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Much of Howells’s approach to counterpoint and texture can be traced back to his time at Westminster Cathedral. Encouraged by his composition teacher at the Royal College, Charles Villiers Stanford, Howells attended services there to hear Tudor polyphony first-hand. It was during this time that he met Sir Richard Runciman Terry, a key figure in the revival of Tudor church music and the director of music at Westminster. After suffering from Graves’ disease and unable to fulfil his duties at Salisbury Cathedral, Howells received a grant from the Carnegie Trust to assist Terry in editing music for the landmark Tudor Church Music series in the 1920s. Terry’s performances and editions of works by Byrd, Tallis, Taverner and Sheppard reintroduced long-neglected repertoire to English churches.
The influence of this period is evident in Howells’s choral works, such as Mass in the Dorian mode (1912) and the eight-part unaccompanied Nunc dimittis (1914), where he experimented with the same techniques found in the Renaissance music he was hearing. This influence extended far beyond his Anglican choral compositions, shaping his entire creative output—including the predominantly secular works featured on this recording, some of which were composed during his association with Westminster.
Howells’s signature contrapuntal and textural style is so idiosyncratic that in Iain Farrington’s choral reimagining of King David (1919) it seems as though Howells himself could have composed it. For example, Howells believed that the purpose of writing descants was to embellish the melody rather than detract from it, which is undoubtedly true here. The original tune threads its way through the choral parts while independent contrapuntal lines weave around it, culminating in a distinctive use of unison on the phrase ‘He rose’, highlighting the tonal shift that the music has been subtly guiding us toward.
A Maid peerless (1931), initially composed for upper voices and small orchestra, was later revised for upper voices and piano for the 1951 National Competitive Music Festival, where it served as a test piece for women’s choirs. Howells would subsequently revise the orchestrated version again in 1971. Its intricate counterpoint and unsettled tonality propel the music toward an ecstatic climax at ‘Of Virgins Queen, / Lodestar of Light’—a moment that foreshadows later, more significant choral works such as Hymnus Paradisi (completed in 1938). Howells also referenced this passage in the ‘Eia mater’ movement of his Stabat mater (completed in 1965)—another Marian text, though now imbued with grief. The intensity and rapture of A Maid peerless are heightened by its concise, taut structure and the technical demands placed on the vocalists.
Walking in the snow (1950) was written around the same time as the carol anthem Long, long ago. Unsurprisingly, the pieces share many technical similarities but achieve very different effects, demonstrating Howells’s sensitivity to text. While the melismatic passages in Long, long ago evoke plainchant, they capture the pastoral setting in Walking in the snow. The piece sets parts of two Buxton poems, the first of which captures a suspended moment in time before transitioning to a section where the snow emphasizes the beloved’s beauty. Scholars have often highlighted a duality of pleasure and pain in Howells’s sacred works, and a similar contrast appears here—between isolation and love—which, in turn, also emphasizes Howells’s deep and multifaceted appreciation of women.
A section of Howells’s output that has largely gone unacknowledged is his music for upper voices. While A Maid Peerless is the most harmonically adventurous of these works, pieces like Good counsel (1928) showcase his gift for melody and his skill in crafting engaging yet idiomatic two-part textures, here unison voices plus piano. As a Musical Times review noted, ‘there is something a little different from anyone else’s phraseology’, highlighting Howells’s ability to construct distinct yet accessible music for both singers and pianists.
The most remarkable single collection of English partsongs in the twentieth century, A Garland for the Queen (1953), encompasses Howells’s seldom-performed Inheritance. Both the music and text were commissioned as part of a project to commemorate the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II, serving as a modern counterpart to Thomas Morley’s Triumphs of Oriana (1601), which was composed for Elizabeth I. Howells’s work emphasizes the love and yearning for an idealized England that appears perpetually just beyond our reach. The incessantly flowing melismas are encountered in other works of the period, such as the Missa Sabrinensis (1954) and the St Paul’s Service (1951), while also anticipating Take him, earth, for cherishing (1964). Once again, the influence of the Renaissance is notably present, yet here in a musical language that is quintessentially Howells. In textures that can at times feel as overwhelming as the orchestral writing in Sabrinensis, there remains an intrinsic clarity in the counterpoint, even when it seems on the verge of dissolving into euphoric rhapsody.
The scribe (1957) was the first of two works dedicated to Vaughan Williams, the other being the Stabat mater. This partsong stands apart from Howells’s other choral works of the period, as it is more tonally secure and homophonic. It also resonates more with the earlier, more intimate anthems The house of the mind (1954) and Behold, O God our defender (1952), rather than with the maximalism of the Missa Sabrinensis. De la Mare’s poem depicts a lone writer and questions the nature of writing itself, making it a fitting text for a figure such as Vaughan Williams, who, in his eighty-fifth year, was facing rejection in academic music circles in favour of younger composers like Britten, Tippett and the Manchester School.
Written five years after Britten’s famous setting, Howells’s interpretation of A New Year Carol (1939) abandons the stately sweet unison melody in favour of a ‘Joyous’ (as indicated in the score) arrangement for two-part chorus. Howells’s talent for counterpoint remains evident in the carol, which features a delicate countermelody in the piano during the second verse that, once again, never detracts from the melodic line. The carol was also orchestrated for a large orchestra, but this orchestration has never been published.
Sine nomine (literally meaning ‘without a name’, 1922) was written for two soloists, a chorus and an orchestra for the 1922 Three Choirs Festival at the suggestion of Edward Elgar. While many works from this early period of Howells’s career clearly draw from Tudor polyphony, Sine nomine ‘A Phantasy’ shows a distinct departure from this, with composers such as Debussy, Holst and Vaughan Williams being much more influential. In Farrington’s arrangement, this orchestral rhapsody transforms into a chamber work, achieving a new-found intimacy not encountered in the original. Here it is not hard to draw parallels to other chamber works such as the third violin sonata (1923), particularly between the central section of Sine nomine and the lively third movement of the sonata. The work represents a development in Howells’s harmonic writing, but the influence of Tudor music remains strong in the flowing melodic lines reminiscent of Renaissance polyphony.
The long, winding melodic lines of Sine nomine appear to transition seamlessly into the introduction of the next track on this album: The summer is coming (1964). The monophonic wistful melismas of the opening that develop into a two-part counterpoint between the soprano and alto parts demonstrate the techniques Howells adopted early in his career while associated with Westminster Cathedral and which he continued to develop throughout his lifetime. A challenge in Howells’s later a cappella choral works is the absence of harmonic anchor points. This presents many technical challenges for the performers, but the result is a persistent restlessness that propels the music forward and is particularly effective here when Howells evokes pastoral images of birds and nature. Howells has historically been categorized as a member of the ‘pastoral school’, but The summer is coming demonstrates a much more nuanced representation of the natural world and is a fitting tribute to the memory of Arnold Bax, who died in 1953. A pronounced sense of anticipation arises through the ebb and flow of the music, mirroring the sounds of the natural environment. Paradoxically, this remarkably complex harmonic and textural framework seems to unfold effortlessly from the choir, as if being carried on the very wind that transmits the birdsong of the poem.
Irish wren song (1924) showcases how folk song may have influenced Howells: the modal harmony and melody evoke images of a country dance, but there are still moments where chromaticism colours the song. It is another excellent example of Howells’s skill in writing accessible yet sophisticated songs for upper voices.
Both The shadows and Creep afore ye gang (1923) were composed for Dr W G Whittaker and the Newcastle Bach Choir, a choir Whittaker founded in 1915. Whittaker was a staunch advocate for British composers and had previously extended an invitation to Howells to perform in Newcastle, during which the latter presented a recital of his chamber and choral compositions, including the two carol anthems A Spotless Rose (1919) and Here is the little door (1918). Like in Sine nomine, the modal harmony and parallel-motion chords yield a soundscape that resonates with the stylistic qualities of Debussy—techniques observable in later partsongs, such as The summer is coming.
The final two pieces on this album return to Howells’s roots in Westminster. In a later radio talk, Howells believed madrigal singing was a ‘clean, athletic exercise’ deserving of an Olympiad. Before me, careless lying (1918) embodies this nimble musical style he identified in so many Renaissance madrigalists. Written on Christmas Day 1918, it is dedicated to R R Terry, highlighting Howells’s appreciation for Terry’s friendship at this crucial point in his career. As a nod to its Renaissance roots, the work was first published with traditional C clefs, a detail that would have surely pleased Terry. The madrigal draws upon Weelkes in its opening and closing sections, echoing works such as As Vesta was. In the central, more expansive section, we hear modal harmonies and false relations reminiscent of Byrd, with phrases that can be clearly heard in the later Requiem (1932).
In youth is pleasure (1915) could be mistakenly viewed as a pastiche or a compositional exercise in counterpoint rather than a serious composition that emulates the Renaissance music in which Howells was immersed at that time. While it may seem merely a study in composition to some, it showcases Howells’s command of texture and word-setting, particularly in the final stanza, where a throng of melismatic lines dance around one another, perfectly capturing the madrigalian nature. The wistful character of the piece reflects the endearing charm of youth’s innocence.
Tom Edney © 2025