Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius, Op. 38
Some personal observations on recordings of the work
Part I. Historical Recordings (pre-1975)
by John Quinn
This article originally appeared on MusicWeb in 2007 in connection with the 150th anniversary of the birth of Elgar and I updated it first in 2014, when we marked the 80th anniversary of the death of the composer in 1934, and then again in 2020. Now is a good time to further update the survey. For this latest revision all the recordings are considered in chronological order.
The Background
On 8 May 1889 Edward Elgar married Alice Roberts at Brompton Oratory. Among the wedding presents he received was a copy of the poem, The Dream of Gerontius by John, Cardinal Newman (1801-1890), which was given to him by the parish priest of the Catholic church in Worcester where Elgar had been the organist. Newman’s poem had been published in 1865 and Elgar was familiar with it already but now he had his own copy of the text. However, it was not until he received an invitation from the prestigious Birmingham Festival to compose a major choral work for the 1900 festival that Elgar turned in earnest to making a setting of the poem. Newman’s poem is a long one, consisting of some 900 lines, including a substantial prologue. Elgar set most of the prologue as Part One of his composition but for Part Two he pruned the main body of the poem drastically, setting only about 300 of its 730 lines. His imagination fired by Newman’s verse, Elgar proceeded to compose what the writer Michael Steinberg has described as ‘a truly complete response to a poem of immense religious, intellectual, and literary complexity – complete both as an avowal of faith and as a work of human art.’
In 1899 Elgar had scored a conspicuous triumph with the orchestral ‘Enigma’ Variations. That work marked a quantum leap forward in terms of his compositional technique, his imagination and his mastery of the orchestra. In the same way Gerontius was a huge advance for him as a choral composer. He had already written several large-scale cantatas, but though two of these – King Olaf (1896) and Caractacus (1898) – are notable pieces, Gerontius is a work of genius. In the solo writing of Gerontius we find Elgar displaying the same ability to depict characters in music that he had shown in ‘Enigma’. In addition, the writing for the chorus is quite superb and Elgar deploys the choir daringly. This is especially true of the build-up to ‘Praise to the Holiest’, where the multi-layered choral writing is amazingly assured and, when done well, produces thrilling spatial effects. Later on in that same chorus, when the choir is divided into eight separate parts, the complex individual lines fit together superbly. The orchestration too represents a significant advance, even on ‘Enigma’, as the subtlety and power of the orchestral prelude alone demonstrates in abundance. As Michael Kennedy has observed, ‘Gerontius is the very pivot of his career: it sums up and glorifies all that he had been striving to say with lesser material and subjects, and at the same time looks forward, in its revolutionary ardour, to the symphonies and the later choral works.’
However, what truly sets Gerontius apart from all Elgar’s previous compositions is the sense of vision. Newman’s mystical poem clearly held Elgar in thrall. We may wonder how much this complex man, often beset by self-doubt even when at the height of his powers and fame, identified with Gerontius himself. Elgar depicts Gerontius’ trepidation, uncertainty and, finally, his sense of smallness beside the immense majesty of God with remarkable prescience. The portrayal of Gerontius’ Guardian Angel as a being of serenity, reassurance and protection, yet also of quiet authority, is also remarkably successful.
But the vision was nearly still-born for the première in Birmingham on 3 October 1900 was a near-disaster. The choir, faced with some of the most challenging music they can ever have encountered, was poorly prepared. Unfortunately, the chorus master, who understood Elgar’s music, died very suddenly just before rehearsals commenced. His seventy-year-old predecessor was called back out of retirement and was manifestly not up to the task, not least because he was out of sympathy both with the music and, as a Non-Conformist, with the text. The orchestra was equally under-rehearsed and the great German conductor, Hans Richter, who had triumphantly led the first performance of ‘Enigma’ in June 1899, had not mastered in advance this new and much more complex score. Somehow, they got through to the end and despite the manifest inadequacies of the performance Gerontius was warmly received by both the audience and the critics, though the reception did little to cheer the distraught composer. Despite his failure to give Gerontius a fitting première, Hans Richter was clearly moved and impressed by the work. After the first performance he wrote in Elgar’s score in his idiosyncratic English: ‘Let drop the Chorus, let drop everybody – but let not drop the wings of your original Genius.’
The Music
Gerontius has a compelling logic and a narrative inevitability. After the orchestral Prelude, in which all the key musical themes that will be heard in the work are presented, we find the character of Gerontius on his deathbed. Friends and a priest are close at hand. Gerontius alternates between, on the one hand, frailty and trepidation (‘Jesu, Maria, I am near to death’) and, on the other, courage and faith (‘Sanctus fortis’). The chorus, representing his friends, punctuates his last moments with prayers until, after he has breathed his last, they and the Priest commit his soul to God (‘Proficiscere, anima Christiana’)
When Part Two opens Elgar transports us to another world through the device of a short, luminous prelude of ethereal beauty. The Soul of Gerontius has passed into this spiritual place and here he encounters his Guardian Angel (‘My work is done’) The Angel’s last service is be to guide him to Judgement, first leading him safely past the dreadful spectacle of the Demons (‘Low-born clods of brute earth’). On the way the Angel explains to Gerontius that he will be granted but a glimpse of God before he is despatched to Purgatory (‘Yes, for one moment thou shalt see thy Lord’). The last stages of the journey to Judgement see Gerontius led through the serried ranks of Angelicals, who are praising God, until it is as if great gold doors have been flung open and the hymn of praise erupts (‘Praise to the Holiest’)
After the tumult of praise has subsided the Angel of the Agony stands close to the throne of God. He begs divine mercy for all those souls that come to judgement, culminating in a deeply moving phrase that is at once grand and supplicatory, (‘Hasten, Lord, their hour and bid them come to Thee’). Gerontius stands, humble, insignificant and afraid, before his God (‘I go before my judge’). In a masterstroke, Elgar depicts the brief moment when Gerontius sees God orchestrally, as the musical equivalent of a blinding flash of light. ‘Take me away’ cries Gerontius, in a mixture of fear and ecstasy. As he begins his time in Purgatory, the Angel calmly reassures him that his time there will pass and that once he is purged his Angel will bring him safely to everlasting life.
Gerontius in Performance
Elgar sets his interpreters many challenges in this work. The bass soloist has least to do but a key issue is that his two solos are very different, both in character and in tessitura. The Priest should be noble, dignified and consolatory without ever sounding sanctimonious. The role lies predominantly in the baritone range. The role of the Angel of the Agony ideally calls for a basso cantante with a commanding presence and the ability to inspire a degree of awe. Many times, both on record and in concert, I’ve felt that a soloist is better suited to one role or the other. The ideal solution is to have two singers but this is an expensive luxury. I’ve never seen it done in a professional performance and to date it’s only been done once on record.
Is the role of the Angel better sung by a contralto or a mezzo-soprano? In truth, I think the answer is that either type of voice can fulfil the role but all depends on who the singer is. Attitude is all-important. If the singer is too objective then there’s a risk of coolness – that happens in at least one of the recordings under discussion here. But I’d rather have coolness than a fulsome approach – thankfully none of our singers falls into that trap. Arguably, nowadays there’s a further challenge for singers of the role: the shadow cast by Dame Janet Baker. There can be few roles in music on which one singer has so firmly stamped his or her mark and I’m sure I am not the only person who cannot hear certain phrases without hearing in my head the way Dame Janet inflected them. In fact, it’s just as much of a challenge to listeners such as me to put those thoughts aside when listening as it is for singers to put their own stamp on the role.
As for the tenor, Elgar all but asks the impossible. On the one hand, Gerontius needs the power and stamina of a Heldentenor for passages such as ‘Sanctus fortis’ and ‘Take me away’. On the other hand, much of the role, especially in Part Two, demands the subtlety of a Lieder singer. Furthermore, the singer must convincingly suggest a dying man at the start of the work yet be capable of meeting the rigours of ‘Sanctus, Fortis’. Then, in Part Two, he must express, without overdoing it, a sense of wonder, fear and awe as he portrays the Soul experiencing life after death. Identification with the text and the character are crucial and not every one of our soloists passes this test. But if one encounters a singer who can satisfy most, if not all, of Elgar’s demands then the rewards are great. Arguably, prior to Gerontius, it’s only in Elijah that we find as full a portrayal of a character in a piece of concert music with a religious theme
The chorus, too, must play their part. It’s often forgotten how little of the music in Gerontius actually involves the choir: only about one third, I’d say. The rest consists of solos and two orchestral preludes. However, the choral music is very challenging and it’s easy to see why the ill-prepared chorus came to grief at the première. The long lead-up to ‘Praise to the Holiest’, with its many layers and luminous textures, is a major test. So too, in a very different way, is the Demons’ Chorus, where, in Barbirolli’s memorable phrase, the chorus should avoid sounding ‘like bank clerks on a Sunday outing’.
But inevitably the greatest challenges are faced by the conductor, who must hold the whole thing together and inspire a performance of strength and feeling while eschewing any religiosity. He or she must also bring out the drama in the work. There are large forces to control and complex ensembles to direct. Yet much of the music, especially at the start of Part Two, is intimate and subtle. But Elgar helps his conductor. As in all his works, the score is littered with copious instructions as to tempo and dynamics. As a highly experienced Elgar conductor told me more than once, it’s all in the score and “all” the conductor has to do is to follow Elgar’s markings! Gerontius is difficult to define – and impossible to pigeonhole – but it is very far removed from “conventional” Victorian oratorio and often almost operatic in its intensity and sense, almost, of theatre. Elgar’s achievement is particularly remarkable since he must have been exposed to – and found it hard to break free from – the influence of many a second-rate oratorio during his formative years in Worcester. For the conductor, finding the balance between religious sentiment and the essential drama of the piece is not easy but it’s the key.
The Recordings
Not all the recordings covered in this survey may be currently available, though often it’s possible to acquire used copies online. There may be other recordings out there of which I am unaware in which case I hope readers will draw them to my attention. The survey that follows consists of some personal reflections on all the recordings that I have heard.
Historic incomplete recordings
Before dealing with the complete recordings mention should be made of some fascinating historical recordings of extracts. In 2007 I stated that the first-ever recordings of parts of Gerontius were made – by HMV, which was eventually to become part of EMI – in 1927 with Elgar himself conducting. My colleague, Jonathan Woolf, then kindly pointed out to me that some 65 minutes of music were recorded in October 1924 by Joseph Batten (1885-1955) who conducted the Royal Symphony Orchestra and a small, uncredited chorus, which may well have included the soloists. The solo roles were taken by the Welsh tenor, Dan Jones, Edith Furmedge (1890-1956) and David Brazell (1875-1959). I’m grateful to Jonathan, who subsequently made it possible for me to hear this recording. It has been transferred by Michael Dutton and issued by his label under the auspices of the Elgar Society as Volume 4 in the series, Elgar’s Interpreters on Record (CDLX 7044).
Inevitably the sound of the acoustical recording is restricted and the excerpts leave frustrating gaps in the score but one can get a good idea of Batten’s way with the score. The complete Prelude to Part I is included and, apart from one passage where Batten pushes on far too quickly, it’s impressively shaped. Overall, Batten seems to have the measure of the score and he conducts these extended extracts well. Jones is an eloquent Gerontius, his voice fairly light but firm and ringing. His diction is of its time but very clear. On this evidence it seems Jones must have been an impressive exponent of the role. Edith Furmedge is less to my taste. Unlike Jones, she uses quite a bit of portamento and she doesn’t appear to characterise the music as well as does Jones. Brazell is a somewhat lugubrious bass: I’ve heard many better singers in the bass roles. Overall, this set of extracts is well worth hearing.
Incidentally, this CD also gives us a tantalising glimpse of the Gerontius of another Welsh tenor, Parry Jones (1891-1963). This is in an excerpt from Part II, lasting just under 6 minutes, from a 1938 live broadcast conducted by Sir Henry Wood. On this evidence, Parry Jones was an impressive and very expressive Gerontius. We also hear briefly, as the Angel, Muriel Brunskill (1899-1980).
Elgar’s own partial recordings are highly important, if frustratingly curtailed documents. Over forty minutes of music, including the complete Part One Prelude, were captured in a live performance in London’s Royal Albert Hall on 26 February 1927. Later that same year, on 6 September, HMV recorded the composer’s performance in Hereford Cathedral during the Three Choirs Festival but only some 16 minutes of that performance have survived onto CD. So far as I know, the only CD incarnation of those excerpts is contained in Volume One of EMI’s utterly indispensable Elgar Edition (EMI Classics CDS 7 54560 2). Though tantalisingly brief, these extracts are of great value and interest.
The Elgar Society has issued a three-disc set, Elgar’s Interpreters on Record, Vol. 5 (EECD003-5). These CDs contain off-air recordings made by the late Kenneth Leech and include just over thirty minutes of extracts from a 1936 radio broadcast conducted by Adrian Boult. Even more fascinating is no less than seventy-one minutes of excerpts from another broadcast, this time from 1935, conducted by Malcolm Sargent. In both cases the Gerontius is Heddle Nash (1894-1961). Opposite him are two highly contrasted Angels, Astra Desmond (1893-1973) for Sargent and Muriel Brunskill (1899-1980) for Boult. In the 1935 broadcast we also hear Keith Falkner (1900-1994) in fine voice in both of the bass solos, but the bass in the Boult performance, the Australian, Horace Stevens (1876-1950), offers a much less enjoyable listening experience. The sound quality is variable and surface noise is often intrusive, especially in the Sargent extracts. However, whilst the orchestra and chorus are rather dimly heard, meaning that it’s unfair to judge their contributions, the soloists are all clearly recorded.
Nash had sung the role of Gerontius for the first time in 1931, at the prompting of Elgar himself, who conducted Nash’s first performance. The Sargent performance was noted in Nash’s score as the fourth occasion on which he’d sung the work. He’s captured in very good voice. He sings with a real feeling for the words and his identification with words and music is complete. Where it’s called for his voice has an heroic ring, though what impresses me even more is the sense of inwardness that he conveys. We shall find all these qualities displayed again – and arguably to even greater effect – in his 1945 recording. There are occasions where Nash and Sargent perhaps linger over detail just a bit too much but the conviction of the performance carries the day. Nash brings a fine degree of intimacy and wonder to the dialogue with the Angel in Part Two. His Angel is Astra Desmond (1893-1973), who is described aptly by the late Alan Blyth in the booklet as ‘calm and serene.’ Keith Falkner is an elevated Priest and a fine Angel of the Agony.
The Boult extracts are in sound that is appreciably better. Nash delivers a superb ‘Sanctus fortis’. Muriel Brunskill is a very different type of Angel in comparison with Desmond. Hers is a rounder, fuller voice, a genuine contralto in fact. Horace Stevens was reputed to be a fine exponent of the bass roles but if what we hear in these extracts is representative then that reputation was grossly exaggerated. In fact, he’s almost a caricature; his emphatic, portentous delivery of ‘Proficiscere’ gives me no pleasure whatsoever.
In all these sets of extracts the performing styles are very much of their time and not all modern listeners will react positively. Inevitably, the sound calls for some tolerance, especially in the Sargent recording. But these are all precious documents; one set is conducted by the composer himself, and two are from performances within a couple of years of Elgar’s death, both conducted by leading interpreters of the work who indubitably imbibed their performing tradition from the composer himself. It should also be noted that Nash as well as Steuart Wilson (1889-1966) and Tudor Davies (1892-1958) who both sing for Elgar are all tenors of whose performances he is known to have approved.
All the recordings discussed above are ones which all lovers of Elgar’s music should try to hear; they are highly relevant to a wider audience than just specialist collectors.
Complete recordings prior to 1975
Dr Malcolm Sargent, 1945
The first complete recording of Gerontius was made in Huddersfield Town Hall between 8 and 12 April 1945 under the auspices of the British Council and was conducted by Dr Malcolm Sargent. Walter Legge was the producer. The distinguished cast included Heddle Nash in the title role, Gladys Ripley (1908-1955) as the Angel and, uniquely on record, a baritone, Denis Noble (1898-1966) as The Priest and a bass, Norman Walker (1907-1963) as the Angel of the Agony. Also taking part were The Huddersfield Choral Society and Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. This recording has been issued on several labels in recent years, including Pearl (review) and on Pristine Audio (review). My experience of this recording is confined to the version issued in 1993 by Testament and my comments refer only to that transfer. However, Jonathan Woolf has heard all three transfers and it may help collectors to summarize his views of them. He is not enamoured of the Pristine Audio transfer for the reasons mentioned in his review. I’m grateful to him for providing the following comment on his view of the relative merits of the Testament and Pearl versions: ‘the Testament is smoother and has been more filtered; it gives an easier aural ride but the Pearl will appeal to those who can absorb shellac hiss and welcome the preserved higher frequencies. I’d go for the Pearl but I suspect the majority would prefer Testament.’
By the time Heddle Nash came to make this recording he had noted twenty-two performances of Gerontius in his score, so he was truly a seasoned interpreter and we know that his interpretation of the role was much admired by Elgar. His performance here is, quite simply, wonderful. As in 1935, he and Sargent linger expressively on occasion – for example, in Nash’s very first solo. However, ‘Sanctus fortis’ burns with conviction and throughout Part One the ardour and urgency of Nash’s interpretation is readily matched by Sargent. The cry at ‘In Thine own agony’ sounds as if it has been wrenched from Nash’s very being. The hushed inwardness that he achieves through the use of head voice at ‘Novissima hora est’ makes for a very special moment indeed.
In Part Two, after Sargent has directed a compelling reading of the gently luminous Prelude, Nash sings his opening solo with a miraculously light airiness. Above all he conveys a sense of wonder in these pages that is deeply affecting and he sustains this mood throughout the dialogue with the Angel. Gladys Ripley sings that role quite beautifully. She has a lovely tone, sings sincerely and is most communicative. Hers is a distinguished performance throughout and her achievement is capped by a dignified and touching account of the Farewell.
Walter Legge had the discernment to engage different soloists for the two bass roles, a real piece of luxury casting, and his “extravagance” pays off. Denis Noble is well suited to the higher tessitura of the Priest’s role while Norman Walker is a commanding presence as the Angel of the Agony. The Huddersfield Choral Society makes a stirring contribution. One wonders what impact the war must have had on their membership; presumably some younger members would have been away on active service at this time. There’s no evidence of weakness, however, and all the big choruses come across very well. The Liverpool orchestra also plays extremely well. The sound has come up remarkably well in this Testament transfer (SBT2025).
Sir Malcolm Sargent, 1954
Sargent, now knighted (in 1947), was back in Huddersfield to re-record the work in November 1954, to mark his impending sixtieth birthday. Again, he conducted the town’s Choral Society and the by-now Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. This time his soloists were Richard Lewis (1914-1990), Marjorie Thomas (1923-2008) and John Cameron (1918-2002). Lewis is a very involving Gerontius. He’s impressive at the start of ‘Sanctus fortis’ and indeed he sings the whole of that aria splendidly. Hear him, for instance, in the passage beginning at ‘And crueller still’, which is gripping. Showing, however, that he is responsive to the whole range of the part, he’s rapt at ‘Novissima hora est’. Throughout the whole set he displays marvellous clarity of tone and diction. His singing gives consistent pleasure and seems effortless.
Marjorie Thomas is a good Angel, if not, perhaps, the most distinctive one has heard. She makes all the expressive points but, happily, never overstates them. The dialogue between the Soul of Gerontius and the Angel at the start of Part Two is very well sung by both soloists and it’s fluently conducted by Sargent. In the closing section of the work the beginning of ‘Take me away’ sounds as if the music is being ripped from Lewis and he gives a very good overall performance of the aria. As for Marjorie Thomas’s account of the Farewell it seems appropriate to borrow Alan Blyth’s phase and describe it as ‘calm and serene’.
EMI didn’t repeat the extravagance of 1945 and contented themselves with one soloist for the bass roles. The choice fell upon that fine singer John Cameron. He makes a noble, prayerful Priest. Perhaps he lacks the last ounce of vocal amplitude for the Angel of the Agony, a role that has a lower tessitura overall. However, he sings the part very well, not least those magnificent phrases at ‘Hasten, Lord, their hour.’
The singing of the Huddersfield Choral Society has a bit more bite and presence than that of their 1945 counterparts. Perhaps the average age of the choir was a little lower in peacetime? I suspect, however, that it’s more to do with the advances in recording technology over the intervening years. Suffice to say that, for the second time, the choral reputation of Huddersfield is well served, although the outburst at ‘Praise to the Holiest’ is heard more thrillingly on several other recordings and later in the same chorus the passage beginning at ‘O loving wisdom of our God’ could and should sound more urgent. With another good showing from the Liverpool orchestra this is another very telling contribution by Sargent to the work’s discography. I feel that his interpretation is heard to better advantage in its 1945 incarnation though, of course, the remake is in much better sound.
Hans Swarowsky, 1960
This is an archive performance, released in 2008. Issued by the Elgar Society, it derives from an Austrian Radio recording. The performance is sung in the German translation by Julius Buths. This translation was made by Buths immediately after the Birmingham première, which he attended, in order for him to lead performances in Düsseldorf in 1901 and 1902. Elgar attended both performances and both he and the piece were warmly received. The translation is faithful and works very well.
The chief interest of this recording may lie in the presence of Julius Patzak singing the title role. Sadly, he’s something of a disappointment. His commitment to the music is not in doubt and he sings with feeling. However, he was 62 at the time of making this recording and I’m afraid it shows. His tone is nasal – indeed, one might call it pinched. Furthermore, some of his notes sound insufficiently supported and often there’s a definite tendency to sing notes on the flat side. Though he does convince as an elderly man in extremis during Part I, and despite his clear enunciation of the words throughout the performance I suspect he recorded the role ten years too late.
However, Ira Malaniuk is very convincing as the Angel. Her tone is rich and full and she sings the part with fine expression and understanding. I warmed to her performance right from the start. I also liked Ludwig Welter, who is an imposing Priest and also impresses as The Angel of the Agony. He has a fine, authoritative voice and he brings no little presence to both roles.
The choral singing is satisfactory but, frankly, no match for many of the other choirs on disc. The choir sings with commitment but the singing is very much of its time with rather excessive vibrato, which results in an insufficiently focussed sound. The orchestral playing is good, though the recorded sound favours the vocal soloists so orchestral detail is often obscured.
Hans Swarowsky, who I would not have associated with English music, conducts well. He seems to have the full measure of this score and an understanding of it. That’s evident right from the start in a good account of the Prelude to Part I which inspires confidence that the conductor has empathy with the music. True, there are a few occasions when his tempi are too expansive but generally he follows Elgar’s markings accurately and throughout the performance I felt that the spirit of the music was being conveyed both by him and by the other performers. In the last analysis that’s what counts.
The sound itself, which originates from Austrian Radio tapes, is satisfactory: one must remember this was a radio production, never intended for commercial release. I suppose that this is a specialist issue. However, it’s very well worth hearing, not least because it proves that Elgar’s music ‘travels’. I’d encourage all Elgar enthusiasts to listen to this set (review).
Sir Malcolm Sargent, 1961
This recording (released in 2018) is a performance, given in November 1961 and broadcast by the BBC, which Pristine Audio have issued for the first time on CD, I believe. The venue, Huddersfield Town Hall, is the same one where Sargent’s two commercial recordings were made and, as in 1945 and 1954, he had the services of the Huddersfield Choral Society and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. The three soloists, Marjorie Thomas, Richard Lewis and John Cameron were the same singers who featured on his 1954 recording. As I commented in my review of the set there’s a greater urgency at times in the 1961 performance, both in the singing of Richard Lewis and in Sargent’s conducting. That’s welcome. Less welcome is Lewis’s often cavalier approach to note values.
Marjorie Thomas is an excellent Angel and John Cameron makes a very good job of both his solos. Choral and orchestral contributions are good, though the BBC microphones don’t always report all the detail. However, Andrew Rose has done an excellent job with the transfers. Indeed, in some respects the Pristine sound is preferable to the EMI results: when I came to make comparisons, I found that the 1954 EMI recording is now starting to show its age in some respects; it seems a bit fuzzy. In any case, I’m not sure that the EMI version is currently available separately. The appeal of this Pristine set is enhanced by the inclusion of a 1961 live performance of the Elgar Cello Concerto, also conducted by Sargent, in which the 17-year-old Jacqueline Du Pré is heard in what was her Proms debut. If you want a Sargent performance of Gerontius then the 1945 account with Heddle Nash remains hors concours but this 1961 traversal is well worth hearing.
Sir John Barbirolli, 1964
Richard Lewis was also involved in the third complete commercial recording of the work but this time the venue was on the other side of the Pennines. The Free Trade Hall, Manchester was the place where, in December 1964, Sir John Barbirolli assembled the combined forces of the Hallé Choir and Orchestra, the Sheffield Philharmonic Chorus and the professional singers of the Ambrosian Singers, who, I think, formed the semi chorus. Joining Lewis on the soloists’ roster were the Finnish bass, Kim Borg (1919-2000) and a young mezzo-soprano named Janet Baker (review).
I’ve heard that Lewis was suffering from a cold at the time of these sessions. There are one or two occasions when one wonders if he was in fresher voice for Sargent but the differences, if differences they be, are minor. Once again, he gives a most convincing portrayal. Indeed, in his very first solo he seems to suggest the frailty of the dying Gerontius even more convincingly than he did for Sargent. He’s right on top of ‘Sanctus fortis’, of which he gives a splendid, ringing account. He’s alive to every nuance of the role and attains a real spirituality at ‘Novissima hora est.’ When we encounter him in Part Two, he conveys an inwardness and a sense of wonder to rival, though not surpass, Heddle Nash. In ‘Take me away’ his singing catches both the anguish and the hope that’s inherent in both the words and the music. In summary, Lewis is a first-rate Gerontius, one of the finest exponents of the role on disc.
But for me one of the key factors behind the success of this recording is the performance of Dame Janet Baker. When she sings for the first time what was already an exceptionally eloquent performance of the work is taken to a new and higher level. Down the years much has been written about her assumption of this role and for many she is the Angel, though I’m sure Dame Janet herself would be the first to dismiss such talk. Nonetheless, the fact remains that for many people, myself included, it’s almost impossible to hear certain phrases without hearing in the mind the unique tone quality and inflection that she brought to these passages. These key phrases include ‘You cannot now cherish a wish’; ‘It is because then thou didst fear’; ‘A presage falls upon thee’; and ‘There was a mortal’. On these and many other parts of the work Dame Janet has left an enduring mark. With singers of the calibre and intelligence of Lewis and Baker on hand it’s no surprise that the dialogue between the Soul and the Angel is deeply satisfying in this recording. Both singers are audibly right inside their roles and, of course, they are guided and inspired by Barbirolli.
I mentioned Dame Janet’s participation as a key factor behind the success of this recording. The other is the direction of Sir John Barbirolli. Gerontius was a piece that he loved deeply and that comes through in every bar of this recording. True, there are one or two points when one wonders if he is loving the music just a little too much, but he doesn’t wallow in the emotion of the work and it’s abundantly clear that he inspires his forces to give of their very best, individually and collectively, in the service of Elgar’s music. The Hallé Orchestra plays marvellously. The orchestral Prelude to Part One sings with Barbirolli as for no one else and in the Prelude to Part Two he coaxes playing of great refinement from the string section. But it’s on the choir that he works his strongest alchemy, inspiring them to sing with enormous commitment; there isn’t a bank clerk in sight during the Demon’s Chorus, which is sung – and played – with real bite. The long build up to ‘Praise to the Holiest’ is superbly handled and Barbirolli and the engineers realise with great skill the many layers of choral texture. When we reach the great paean of praise itself it’s a thrilling moment.
The performance is crowned by a deeply moving account by all concerned of the Angel’s Farewell. Here we realise that Dame Janet has saved her best singing of all for the end. She sounds consoling and encouraging but her singing is not just emotionally engaged it’s also technically superb. The exquisite top E on the word “hold” in the bar before cue 129 is, for me, almost worth the price of the discs alone.
Sadly, there is a flaw in this set and it’s not an inconsiderable one. The bass solos are allotted to the Finnish bass, Kim Borg. I seem to recall reading somewhere that Borg was Barbirolli’s own choice for the work. Even if that’s not the case, Michael Kennedy remarks in his definitive biography of the conductor that JB had a penchant for bass voices such as Borg’s in Gerontius and that it mattered not if they weren’t English. Sadly, Borg is very badly miscast here. His English pronunciation is idiosyncratic, to put it kindly. One might forgive him that if it were not for the fact that, to my ears at least, the sound he makes is just ugly. I don’t detect any great feeling for or understanding of what he’s singing and ‘Proficiscere’ is only rescued by the superb choir. His solo in Part Two is no more appealing and one’s enthusiasm for this set must be qualified on account of his involvement.
Other Barbirolli performances on record
Before leaving Barbirolli it’s worth mentioning another recording that has surfaced from time to time on various labels. This version captures a live performance given in Rome in November 1957 when Barbirolli directed the chorus and orchestra of the Italian broadcasting organisation, RAI. Once again Barbirolli was given – or chose – a big-voiced European bass, in this case the Pole, Marian Nowkowski (1912-2000). His Angel was the English contralto, Constance Shacklock (1913-1999); her contribution is very fine and this is, so far as I know, her only performance as the Angel on record. Most interest lies, however, in the involvement of the remarkable Canadian tenor, Jon Vickers, then aged 31.
Vickers is a powerful, ringing Gerontius, as one might expect. But he also encompasses the more sensitive passages well. Constance Shacklock has a rich contralto voice and she sings with feeling and understanding. Marian Nowkowski is not much better suited to the bass roles than was Borg. However, his voice falls more pleasingly on the ear. The English pronunciation of the Italian choir is definitely an acquired taste. In truth, this performance adds nothing to our view of Barbirolli’s interpretation of Gerontius – though his trademark groans are much more in evidence than on the EMI recording. Lovers of the work will find the performances by Jon Vickers and Constance Shacklock of great interest. In 2008 this recording was issued on the Archipel label and I commented on it in more detail in my review. In 2021 the Barbirolli Society issued, on their own label, a new digital remastering by Ian Jones. I reviewed the newcomer, comparing the sound with the Archipel release and I came to the conclusion that Ian Jones’s transfer is preferable in every respect. Every A/B comparison I made inclined me to prefer the new transfer. The choir is heard to better advantage – and not as indistinctly as I experienced on the Archipel discs – and there is more bloom on the soloists’ voices. With the Archipel discs I felt I was indeed listening to a vintage recording; that’s much less the case in Jones’s remastering. His transfer of this recording is undoubtedly the one to go for. I’m not sure how easy it is to obtain Barbirolli Society discs these days but if you want to experience Jon Vickers and Constance Shacklock and can find a copy of this Barbirolli Society set, don’t hesitate.
A further Barbirolli performance, given in 1959 in New York with Richard Lewis as Gerontius, was issued in 2010 in a boxed set on the WHRA label (review). A notable feature of this performance is the presence of Maureen Forrester as the Angel, a role she never recorded commercially. That’s a pity because she makes a strong impression in this concert performance.
Sir Adrian Boult 1968 (DVD)
This performance was filmed in Canterbury Cathedral under studio conditions by the BBC in March 1968. I suggested in my review that it may well have been shot in long takes because there are a few slips by the soloists, especially Peter Pears, which have been allowed to stand uncorrected. I referred to Boult’s leadership of “an admirable, authoritative performance”. Peter Pears sings the title role: this performance pre-dates his Decca audio recording with Britten. Much of what he does is good, especially in Part 2, but I don’t care for his theatrical gestures; they are distracting. John Shirley-Quirk is excellent, especially as the Angel of the Agony.
As for Dame Janet Baker, I can only quote from my review of the set. “I’ve heard her audio recordings many times but I was completely unprepared for the extent to which I would be moved by not just hearing her but also by once again seeing her sing the role. She was 34 when she gave this performance and so we get the full flower of her understanding of the role allied with freshness of voice. She stands almost completely still and sings gloriously and with great intensity. She identifies completely with the words and with the music. I’ve been fortunate enough to hear a number of very fine mezzos in this role over the years but this performance reminds me why Dame Janet was – and is – an incomparable Angel.” It has to be said that the choir isn’t always ideally caught on the recording and, anyway, the sound is beginning to show its age. The orchestra comes through better. The video direction, by Brian Large, takes good advantage of the majestic surroundings of the location.
Benjamin Britten, 1971
This recording is a bit special for me as it was the first version I ever owned and therefore the one through which I really got to know the work. It also earns something of a unique place in the pantheon because it’s conducted by another composer, Benjamin Britten, who brings some fascinating insights of his own to the work (review). The recording was made in The Maltings, Snape in 1971, after an Aldeburgh Festival performance.
Britten had an interesting team of soloists. Perhaps predictably the Gerontius was Peter Pears. As the Angel, Britten had the Australian mezzo, Yvonne Minton while John Shirley-Quirk sang the bass roles. Britten scored a particular coup by using the choir of King’s College, Cambridge for his semi-chorus. The different timbre of this choir set against the London Symphony Chorus is telling – in a wholly positive way. On no other recording, until Sir Mark Elder’s 2008 version, was the vital semi-chorus contribution so individually defined. The use of the King’s choir in this way suggests to me that Britten had thought about Gerontius very deeply.
Early on in the performance there’s another small detail that shows how Britten has thought about the score. In the Prelude to Part One there are two abrupt cut-offs just before cue 10. Britten, however, inserts a bass drum roll at these two points. It’s completely unauthorised but it’s very exciting, though the drama of the abrupt cut-off of the entire orchestra is sacrificed. I wouldn’t want to hear it done this way all the time but it’s good to hear it this way once in a while. I’d never heard this done before or since until the Colin Davis recordings appeared.
Britten’s conducting is very fine. Much of the Prelude has sweep and urgency and he obtains really red-blooded playing from the LSO and singing to match from the LSO Chorus, which is not to say that the performance lacks refinement for that is certainly not the case. Once or twice Britten rather overplays his hand, most notably in the animato section of ‘Praise to the Holiest’, from cue 89. Frankly, between here and cue 95 Britten’s urgent pacing becomes rushed and as a result the music has become somewhat gabbled before cue 95 is reached. I also wish he’d held back a little immediately before the choir’s great outpouring at ‘Praise to the Holiest’ itself. It’s marked maestoso the first time and molto maestoso the second time but Britten rather ignores the markings and whilst the result has energy the grandeur is sacrificed. But such miscalculations are rare and what impresses above all in Britten’s reading is the sense of drama. In this, albeit their interpretations are very different, he comes closest to Barbirolli and it’s surely not without significance that of all the conductors under scrutiny here, apart from Sir Andrew Davis, Sir Colin Davis and Sir Mark Elder, Barbirolli and Britten had the most extensive operatic experience.
Peter Pears’ assumption of the title role won’t be to all tastes. He was sixty-one when this recording was made and, arguably, the recording came a few years too late in his career. However, it was a while since I’d listened to this performance and, coming back to it for this retrospect, I was surprised at how good he actually is. He’s ardent in ‘Sanctus fortis’ although he does seem to need to take more breaths than many of his rivals. He floats ‘Novissima hora est’ plangently and, indeed, it’s in the quieter, more introspective sections of the role that he’s at his most effective. Given his eminence as a singer of art songs it’s perhaps no surprise that he’s in his element in the opening paragraphs of Part Two. Here he sings with no little eloquence and he combines very tellingly with the Angel of Yvonne Minton. I detected signs of strain and tiredness by the time we get to ‘Take me away’ and this isn’t the most convincing account of that aria on disc. One interesting small point is that Pears takes the lower alternative at ‘and go above’ in the bar after cue 123, something I’ve not heard done by any other singer on disc – it’s a choice which is rather at odds with the words.
Miss Minton is a very fine Angel. She may not tug at the heart strings in the way that Janet Baker does, but she’s at all times tasteful and sensitive. She does the Farewell very nicely indeed, though it’s noticeable that Britten is unsentimental here and makes the music flow more than most conductors, though not to its detriment. The third soloist also makes a very distinguished contribution. John Shirley-Quirk is in sovereign voice as the Priest. The Angel of the Agony is not entirely within his best compass but he sings the part well, and he’s magnificent at ‘Hasten, Lord, their hour.’
This Britten performance would not rank as a first choice but it’s a most interesting and vital interpretation and one that anyone interested in the work ought to hear.
John Quinn
