Moeran: In the Mountain Country

I was reading Brian Reinhart’s (MusicWeb International) review of this CD the other day, and was interested by his ‘take’ on these pieces. Fundamentally, he recognised that three of these ‘attractive enough’ works are early and ‘are not about to spur a Moeran revival’.  I disagree with him- in part. Since hearing these works more that quarter of a century ago, I have come to enjoy their impressive blend of ‘English Musical Renaissance’ and ‘Celtic Twilight’ so often associated with Arnold Bax. I concede that there is nothing on these discs to compare with the Symphony in G minor or the moving Cello Concerto, yet all of them are good, entertaining pieces that give the listener considerable pleasure as well as an allowing opportunity to explore the composer’s earlier orchestral music. In these works there are sufficient marks of interest, beauty and occasional genius to make them worthy of the composer. My musical life would be the poorer if I did not have these pieces in my collection.  Certainly the three Rhapsodies and the In the Mountain Countryprovide an unequalled musical ‘impression’ of Ireland (in a very different manner to Stanford’s excellent Rhapsodies)

It is possible to underestimate Moeran’s Overture for a Masque, quite simply because it is a populist in its effect. Yet it must be recalled that this work was written (1942-43) as a commission by Walter Legge for performance at an ENSA (Entertainment National Service Association) concert (As was Alan Rawsthorne’s ‘Street Corner’ Overture).  It is clear that Moeran’s overture was designed to entertain rather than present any major ground-breaking personal statement or confession. Moeran presents the listener with lots of brass, rhythmical excitement and syncopations. There is a deeper element to this music: Moeran manages to create an occasional nod towards the misty far Western shores of Eire especially with the reflective middle section. It is not clear what this largely rumbustious piece has to do with a ‘Masque’. But that is not the point: it is a well-written overture that has outlasted its original purpose. It could still be used as an opener at an orchestral concert today.  

Since hearing Vernon Handley and the Ulster Symphony Orchestra perform ‘In the Mountain Country’ on CD back in 1989, I have enjoyed what Rob Barnett has deemed ‘Rhapsody No.0’.  Reinhart rightly describes this as an ‘atmospheric postcard’. Moeran designated this piece a ‘symphonic impression’ which it may or may not be. There is little development of ideas (in a symphonic sense) here, just a series of beautiful and catchy tunes.  Unlike Charles Villiers Stanford’s ‘Irish Rhapsodies’, all the melodies that Moeran presents are of his own devising, although it is clear to the listener that he has absorbed much of the style and content of Irish folksong.  I love the enigmatic close to this piece, the considerable and quite moving climax and the ‘Celtic Revival’ opening with the drum roll and clarinet solo. Moeran dedicated this student work composed in 1921 to Sir Hamilton Harty.  It may not be the greatest of Moeran’s efforts, but it is worthy of his reputation.

The First Rhapsody was composed the year after In the Mountain Country: in many ways it builds on the success of this earlier piece. However, I get the feeling that there is just a touch more subtlety.  Once again, no folk-song has been identified as having been ‘lifted’ by the composer: all appear to be of his own invention.  This work was dedicated to John Ireland who was Moeran’s teacher at this time.  There is a good balance between passionate, almost ‘Ravelian’ passages and the typically reflective mood music that hints at the Irish landscape and its peoples.  I feel that any criticism of this work overlooks just how competent the orchestration is. His handling of the woodwind in particular is worthy of study. This is a confident composer perfectly at home in handling large forces, building strong climaxes, but never losing a sense of intimacy. It is ultimately a beautiful work.

The Second Rhapsody was a commission for the 1924 Norfolk and Norwich Centenary Festival.  The liner notes suggest that this is not as subtly scored as its predecessor: nor is the formal structure quite as ‘intricate.’ In 1941 Moeran tinkered with the orchestration, presenting it for a smaller orchestra.  It is this version that is presented here.  The work opens with a typical, folk-like tune for bass clarinet which is apparently based on a Norfolk melody called ‘Polly on the Shore.’ (Not Molly!) In spite of this, the general tenor of this work is once again that of an ‘Irish’ Rhapsody. It has been suggested that nearly all tunes want to turn themselves into jigs. There is a lovely thoughtful middle section with a broad tune which just makes the goosebumps rise.  I am not convinced by the suggestion that this piece is less worthy than No. 1. If I am honest it is my favourite of the lot. 

Brian Reinhart is absolutely correct in his review that the Rhapsody in F sharp ‘falls into that unfortunate blind spot of concertante works too short to program as the main concerto.’ The other side to this coin is that it is expensive to find a soloist of the calibre of Benjamin Frith to present a work that lasts for a mere 17 minutes.

The Rhapsody was composed at a time when Moeran was at his peak. It was dedicated to Harriet Cohen who gave the work’s first performance in 1943. It was later taken up by Iris Loveridge whose performances the composer apparently preferred. Although the work is in one continuous movement it is divided into three sections. I find it quite hard to decide if this is a Concertante work or a ‘mini’ concerto. There are plenty of opportunities here for the pianist to display their technical skill, including several cadenzas. Much of this music is heart-meltingly beautiful. Once again this work was designed with war-time concertgoers in mind, which perhaps explains some of the more popular stylistic conceits that Moeran has used. He never compromises his artistic integrity for the sake of public approbation. There is everything in this work: it is just way too short. What a pity that Moeran never wrote a ‘proper’ piano concerto.

I was bowled over by the sound quality of this disc. The playing by the Ulster Orchestra under JoAnn Falletta is sympathetic and committed. The liner notes by Paul Conway give the listener all the information that is needed to appreciate these delightful works.  Benjamin Frith excels himself in the Third Rhapsody.

Rob Barnett has given an overview of the alternative recordings in his review. All I will add is that all enthusiasts of Jack Moeran’s music will demand all these recordings in their collections.  But if someone only wishes to own one version of these works, or wants to discover what they sound like, then this is the best version to go for.

Tracklisting

E.J. MOERAN (1894-1950)

Overture for a Masque (1944) ‘In the Mountain Country’ (1921) Rhapsody No.1 in F major (1922) Rhapsody No.2 in E major (1924/41) Rhapsody in F sharp major* (1943) Benjamin Frith* (piano)

Ulster Orchestra/JoAnn Falletta

NAXOS8.573106 

With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.

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Arnold Bax on E.J. Moeran Part II

Moeran's life may be said to have been divided into two clearly cut parts. During his first thirty or so years, he was an Englishman and a diligent collector of East Anglian folk-tunes, [1] whilst for the remainder of his days he was almost exclusively Irish. It was, I would say, about twenty years ago that his consciousness of his Celtic heredity was suddenly aroused. His father (‘a very nice old man’, according to his son) originally came from Cork. (By the way, the Irish nearly always pronounce the name Moeran as Morawn, with the accent on the second syllable. This is probably correct, for in Munster Gaelic the stress usually falls on the end of a word and "a" is heard as ‘aw’. But the composer, and his family, called themselves Moran, as does Lord Moran, I believe.)

Kenmare, where Jack made his Kerry home, is in reality little more than a village picturesquely grouped about the shores of the so-called river, (the name Kenmare means Head of the Sea), with the mountains rearing their austere peaks at the back of the main street. (An English visitor once fantastically confided to us that it reminded him of Innsbruck.) Moeran took an almost proprietary interest in the effect the Kerry scenery made upon the stranger. It was amusing to watch the eagerness of his face as we motored a newcomer up the Kenmare-Killarney road to Windy Gap, where the three lakes and the McGillycuddy Reeks burst into astounding view in a single breathless instant. Jack's predilection for the Irish (or rather Kerry) scene must have been wholly instinctive and emotional. He knew nothing of Irish history, nothing of the heroic legends, nothing of the Celtic literary renaissance. He took no interest in the language revival. Very wisely he refused to take part in any discussion of Irish politics, even if he was ever more than dimly aware that such matters for violent debate existed.

He was not in any sense well read and was, in fact, like Mozart, an almost perfect example of the pure musician. Like Mozart too, he was greatly addicted to billiards. But he knew and loved the Kerry people and understood unerringly how to get on with them. His friendly and unpretentiously   straightforward manner was precisely the same whether he was in the company of a brewery peer, a hotel boots, a priest, an out-at-elbows tramp, or even a drink-sodden and bellicose tinker at Puck Fair in Killorglin [2]. The people of Kenmare adored him. One of them remarked to me: ‘If there was ever a move to elect a mayor of this town Jack Moeran would be everyone's-first choice’. His popularity was immense, even; it must be admitted, sometimes to the point of embarrassment.

I recall an occasion when he and I were in the billiards-room of the Lansdowne Arms [3] and just about to start a game. Into the bar, which was next door and the only passage known to us to the main part of the hotel, there was a sudden irruption of some dozen of Moeran's town friends, all of them in a state of artificial exuberance and all of them anxious, I knew, to force liquid hospitality upon my companion if he could be found. It was only II in the morning and neither he nor I was in convivial mood.

We heard a voice cry, ‘Where is Jack Moeran?’ and glanced apprehensively at one another before searching desperately for a means of escape. By great good fortune we discovered behind a screen a narrow staircase that we had never before noticed. Silently we put away our cues, darted up the stairs and, after much furtive scuffling through box-rooms and attics, found our way to the front door of the hotel and comparative security. Everyone who knew Jack liked him, for he could have had no enemy. Kenmare must have been mourning him, and if the ancient keen were still to be heard in Kerry, as it was when I was young, it would surely have been wailed over the dead body of the village's old friend. His was a simple soul, and a lovable one. Ave atque vale! [4]

Footnotes

[1] For example his Six Folksongs from Norfolk (1923) and his Six Suffolk Folksongs (1931)

[2] Puck Fair, Killorglin. It is thought that the fair started in pre-Christian times as a celebration for a good harvest. The goat may also represent the pagan god, Pan. It is also likely that it is a representation of the Celtic god Lugh and a celebration of Lugnasa (Wikipedia accessed 10/03/12)

[3] Lansdowne Arms, Kenmare. The 3 star Lansdowne Arms Hotel is a beautiful Victorian style Kenmare hotel built 1790. It is an oasis of tranquillity and elegance, situated in the heart of the picturesque town of Kenmare Co Kerry in Kenmare Bay on the famous Ring of Kerry, and the rugged Ring of Beara, just about a 30 minute drive south of Killarney town on the N71 in Co Kerry. (Webpage for Lansdowne Hotel – accessed 10/4/12)

[4] Ave atque vale! Hail and Farewell

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Arnold Bax on E.J. Moeran Part I

This is an excellent appreciation of E.J. Moeran written by fellow composer Arnold Bax. I present t in two parts. Moeran had died suddenly in Kenmare, Ireland on 1 December 1950, most likely from a cerebral hemorrhage. He was aged 55.  

It must have been in the summer of 1919 that I was invited to an evening party somewhere in Kensington or Chelsea: I forget which. These localities always seemed to me, a North Londoner at the time, so remote and foreign that whenever I emerged from the Underground at High Street or Sloane Square I half-expected to hear the aboriginals speaking an alien tongue.

Before starting out that evening, I had become involved in a futile and miserable quarrel with an old friend, and as I reached the doors of the house where the party was to be given my mind was not a little disintegrated and I felt in no mood to entertain or to be entertained. However, only a few minutes after my arrival I found myself conversing appreciatively with as charming and as good-looking a young officer as one could hope to meet. This was my first encounter with Jack Moeran [1] and the beginning of a close friendship which was to continue unbroken until the tragic day when his body was found in the Kenmare River. (It may be mentioned that this is not, strictly speaking, a river at all, but a long arm of the sea.)

At the time of our earliest acquaintance he was about to be demobilized after serving in the army all through the war and, in the course of it, suffering a head wound to the after-effects of which may perhaps be attributed a certain instability in his character later on.

He told me that he was a pupil of John Ireland, whom he always declared to be a most painstaking and conscientious teacher. Ireland himself reciprocated Moeran's respect and thought very highly of the latter's gifts as a composer. He had every right to be proud of his pupil. One of the first of Jack's works to be played and published was the Sonata for Violin and Piano (1923) given at a recital by Désiré Defauw [2] and Harriet Cohen. It was rehearsed one evening before a small audience in Harriet's music-room in Wyndham Place, and amongst those present was Arnold Bennett [3], a true and sensitive music-lover, though he had, I think, no technical knowledge of the art. There came a moment in the rehearsal when Moeran rose and diffidently interrupted the players in order to suggest some slight alteration in the nuance of their interpretation. Hearing strange sounds beside me I turned to Bennett and found him in the throes of his curious stammer, his head thrown back, eyes closed, and one hand sawing the air gently to assist articulation. Then shrilly: ‘He-e-e-e's m-making " (pause-and with a rush) " a noise like a composer!’

Jack, in those earlier days, was a steady and prolific worker. Later his composition became intermittent, though when he did get down to it he filled the pages of his scores with astonishing rapidity and ease. He was one of the last of the true romantics. All his work from first to last is characterized by a deep love of nature. Certainly he was often derivative, and from time to time Delius, Vaughan Williams and Sibelius all held sway over his medium of expression. He wrote so fluently that he probably did not realize his occasional indebtedness to his predecessors. I well remember his perturbation when I pointed out to him that a passage in his symphony bore a remarkable resemblance to the famous whirlwind in Tapiola. [3] But he had his own distinctive musical personality as well, witness the unworldly Western-Irish lights that seemed to glimmer down upon the pages of that same symphony, the second movement of the violin concerto, the piano piece ‘The Lake Island'; and witness too the delicately distilled suggestions of native folk idiom heard in these works.

Music and Letters April 1952 with minor edits

Footnotes

[1] Ernest John Moeran (1894 -1950) was generally known to his friends as ‘Jack.’

[2] Désiré Defauw (1885-1960) Belgian conductor and violinist.

[3] Arnold Bennett (1867-1931) English novelist and journalist. Noted for his evocative novels set in The Potteries, Staffordshire.

[4] Tapiola, Op.112 is a tone poem by Jean Sibelius composed in 1926.  Tapio was the animating spirit of the forest. 

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E.J. Moeran Complete Solo Folksong Arrangements

Ernest John MOERAN (1894-1950)

Complete Solo Folksong Arrangements: Six Folksongs from Norfolk; The North Sea Ground; High Germany; The Sailor and Young Nancy; The Little Milkmaid; The Jolly Carter; Parson and Clerk; Gaol Song; Six Suffolk Folksongs; Songs (7) from County Kerry

Adrian Thompson (tenor); Marcus Farnsworth (baritone); John Talbot (piano)

Members of the Weybridge Male Voice Choir/Christine Best

Full contents list at end review

BRITISH MUSIC SOCIETY BMS438CD [65:38]

I agree with Rob Barnett when he says ‘that unadulterated folksongs do not in general hold my attention.’ That said, whichever way one looks at British music of the first half of the twentieth century this genre can be seen to be pervasive … or possibly corrosive, depending on one’s musical aesthetic. It manifested itself in a number of ‘rhapsodies’ often qualified by Constant Lambert’s dictum that ‘the whole trouble with a folk-song is that once you have played it through there is nothing much you can do except play it over again and play it rather louder.’ Or it could be the case that from Stanford to Britten composers have been keen to produce editions of indigenous tunes – be they Irish, Scottish, English or Welsh. Vaughan Williams is known to have edited over 800 examples; E.J. Moeran considerably fewer.

The present CD complements the recent release on Chandos of the ‘Complete Solo Songs of E.J. Moeran’, which consists of his ‘art’ songs, including his Housman and Joyce settings.

The first volume of folksongs arranged for voice and piano was the Six Folk Songs from Norfolk. This was published by Augener in 1924. The songs were collected in three villages in the County from performances by four local men. Two of the tunes collected, ‘Lonely Waters’ and ‘The Shooting of his Dear’ were to be used in orchestral compositions by Moeran.

Two things can be said about these folksong arrangements. Firstly the style of John Ireland is pervasive in the piano accompaniment. This is not a criticism, for it certainly adds value to the total effect of these songs. Secondly he approaches these songs with a lightness of touch often denied to similar compositions by Percy Grainger and Arnold Bax. For example ‘The Shooting of his Dear’ has an accompaniment that at times seems to be almost non-existent.

Six Suffolk Folksongs appeared eight years after the Norfolk set and were conceived as a companion volume. They were collected from two small villages, Earl Stonham and Coddenham. Geoffrey Self notes that they were ‘realised’ at Ipswich where Moeran was convalescing. These songs do not quite match the ‘out of doors’ feel of the Norfolk series. However, it is clear that they are an accomplished contribution to the genre: perhaps what is lost in spontaneity is made up in the subtlety of the combination of voice and piano?

The Songs from County Kerry set is a late addition to Moeran’s catalogue. These seven songs were composed in 1948 and turned out to be the composer’s last foray into the genre. The composer’s preface to this collection notes that: “These arrangements are taken from a much larger collection I noted in Co. Kerry at odd times during a period roughly between 1934 and 1948. They were sung by Kerrymen in Cahirciveen, Sneem and Kenmare. The verse by verse variants in some of the tunes are exactly as I heard them from the singers themselves on a number of occasions.” Certainly it is possible to agree with Geoffrey Self that these seven songs represent ‘a mature approach and [a] masterly touch rarely reached in the earlier sets.

This CD also includes a number of standalone folksong settings. These include the well-known ‘The Sailor and Young Nancy’ with its chorus sung by a male voice choir. The recording also presents the ‘pseudo-folksong’ ‘The North-Sea Ground’ which may have been composed for the Oxford and Cambridge Musical Club. Yet it is a fun piece that deserves its place in this collection. Performers should note that the group of ‘miscellaneous’ numbers would make a good sequence of songs at any recital.

The liner-notes for this BMS CD release are superb – in fact they set a standard that many other writers should aspire to. The essay by Roy Palmer of the English Folk Dance and Song Society is divided into two complementary sections – Moeran as ‘collector’ and Moeran as ‘composer/arranger’. There is a separate essay by Ian Maxwell on the recently re-discovered song ‘The North Sea Ground’. Alas, space has not permitted the reproduction of the texts for these 26 songs. However, the BMS have thoughtfully provided a .pdf file on their website. These texts make fascinating and enjoyable reading in their own right. My one concern is the epithet ‘complete’. There is always one ‘trainspotter’ that finds the exception that proves the rule. In this case it would appear to be ‘O Sweet Fa’s the Eve’- which is listed in Geoffrey Self’s catalogue listings for Moeran’s ‘folksong arrangements’. Now, I guess the reason is that the words are not ‘anon’ but are by Robert Burns and the tune would appear to be an Old Norwegian one. Fortunately, it is available on Moeran: The Collected 78rpm Recordings with John Goss as the soloist.

Yet this is an insignificant complaint against this excellent collection. I enjoyed the singing by the two soloists, the Weybridge Male Voice Choir and the piano accompaniment by John Talbot. I have a preference for Marcus Farnsworth’s vocal style but Adrian Thompson gives a good account of the nine numbers he is billed to sing. Every word is clearly enunciated and the sense of each song is easily understood.

There is, I believe an excellent strategy for listening to this CD. It has to be recalled that much of Jack Moeran’s (and other composers’) folksong collecting was done in public houses. The first thing is to find an appropriate bottle of beer – Adnams' Oyster Stout for the Suffolk Songs, Woodforde’s Wherry for the Norfolk examples and Clanconnel Brewery's McGrath's Irish Red for those from County Kerry. Like the beer, these songs need to be approached slowly and with considerable respect. Listen to them in the order given in the track-listing. However, I would suggest keeping the ‘miscellaneous’ song group till last. Even without the ale, these songs will reveal their charm only if sampled slowly. Any attempt to ‘binge’ may put the listener off them for good.

These are typically well-wrought realisations of a part of the British Heritage that was dying out rapidly in the first few decades of the Twentieth Century. We should be grateful to the many enthusiasts for their assiduity in saving these songs before they disappeared forever. In spite of Jack Moeran’s often haphazard methods of noting, documenting and filing the material he collected, these 26 songs are a testament to his skill as a composer and as a musical antiquarian. It is the tension between these two occupations that makes these songs interesting, perfectly satisfactory and ultimately moving.

Full contents list:-

Six Folksongs from Norfolk

1 Down by the Riverside

2 The Bold Richard

3 Lonely Waters

4 The Pressgang

5 The Shooting of His Dear

6 The Oxford Sporting Blade

7 The North Sea Ground

8 High Germany

9 The Sailor and Young Nancy

10 The Little Milkmaid

11 The Jolly Carter

12 Parson and Clerk

13 Gaol Song

Six Suffolk Folksongs

14 Nutting Time

15 Blackberry Fold

16 Cupid’s Garden

17 Father and Daughter

18 The Isle of Cloy

19 A Seaman’s Life

Songs from County Kerry

20 The Dawning of the Day

21 My Love Passed Me By

22 The Murder of Father Hanratty

23 The Roving Dingle Boy

24 The Lost Lover

25 The Tinker’s Daughter

26 Kitty, I am in Love with You

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