This 
                    is the first CD release featuring 
                    this recording. It preserves the 
                    world premiere recording of Gerhard's 
                    unrepentantly dodecaphonic melodrama 
                    based on the novella by Albert Camus 
                    in an English translation by Stuart 
                    Gilbert. The story is of the outbreak 
                    of plague in the town of Oran in 
                    the 1940s. It arrives, it strikes 
                    terror, it kills and it departs. 
                    It may return again. As conductor 
                    Dorati has said: "The plague 
                    is all diseases of the mind, every 
                    dictatorship, every war, and there 
                    is no real freedom as long as there 
                    are pestilences. The rats may come 
                    again to the happy city. This is 
                    the message." 
                  Like Ligeti’s Le Grand 
                    Macabre, Pettersson’s Seventh 
                    Symphony and Britten’s Our Hunting 
                    Fathers this piece retains the 
                    power to shock and horrify. In some 
                    enigmatic way the horror is accentuated 
                    by the dispassionate delivery of 
                    the speaker, a local doctor – in 
                    this case the Shakespearean actor, 
                    Alec McCowen. This was the way Gerhard 
                    wanted it. The reported events carry 
                    the impact; there is no need for 
                    the gloss of oratory. There is nothing 
                    of the irresistibly high-flown approach 
                    you hear in Bliss’s Morning Heroes. 
                    Listen in tr. 8 to the coldly antiseptic 
                    description 
                    of the child's death – an almost 
                    unbearably vivid piece of rapportage.
                  Despite 
                    the pervasive minatory atmosphere 
                    there are some moments of overcast 
                    humour usually carried by the orchestra. 
                    An example can be heard early on 
                    when McCowen first describes the 
                    emerging rats. One he singles out 
                    for close observation. The rat falls 
                    on its side dead. The orchestra 
                    in a witty piece of onomatopoeia 
                    vividly describes that small fall. 
                    There are many coups de théâtre 
                    of this sort from the orchestra. 
                    From the eloquence of the miniature 
                    we turn to eruptive power in the 
                    Schoenbergian howling of the orchestra 
                    and chorus. In track 2 we hear the 
                    chatter of ‘the rats, the rats’ 
                    and explosive shrieks and howls, 
                    the drum rolls and the cymbal crash. 
                    Awed horror is evoked in the gradually 
                    petered out description of the line 
                    of tram cars full of corpses and 
                    flowers (tr. 7). In tr. 3 there 
                    is the emulation of a siren and 
                    the quiet before outbreak seems 
                    to have ended. Also remarkable are 
                    the braying ‘sunrise’ brass figures 
                    and the shuddering xylophone figuration. 
                    The vocal writing around 9:32 onwards 
                    in tr. 7 is similar to the macabre 
                    voice parts in Walton’s Belshazzar's 
                    Feast when the disembodied fingers 
                    begin to write on the palace wall. 
                    In tr. 9 the reappearance of the 
                    rats is marked by a torrent of words 
                    shouted and chattered out by the 
                    choir all together. Even in the 
                    outbreak of joy that follows the 
                    end of the infestation the dissonant 
                    overlay makes the jubilation sound 
                    panicked, hysterical and awed. The 
                    grim message is that behind the 
                    transient joy is the reality that 
                    the plague bacillus is never dead 
                    but lies dormant for decades only 
                    to rise again when it chooses.
                  The 
                    text is in English here and is printed 
                    in full in the booklet. It is sung 
                    by a choir with a noticeable American 
                    accent while McCowen’s voice is 
                    clear and unaffected. 
                  The 
                    Plague was premiered by Dorati 
                    in April 1964 at the Royal Festival 
                    Hall in London when the speaker 
                    was Stephen Murray with the BBC 
                    Symphony and Chorus. Dorati continued 
                    to champion The Plague. I 
                    also have a tape of a broadcast 
                    from 17 April 1982 in which he conducted 
                    the work with the BBC orchestra 
                    and the Southend Festival Chorus. 
                    The speaker was Michael Rippon.
                  Of 
                    course there have been other recordings 
                    though they are not numerous. The 
                    one most likely to be known is Edmon 
                    Colomer’s Spanish National Youth 
                    Orchestra version on Disques Montaigne. 
                    There the speaker is the actor the 
                    late Michael Lonsdale who has appeared 
                    in The Day of the Jackal and 
                    most recently in Ronin.
                  It 
                    is worth noting that Gerhard's felt 
                    a special sympathy for the writings 
                    of Camus and picked away at writing 
                    an opera founded on Camus’s first 
                    novel, The Stranger. It was 
                    never completed.
                  The CD booklet contains 
                    the composer’s notes in English, 
                    French and German and sung/spoken 
                    text in English. 
                  So 
                    there we have it: a grim classic 
                    of the twelve-tone repertoire - 
                    rarely encountered and superbly 
                    done and documented here.
                  Rob Barnett
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