For anyone who happens 
                to recognise the allusion, the title 
                of this CD perhaps gives out the wrong 
                signals in some ways. The phrase comes 
                from a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, 
                written in September 1886 in response 
                to a request from Frederick Locker-Lampson, 
                Victorian author of nicely turned light 
                verse. Stevenson excuses himself (in 
                verse!) as unfitted to write any verses 
                for Locker-Lampson, suggesting that 
                the most appropriate poets for such 
                a task are long dead and gone: 
              
 
                 
                   
                     
                      NOT roses to the rose, I trow, 
                      
                      The thistle sends, nor to the 
                      bee 
                      Do wasps bring honey. Wherefore 
                      now 
                      Should Locker ask a verse from 
                      me? 
                      Martial, perchance, - but he is 
                      dead, 
                      And Herrick now must rhyme no 
                      more; 
                      Still burning with the muse, they 
                      tread 
                      (And arm in arm) the shadowy shore. 
                    
                  
                
              
              The associations with 
                light verse, and for collaboration with 
                the long dead, are not wholly appropriate 
                for a CD which actually contains some 
                passionate settings of some passionate 
                and profound poems, poems, on the whole 
                very far from light verse, and much 
                of it written by the living. 
              
 
              
This is a CD which 
                should be of interest to any listener 
                who enjoys modern song, ‘modern’ here 
                implying work within a largely tonal 
                idiom, but with contemporary inflections, 
                work which, broadly speaking, belongs 
                in the distinguished American continuation 
                of the German tradition of lieder. 
              
 
              
Curt Cacioppo is Professor 
                of Music at Haverford College, Philadelphia; 
                he’s an accomplished pianist (as the 
                first of these CDs would itself be sufficient 
                to demonstrate), whose work as a composer 
                included organ pieces such as Visione 
                delle Crociate (which Hans Fagius 
                premiered in 2002) and the string quartet 
                (his second) Impressioni venexiane 
                (2004), as well as a sizeable repertoire 
                for piano. Of his contributions to the 
                present set, the bulk takes the form 
                of settings of work by contemporary 
                poets, Friedrich Thiel and Christopher 
                Scaife, both of them friends ("arm 
                in arm"?) of the composer. Friedrich 
                Thiel’s seven brief lyrics (the longest 
                consists of sixteen short lines and 
                most are rather briefer) are, for the 
                most part, evocations of melancholy 
                and pain. They win from Cacioppo simple, 
                but eloquent settings, profoundly sympathetic 
                to the imagery and rhythms of the original 
                texts, and Cacioppo’s settings, in turn, 
                benefit from an assured and expressive 
                performance by Michael Riley. The first 
                CD begins with a performance of these 
                settings and ends with a reprise, with 
                the composer’s settings this time interleaved 
                by the poet reading his texts – a nice 
                idea which works well and illuminatingly 
                on a well-filled disc. In between, one 
                of the things we get to hear is Cacioppo’s 
                setting of two poems (‘Poems from Paternina’) 
                by the English poet Christopher Scaife 
                (1900-1988), who will be known to some 
                readers as the author of the text for 
                John Gardner’s 1962 choral composition 
                A Latter Day Athenian Speaks 
                and who published several collections 
                of verse from the 1920s onwards. Scaife’s 
                two poems, in between which appear lines 
                from Adonais, Shelley’s elegy 
                for Keats, are full of images of loss 
                and death, of "ghosts of old desires" 
                and "ashes, in their urn / still 
                loved". (Here one might, indeed, 
                argue for the relevance of Stevenson’s 
                lines alluded to in the album’s title, 
                with their talk of "the shadowy 
                shore"). Again, Cacioppo’s understanding 
                of his texts is very evident, his setting 
                perceptive and sensitive, with a certain 
                anguished aggression giving an edge 
                to the poetry’s language of loss. Soprano 
                Leah Inger, though she gives a committed 
                and competent performance of what is 
                certainly a difficult sing, doesn’t 
                quite manage to sustain some of the 
                slower passages here and is occasionally 
                put under strain by some of the large 
                leaps required of her; she isn’t helped 
                by a slightly over-resonant recorded 
                sound. 
              
 
              
The booklet notes describe 
                ‘Franciscan Prayer’ as a scena pastorale, 
                which is fair enough. In it Cacioppo 
                sets the familiar prayer of St. Francis 
                (English readers may remember its abuse 
                by Margaret Thatcher), for voice and 
                piano, with offstage trumpet and percussion 
                (chimes, suspended cymbal, Tibetan monastery 
                bell); it is perhaps the least fully 
                convincing of Cacioppo’s works to be 
                heard here; the simplicity of the means 
                employed makes it rather less than memorable 
                some of the other pieces, and I wasn’t 
                convinced that the setting did very 
                much to enhance the words, although 
                its close has a pleasing poise and quiet 
                power. Overall, however, this is a valuable 
                opportunity to hear one aspect of the 
                work of an interesting American composer, 
                work not otherwise readily accessible 
                this side of the Atlantic. 
              
 
              
The same can be said 
                for the music of New York composer Joseph 
                Hudson. Certainly there is no kind of 
                ‘light verse’ to be heard in his settings 
                of Rilke and Dylan Thomas (‘I have longed 
                to move away’) and even the three Campion 
                songs ("So tyr’d are all my thoughts", 
                "When to her lute Corinna sings" 
                and "Rose-Cheekt Lawra, come") 
                have more to offer than the sort of 
                refinement claimed by the title Lyra 
                Elegantiarum which Locker Lampson 
                gave to an anthology "of some of 
                the best specimens of vers de société 
                and vers d’occasion" which 
                he published in 1867. Rilke, represented 
                here by ‘Einsamkeit’, ‘Eingang’, ‘Klage’ 
                and ‘Herbst’, is about as far removed 
                from such social verse as might very 
                well be imagined. Rilke’s own verse 
                approaches the quality of music, in 
                the way it communicates, more than most 
                poetry does. Rilke himself didn’t much 
                approve of musical settings of his work; 
                but it lends itself beautifully to sensitive 
                setting – as demonstrated by, amongst 
                many others, Schoenberg, Hindemith, 
                Paul von Klenau, Frank Martin, Bernstein, 
                Knussen, Lauridsen, Rolf Wallin, George 
                Perl and Peter Lieberson. Hudson, then, 
                is keeping formidable company and, while 
                I wouldn’t put these four settings at 
                the very head of any league table of 
                Rilke settings, his work deserves respect 
                for the seriousness and intelligence 
                with which it responds to Rilke’s words. 
                Melodic phrases and piano accompaniment 
                are unflashy but responsive to word 
                and implication; there is some minor, 
                apt word-painting, but never in the 
                service of an over-literal response 
                to the text and the loosely tonal harmonies 
                are well-judged to evoke Rilke’s ambiguous 
                atmospheres. Elizabeth Farnum gives 
                an assured, nicely pointed performance, 
                articulating the unforced rhetoric of 
                both words and music very convincingly. 
                She is very ably complemented by Margaret 
                Kampmeier at the piano. 
              
 
              
The three Campion lyrics 
                which Hudson chooses to set create an 
                attractive pattern of transformation, 
                from the "tyr’d thoughts" 
                of the first, in which "sence and 
                spirits faile", through the possibility 
                (but not certainty) of renewal through 
                the power of music in the second ("When 
                to her lute Corinna sings, / Her voice 
                revives the leaden strings") to 
                the resolution of the third poem’s closing 
                lines: 
              
                 		These dull notes we sing 
                  
                  		Discords neede for helps to 
                  grace them; 
                  		Only beawty purely loving 
                  
                  		Knowes no discord: 
                  		But still moves delight, 
                  		Like cleare springs renu’d 
                  by flowing, 
                  		Ever perfect, ever in themselves 
                  eternall. 
              
              Were there but world 
                enough and time, it would be fascinating 
                to compare Campion the composer’s treatment 
                of his own words with their treatment 
                at the hands of Joseph Hudson. But it 
                has to suffice simply to say that Hudson 
                comprehensively escapes the temptations 
                of Elizabethan pastiche, without ever 
                making one feel that he is straining 
                after mere stylistic difference. He 
                creates a quite un-Campion-like idiom 
                which is yet thoroughly convincing. 
                Some musical threads run through the 
                three songs, very much conceived of 
                as a sequence, in which Hudson treats 
                Campion’s words and sentiments with 
                all the seriousness they deserve (he’s 
                still an underrated poet). Initially 
                disturbed and pained, Hudon’s music 
                moves through to a fitly radiant and 
                affirmative conclusion. A set of songs 
                I was delighted to discover, and one 
                to which I shall certainly return with 
                some frequency. 
              
 
              
The programme ends 
                with Hudson’s setting of Dylan Thomas’s 
                ‘I have longed to move away’, a 1933 
                draft of which can be found in one of 
                Thomas’s notebooks and which was first 
                published in the periodical New Verse 
                in 1935. Again Hudson finds a persuasive 
                musical idiom which responds to the 
                text, and the use of tenor and string 
                quartet allows for some attractive variety 
                of musical texture. Hudson was a new 
                name to me, and it is one which, on 
                the strength of his contribution to 
                this pair of CDs, shall certainly look 
                out for in future. 
              
Glyn Pursglove