Albert Ketèlbey (1875-1959)
A publisher's announcement in the journal of the British
Performing Right Society in October 1929 said it all: "ARTHUR W.
KETÈLBEY'S (Britain's Greatest Living Composer) New and Beautiful Inspiration, The
Sacred Hour."
Leaving aside the not insignificant fact that men of the
creative stature of Elgar, Vaughan Williams, Hoist and Bax happened to be
living at that time, there is a certain Freudian elegance in the fact that even
Mr. Ketèlbey's own publisher couldn't get his name right! He was, in fact,
Albert W. Ketèlbey but it was the surname, not the forename, that usually
caused the problem. At the very least, people tended to put the stress in the
wrong place - it should come on the second syllable: Ke-tèl-bey. On other
occasions, the poor gentleman had to endure being addressed as Mr. Kettleboy,
Kettlebay and sundry other variations of nomenclature.
And yet, before pity takes over, it should be quickly pointed
out that it was all self-inflicted. Although, astonishingly, no-one can be
certain, it looks as if he was born plain William Aston, but as he was born in
the Aston district of Birmingham, it is possible that his name has become
confused with his place of birth! Where, when and how he underwent the change
of appellation remains a mystery, except that it seems to have taken place very
early on. There has been an attempt to attribute the new name to Danish
origins, but with this theory beginning thus: "the ke being a
"prefix" cognate with the Ke in the names "ke-nelm",
"ke-steven", "k'nut", "Quebec" i.e. Ke-bec, the Que
being the French equivalent of Ke", one may be forgiven for
taking a couple of paces backwards! It has been assumed that the 'W.' stood for
William but, again, there is no undisputed evidence to confirm this.
Anyway, Albert W. Ketèlbey-to-be was born, as has already
been mentioned, in Birmingham on August 4, 1875. He seems to have shown an
early talent for music with particular aptitude being apparent on the piano. A
flair for composition quickly manifested itself and he was only 11 years old
when he produced a Piano Sonata that was played in a recital at the Town Hall
in Worcester and which later won the admiration of no less a person than Sir
Edward Elgar. At Birmingham, his studies were presided over by Alfred Gaul and
Dr. Herbert Wareing who prepared him for admission to one of the London music
colleges. It was intended initially that he should attend the Royal College of
Music but, somehow, he missed the entry date for a scholarship to that
institution and so applied for one, the Queen Victoria Scholarship, at Trinity
College. He was just thirteen, but easily won first place, obtaining several
marks more than his fellow-applicant Gustav Hoist, who was almost a year his
senior.
At Trinity, he was a diligent worker, studying composition
under Gordon Saunders as well as a bewildering array of instruments, including
the piano, organ, clarinet, horn, oboe and cello, the last of these being a
particular favourite. He won a number of medals and prizes for both his playing
and writing and had the satisfaction of seeing some of his early compositions
appear in print, including a Caprice for Piano and Orchestra and a Concertstuck
for the same forces, in both of which he performed the solo part. There were
also a number of chamber pieces, the most notable being some String Quartets
and a Quintet for Piano and Wind, the latter winning him the coveted Sir
Michael Costa Prize. He was obviously an extraordinarily gifted scholar because
he also managed to find time to become proficient in modern languages!
By sixteen, he was a fully trained musician and obtained his
first professional appointment, that of organist at St. John's Church in
Wimbledon. At this time, he looked destined for a glittering career in
'serious' music, both as a composer and performer. He continued to write,
producing works for both the church and the concert hall, and began to
establish himself as a pianist of no mean ability, appearing in a number of
towns and cities, including London, Birmingham and Eastbourne. But fate was to
turn the brilliant young musician in another direction. At the age of 20, he
was offered the opportunity of becoming musical director of a touring musical
comedy company, and accepted with apparent eagerness. He seems to have taken to
this new way of life, and the different style of music, with great delight and
travelled the length and breadth of the British Isles for a couple of years
before finally settling down as the Musical Director of London's Vaudeville
Theatre, where he worked on several of the André Chariot revues, providing
original music for a number of productions. One of his first attempts at a work
in theatrical vein was the comic opera A Good Time (subtitled Skipped
By The Light Of The Moon), which appeared in 1896, but it was a later
essay, The Wonder Worker, first staged at Fulham's Grand Theatre in West
London in 1900, that attracted the most favourable attention. Meantime, he
found financial, if not artistic, satisfaction, in turning out a steady stream
of arrangements of musical comedy selections.
But this was not to be the area in which his name was to be
universally established. He was already in his late thirties when, in 1912, he
wrote a piece for cello in response to a competition sponsored by the famous
player Auguste Van Biene. This was The Phantom Melody and it won
him the handsome sum of £50 (Another contest success later the same year, this
time in response to a song competition run by a London paper, the Evening News,
netted him £100). The world of light orchestral music was beginning to beckon
and, increasingly, Ketèlbey's interest turned in this direction. Charming
little miniatures started to emerge from his pen, culminating with In a
Monastery Garden which appeared in 1915 and brought the forty year old
composer popular acclaim against which his earlier successes paled into
comparative insignificance.
A rather bookish, slightly foppish appearance belied a
personality which positively seethed with energy and industry. Somebody who, at
various times, was musical editor to two major publishing houses, musical
director of the Columbia Gramophone Company, an examiner for Trinity College
and an active conductor, making appearances not only in Britain, often with his
own ensemble, but with several orchestras throughout Europe (including the
Amsterdam Concertgebouw) - where his flair for foreign languages undoubtedly
proved invaluable - had to be rather special.
Nonetheless, his first love was composing and this he did
from his delightful house in Appley Road, Cowes on the Isle of Wight which he
purchased with the income from his singularly lucrative light music pieces. To
extract the maximum financial benefit from his handiwork, he made many
arrangements of the most successful pieces, scoring them for band, salon
orchestra and assorted ensembles as well as turning a few of them into songs
through the addition of lyrics of his own invention. Like a number of his
colleagues working in the same field, he was inclined to hide behind pseudonyms
on occasions, the most frequent being the exotic-sounding Anton Vodorinski,
which was used mainly for his piano music. He also deployed his skills in the
service of the silent film, producing an extraordinary range of pieces for
every conceivable mood. In 1937, he returned to his earlier milieu of 'serious'
music when he composed A Solemn Processional for the Coronation of George
VI. And when he wasn't writing, arranging, conducting or editing, he enjoyed
nothing more than a game of billiards, another area in which he manifested
noteworthy talent!
Ketèlbey lived to be 84 and, understandably, his pace of
life slowed considerably in later years. With an impressive musical achievement
behind him, he was content to enjoy the tranquil surroundings of the Isle of
Wight with his second wife Maud. He had no family, but this did not appear to
worry him. He died on November 26, 1959 by which time he had already become a
somewhat unfashionable figure. A depressingly pedestrian Times obituary could
find little more favourable to say than "he developed a talent for
descriptive writing... where he showed an ability to catch atmospheric
tone".
In a Monastery Garden
It was this "Characteristic Intermezzo", published
in 1915, which was primarily responsible for launching Ketèlbey into the
forefront of light music composers. It is instructive to note that, whereas in
its day this delightful miniature inspired tears of emotion, in our own time
the music is more likely to induce tears of laughter and hoots of derision at
its apparent excessive sentimentality and naive effects, especially the bird
calls. Whether this is due to shortcomings on the part of the composer or
prevailing cynicism amongst contemporary audiences is a question on which the
present writer prefers not to make judgement. Little is left to the imagination
as realistic avian impersonations issue forth and male voices (those of the
gentlemen of the orchestra, if Ketèlbey's instructions are followed to the
letter) enter with a sequence of "Kyrie Eleison" at the point in the
score marked "Chant Religioso. Sing in imitation of monks chanting in the
distance". The composer himself provided a description of the piece.
"The first theme represents a poet's reverie in the
quietude of the monastery garden amidst beautiful surroundings - the calm
serene atmosphere - the leafy trees and the singing birds. The second theme in
the minor expresses the more 'personal' note of sadness, of appeal and
contrition. Presently, the monks are heard chanting the "Kyrie
Eleison" with the organ playing and the chapel bell ringing. The first
theme is now heard in a quieter manner as if it had become more ethereal and
distant; the singing of the monks is again heard - it becomes louder and more
insistent, bringing the piece to a conclusion in a glow of exultation".
What more could a listener desire!
The Adventurers
A work dating from the very last years of the composer's
career, this Overture was published in 1954. In many ways, it is a curious
piece in which assorted influences seem to tumble over one another. At various
points, one can hear shades of Sullivan, German and César Franck, with even
touches of Hollywood here and there. In truth, Ketèlbey's adventurers are
comparatively sedate folk, represented mainly by two principal themes, the
second one revealing the Franckian presence referred to just now.
Chal Romano (Gipsy Lad)
This "Descriptive Overture", dating from 1924,
provides a good demonstration of Ketèlbey's work within what may be perceived
as more 'formal' structures than those adopted for his pictorial miniatures.
The melodic invention is, in truth, undistinguished but it is handled with
undeniable skill and displays all the hallmarks of an artist who knows how to
draw the best from an orchestra.
A detailed synopsis prefaces the score as follows:
"This Overture opens with a broad theme in the style of a Gipsy Folk-Song
of strongly marked character. A plaintive melody which follows (given to
clarinet and oboe) suggests the sadness of the rejected lover; the key changes
to the Tonic major and the melody develops into a passionate Love-theme. The
Gipsy Folk-Song, suggesting Fate, interrupts the conclusion of the Love-theme
and leads into a dance tune first played by violin solo and then developed at
some length, descriptive of the light-hearted nature of the Gipsy Girl; the
Love-theme is now heard again (in a quicker tempo than originally) with scraps
from the girl's dance tune interwoven with it. A kind of recitative for cellos
suggests the lover pleading with the girl, but the Gipsy Folk-Song heard
immediately after, expresses the hopelessness of his appeal, and she dances
away to join the Gipsy Revels which (with a final ff reference to the
Gipsy Folk-Song just before the end) brings the Overture to a conclusion".
Suite Romantique: 1. Romance (Réveil
d'Amour)
2.
Scherzo (Pensées Troublées)
3.
Valse Dramatique (Querelle et Réconciliation)
This impressive orchestral suite appeared, like the previous
piece, in 1924, carrying a dedication to Sir Dan Godfrey (1868-1939), that
tireless champion of British composers whose sterling work with the Bournemouth
Municipal Orchestra did much to raise the standard of concerts, not just
locally but at national level as well. Each of the three movements has a
characteristically romantic title (in French, naturally!). The first - the
Awakening of Love - is the longest and opens with a dreamy cor anglais solo.
The strings eventually take the lead, extending the main theme and gradually
injecting a little passion into proceedings. Horns and cellos introduce a
secondary idea which is not all that dissimilar in nature to the subject that
preceded it. But it manages to work itself into a suitably heartfelt climax,
after which there is a slow winding down in preparation for a recapitulation of
the first part of the movement, melodically identical but with a much richer, sumptuous
scoring which aspires to new heights of ardour.
The second movement is marked "fantastically and
delicately". Precisely what constitutes the cause of the "Troubled
Thoughts" is not made clear but it could be due to a surfeit of influences
which seem to pervade practically every bar of this mercurial, will o' the wisp
movement. A host of French composers, including Berlioz, Saint-Saëns, Dukas and
Debussy seem to peer out of the shadows and there are even occasional
non-Gallic echoes of Mendelssohn. The swirling chromaticisms and prominent
deployment of the tritone are kept politely under control by an admirable
English restraint. Ketèlbey's handling of the orchestra is masterly, muted
strings throughout ensuring that everything has an appropriately light touch. A
final, quite unexpected splash of tam-tam provides a most effective finish to
this intriguing scherzo.
The Valse Dramatique, subtitled "Quarrel and
Reconciliation" - grazioso e delicato - is the most immediately appealing
of the three movements, with a charming, unassuming little theme presented by
flutes and oboe with the celeste tinkling prettily in the background. Later on,
a slightly more stolid waltz establishes itself and it is not a little
unnerving to detect some distinctly Richard Rodgers-like resonances in its
melodic and harmonic contours! But as the argument begins to develop, it is
surely César Franck who puts in an appearance as the contretemps reaches
towards its climax. The tiff is a short-lived affair and requires nothing more
than a flurry of woodwind thirds for it to be resolved. Sweetness and light
prevail and the final surge of emotion is quite definitely of the
'happy-ever-after' variety rather than a renewal of hostilities.
Caprice pianistique
One of a number of pieces written for his own use, this
entertaining item serves to remind us of Ketèlbey's prowess as a virtuoso
pianist. Described as a "Piano Novelty", it is a relatively late
work, not appearing until after the Second World War, in 1947. The accent is
very much on 'caprice' in this fundamentally light-hearted work whose attempted
flirtation with apparently more serious elements at one point fails to disturb
the prevailing mood of playfulness.
The Clock and the Dresden Figures
Published in 1930, this enchanting piece of fantasy was
dedicated to one of the composer's friends, Lieut. W.J. Dunn, M.C., P.S.M. and,
accordingly, if perhaps a touch incongruously, exists in a version for piano
and military band as well as the more conventional piano / orchestra edition
recorded here. The scenario is simple and splendidly improbable: Two
Dresden-China figures standing on each side of a clock come to life and dance
to the ticking of the clock; after a while the clock goes wrong, the spring
breaks suddenly and the two figures rush back to their former positions. This
is Ketèlbeyat his most charming and the work rightly enjoys a high level of
popularity.
Cockney Suite: No. 5: Bank Holiday ('Appy'
Ampstead)
No.
3: At the Palais de Danse (Anywhere)
The five-movement Cockney Suite (a Cockney,
incidentally, being defined as someone born within the sound of Bow Bells in
East London, but often applied to an East Londoner in general) was another
product of that industrious year 1924 and, in many ways, it served as a tribute
to the city which had been Ketèlbey's home for many years and had helped to
make his fame and fortune (in much the same way that Eric Coates paid
acknowledgement to the capital in his London Suite). The locations he
chose for his inspirations covered the complete spectrum of London society. The
first movement starts at the very top with A State Procession, representing
the King and Queen on their way to formally open Parliament, while the second
movement, The Cockney Lover, subtitled Lambeth Walk, takes the
listener into an East End pub with a main theme based on the Cockney whistle
"Arf a pint of mild and bitter". The fourth movement is a more
generalised portrait, prompted by London's distinctive memorial to the nation's
war dead, the Cenotaph, which stands proudly and solemnly in Whitehall. For the
finale, in which Ketèlbey reveals an unusual but quite definite kinship with
Edward German, the composer pays a visit to North London's Hampstead Heath and
its Bank Holiday (public holiday) Fair. Subtitled 'Appy' Ampstead (for
the non-initiated, the Cockney tends to ignore the letter 'h' at the
beginning of a word), it depicts a festive scene as follows:
"Hampstead Heath on a Bank Holiday is here represented
by a lively dance tune of a country-like character, then the mouth-organs
are heard as a preliminary introduction to a one-step tune to which
'Arry and 'Arriet dance. While it is proceeding, a cornet in the vicinity plays
snatches of various other tunes, roysterers bawl a few bars of Tell Me the
Old, Old Story; another band plays a bit of Semiramide Overture,
shouts of the showman (with a rattle) and a noisy steam-organ playing the old
waltz Over the Waves are all heard while the dance is still in progress.
A return to the opening dance-tune brings this [movement] to a lively
conclusion".
Ketèlbey must have thought himself terribly daring in the
third movement, entitled At the Palais de Danse. In a preface, with
italics and quotation marks to emphasise the points he is no doubt earnestly
making, the composer tells us: "A feature of the Jazz bands in any
"Palais de Danse" is the way in which the key of the music is
suddenly changed. This waltz has been treated in this manner (in the 2nd part),
and other "Jazz" effects are introduced. The changes of orchestration
must be emphatically marked". Suffice it to say that Ketèlbey's experience
of jazz at this time must have been somewhat limited: what we have here is the
most correct of waltzes, perfectly suited to potted palms and the munching of
cucumber sandwiches (minus crusts, of course) and toasted tea cakes.
In the Moonlight
This miniature is described as a "Poetic
Intermezzo" and subtitled in French Sous la Lune, to give it a
suitably romantic aura. Very much a period piece, it has the ability to charm
while remaining melodically undistinguished. It is cast in the form of ABACA
plus coda, with C being a close (and impassioned) relative of B. It made its
debut fairly early on in the composer's light music career, in 1919.
Wedgwood Blue
Little did Josiah Wedgwood imagine, when he founded his now
famous ceramics company in 1759 that, 161 years later, his achievement would be
celebrated in a dance by Albert W. Ketèlbey. The dance in question is a
gavotte, with a contrasting middle section which is entrusted, in turn, to a
solo cello and a solo violin. Totally unassuming, this little piece captivates
by its evocation of an age long since vanished.
Bells Across the Meadows
One of Ketèlbey's most popular compositions, this
unashamedly sentimental morceau appeared in 1921. To modern-day audiences, this
work offers an aural equivalent of a Myles Birket Foster painting of by-gone
scenes - rose-entwined thatched cottages standing amidst gardens full of
hollyhocks with a gentle brook bubbling on its rustic way and cows grazing
peacefully in the pastures beyond. Did such idyllic images ever really exist?
It's nice to think that they did and Bells Across the Meadows certainly
helps to sustain this belief.
The Phantom Melody
As mentioned earlier, this is the work that won Ketèlbey a
£50 prize in a competition organised by Auguste Van Biene and turned his
interest in the direction of light orchestral music. In this version, the
violins have been given the tune originally sung by the solo cello. Biene
himself had won fame in 1893 with a piece called The Broken Melody and
it is just possible that Ketèlbey chose a similar kind of title in homage
to the competition sponsor. Later, a song was fashioned out of this work called
I Loved You More Than I Knew.
In a Persian Market
This is one of those pieces which, on hearing it, people say
"so that's what it's called"! It's a tune so many folk have known for
years. Designated an "Intermezzo-Scene" by its composer, and
published in 1920, it portrays the following scenario: "The camel-drivers
gradually approach the market; the cries of beggars for "Back-sheesh"
are heard amid the bustle. (The full cry is "Back-sheesh, Allah,
empshi", 'empshi', we are told, meaning "get away"!). The
beautiful princess enters carried by her servants, (she is represented by a
languorous theme), given at first to clarinet and cello, then repeated by full
orchestra - she stays to watch the jugglers and snake-charmer. The Caliph now
passes through the market and interrupts the entertainment, the beggars are
heard again, the princess prepares to depart and the caravan resumes its
journey; the themes of the princess and the camel-drivers are heard faintly in
the distance and the market-place becomes deserted".
© 1993 Tim McDonald
Slovak Philharmonic Chorus
The Slovak Philharmonic Chorus was formed in 1946 from the
mixed chorus of Radio Bratislava and has performed, over the years, a wide
repertoire of music, ranging from the earliest choral works to the work of
contemporary composers. The Chorus, since 1990 directed by Jan Rozehnal, has
performed under some of the most distinguished conductors, from Claudio Abbado
and Lorin Maazel to Vaclav Talich and Yuri Temirkanov, and has appeared in
concerts and festival performances throughout Europe, in addition to continuing
collaboration with the opera-houses of Vienna, Strasbourg, Szeged, Bordeaux and
Düsseldorf. Recordings by the Chorus include the oratorio The Legend of St.
Elizabeth by Liszt for Hungaroton, awarded the Paris Grand Prix du Disque in
1974 and a number of works for Naxos and Marco Polo.
Czecho-Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra (Bratislava)
The Czecho-Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra (Bratislava), the
oldest symphonic ensemble in Slovakia, was founded in 1929 at the instance of
Milos Ruppeldt and Oskar Nedbal, prominent personalities in the sphere of
music. Ondrej Lenárd was appointed its conductor in 1970 and in 1977 its
conductor-in-chief. The orchestra has given successful concerts both at home
and abroad, in Germany, Russia, Bulgaria, Denmark, France, Spain, Italy, Great
Britain, Hong Kong and Japan. For Marco Polo the orchestra has recorded works
by Glazunov, Glière, Miaskovsky and other late romantic composers and film
music of Honegger, Bliss, Ibert and Khachaturian as well as several volumes of
the label's Johann Strauss Edition. Naxos recordings include symphonies and
ballets by Tchaikovsky, and symphonies by Berlioz and Saint-Saëns.
Adrian Leaper
Adrian Leaper was appointed Assistant Conductor to Stanislaw
Skrowaczewski of the Hallé Orchestra in 1986, and has since then enjoyed an
increasingly busy career, with engagements at home and throughout Europe. Born
in 1953, Adrian Leaper studied at the Royal Academy of Music and was for a
number of years co-principal French horn in the Philharmonia Orchestra, before
turning his attention exclusively to conducting. He has been closely involved
with the Naxos and Marco Polo labels and has been consequently instrumental in
introducing elements of English repertoire to Eastern Europe. His numerous
recordings include a complete cycle of Sibelius symphonies for Naxos, and
Havergal Brian's Symphony No. 4 ("Das Siegeslied") for Marco Polo.