At forty-six minutes
Bax’s Symphonic Variations runs
for about the same time as each of Brahms’
piano concertos and the orchestral writing
and the solo part are conceived on an
equally large scale. The first of the
two movements is made up of the theme
and three variations, played continuously.
Three further variations comprise the
second movement, as well as a passage
that Bax calls an Intermezzo.
"Variations", then, is perhaps
not the best word when the theme is
subjected to such lengthy treatment.
Each section is in effect a substantial
development of a different aspect of
the theme. However we choose to think
of it, the structure of the work is
successful – if rather quirky – and
the return of the theme at the end and
the subsequent coda are totally convincing
and satisfying.
Bax gives titles to
each of the variations, and though they
do give clues to the nature of the music
they are nonetheless ambiguous. The
third variation is called Strife,
understandable given the date of composition,
but quite what is being referred to
in the fourth variation, The Temple,
is anyone’s guess. Burnett James, in
the comprehensive booklet notes, is
surely right to evoke Debussy here,
as the music inhabits a world akin to
the more austere of that composer’s
Preludes, Danseuses de Delphes,
for example, or Canope. Other
composers who come to mind in this music
are Rachmaninov, particularly near the
beginning of the work, and even Prokofiev
in some of the more rapid passages,
though listeners familiar with Bax will
recognise his own, very personal style,
throughout the work.
The piano part is immense
and the instrument rarely silent. There
is little feeling of conflict or competition
between the solo instrument and the
orchestra, though to think of the work
as a concertante piece for piano
and orchestra will not do either, as
this rather belittles the huge demands
made on the soloist. The work was written
for and dedicated to Harriet Cohen,
and she was for many years the only
pianist to play it. The piano writing
seems more suited to the composer himself,
however, and a fair bit of rewriting
took place to accommodate her rather
small hands. In addition, a version
of the work appeared in which the tumultuous
first variation, Youth, was omitted.
The work has had a
rather chequered performance history,
which is admirably outlined in the booklet
notes. The present recording from 1970
followed a performance by the same forces
in Guildford which seems to have been
the first performance of the complete
work for fifty years and which, by all
accounts, was ecstatically received
by the audience. The recording has appeared
before, and it is satisfying to see
it reissued now as part of Concert Artist’s
ongoing series of Joyce Hatto performances.
It is a reading of the utmost integrity
and conviction by a pianist at the height
of her powers, totally at ease before
the immense technical demands of the
work. We should not be surprised if
there is a certain authority about this
performance as Joyce Hatto studied the
work with the composer and indeed played
it with him on two pianos. There is
a feeling of discovery about her reading,
an urgent need to communicate which
is very compelling, and the performance
is highly integrated, making light of
its apparently sprawling structure and
leading us on inexorably to the close.
In this she is supported by Vernon Handley,
a conductor whose sympathy with English
music, and Bax in particular, needs
no advocacy from me. Careful listening
reveals a certain thinness in the strings
and the brass playing lacks refinement
at times, but the playing is excellent
overall, and in any case any shortcomings
are of no importance – one forgets them
– before playing of such spontaneous
intensity.
There is as far as
I know only one other recording of this
work, set down by Chandos in 1987. The
sound is typical of the company, and
there is no denying the superiority
of the orchestral playing from the London
Philharmonic under that excellent conductor
Bryden Thomson. Lewis Foreman, in his
notes, explains that the score and parts
were extensively checked and corrected
for this recording, and it is true that
the work was subject to so much tinkering
that a definitive edition of the text
would certainly be welcome. Listeners
without a score will not notice much
difference, however, though there are
certainly moments where parts of the
keyboard figuration clearly to be heard
in 1970 are absent in 1987. If this
were the only performance available
we would, I think, be more than happy
with it, but Margaret Fingerhut’s playing,
set beside Joyce Hatto’s, frequently
lacks drive and passion. The earlier
team is the better guide by far through
these red-blooded pages and their recording
is highly recommended.
William Hedley
See also review
by Rob
Barnett
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