crack. Daniel
brings out both the menace and the wit
of the scherzo, and the finale is a
complete success, especially towards
the end where, in Michael Kennedy’s
evocative phrase, the music "reaches
boiling point". The virtuosity
of the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra
is never in doubt, the spot-on tuning
of the winds being a particularly notable
feature of the ensemble as recorded
here.
Comparing this reading
with the composer’s own is inevitable,
and we must reluctantly admit that Vaughan
Williams brings just a little more fire
to his symphony that Paul Daniel can
manage. Heat seems to feature largely
in the imagery that comes to mind when
talking about this work, and if it is
possible for music that reaches boiling
point to be played with white hot passion,
then that is certainly what happens
in the composer’s performance. But it
was recorded in 1937, and good though
the sound is for the period, it won’t
do today as a single version of this
remarkable work. This new recording
certainly will, though we shouldn’t
forget a number of other highly successful
readings, including two by Boult, on
Decca (mono) and later on EMI, Berglund,
also on EMI, and, a particular favourite,
Bernstein on Sony, whose violins sing
their hearts out in that first movement
tune.
Newcomers to the composer
can safely purchase this disc for the
symphony, then, and Vaughan Williams
enthusiasts will acquire it in any case.
They will also receive for their fiver
an excellent reading of the Norfolk
Rhapsody No. 1, evocative, passionate
and lively by turns. But what makes
the disc essential is the reading of
Flos Campi. This work yields
up its secrets only gradually, and secrets
remain even in passages one pretends
to understand. It is unlike any other
work. The composer calls it a Suite,
but this does it no justice. For solo
viola, wordless chorus and small orchestra,
each of the six movements is headed
with a quotation from the Song of
Solomon. We can only wonder about
the link between these quotations and
the music, and even more so about what
these particular passages meant to the
composer. There is an uncanny link with
the text in terms both of time and place,
and there are passages of almost unbearable
beauty. This is the first performance
I have heard to rival that of Nobuko
Imai and Matthew Best, recorded by Hyperion
in 1990. The Bournemouth Symphony
Chorus sing wonderfully well, unanimous
in attack, impeccable of tuning and
totally at one with their conductor’s
view of the work. The orchestra again
plays beautifully, the important oboe
solo so expressive, and one or two questionable
balances apart – I feel sure Vaughan
Williams wanted to hear rather more
of the tabor, for example – a vivid
and powerful recording. What sets this
performance apart, however, is the extraordinarily
eloquent playing of Paul Silverthorne.
He communicates so readily that his
instrument takes on an almost personal
identity. He is a natural guide through
this most elusive work. Sample the final
section, Set me as a seal upon thine
heart, a passage which in its mixture
of radiance and ecstasy recalls the
close of the Fifth Symphony, profoundly
moving in this performance.
Production values are
to the usually high Naxos standards,
with sound descriptive notes from Keith
Anderson, though I hope he will forgive
my rather boringly taking issue with
him about the folk songs used in the
Norfolk Rhapsody. It’s a pleasure
to see that Stuart Green, the viola
soloist in the Norfolk Rhapsody,
and the chorus master, Neville Creed,
are both named on the back of the box.
I can’t recommend this disc too highly.
William Hedley
Paul Silverthorne, viola 
