A fascinating disc (all but the symphonic poem being 
          world premiere recordings) in the ever-burgeoning series of unknown 
          British symphonic music conducted by Douglas Bostock. One suspects however 
          that the music has been rediscovered and selected at the instigation 
          of the indefatigable Lewis Foreman. This is music written by Fritz 
          Delius (before the change of name to Frederick - a change he 
          made in 1902) under the age of thirty while studying in Leipzig between 
          1886 and 1888. In the summer of that middle year he made a walking tour 
          to Norway and in no time at all got to know Grieg and his wife as well 
          as Sinding and Halvorsen (ten years later Ibsen was another). This is 
          all before the time when Beecham or Wood championed him, no amanuensis 
          Eric Fenby on the horizon, and above all no paralysis and blindness. 
        
 
        
Images of him at this time remind one of the young 
          Elgar, dashing and handsomely moustachioed, whilst the music has a distinctly 
          un-Delian style as epitomised by such later works as Walk to the 
          Paradise Garden, Sea Drift and so on, which makes it the 
          more intriguing. On the Mountains has Straussian melodies and 
          is lushly orchestrated, not heard between 1894 and 1946 when Beecham 
          revived it for the 1946 London Delius Festival. The seven songs were 
          originally conceived in German and for piano and voice, though Delius 
          did orchestrate two of them. Beecham subsequently did another two, R 
          Sondheimer scored one for the Festival referred to, and for the purposes 
          of this recording Anthony Payne has done a couple, as stylishly as his 
          realisation of Elgar Symphony No.3. The Danish Jan Lund’s lightweight 
          tenor voice is quaintly old-fashioned with its fast vibrato, and although 
          he may be stretched and given to spreading at climaxes such as in Hidden 
          love, it is still attractively expressive, despite being given to 
          intrusive diphthongs on his ‘a’ vowels, in a way reminiscent of Kim 
          Borg, the bass inexplicably chosen by Barbirolli for his recording of 
          Gerontius. Lund’s approach even infects the ‘old fashioned’ orchestral 
          style of playing in these charming songs such as string portamento. 
        
 
        
The Norwegian Bridal Procession was the second 
          of three short piano pieces by Grieg, orchestrated by Delius in 1888. 
          It’s a cheerful, rustic piece of music resulting from Delius witnessing 
          such an event, and is the only example of Delius’s orchestration of 
          music by another composer. In Paa Vidderne the narrator Peter 
          Hall (not the theatre director but a lutenist with a fine speaking voice) 
          would have a hard time of it in a concert hall to overcome the full 
          sound of a symphony orchestra (even Grieg warned Delius of the problem) 
          and one suspects there may have been much cringing during the recording 
          sessions, for though fairly topical at the end of the 19th 
          century this is a style of declamatory melodrama we are not used to 
          these days. There are times when the text of Ibsen’s nine-part narrative 
          poem might have been penned by Barbara Cartland, but it must be seen 
          to be full of metaphors and not to be taken at face value (literally 
          a description of a young man’s departure from his mother’s home to undertake 
          a testing journey through the desolate wilderness of heather and rocks 
          of the high mountainous plateau of southern Norway, ‘the bleakest, wildest 
          place I [Delius] ever saw’). Frankly there is much fine music here and 
          at times one wishes the speaker would simply go away and leave one alone 
          to listen to it. It also makes one wonder how much of it would have 
          been heard in performance in days before amplification (even on this 
          CD he is not always audible), but as it took until 1981, and a television 
          production, before it was first played (in Norway) followed by its British 
          premiere in 1984, it probably has never failed in that regard. It is 
          glorious music and the RLPO play it for all it is worth, while Peter 
          Hall synchronises Lionel Carley’s English translation to perfection, 
          an essential feature of these melodramas. It may be an impractical proposition 
          to perform it but at the very least one should be grateful to have this 
          fine account. 
        
 
         
        
Christopher Fifield 
        
        
        
The 
          British Symphonic Collection