Ronald Stevenson’s
monumental Passacaglia, published in
1967 (1) was written in 1960-62 and
in fact was still being written on the
day of the first performance by the
composer (10 December 1963) in South
Africa’s Cape Town University, as the
composer added the ‘piobearachd’ section,
the ink virtually still wet, as he took
his seat at the Hiddingh Hall piano!
It is hardly surprising that its eighty
minute length in performance resulted,
in an era of minimalism, in its being
regarded then by the unknowing as something
of a monster, to be classed with such
cerebral works as the Busoni Fantasia
Contrapuntistica and Sorabji’s Opus
Clavicembalisticum. With passing
of years (I hate the expression ‘over
time’) like Constant Lambert’s ‘red
rag’ (2) it has developed an unmistakably
pink hue and is accepted, after performances
in every continent of the globe (except
Antartica!) as a front-line ‘war horse’
(with all the noble connotations thus
implied) of 20th century
music.
It has been played
and recorded by the composer, by the
late John Ogdon, Raymond Clarke, Mark
Gasser – and on several occasions by
Murray McLachlan whose various performances
now result in this CD – a fortuitous
accolade of ‘Divine Art’. A very real
tribute from the composer to the pianist
is quoted on the sleeve: "He has
no greater appreciator of his pianism
than myself". It could be argued
that, apart from Ogdon (whose relationship
with the composer dated back to their
student years at RNCM Manchester) no
pianist has grown up with this work
in closer proximity than McLachlan.
His career has been followed keenly
over some thirty years since an early
recital in Peebles (which both Ronald
and I attended). The Passacaglia (not
played on that early occasion) is necessarily
something of a war-horse – a work that
pianists who are pianists will aspire
to tackle. Given the extreme range of
virtuosity in this dramatic work ("Into
which", says the composer, "
I put all that I knew of the piano at
that time") tackled with some tenacity
over its length by each executant in
his own way it must finally be argued
that it is a work that, despite the
tightly cohered structure of the opening
figure (3), allows for individual interpretations
(an approach sanctioned by the composer).
Thus it seems to me like a leviathan,
its multiple sections linked, providing
a supple onward progression with the
flexibility of vertebrae in a youthful
and energetic body.
Having myself grown
up with the Passacaglia (played by the
composer in his West Linton ‘den of
musiquity’) in its earliest fragmentary
sketches I seem to hear things therein,
things not deliberately contrived, surprising
in a contemporary work. But is it surprising?
And although contemporary does that
mean ‘modern’? Its dissonance is no
greater than Bartók - even Bach
– and even then only in the clusters
of dramatic chords and in the concluding
virtuosic variations . There are many
many lyrical passages (Andante page
41? and the highly emotive ‘piobearachd’).
In fact the whole impulse of the work
is melodic. I can hear echoes of Schubert
– and of Bax (in the Fandango section).
I am convinced that from the early moments
of the piece its development (and despite
the apparent constrictions of the ever-present
motif which the ear accepts but does
not really hear, it does develop)
parallels Stevenson’s composing career
and, as naturally, the development history
of Western Music – its growth unaffected
by the fashionable ‘isms and ‘alities
that passed as modernism in the erratic
20th Century.
It is McLachlan’s belief
also that the work itself is capable
of varied interpretation – not only
interpretations by different executants
but varied treatment within each pianist’s
own reading of the piece. Here is a
committed performance – only slightly
quicker than the composer’s own. Stevenson
has suggested, having performed the
work about twenty times, that, on a
scale of one minute to a year, the Passacaglia
spans a lifetime, with a physical climax
at the mid-span of a man’s three score
and ten. If this climax could be considered
as around the Alla Marcia (p.57) or
immediately before the African drum
section, then either seems viable. The
work is in this sense, a living organism.
If one has to quibble
then I personally find the electronic
manipulation (tho’ sanctioned by the
composer – a silent crescendo and diminuendo
not available in live performance) at
‘quasi chittara’ (p 46) of the harmonics
emanating from the silently depressed
chord sounding unpleasantly like a ‘miaow’!
More puzzling is the curious and inexplicable
colour coding on the sleeve, the ‘A’s
of Passacaglia looking like some kind
of measuring instrument?
Let not such minor
and inoffensive detail deter anyone
from adding this CD to other recordings
– even to other future issues, perhaps
even by the same exciting pianist. And
the work is an experience, an experience
shared by Walton and Alan Bush.
Colin Scott-Sutherland
NOTES
(1) OUP and now available
from the Ronald Stevenson Society,
3 Chamberlain Road, Edinburgh EH10
4DL. price £29.
(2) Music Ho! Constant
Lambert, Faber, 1934, p.19
(3) Three variations
over seven bars of the opening 4 notes
DSCH, with its implied minor overtones,
repeated throughout its length (I
am told some 645 times!)
Murray McLachlan (piano)
