You know how, in the
old days, when you put the needle/stylus, whatever you want
to call it on a record, and from the start it just felt ‘right’?
Maybe not, but either way that’s the feeling I have with this
new release of Elgar’s Symphony No.1. I do have to admit
to a certain pre-programmed predilection for certain aspects
of the recording. Brangwyn Hall was one of the best locations
we played in when I was a member of the National Youth Orchestra
of Wales under Arthur Davison, and I just love the sweet shoebox
resonance of that interior. I also loved the sound of the BBC
Welsh Symphony Orchestra, now even better as the BBC National
Orchestra of Wales – I suppose it’s something to which my red
blood corpuscles respond having grown up with them as my principal
concert-going experience as a youth. I am also delighted to
see that their current leader is the incredible Lesley Hatfield,
who, along with her horn playing brother, was at the R.A.M.
at the same time as me. In fact all three of us even shared
a poverty-stricken flat for a while just south of the Broadwater
Farm Estate – that strange time in 1985 when the place was still
scattered with burnt-out cars after that dreadful riot. I seem
to remember her surviving on Ryvita and tea trying to save enough
to buy or pay for ‘the’ violin, and it seems all that suffering
paid off in the end.
Enough of the flurry
of personal recollections this CD has kicked up. This recording
has of course been released as a celebration of Elgar’s 150th
anniversary, and follows on from Hickox’s 2005 excellent recording
of the second Symphony and ‘In the South’. The ‘3rd’
Symphony and Pomp and Circumstance March No. 6 as realised by
Anthony Payne are apparently in the pipeline, so a full set
will soon be available for completists. There are of course
a number of classic and new recordings against which this newcomer
will have to be compared. Barbirolli of course in that dramatic
1970 recording on BBC Legends, Boult
arguably on that new Lyrita CD now rather than the old mono
1949 taping which is also something rather remarkable, Solti
on Decca or Haitink on EMI – you can compare and contrast, but
in the end it’s like what Gareth Morris called the flute ‘game’:
chopping and changing instruments and headjoints to try and
find some kind of elusive perfection. Elgar’s Symphony No.1 is one of those pieces which has that elusive quality on record. Transported
to realms beyond imagining in the concert hall, it is difficult
to re-create that sense of beauty and wonder with the electronics
in your front room, no matter how expensive.
Hans Richter, the leading German conductor, directed the first
performance and hailed the work as ‘the greatest symphony of
modern times’, and indeed, even today it has a pioneering spirit
equal to anything by Mahler. It asserts Elgar’s deeply felt
‘massive hope for the future’, and it is immediately clear that
the composer threw everything into achieving an expression of
this inspired optimism. What I like so much about this new recording
is the reflection of that ‘massive hope’ in every aspect of
the performance and production. State of the art 5-channel sound
is about as close as we’ll get to actually being in the concert
hall for the time being, so with that advantage there can be
no doubts about the quality of the recording. Chandos have captured
the BBC NOoW with marvellous depth and power, the balance having
that ‘best seat in the house’ live quality, dynamics which make
you wish you had your own desert island on which to play the
thing at full volume, and the kind of colour and detail you
remember discovering after your first belated visit to the optician.
The opening of the work
is one of those ones which bring you back every time, like that
of Mozart’s Requiem or Bach’s St. John Passion. Elgar’s secret is almost revealed all at once – the ‘big tune’ appearing
softly after two enigmatic rumbles from the orchestra. With
Hickox, the louder ‘repeat’ at 1:47 sounds as if you are hearing that great theme for the first time – the initial
statement as if in a dream, that moment just before waking.
There’s a fair dose of Tchaikovsky in the turbulent passages
which follow, but that British subdued fervour and emotional
passion always holds the upper hand. Hickox is always in complete
control, painting grand scenery with the colours so beloved
of the composer – characterful solos and choirs of winds, strings
like billowing curtains of creamy milk and brass kicking through
the whole crowd like neatly-dressed hooligan barrow-boys. Intense
discipline is never a dampening factor in the sense of drive
and energy in the music, and the ‘Star Wars’ theme and syncopated
stone-throwing in the second Allegro Molto movement are allowed
full cry. The same attacca idea which heralds ‘Nimrod’ brings the repose of the Adagio, which allows the orchestra to flood the
Brangwyn Hall floor with amorous tenderness. Little chamber-music
touches with some gorgeous mini-solos turn what might have been
an over-long wallow into a fine exploration of emotions both
complex and straightforward, and whatever we’ve been through,
there’s always that nobility of spirit which triumphs over all
else. The final movement is like a symphonic poem in its own
right, opening with suggestions of mystery and pastoral naughtiness,
teasing the ear with references to previous musical moments.
Rising bass lines encourage that sense of hope, the ride home.
The penultimate romp is interrupted by that revelation of a
soft centre, a stunningly constructed piece of melody and counterpoint,
beautifully lit with resonant orchestration and a sparkling
harp. The orchestra never quite recovers from this, and even
the glorious return of the main theme is at first garlanded
with reinforced harp notes, struggling to break free of the
verdant tangle of feral nature and succeeding only in the last
few bars – resonating on in the mind long after the concierge
has turned out the lights on Brangwyn’s Empire Panels.
The Symphony No.1 is coupled here with
an orchestral version of the Sonata for organ – an instrument
Elgar had played from an early age. Elgar wrote the work in
1895 for a recital at Worcester Cathedral, and appears to have
been a rush job akin to his Concert Allegro for solo piano, leaving
the poor soloist little time to prepare for the intended event.
In the 1940s Sir Adrian Boult recommended Gordon Jacob for the
task of transcribing the sonata for orchestra, the results being
broadcast in 1947 but subsequently forgotten. Jacob was a composer
in his own right, and renowned for his expertise in orchestration
– he was after all a teacher of the subject at the Royal College
of Music. This sympathetic and stylish translation of the sonata
into a re-creation of Elgar’s own orchestral sound-world not
only brings the work to a wider audience, but also underlines
its affinities with the composer’s later and better-known music.
The Organ Sonata indeed plumbs lesser
depths than the Symphony on this disc, but is, like a stick
of Blackpool rock, Elgar from beginning to end and through to
the core.
I would dearly love to
be able to say there was some moan or caveat attached to this
new CD, but at the risk of having rivals run riot with my reviewers’
ranking in the subjective objectivity stakes I have to say it’s
just a wonderful thing to have on your shelf or in your pocket.
Sure, there are all those other lovely recordings out there,
and nobody is asking you to dump old favourites or historical
treasures. With this disc however, some of those golden gems
might just find themselves under a few more layers of dust than
they’ve been accustomed to.
Dominy Clements
BBC National
Orchestra of Wales/Richard Hickox
[78:12]
