You
know how, in the old days, when you put the
needle/stylus, whatever you want to call it,
on a record and from the start it just felt
‘right’? Maybe not, but either way that’s the
feeling I have with this new release of Elgar’s
Symphony No.1.
I do have to admit to a certain pre-programmed
predilection for certain aspects of the recording.
Brangwyn Hall was one of the best locations
we played in when I was a member of the National
Youth Orchestra of Wales under Arthur Davison,
and I just love the sweet shoebox resonance
of that interior. I also loved the sound of
the BBC Welsh Symphony Orchestra, now even better
as the BBC National Orchestra of Wales – I suppose
it’s something to which my red blood corpuscles
respond having grown up with them as my principal
concert-going experience as a youth. I am also
delighted to see that their current leader is
the incredible Lesley Hatfield, who, along with
her horn playing brother, was at the R.A.M.
at the same time as me. In fact all three of
us even shared a poverty-stricken flat for a
while just south of the Broadwater Farm Estate
– that strange time in 1985 when the place was
still scattered with burnt-out cars after that
dreadful riot. I seem to remember her surviving
on Ryvita and tea trying to save enough to buy
or pay for ‘the’ violin, and it seems all that
suffering paid off in the end.
Enough
of the flurry of personal recollections this
CD has kicked up. This recording has of course
been released as a celebration of Elgar’s
150th anniversary, and follows on from Hickox’s
2005 excellent recording of the second Symphony
and ‘In the South’. The ‘3rd’ Symphony
and Pomp and Circumstance March No. 6 as realised
by Anthony Payne are apparently in the pipeline,
so a full set will soon be available for completists.
There are of course a number of classic and
new recordings against which this newcomer
will have to be compared. Barbirolli of course
in that dramatic 1970 recording on BBC Legends,
Boult arguably on that new Lyrita CD now rather
than the old mono 1949 taping which is also
something rather remarkable, Solti on Decca
or Haitink on EMI – you can compare and contrast,
but in the end it’s what Gareth Morris called
the flute ‘game’: chopping and changing instruments
and headjoints to try and find some kind of
elusive perfection. Elgar’s Symphony
No.1 is one of those pieces which has that elusive
quality on record. Transported to realms beyond
imagining in the concert hall, it is difficult
to re-create that sense of beauty and wonder
with the electronics in your front room, no
matter how expensive.
Hans Richter, the leading German
conductor, directed the first performance
and hailed the work as ‘the greatest symphony
of modern times’, and indeed, even today it
has a pioneering spirit equal to anything
by Mahler. It asserts Elgar’s deeply felt
‘massive hope for the future’, and it is immediately
clear that the composer threw everything into
achieving an expression of this inspired optimism.
What I like so much about this new recording
is the reflection of that ‘massive hope’ in
every aspect of the performance and production.
State of the art 5-channel sound is about
as close as we’ll get to actually being in
the concert hall for the time being, so with
that advantage there can be no doubts about
the quality of the recording. Chandos have
captured the BBC NOoW with marvellous depth
and power, the balance having that ‘best seat
in the house’ live quality, dynamics which
make you wish you had your own desert island
on which to play the thing at full volume,
and the kind of colour and detail you remember
discovering after your first belated visit
to the optician.
The
opening of the work is one of those ones which
bring you back every time, like that of Mozart’s
Requiem or Bach’s St. John Passion. Elgar’s secret is almost revealed all at once
– the ‘big tune’ appearing softly after two
enigmatic rumbles from the orchestra. With
Hickox, the louder ‘repeat’ at 1:47 sounds as if you are hearing that great theme
for the first time – the initial statement
as if in a dream, that moment just before
waking.
There’s a fair dose of Tchaikovsky in the turbulent
passages which follow, but that British subdued
fervour and emotional passion always holds
the upper hand. Hickox is always in complete
control, painting grand scenery with the colours
so beloved of the composer – characterful
solos and choirs of winds, strings like billowing
curtains of creamy milk and brass kicking
through the whole crowd like neatly-dressed
hooligan barrow-boys.
Intense discipline is never a dampening factor
in the sense of drive and energy in the music,
and the ‘Star Wars’ theme and syncopated stone-throwing
in the second Allegro Molto movement
are allowed full cry.
The same attacca
idea which heralds ‘Nimrod’ brings the repose of
the Adagio, which allows
the orchestra to flood the Brangwyn Hall floor
with amorous tenderness. Little chamber-music
touches with some gorgeous mini-solos turn
what might have been an over-long wallow into
a fine exploration of emotions both complex
and straightforward, and whatever we’ve been
through, there’s always that nobility of spirit
which triumphs over all else.
The final movement
is like a symphonic poem in its own right,
opening with suggestions of mystery and pastoral
naughtiness, teasing the ear with references
to previous musical moments. Rising bass lines
encourage that sense of hope, the ride home.
The penultimate
romp is interrupted by that revelation of
a soft centre, a stunningly constructed piece
of melody and counterpoint, beautifully lit
with resonant orchestration and a sparkling
harp. The orchestra never quite recovers from
this, and even the glorious return of the
main theme is at first garlanded with reinforced
harp notes, struggling to break free of the
verdant tangle of feral nature and succeeding
only in the last few bars – resonating on
in the mind long after the concierge has turned
out the lights on Brangwyn’s Empire Panels.
The
Symphony No.1 is
coupled here with an orchestral version of
the Sonata for organ – an instrument Elgar
had played from an early age. Elgar wrote
the work in 1895 for a recital at Worcester
Cathedral, and appears to have been a rush
job akin to his Concert Allegro for
solo piano, leaving the poor soloist little
time to prepare for the intended event. In
the 1940s Sir Adrian Boult recommended Gordon
Jacob for the task of transcribing the sonata
for orchestra, the results being broadcast
in 1947 but subsequently forgotten. Jacob
was a composer in his own right, and renowned
for his expertise in orchestration – he was
after all a teacher of the subject at the
Royal College of Music. This sympathetic and
stylish translation of the sonata into a re-creation
of Elgar’s own orchestral sound-world not
only brings the work to a wider audience,
but also underlines its affinities with the
composer’s later and better-known music. The
Organ Sonata indeed
plumbs lesser depths than the Symphony on
this disc, but is, like a stick of Blackpool
rock, Elgar from beginning to end and through
to the core.
I
would dearly love to be able to say there
was some moan or caveat attached to this new
CD, but at the risk of having rivals run riot
with my reviewers’ ranking in the subjective
objectivity stakes I have to say it’s just
a wonderful thing to have on your shelf or
in your pocket. Sure, there are all those
other lovely recordings out there, and nobody
is asking you to dump old favourites or historical
treasures. With this disc however, some of
those golden gems might just find themselves
under a few more layers of dust than they’ve
been accustomed to.
Dominy Clements
BBC National Orchestra of Wales/Richard Hickox
[78:12]
