A profound sensitivity to poetry and especially that coming from his native England was the spark that lit Gerald Finzi’s career as a composer. Born into a wealthy family of Italian and Jewish descent, he lost his father at age eight, which intensified his brooding and introspective temperament. A further blow came when his beloved first music teacher, Ernest Farrar, was killed on the Western Front in 1916; he also lost three brothers during the war. After Farrar’s death, Finzi studied music with Edward Bairstow, the organist and choirmaster of York Minster. After moving to London, he began composing in earnest and became a friend and protégé of Ralph Vaughan Williams.
During the 1930s, Finzi moved to the English countryside where he pursued another creative passion alongside composing: the raising of an apple orchard devoted to rare species, many of which he saved from extinction. At the country estate he built near Newbury, Hampshire, he and his wife, the artist Joy Black, founded the Newbury String Players, a mostly amateur group of musicians who performed rare 18th-century English music as well as premieres of new works; the group also nurtured the careers of rising English musicians such as Julian Bream.
Meanwhile, Finzi was amassing a 3,000-book library of English poetry, philosophy, and literature, which today resides at the University of Reading. Thomas Hardy was the writer he most closely identified with—Finzi wrote 43 songs setting Hardy’s poems. As singer Mark Padmore writes, “Finzi’s own music was written slowly, and often it would take many years for a piece to reach its final form.” Such is the case with Let Us Garlands Bring, a group of five songs that set verse designed for singing from four of William Shakespeare’s plays; they were individually composed between 1929 and 1942 and then assembled and dedicated to Vaughan Williams on the occasion of his 70th birthday in October 1942.
One of the most musical of the Shakespearean plays, Twelfth Night even opens with one of the major characters, Duke Orsino, declaring, “If music be the food of love, play on!” Songs abound, usually performed by the court jester Feste. In the first song, he appeals to Orsino’s morbid nature with “Come away, come away, death.” In B minor, this song sways solemnly atop a tolling motif in the piano; throughout, Finzi skillfully captures the rhythms of English speech with flexible, ever-changing meters and syncopations. A second poem from Twelfth Night is the cycle’s fourth song, “O mistress mine,” also sung by Feste but this time to listeners desiring lighter fare. Tripping along to a fleet, merry tune in the piano, it sets each word with maximum expressiveness as well as naturalness.
From the early comedy The Two Gentlemen of Verona, “Who is Silvia?” is one of Shakespeare’s most frequently set poems. Proteus and Valentine, the titular two gentlemen, have become entangled in a rivalry over Silvia, the beloved of Valentine. Unfortunately, Proteus chooses to sing this spirited song in the presence of Julia, his former betrothed, who, disguised as a boy, is not recognized by him. (Everything will be happily resolved in the end!). Finzi chose the song’s last line to be the title of his Shakespeare cycle.
“Fear no more the heat o’ the sun” comes from Cymbeline, the most rarely performed of Shakespeare’s four last plays that mingle tragedy and comedy and today are categorized as romances. In this convoluted drama, the exiled young sons of King Cymbeline of Britain have been attacked by their odious half-brother Cloten and have killed him in defense. But now the banished lord who has followed and protected them in exile urges them to forgive and bury Cloten with the honors due a king’s son. The two boys pay tribute with this sincere, slightly naïve prayer, sung over a noble chorale in the piano. Finally, we hear “It was a lover and his lass,” a song of pure entertainment in one of the happy closing scenes of the great comedy As You Like It. Plentiful use of syncopation in both the vocal and keyboard parts give this bright song its air of swinging, spontaneous joy.
With a population of about 3.3 million, Wales is a semi-autonomous land that is steeped in music. Sonorous Welsh choirs are famous throughout Europe, and Welsh folk singers and operatic artists like Sir Bryn Terfel carry traditional Welsh music around the world. In ancient Wales, bards sang their epic poetry to their kings rather than declaiming it. And the Celtic language of Welsh has not been allowed to die out. It is taught in the schools alongside English to all children until age 16 and spoken in daily life by about a third of the population. According to UNESCO, it is the only non-endangered Celtic language today.
Welsh harpists are nearly as famous as the singers. Traditionally, the harp was used to accompany Welsh bards and today it’s the national instrument of Wales. A manuscript by Robert ap Huw dating from the Middle Ages contains the earliest surviving music for harp in Europe. Appropriately, then, the first Welsh piece we’ll hear on this program is “Watching the Wheat,” John Thomas’s virtuoso variations on the Welsh traditional love song “Bugeilio’r Gwenith Gwyn.” Born in South Wales and educated at London’s Royal Academy of Music, Thomas was so extraordinary a harpist that in 1861 he was declared “Pencerdd Gwalia” (“Chief Musician of Wales”). In 1872, the music-loving Queen Victoria made him her official harpist.
During this evening’s program, Sir Bryn will sing four traditional Welsh songs by anonymous composers. The most touching is the lovely Suo Gân (“Lullaby”) with lyrics by Welsh folklorist Robert Bryan. A mother’s soothing words to her baby assure him of no harm, even from the savage storms of the Welsh coastline. In “Ar lan y Môr” (“Down by the sea”), we visit that shore in its fair-weather, flower-trimmed softness. But sadness also lies behind this gentle scene, for the sea here separates two Welsh lovers.
A Welsh monk of the 6th century, St. David is the nation’s patron saint and the likely subject of the valedictory “Dafydd y Garreg Wen” (“David of the White Rock”), although it could refer to the musical King David of the Bible, who is associated with the harp. In noble, winding lines, an old man asks for his harp so he can sing his last farewell to his wife and children. Finally, we hear the most well-known of all Welsh folk songs, “Ar Hyd y Nos” (“All through the Night”). Both hymn and lullaby, this song is a favorite choice of close-harmony Welsh male choirs.
Welsh actor, playwright, singer, composer, and pianist Ivor Novello was not only blessed with a plethora of talents, but, more importantly, he was born into exactly the right era and place for them to be lavishly rewarded. Born David Ivor Davies in Cardiff, Wales, he was the son of David Davies, a rent collector for the city council and Clara Novello Davies, a renowned singing teacher and choral conductor. His beautiful boy soprano voice won him prizes at the Welsh National Eisteddfod and entrance into the Choir of Magdalen College, Oxford, where he received solid musical training.
Nevertheless, Novello’s gifts as a songwriter soon eclipsed his singing skills (especially after his voice changed), and at age 15, he published his first song. For his new career, he changed his name to Ivor Novello, adopting his mother’s maiden name. Six years later, in 1914, his nostalgic patriotic song “Keep the Home Fires Burning” captured the feelings of the British as they sent the first brigades of soldiers off to the front in World War I. The song’s success launched a love affair between the composer and the British public that continued until his death in 1951 (which came just hours after he had thrilled an audience with his starring role in his last hit musical, King’s Rhapsody).
With a classically handsome profile that caused fans to name him the “British Adonis,” Novello took full advantage of the growing popularity of the movies and became the most popular romantic lead in British films of the 1920s. His acting talents graced live theater as well. Wanting to return to composing, Novello dropped his film career around 1930 and moved on to writing books and scores for a series of opulently produced musicals.
His shows like Glamorous Night and The Dancing Years didn’t resemble Broadway-style musical comedy: They were throwbacks to the turn-of-the century world of operetta, such as Novello’s favorite, The Merry Widow, which he claimed to have seen 27 times as a child. Designed to showcase classically trained voices, their sweet-as-sugar melodies and lyrics suited the escapist tastes of British audiences during the dark years of the 1930s
and ’40s.
Sir Bryn Terfel has chosen four of Novello’s most popular songs, beginning with the luscious slow waltz “I Can Give You the Starlight” from 1939’s The Dancing Years, which epitomizes Novello’s uber-romantic style. Also from that show, which ran in London’s West End for approximately 700 performances over five seasons, comes “My Dearest Dear,” an ardent foxtrot. One of Novello’s loveliest songs—and still a sentimental favorite with English audiences—is “We’ll Gather Lilacs” from Novello’s 1945 show Perchance to Dream. As “Home Fires” did during the First World War, it perfectly captured the yearning of listeners for peace and reunion as World War II drew to a close.
Utterly different from these heart-on-sleeve songs is the sly “And Her Mother Came Too,” one of Novello’s rare comic hits. He composed it as an insertion piece for the musical A to Z in 1921.
Sir Bryn Terfel has chosen three of the most beloved of Schubert’s 600 songs. First, we’ll hear “Liebesbotschaft” (“Love’s Message”), the first song in his final published song cycle Schwanengesang (Swan’s Song). Ludwig Rellstab, the poet who wrote the verse for eight of the cycle’s songs, tells a heartwarming, possibly true story about how Schubert came to use his poems. Rellstab had sent them to his friend Beethoven, whom Schubert worshipped from afar. It was Rellstab’s understanding that Beethoven before his death sent them on to Schubert with instructions that he might want to set them. In “Liebesbotschaft,” the poet eagerly sends his love message along the waves of a babbling brook. Brooks featured in many Schubert songs, notably in Die schöne Müllerin; here he captures its sparkling flow in the continuous pattern in the pianist’s right hand that creates the song’s atmosphere.
Composed in 1816, “Litanei auf das Fest aller Seelen” is associated with All Souls’ Day (November 2), when the dead are remembered. About the time the song was created, Schubert wrote in his diary that he was thinking about his dead mother during a walk through the cemetery. A simple, subtly harmonized accompaniment supports this most sublimely beautiful of his vocal melodies. “Auf dem Wasser zu singen,” (1823) about watching the sun set over a lake, is one of Schubert’s loveliest water songs, with its ravishing accompaniment imitating the waves lapping against the boat. Here with harmonic shadows—and especially the movement from the minor mode at the beginning of each strophe to the major at the end—he captures the impermanence of all moments of perfect beauty—and of life itself.
The Spanish Basque composer Jesús Guridi was one of the leading figures in Spanish music during the first half of the 20th century. Born into a musical family, he became a composer, conductor, and revered teacher as well as one of Spain’s finest organists. Guridi was a prolific composer in many musical genres, and particularly admired for his vocal music: operas, zarzuelas, choral music, and songs. He was heavily influenced by Basque folk music, but during the Franco regime—which opposed any hint of Basque separatism—he was hampered from publishing and performing Basque-inspired music.
Though his own instrument was the organ, Guridi wrote music for many different genres and instruments. In 1949–1950, he created “Viejo Zortzico” (“Old Zortzico”) for the Spanish harpist Mari Lola Higueras to play in her recitals. The zortzico is a Basque folk dance in a distinctive 5/8 rhythm. Today this gorgeously idiomatic work has been embraced by harpists around the world, including Hannah Stone.
The final five songs on this program are drawn from a wide variety of composers contemplating the glories of the night sky and its glittering companions. First, we hear “Nuit d’étoiles,” Claude Debussy’s very first published song, dating from 1880 when he was still a student at the Paris Conservatoire. Its melody is lovely and symmetrical, its accompaniment subservient to the singer, and its rhythms firm and regular. A beguiling refrain shapes its form. Still composing in strict conservatoire style, Debussy had yet to reveal his own radical voice.
Robert Schumann’s late lied “Mein schöner Stern!” (1849), sets a poem by one of his favorite poets, Friedrich Rückert. A heartfelt prayer to the evening star—or perhaps to his wife, Clara Schumann, the composer’s lodestar throughout life—it provides a revealing look into Robert’s psyche and his ceaseless battle against the forces of depression that would soon drive him to attempt suicide.
Wagner’s lyrical baritone aria “O du mein holder Abendstern” (“Song to the Evening Star”) is sung by Wolfram von Eschenbach, the nobleman in Tannhäuser who stands by the title character and Princess Elisabeth through all their trials and tribulations. In Act III, the rebellious Tannhäuser has embarked on a seemingly impossible pilgrimage to Rome to receive forgiveness for his sins; the grieving Elisabeth, left behind, anxiously awaits his return. After she has left the scene, Wolfram, fearing her imminent death, addresses his beloved Evening Star (ironically the planet Venus!) asking it to guide her to heavenly realms.
Les Misérables, Victor Hugo’s classic historical novel about the suffering of the poor and the pursuit of justice in early–19th-century France might be known today only by lovers of French literature. In Paris in 1980, however, French singer-composer Claude-Michel Schönberg and lyricist Alain Boubil transformed it into the phenomenon known simply as “Les Miz”: the hit musical that ultimately enraptured audiences around the world before becoming an Oscar-winning film in 2012. Its gripping, somewhat melodramatic story tells of a decades-long battle between the big-hearted ex-criminal Jean Valjean, longing for freedom and redemption, and the ruthless police officer Jalvert, who pursues him relentlessly to satisfy his own conception of justice. Jalvert may be the villain of the tale, but Schönberg gives him one of the biggest numbers in his score, “Stars,” in which he confesses the philosophy that drives him. Accompanied by music evoking the sparkling stars above, this is a showstopper that elicits our sympathy for a man who passionately clings to what he believes is right.
—Janet E. Bedell