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Hyperion Records

CDA67208 - Stanford: Violin Concertos

Recording details: June 2000
Greyfriars Church, Edinburgh, Scotland
Produced by Andrew Keener
Engineered by Tony Faulkner
Release date: November 2000
DISCID: 680F9E08
Total duration: 66 minutes 26 seconds

GRAMOPHONE CRITICS' CHOICE (chosen by three critics)

'A discovery of major importance. First class … this masterful work speaks with a distinctly beautiful voice and has a perfect advocate in Marwood and the BBC SSO' (Gramophone)

‘Here’s a real find: a major Romantic violin concerto by a British composer. Anthony Marwood is an inspired choice of soloist, with a silvery tone and immaculate intonation. Prepare to be enchanted, by both piece and performance’ (BBC Music Magazine)

'Anthony Marwood gives a blistering account' (The Independent)

'Anthony Marwood's performance is brim-full of intelligence and poetry…[a] splendid concerto' (The Daily Telegraph)

'Rarely have I heard intonation so ringingly true, nor such an affecting chamber-like response with an orchestra in music of this period. This is the kind of playing that one can listen to for pleasure simply because of its ravishing, jewel-like tonal quality…an outstanding release' (International Record Review)

'Anthony Marwood gives a warm, clean-cut reading' (The Guardian)

'These lovely pieces are played most expressively by a sweet-toned Anthony Marwood… Two unexpected gems that deserve to reclaim their place on the concert platform alongside the works of Elgar' (The Independent on Sunday)

'Both works are irresistable, winsome and charming. It won me over instantly; my guess is that you'll surrender just as quickly' (Fanfare, USA)

'A real find … Anthony Marwood is an inspired choice of soloist, with a silvery tone and immaculate intonation. Prepare to be enchanted, by both piece and performance' (CDReview)

The Romantic Violin Concerto
Violin Concertos
Ouverture  [7'51]
Allemande  [3'24]
Ballade  [6'44]
Tambourin  [3'37]
Rondo Finale  [6'42]
Allegro  [17'37]
Allegro moderato  [7'53]

Stanford was a more-than-proficient violinist during his youth and performed numerous violin concertos as an experienced conductor. From his early years in Dublin, Stanford came to know Joachim and as Stanford grew older and his prodigious ability became more apparent, Joachim began to take a serious interest in his future. Later, while Stanford was at Cambridge, their strong artistic and personal relationship cemented.

The Suite for Violin and Orchestra was written as a homage to Joachim which would stand both as a tribute to his friend's brilliance as a great virtuoso and musician and as a portrait of his musical enthusiasms for Bach, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Spohr and Brahms. The work was premiered by Joachim in Berlin in 1889 and was a great success. The violin concerto was composed in 1899 and first performed in 1901 with very little critical notice. This changed, however, when it was played by Fritz Kreisler. Although viewed by those such as Parry as one of his finest works, it did not establish itself in the canon of popular concertos. The work has remained virtually unknown, its passion and soul locked away in the pages of Breitkopf und Härtel's unpublished full score and parts recently discovered in the library of the RCM.

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Introduction  EnglishFrançaisDeutsch
During his active years as a performing instrumentalist, primarily at Cambridge University, Stanford was associated with the organ in his capacity as director of music at Trinity College. Of equal importance, too, was his role as pianist in the Wednesday Popular Concerts, a series of recitals of chamber music organised by the Cambridge University Musical Society (CUMS) in which Stanford was in many ways chief protagonist. Yet, though not apparent from his later activities as a practical musician, Stanford was also a more-than-proficient violinist during his youth. As his teacher, Richard Michael Levey (real name O’Shaughnessy) affirmed, the young protegé ‘made rapid progress, and mastered the technicalities of the instrument as the violin parts of his works show’ (Musical Times, 1898). Stanford undoubtedly felt the influence keenly of Levey in his early years:

He was a rough player, but an admirable leader of an orchestra and often as a conductor managed to make sows’ ears resemble silk purses. Though he was by force of circumstances essentially provincial, he had sharp eyes and kept them open, and he was the first musician in his own town to be a whole-hearted Wagnerian. His name quarrelled with his face: it was incongruous to hear the servant announce “Mr Levey,” and see, not dark hair and a pronounced nose, but an unmistakable Paddy enter the room. The Gallery at the theatre knew better, and greeted him every night as he entered the orchestra with shouts of “The top of the mornin’ to ye, O’Shaughnessy,” the good old Irish name, which he dropped for what he considered to be a more musical one. Joachim was much amused to see a Levi, of whom he knew many in Germany, with a snub nose and a most Hibernian grin. (Pages from an Unwritten Diary (1914), 34)

In addition to his work at the Theatre Royal, Levey also organised the ‘Classical Quartet Concerts’ in Dublin from 1852. These concerts, under various guises, continued intermittently until 1871, and in their last three years (when they were known as the ‘Monthly Popular Concerts’) Joachim led the quartet. Joachim’s regular visits to Dublin proved to be hugely influential on the young Stanford. They had first met at the Stanfords’ home in Herbert Street, Dublin, in 1860, but, on being asked to play for the great German professor, the teenage Charles Villiers was reduced to tears from fear. As Stanford grew older and his prodigious ability became more apparent, Joachim began to take a serious interest in his future. Joachim was, with Sterndale Bennett, instrumental in recommending that Stanford study in Germany between 1874 and 1876; indeed, it was Joachim who, after expressing dissatisfaction with Reinecke’s ‘dessicated’ teaching in Leipzig, insisted that Stanford take lessons with Friedrich Kiel in Berlin. Stanford’s return to Cambridge in January 1877 was quickly followed by the university’s conferring of an honorary doctorate on Joachim, an occasion marked by a concert on 8 March (one of the most famous Cambridge has ever experienced) of Beethoven’s Violin Concerto, some violin music by Bach (both with Joachim as soloist), the violinist’s own Elegiac Overture in Commemoration of Kleist (composed expressly for the concert), Brahms’s Schicksalslied and the English premiere of Brahms’s First Symphony. The only disappointment to both Joachim and Stanford was that Brahms, who had been offered a doctorate with Joachim, did not come and therefore could not receive his honour.

The success of the Cambridge concert and Joachim’s doctorate had the effect of cementing the strong artistic and personal relationship between Stanford and Joachim. Until Joachim’s death in 1907 the two men corresponded at regular intervals and their letters reveal a warmth and kinship. Stanford would write to his friend as ‘J.J.’ or more affectionately as ‘Carissimo J.J.’ or ‘Caro J.J.’ while Joachim would sign himself as ‘Jo’ or even ‘Biggler Joe’. Joachim’s relationship with Cambridge was also strengthened. For many years afterwards Joachim was a regular visitor to the university, appearing in orchestral concerts as soloist and in CUMS’s regular series of chamber concerts where, as well as appearing in concerted chamber music with Stanford and other Cambridge musicians, he was also asked to play Bach, especially the unaccompanied sonatas.

In 1888, eleven years after the auspicious ‘Brahms’ concert, Stanford was appointed Professor of Music at Cambridge; and at the same time the university awarded him a D.Mus. honoris causa. Stanford was 36 and at the height of his powers. He was the author of three operas, three symphonies (the third of which, the ‘Irish’, had received performances in several major cities in Europe), a serenade and other orchestral pieces, choral works (including a large-scale oratorio for the Birmingham Festival), chamber works, church music and songs. He was conductor of The Bach Choir and Professor of Composition at the five-year-old Royal College of Music. It was an enviable record and one of a composer full of confidence, energy and optimism.

On the crest of this wave a concert was planned entirely of Stanford’s music in Berlin in January 1889. This auspicious occasion was arranged in the wake of several performances of Stanford’s work in the German capital, thanks essentially to the support of Hans von Bülow and Joachim (who was Principal of the Berlin Hochschule für Ausübende Tonkunst). For Stanford it was an event of true prestige where a cross-section of his works could be heard and scrutinised in one of Europe’s artistic centres; but it must have also felt like a form of ‘homecoming’ in that Berlin was a place immersed in aesthetic values that had potently informed Stanford’s own artistic outlook, and where the ebullient Irishman felt culturally at ease among musicians he held in the highest esteem. Moreover, Stanford must also have been aware that his own countrymen looked on with pride that Germany, repository of all that was musically great, was giving its attentions to a British composer.

For the Berlin concert Stanford proposed to include the prelude from his incidental music to his Oedipus Tyrannus (written for the Cambridge University Dramatic Club in 1888), his new Festival Overture, Queen of the Seas (to celebrate the tercentenary of the defeat of the Spanish Armada), an orchestrated version of ‘La belle dame sans merci’ (in place of his original intention to perform his incidental music from The Eumenides) and two Irish folksongs. A new symphony had also been commissioned which Stanford completed in Dublin on 31 July 1888, but he also entertained the idea that Joachim might appear at the concert as soloist in another new work. Having thought about some ideas he wrote to Joachim on 20 July: ‘I am revolving in my head a suite for violin and orchestra with Pavans and Gagliardos and such like things which may take shape this summer and perhaps you may like it if I have the courage to send it to you’. The Stanfords spent their summer holiday travelling in Europe: they were in Bayreuth in the first part of August to hear Cosima Wagner’s production of Die Meistersinger (Stanford’s favourite Wagner opera) during which time work proceeded on the new piece. The first two movements, the ‘Ouverture’ and ‘Allemande’ were completed at Bayreuth on 18 August. The ‘Ballade’ and ‘Tambourin’ were finished at Attersee in Austria (on 23 and 25 August respectively) and the Finale in September on the way home. Before completion of the last movement Stanford wrote again to Joachim from San Martino in the Tirol with greater persistence:

My dear J.J., I have nearly finished a suite for violin and orchestra, which I should vastly like you to see. It is possibly full of impossibilities! But on the other hand you might like it enough to try it (at all events) at my concert in January. You will I know tell me truly, and also ‘doctor it’ as much as you like. I don’t think it has been done before, but I don’t know: anyhow the Tambourin (literally) will make you smile.

Joachim, no doubt touched by his friend’s gesture of admiration, asked to see the score and soon after agreed to play it.

The concert in Berlin on 14 January 1889 was, by all accounts, a great success. ‘The compositions of Dr Villiers Stanford have taken us by surprise’, reported the Kreuz Zeitung. ‘We did not expect such mature work from a man who has not yet left his youth behind him, and there is real ground for astonishment in his powerful handling of larger forms and masses … His work is masterly.’ Stanford positively glowed with satisfaction and, from Brussels on his way back to England a week later, he confided to Joachim that it would remain a high point in his career:

Caro J.J., I must write you one more line to thank you vom Herzen for all your goodness and kindness to me and Jen in Berlin. It was and will be always the very brightest spot in both our lives, and for me one of the greatest honours that I ever received that you played my work for me, and that you helped me so much in making it presentable. You know me well enough to know that I am truly grateful to you for it all, more so than my poor pen will properly express. Take the will for the deed, please!

Joachim played the Suite on three further occasions. The first was at Manchester under Hallé on 28 February 1889 at a concert in which Grieg appeared as soloist in his own Piano Concerto. A fortnight later (14 March), Cambridge invited Joachim to a jubilee dinner in the hall of Caius College to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the great violinist’s first appearance in public on 17 March 1839. It was attended by Lord Leighton, Parry, Stanford, Alma-Tadema, Sedley Taylor and Grove, who all gave adulatory speeches. The following evening CUMS honoured him with a chamber concert in which, as the closing item, Stanford, Joachim and Hausmann played Brahms’s new Piano Trio Op 101. This was not the end of the celebrations however. After a further performance of the Suite at the Philharmonic Society on 28 March (under Stanford’s baton, and which also featured Grieg’s concerto, this time with the composer conducting), Joachim’s friends, Stanford among them, presented him with a characteristic testimonial in the form of a Stradivarius violin (to the value of £1,200). Joachim’s last performance of the Suite took place on 9 March 1892 with Stanford for CUMS: it was their last appearance together in the Cambridge orchestral concerts for, although Joachim continued to visit Cambridge until the early 1900s, Stanford resigned as conductor of CUMS in early 1894 and the position passed to Alan Gray.

Stanford’s Suite Op 32 is one of numerous Romantic works in which the ‘old’ and ‘new’ are brought together. Indeed, one of the most fascinating aspects of this ‘interaction’ is how far the composer permits one to influence the other, yet, at the same time retaining the dominance of the ‘new’. Stanford had experience of this approach as a student in Leipzig with his Suite for Piano Op 2 (one of his earliest published works, published by Chappell in 1875) which consisted of four dances, a courante, a sarabande and gigue (grouped together) and a final gavotte. But by the time he came to the composition of his violin suite in 1888 there were important orchestral precedents in the form of Grieg’s Aus Holbergs Zeit and Tchaikovsky’s orchestral suites, two composers for whom Stanford had profound admiration. Yet, much as both Grieg and Tchaikovsky may have been influential, Stanford’s real motivation lay in his desire to create a work of homage to Joachim which would stand both as a tribute to his friend’s brilliance as a great virtuoso and musician and as a portrait of Joachim’s musical enthusiams for Bach, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Spohr and Brahms, seen musically through the eyes of his younger Irish admirer.

The first movement is a particularly remarkable example of this musical fusion of ‘old’ and ‘new’ styles. It is apparent in the conflation of ritornello and sonata principles, but perhaps more strikingly in the differentiation of first- and second-group material, the former very much using the Baroque mannerisms of French double-dotted rhythms (the solo opening is surely a depiction of Joachim and his beloved Bach unaccompanied violin sonatas) and the latter an overtly Romantic style, no doubt reminding the listener that Joachim was the dedicatee of Brahms’s Violin Concerto. The ‘Ouverture’ is linked by a modulatory passage of quasi-recitative (in which the dotted rhythms are expunged) to the ‘Allemande’ (in G) which is perhaps reminiscent of Mendelssohn (not least his Violin Concerto which Joachim had played at a precociously young age). Felicitously scored, this delightful miniature more closely follows the traditional binary scheme of its Baroque model, though the full thematic recapitulation and excursion to F major betray its more contemporary roots. The Ballade (in G minor), recalling the rich sonorities of Brahms’s Balladen Op 10, is a poetic, melancholy essay whose extended theme exploits the dark hues of the violin’s G string. This plaintive material flanks a central section of a more euphonious, lyrical character and one which, in the coda, is transformed into Mendelssohnian quicksilver.

The ‘Tambourin’, like its counterpart the ‘Allemande’, is a short interlude of delicate proportions and nimble orchestration. In keeping with the character of the old Provençal dance, Stanford maintains the monotonous rhythm (heard mainly on the timpani) throughout the movement. The unchanging pedal point on D also gives rise to an interesting tonal syntax where the subdominant and submediant play a central role (as opposed to the dominant, which is largely absent) and where Stanford’s chromatic resourcefulness is conspicuous at the climax. The gigue finale, cast in sonata-rondo form, is the most symphonic movement of the suite and the most technically demanding for both soloist and orchestra. Here Stanford’s instrumental technique is shown at its most fluent and imaginative, particularly in the exhilarating central episode (where the solo violin’s legato line is supported by the extraordinarily vigorous texture of the lower strings) and the sparkling coda where the ritornello of the first movement is recalled as a concluding gesture.

Stanford’s Suite was the third in a line of extended works for the violin. The first was a concerto written in Leipzig during the months of August and September 1875 and dedicated to Guido Papini, who frequently appeared at the concerts of the Musical Union during his annual visits to London. Two years later, the fine Violin Sonata Op 11 appeared which confirmed Stanford’s mastery of large-scale form. After the Suite came the unpublished Second Violin Sonata Op 70, which probably dates from 1898. For whom this work was composed and whether it was ever performed is presently unclear, but it may have been destined for Stanford’s colleague, Enrique Fernandez Arbós, Professor of Violin at the RCM. Originally a pupil of Vieuxtemps in Brussels, Arbós became a pupil of Joachim and for a time led the Berlin Philharmonic Society before settling in London, taking up his post at the RCM in 1894. His fine technique and genial personality captured Stanford’s imagination and before long he began to contemplate a new concerto for the Spaniard.

As an experienced conductor, Stanford had performed numerous violin concertos (Mendelssohn, Vieuxtemps, Joachim, Mackenzie, Spohr, Bruch, Saint-Säens and Brahms) at Cambridge and in London, many of them with Joachim. He was, therefore, more than familiar with the ethos of the ‘grand’ Romantic concerto with its distinctive admixture of display and passion; yet, taking his lead from Brahms, Stanford was never tempted to sacrifice intellectual control in favour of pure athleticism and showmanship. The Violin Concerto in D, dedicated ‘to my friend E. F. Arbós’ was composed during October and November 1899. It was first performed under Stanford’s direction with Arbós and the Bournemouth Municipal Orchestra on 7 March 1901. Little critical notice appears to have been taken at the time, but the work was given a much more auspicious profile when it was played at the Leeds Festival on 7 October 1904, with no less a virtuoso than Fritz Kreisler. The following spring, the American violinist (Serge) Achille Rivarde, also a professor at the RCM, was the executant in a third performance at the Philharmonic Society (again under Stanford’s direction) which was enthusiastically received. Yet, in spite of its critical acclaim as a ‘vigorous and original’ work – indeed Parry considered it among Stanford’s finest utterances – it did not establish itself in the canon of popular concertos. Stanford heard his work a final time at the RCM on 12 July 1918 when it was performed by the highly prodigious Margaret Harrison. Since then the work has remained virtually unknown, its passionate soul locked away in the pages of Breitkopf und Härtel’s unpublished full score and parts recently discovered in the library of the RCM.

Stanford conceived his Violin Concerto on a grand scale. The first movement is a substantial musical structure full of striking ideas, written in a form he had already explored in his First Piano Concerto Op 59 (recorded on CDA66820) of 1894. An opening statement by orchestra and soloist gives way to a full orchestral tutti that paves the way for modulation to the new key. In this sense Stanford greatly preferred the Mendelssohnian form of the ‘shared’ sonata scheme rather than the older classical fusion of ritornello and sonata practised by Brahms (especially evident from the large-scale orchestral expositions of Brahms’s concertos). From D major, and the impassioned, almost yearning modal shift to the tonic minor, Stanford modulates to the relative (B minor) and proceeds with two shorter ideas – an initial lyrical outpouring followed by a wonderful fragement (in 3/2) played solely on the G string, and a more extensive lyrical melody shared between the soloist and orchestra. The development, like its expositional counterpart, is impressive in gesture and design. A dramatic statement from the orchestra of sixty bars (a residue of the classical orchestral tutti) gradually subsides into a quieter, more meditative episode which organically evolves into a new, rhapsodic theme. Gaining momentum, the opening idea of the concerto re-emerges and runs seamlessly and with great deftness into a full recapitulation of the lengthy exposition. The first movement is a magnificent example of Stanford’s instinctive lyrical impulse, but it is also a striking example of his imaginative orchestral palette. This is perhaps most notable in the delicate tone colour of the woodwind figurations and pizzicato upper strings in the opening bars and the return of this delicate sound world in the coda, a feature noted by most critics of the time.

The slow movement, titled ‘Canzona’, is one of Stanford’s finest creations. As its title suggests, it is a tripartite song form, full of long, elegiac lines for the solo violin (which, like the ‘Ballade’ of the Suite, grows out of the composer’s evident delight in the dark timbre of the open G string). In fact the attenuated melodic aspect of the movement hides an impressive organic cohesion in which much of the material is based on the descending four-note figure heard at the opening (on clarinets and bassoons). This also forms the basis of the more diatonic central section (made abundantly clear in the transition from G minor to E flat major) which is a lyrical effusion of great beauty and with the most ravishingly sumptuous writing for the soloist and (towards its close) for the horns. The return to G minor is marked by a spacious orchestral climax which prepares the way for a full cadenza for the violinist. This in turn forms a bridge to the restatement of the violin’s melancholic elegy, enveloped by hushed tremolandi for divided upper strings. It is a moment of spellbinding exquisiteness unique in the rich and varied catalogue of Stanford’s orchestral works.

A ‘Gaelic air’ (marked by Stanford in the score, though its origin is unclear), replete with distinctive flattened seventh, is used for the rondo theme in the high-spirited finale. Very much a foil to the earnest tone of the first two movements, this joyous dance revels in those pyrotechnic possibilities of violin technique (especially possible in that prince of keys for the violin, D major), though Stanford is equally slick in his manipulation of a tonal scheme that constantly gravitates between B minor and D.

Jeremy Dibble © 2000

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