Fame, power, recognition, influence—all that and more, so ardently sought by so many—we tacitly agree is fleeting. And there are few musicians of recent times whose former position at the top of the profession are now generally so fallen into relative obscurity as Sir Charles Villiers Stanford. During the latter decades of the nineteenth century he had plausible claim as the most influential and acclaimed musician in Great Britain. He was a distinguished educator, conductor, and composer standing then in that country somewhat as Bernstein, Copland, Dudamel—or even John Williams—may be regarded in the U.S. Born into an eminent Anglo-Irish family in Dublin, he was a precocious lad, whose talent in classical studies and music was revealed early. A prodigious composer—starting in his youth–he contributed a wealth of works in almost every genre, both instrumental and vocal. He early on distinguished himself as organist and conductor, later teacher, at Cambridge University, and was instrumental in founding the Royal College of Music. England at that time it must be said did not enjoy a rich music culture in most aspects, and Stanford was a frequent visitor on the continent for tutoring and concert going. He took as his models Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Brahms and was a lifelong conservative in musical style—as well as in politics (he ardently supported Irish union with England.) He was most successful in composing Anglican sacred music, and left an impressive body of work thereof. But his orchestral music enjoyed widespread performances on the continent and Gustav Mahler conducted his Symphony No. 3 “Irish” with the New York Philharmonic in 1911. Moreover, the leading virtuosos of the time—familiar names all—performed his concertos frequently. Nevertheless, as time went on during the Edwardian era, his sun was setting. His condemnation of the music of Debussy, Ravel, Strauss, and Stravinsky was typical of his cynical, reactionary outlook, and soon, he was eclipsed by Edward Elgar, who became the toast of musical Great Britain, and the rest is history.
His music exhibited a masterful craftsmanship, always characterized by an impressive technical command, and was an apt reflection of his admiration for the German tradition of those who followed Beethoven’s model. His contempt for what he considered the execrable chromatic harmonic language of Wagner informed his orientation in a sophisticated, but conservative diatonic style.
But, above all, he had a remarkable gift for melodic lyricism. That is clear in all of his works, but perhaps nowhere more evident in his celebrated six Irish rhapsodies for orchestra. There, coupled with his profound love of all things Irish, he created the works that have remained in the public’s eye, and are the remnants of his musical legacy. He composed them relatively late in his career, between 1901 and 1923—the last in the year before his death, by which time his star had definitely waned.
The first rhapsody, commissioned by the great conductor, Hans Richter, was given its première in 1902. It became inordinately popular; almost to the composer’s own exasperation. But, it must be admitted that it drew a dismissive comment from Elgar (the two were not exactly mutual admirers). The time of the latter nineteenth century was one of increasing exploration of nationalistic emphases in art, and folk, or “folkish” elements became an important aspect of classical music. Witness the works of Grieg, Sibelius, Smetana, Dvořák, Glinka, Chopin, and a raft of others. Stanford’s eloquent mining of Ireland’s musical heritage is in the mainstream of this movement, and he is perhaps one of its most successful.
Irish Rhapsody No. 1, while it bears the title of rhapsody, it is not the freely structured affair that one often encounters bearing that characterization. Rather, it is completely representative of the essential style of Stanford: tightly constructed, clear and balanced form; imaginative manipulation of minimal elements; and a logical direction to the flow of ideas. Nothing could better place him in the Romantic camp of Mendelssohn, Schumann, and his model, Brahms. Forget the “rhapsodies” of Liszt, the rhapsodic texture of Wagner, and like works of their followers. The Irish rhapsodies of Stanford are sophisticated paeans to Irish tunes—tunes that are the foundation for a deft weft of masterful development.
Irish Rhapsody No. 1 is cast into a simple three-part form, based upon two Irish folksongs. Stanford was more than familiar with the genre, having arranged and published hundreds of them over his career. The first section is based upon a simple, vigorous tune, whose straightforward melody and rhythm lends itself to adroit manipulation. In point of fact, his derivation of two aspects of that tune serves rather like a first and second theme. The middle, slower movement is an eloquent exposition of perhaps the most famous of Irish melodies, “Londonderry Air,“ first subtly alluded to by the English horn, before the violoncellos sing it out in full. The whole section functions as a development. The third section, while ostensibly a return, or varied recap of the first, faster tune, is much more than that. Elements of “Londonderry Air” are skillfully woven into the first tune, in a blend of both in the faster tempo. It’s not just a rhapsody, but seems to sneak in elements of sonata form. So, it’s a typical work by Stanford: lyrical, classical constrain in form, and developmental texture in the Viennese tradition—all built upon Stanford’s complete mastery of Romantic orchestration.
Stanford left a large body of admirable compositions that are largely more or less out of vogue, now. The winds of musical change that were stirring just before World War I, and which swept all before thereafter, put paid to his late romantic style—no matter how well crafted. It is probable that his greatest legacy was the remarkable number of his significant, gifted students, whose own compositions saw much greater acceptance and longevity: Gustav Holst, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Frank Bridge, John Ireland, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, George Butterworth, Herbert Howells, and others. Nevertheless, he was knighted by Edward VII and was buried in Westminster Abbey with Great Britain’s musical legends. Perhaps it’s time for non-Britons to reconsider more of his appealing oeuvre.
–Wm. E. Runyan
©2022 William E. Runyan