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Fanfare

The present recital provides an excellent reminder of just how many pieces of music have been commissioned by or written for particular performers or groups. All but the first work were written for bass clarinetist Ian Mitchell or for the Gemini chamber ensemble that he leads. In Mitchell’s words, the album “is a deliberate miscellany, juxtaposing styles, and intent on showing the bass clarinet as a partner in a variety of small chamber ensembles whilst playing with and by friends.” (Yes, you sharp-eyed American readers surely have spotted the Briticism “whilst,” and consequently correctly surmise that Mitchell resides on the eastern side of The Pond.)

The concert opens, then, with the outlier, York Bowen’s Phantasy Quintet from 1932, one of the few works in the literature which combines a bass clarinet with a standard string quartet. The work was first broadcast in the year of its completion, and received its second broadcast 55 years later by Mitchell himself. It fits rather snugly within the perimeter of the English pastoral school, in which so much great music has been written. Bowen’s skill in drawing upon the capabilities of the instrument—whether as an underpinning instrument to the quartet, or an effective solo voice within it—is evident from the beginning of the work. Much of the work reminds me a good bit of the chamber music of Frank Bridge (who actually wrote a Phantasy Quartet for piano and strings himself), or Arnold Bax, although neither composer wrote a work for these forces, as far as I am aware. It is a gorgeous piece, and should be much more widely heard than it is. The beautiful performance heard here ought to go far in launching it into the consciousness of performers and music lovers.

The free-ranging stylistic variety offered in this program is immediately obvious at the beginning of the second work, William O. Smith’s Jazz Set. Another Briticism comes to mind as I think of how to describe this work, and that is “cheeky.” Smith is, of course, American, but Mitchell and fellow bass-clarinetist Mick Foster emphasize the brash quality that pervades this perky piece. How to Win an Election by Cheryl Frances-Hoad is the first piece of music I’ve encountered that has been precipitated by the election of Donald J. Trump. The work is set for soprano and bass clarinet, its text drawn from the eponymous (in translation) work of Roman author Quintus Tullius Cicero that contains such sage advice as “If a politician made only promises he could keep, he wouldn’t have many friends.” This may apply to Trump, but jaded by politics as I am, it seems to me equally applicable to virtually every politician across the political spectrum. But, I digress. The work opens with a solo disquisition by soprano Alison Wells, with the bass clarinet making its entrance coinciding with a climactic high note in the vocal part. From that point, the instrument makes a musical commentary on what is sung, at times mimicking it, at others, seeming to countermand it. It’s an all-around jocund work.

Owl of the Hazels, combining our featured instrument with piano, is a two-movement work by Sadie Harrison based on Lithuanian songs that speak of a bride’s journey from the point of her first love to her walking home from the church after her wedding and ending with her lamenting the loss of her mother a week later. The music often seems rather more anguished than these song texts would suggest, but it also contains its quieter episodes, and is enjoyable strictly on a musical level. The character of the piece is often quite mysterious, with hints of Eastern influence as the bass clarinet soars to the top of its register. Mitchell’s tone isn’t particularly pleasant in this range, nor I suspect would be anyone else’s—and doubtless that is intentional on the part of the composer.

The second disc opens with Dave Smith’s Latin-infused Aragonesca, which opens with an infectious tune, so catchy that my wife, who had come into my office to use the photocopy machine, immediately began singing along with it. She then asked me if “we’d heard this somewhere before,” and I had to assure her the piece was new to both of us. Her reaction does strongly suggest that this is the sort of music that will immediately set one’s foot to tapping, and one’s soul to rejoicing: It’s simply “happy” music. The work is scored for soprano/alto saxophones (one player), violin, bass clarinet, and cello. The booklet’s photo of the composer shows him standing in a rakish pose wearing sunglasses. His portrait perfectly complements the music, and I compliment the composer for his work. Huw Watkins (b. 1976 in Wales) provides the following Double for bass clarinet, cello, and piano. The title might seem to make as little sense as does “trio sonata” in reference to works with two treble instruments, cello, and harpsichord. The title refers not to the number of instruments, however, but to the Baroque-era forms of that name in which a two-section work’s second section “doubles” the effective tempo through the use of quicker note values. The piece is unique in its sound, not only because of its unusual instrumentation, but also through the imaginative use of the instruments by its composer.

Helen Roe’s (b. 1955) discovery of the vivid and evocative poetry of Katherine Mansfield led her to set two of her poems, “Across the Red Sky” and “The Awakening River,” in this short cycle, Birds, Earth, Sun, Sky and Water for mezzo-soprano and bass clarinet. In this work, the instrument provides a platform upon which the singer can seemingly extemporize with widely wandering vocal lines. In the first song, most of the bass clarinet’s part is soft and confined to the lower register, although there are occasional louder outbursts and forays into its upper register. The second song begins with a flurry of activity in both clarinet and singer, but also has its moments of repose, the two extremes well balanced by the composer. Tonality in both pieces is very diffuse and seldom centered for long in any one area.

John White’s Concertino, written in Montana in 1996, is a work for bass clarinet and string trio cast in three brief movements. Movement one, “Robotic,” is an amusing depiction of the mechanical sounds that might be emitted by some piece of machinery, while “Suave, serene” suggests through mysterious and gorgeous harmonies the beautiful vistas one might experience in Glacier National Park in the state where the work was written. The work’s concluding Valse sounds very un-waltz-like, or at most as though it were written for—as Peter Schickele said about P. D. Q. Bach—someone possessed of one leg shorter than the other. Regardless, it is also a beautifully conceived piece. Jonathan Harvey’s The Riot strikes me as almost a continuation of White’s “Robotic,” as it has a humorous presentation of mechanical music in its opening. The “robotic” style doesn’t continue very long, but the comers of my mouth did edge upwards throughout this 10-minute work for flute/piccolo, bass clarinet, and piano. The composer’s intent herein was to bounce around musical ideas from one instrument to the next while maintaining certain intervallic relationships. I could imagine this work accompanying some kind of cartoon, although it’s highly effective on its own. Harvey is also a man after my own heart, as he enjoys anagrams in his titles. In this case, The Riot is an anagram of Het Trio, the group for whom he wrote the work.

There is much variety among the styles and instrumentation of these wonderfully played works such that the listener will be held rapt through the duration of this program. Lovers of well-written chamber music in varying contemporary styles will definitely not want to miss this set.