Of all the enterprising series that
Naxos has been undertaking, the ‘British
Piano Concerto’ must be one of the most
valuable. Of course, whenever works
like these are resurrected or ‘discovered’
afresh, some emerge as more important
and worthwhile than others. Almost all
that I’ve come across have been worth
getting to know, this new release being
no exception.
Alwyn is probably best
known for his film scores, which number
over two hundred, but, as Andrew Palmer’s
interesting note tells us, he had an
enduring love for the piano and composed
for it throughout his life. Palmer speculates
that the reason we don’t hear much of
the large-scale works for the instrument
is due to their demands for a virtuoso
technique. Needless to say, Peter Donohoe
positively laps up the considerable
challenges thrown at him by these works.
The First Concerto
is a short, one-movement work in four
contrasting sections. It was written
for Alwyn’s fellow student at the Royal
Academy of Music and lifelong friend
Clifford Curzon, who gave the premiere
in 1931 with the composer conducting,
fittingly, the Bournemouth Symphony
Orchestra. Judd and Donohoe give a rip-roaring,
no-holds-barred reading, ideal for a
work with this sort of structure. Any
thinness of melodic material is soon
forgotten when the playing has as much
panache as this, Donohoe particularly
revelling in the Prokofiev-like toccata
opening.
The Second Concerto
is a much meatier work lasting nearer
half an hour, though it had a troubled
genesis. It was apparently commissioned
for the 1960 Prom season but the pianist
due to play it, Dutchman Cor de Groot,
suffered a paralysis of the right arm
and the premiere had to be cancelled.
The work was virtually forgotten after
this and, astonishingly for such an
attractive crowd-pleaser, still awaits
a public performance. Alwyn was always
self-critical, having earlier in his
career withdrawn a number of works,
and he substantially revised the concerto,
completely excising the slow movement
and substituting a short linking orchestral
passage. A full performance may have
altered his opinion; his wife, composer
Doreen Carwithen certainly felt the
movement should be restored and it’s
her reconstruction (together with some
revisions of the finale) that is heard
here.
On the whole, I share
her enthusiasm for the fuller piece.
It has a romantic sweep and grandeur
that, as Palmer points out, pay homage
to Rachmaninov. This would have sounded
terribly old-fashioned in 1960, especially
for Glock’s BBC, but with many listeners
still placing melody at the top of their
list for enjoyment in music, it could
possibly find a place. The nods to Russian
romanticism are a bit too overt at times
(try 3’35 into the first movement –
straight out of Rach 3) but it
is immensely attractive and ebullient,
with very colourful orchestration.
This is also true of
the piece Alwyn wrote to substitute
the concerto. Derby Day was written
as a Prom opener and as such is energetic,
bustling, rumbustious. I’m not sure
I can hear Alwyn’s adoption of the twelve-note
row that Palmer mentions, more like
a hint of dissonance and a slightly
angular melodic line. The Sonata
alla toccata is brimming with the
neo-classical spikiness that infiltrated
the styles of other British composers
of the era, and Donohoe relishes the
chance to show what he’s made of.
Praise must be given
to the excellent orchestral support
under the often inspired baton of James
Judd, whose Elgar 1 with the
Hallé is still my favourite account
of the symphony. It’s good to have him
recording regularly again for Naxos.
Sound quality is very fine, and it is
with keen anticipation that I await
the team’s next discovery.
Tony Haywood
Peter Donohoe (piano) 
