Unsung Composers

The presence of Martin, Parratt and Bridge is interesting to say the least, but not as peculiar as seeing William Cummings (rather better known as a tenor soloist and the author primarily of one work, a cantata The Fairy Ring dating back to 1872) included. The equable proximity of Stanford to Elgar is perhaps a touch optimistic.

What's interesting to me is the title at the top of the page - "Famous living British composers of the old school and the new". Wonder who was supposed to belong to which school?

I would suggest, given the date of 1908, the length of careers 'before the public' and perceived reputations -

old = Martin, Prout, Cummings, Parratt, Stanford, Cowen, Mackenzie, Parry, Bridge

new = Bantock, Holbrooke, Coleridge-Taylor, Pitt, Scott, Harty, Smyth, Walford Davies, German, Elgar

:)

Thank you; much appreciated. (I see that Delius missed out again, although he was about seventeen years older than Scott and Holbrooke!)

Love this, thank you! Yes, I can't see Stanford and Elgar being so close! I know of one photo of them at a festival where they stand as far apart as physically possible!

Quote from: Alan Howe on Wednesday 18 July 2012, 18:48
Wonder who was supposed to belong to which school?

Moustache/beard - old school
Clean shaven - new school

Thal

More or less - at least it confirms Ethel Smyth as a symbol of modernity.

;)

Quote from: Jimfin on Thursday 19 July 2012, 06:22I know of one photo of them at a festival where they stand as far apart as physically possible!

Yes, the famous group portrait of German, Parry, Elgar, Dan Godfrey, Mackenzie and Stanford was taken at Bournemouth on 8th July 1910 - Parry rests a hand on Mackenzie's shoulder, whilst Elgar looks distinctly uneasy and sits cross-legged as far away from Stanford as possible. According to Alice Elgar, Stanford "fled when he saw E" whilst according to Parry "Stanford refused to speak to [...] Elgar."

::)

One of the things I really like about the ILN illustration is that it is so patently a cobbled-up cut-and-paste composite drawn from whatever photographs were to hand: Coleridge-Taylor is clearly the fresh-faced young student of the 1890s, Cummings is remarkably well-preserved for a gentleman seventy-seven years of age and the positioning of Ebenezer Prout's head has effectively censored the large cigar which is prominent in the photograph of Bantock (which was originally a double one with Elgar taken at the 1906 Birmingham Festival).

;D

Quote from: Albion on Thursday 19 July 2012, 08:37

One of the things I really like about the ILN illustration is that it is so patently a cobbled-up cut-and-paste composite drawn from whatever photographs were to hand...

And there I was thinking that Photoshop was something new-fangled! :o

Quote from: Albion on Thursday 19 July 2012, 08:37

Quote from: thalbergmad on Thursday 19 July 2012, 08:29

Quote from: Alan Howe on Wednesday 18 July 2012, 18:48
Wonder who was supposed to belong to which school?

Moustache/beard - old school
Clean shaven - new school

Thal

More or less - at least it confirms Ethel Smyth as a symbol of modernity.

;)

I'd be somewhat wary of taking this too seriously, since what it illustrates above all else is Thal's evident obssession about beards, with which, despite long-term familiarity, I have never yet understood properly...

What's the story with Elgar and Stanford?  Do tell!

Both were hypersensitive to criticism (but quick enough to dish it out), frequently tactless, stubborn and, in Stanford's case especially, quarrelsome. Elgar privately asked Stanford's opinion of one of his choral works (I think it was King Olaf in 1896) before it was performed and was not prepared for the detailed and uncomplimentary assessment: he expected more of a colleague's reassurance than the pseudo teacher-pupil lecture which he received. Nevertheless things remained reasonably amicable even if they were not particularly close. Stanford was directly instrumental in getting Elgar an honorary doctorate from Cambridge in 1900,  and in 1903 they met socially, visited each other (Stanford was staying in Hereford at the time) and participated in the Hereford Festival together without incident. In 1904 Stanford was one of the members of the Atheneum Club (along with Parry) who proposed Elgar as a fellow member.

That same year Elgar was appointed Peyton Professor at the recently-founded Birmingham University and, apparently (though it hasn't survived), Stanford sent Elgar an "odious letter", according to Alice Elgar. The contents can only be guessed at, but probably related to the Birmingham appointment in some particularly uncomplimentary way: Stanford was undoubtedly jealous of Elgar's increasing national and international prominence (a three-day Elgar Festival was held at Covent Garden in 1904) and felt himself being eclipsed. The next year Elgar fuelled the fire in his lecture A Future for English Music in which he pointedly denounced the music of his Victorian contemporaries (with the specifically named exception of Parry), saying that there was nothing more ridiculous than the idea of an English (i.e. British) composer writing rhapsodies (Stanford had two Irish rhapsodies under his belt by then, but then Mackenzie had two Scottish ones), asserting that English (i.e. British) music was widely derided abroad (Stanford had a history of prominent continental performances, especially in Berlin and at several German operas theatres) and pinning his only hopes on Bantock, Holbrooke and Walford Davies. Stanford quite rightly saw these remarks as a not-very-well-veiled personal insult and a very public attempt to humiliate him. He immediately fired off a reply to The Times refuting Elgar's allegations. From then on the relationship was basically acrimonious with neither man prepared to apologise or even acknowledge that they knew the basis of the trouble.

Stanford continued to perform and promote Elgar's music, however, although privately Elgar frequently repeated his low opinion of Stanford's. Various attempts were made by well-meaning friends to patch things up but without success. When Alfred Littleton of Novello's invited them both to a private party Stanford replied "I quite saw and, believe me, thoroughly appreciated the kindly motive which underlay your invitation, and if this had been a private or personal matter no-one would have responded quicker to it than I. But it is unfortunately a public one. The gross disloyalty and ingratitude to those professional colleagues whose identity was all the more clearly pointed out by the exceptions which were publicly named, can't be obliterated in private." Stanford was staying in Malvern when Alice Elgar died in 1920 and, despite being ill himself, attended the funeral (standing in the doorway, unknown to Elgar). Elgar found out later and called it "a cruel piece of impertinence". Herbert Brewer finally made the two men shake hands at the 1922 Gloucester Festival but it probably meant very little by that time to either of them.

Thanks for such a detailed account, Albion, I hadn't realised there was such animosity between the two.

Do you have a link to the Bournemouth photo?

I hope this is not too flippant, but that picture when I first saw it brought to mind those Stalin-era photographs where people have been painted out - in this case some one from the centre of the back row . . . It's the way they are placed.

Look like there's some old stick in the back row...

Maybe Delius was painted out: his absence is being often commented on on UC.

Quote from: Alan Howe on Friday 20 July 2012, 08:01
Looks like there's some old stick in the back row...

You mean you really didn't know that Mackenzie was a unicorn?

:o

Albion - thanks for posting this picture.

They look like they're in two opposing teams - maybe for a duel?

Quote from: Albion on Thursday 19 July 2012, 16:09
Both were hypersensitive to criticism (but quick enough to dish it out), frequently tactless, stubborn and, in Stanford's case especially, quarrelsome. . . .

Vaguely seeking something to shed more light on this subject, I did find some snippets that may be of interest:

1) Fuller Maitland - Music in the XIXth Century (1902):

". . . it may be said in passing that Stanford's various articles in warm commendation of works by his contemporaries, such as 'The Golden Legend' (National Review, Nov. 1886), 'Judith' (Fortnightly Review, Oct. 1888), and 'Falstaff' (Fortnightly Review, April 1893), are a lasting monument to his critical insight, as well as to his complete lack of that professional jealousy which has spoilt the nature of too many English musicians."

2) Sydney Grew - Our Favourite Musicians (1922 - chapter on Elgar):

"He [Elgar] has a biting tongue when necessary, and does not wrap honey round the sting. . . . This, however, is not to imply that Elgar is unkind."

Stanford's reaction (in a letter to Joachim) to the ecstatic critical reception which Elgar's The Apostles received at Birmingham in 1903 was "Is the art of music going mad? You should hear the Apostles by Elgar. Ye gods! Such ugliness! and all the papers raving about it. It gives me a bad stomach-ache." Earlier that same year Jaeger had reported to Elgar that "A young friend of mine has just been here after an interview with Stanford re modern music. He says C.V.S. foamed at the mouth almost dismissing R. Strauss' & other moderns' music. Poor disappointed man!"

The reference to Elgar in Stanford and Cecil Forsyth's 1916 History of Music is pointedly dismissive, alleging that he had "reaped where others had sowed. Cut off from his contemporaries by the circumstances of his religion and his want of regular academic training, he was lucky enough to enter the field and find the preliminary ploughing already done." The description of Stanford in the same chapter on modern British composers, admittedly written by Forsyth, is brazen puffery - "[he] is the man of widest achievement in this group," noted for "purity, clarity, and beauty of expression."

:o

Whilst Stanford often gets the lion's share of blame for the rift because of his track-history in detonating friendships (eg. with Richter and Parry), Elgar was certainly quite capable of taking umbrage at a supposed slight and of being haughtily aloof to the point of rudeness. He was acutely conscious that he was not a product of the college-academy system and jealously guarded his hard-won reputation. After the notorious Birmingham lecture (which Rosa Burley, in the audience, considered "one of the most embarrassing failures to which it has ever been my misfortune to listen" and during which Ivor Atkins and George Sinclair, the organists respectively at Worcester and Hereford, "fidgeted in our seats, becoming more and more anxious as the lecture proceeded about the effect of his words in the musical world at large"), Parry confided to his diary that Stanford "was in a great rage about Elgar's inaugural address" and that Mackenzie was prepared "to discuss the recent pronouncements by Elgar which rouse his ire greatly - and no wonder!" Jerrold Northrop Moore gave a succinct summary of the Elgar-Stanford relationship - "On the one side, Edward's dizzying success despite his lack of academic connections could tempt jealousy even in natures more patient than Stanford's. On the other side, Stanford's energetic advice and advocacy could always strike a man of Edward's insecurity as tinged with patronage."

::)

I certainly get the impression from Dibble's excellent biography, that I would have been unlikely to like Stanford, however much I adore his music and feel he is underrated as a composer. But I don't imagine I would have liked Elgar more. I would have preferred to be on a nice boat cruise with Sullivan and his mate the Duke of Edinburgh. Listening to Elgar and Stanford behind their backs.
      Stanford always disliked Strauss, using him as an example of ugliness. He even thought the opening of VW's Sea Symphony was too modern: what would be have made of no. 4?
     Forsyth seems to have been an absolute idiot as a music critic: every time he is quoted it is saying something completely wrong-headed. He even made disparaging comment about the viola, despite having written a concerto for it.
     Re. Elgar's lectures, they do seem to have been silly, but Havergal Brian was an enormous admirer of them.