Alison commissioned Passing Places from Colin Riley for us to perform, and I commissioned Geoffrey Poole’s Commodo Dragonfly as part of my ongoing championing of the bass clarinet as a solo instrument and in chamber music - over thirty new works have so far come into being. Four Delays was originally written for Alison and recorder and Piers Hellawell kindly rearranged it with clarinet replacing the recorder. Berio’s Sequenza III demanded that the voice be used in totally unexpected, challenging and colourful ways, using techniques and sounds that rapidly became a benchmark for contemporary vocal specialists. William O. Smith’s Five Fragments for Double Clarinet are equally revolutionary, requiring the performer to play the clarinet in ways never before imagined.
We hope you enjoy the variety on this disc as much as we enjoy performing it.
Andrew Keeling (b. 1955)
Pirate Things (2007)
I. Teasel
II. Rowan
III. Catmint
IV. Bramble
V. Foxgloves
English composer Andrew Keeling came to composing in his 30s after performing in various rock bands and as a flute recitalist. His music is strongly influenced by his interest in Jungian analysis.
Pirate Things is a song-cycle for mezzo-soprano and bass clarinet. It is a setting of five poems by Alison Prince and was written from Dec. 2006 to Jan. 2007. All the poems are based on flora with a corresponding musical character: Teasel - 'hard-headed hornpipe'; Catmint - ' tempting tango'; Rowan - 'ostinato sinistro'; Bramble - 'prickly lullaby'; Foxgloves - 'cunning aria'. They were commissioned by and are dedicated to Alison Wells and Ian Mitchell.
I. Teasel
A pirate thing has sprouted in
The rockery and grown head-high,
A prickly new arrival
that was not here last spring,
a hook-armed captain
hard as the sea wind.
It was prisoned in factories
Long back, its hooks condemned
To tease the knotted fleece
Until they died.
Rooted in salty stone, this escapee
Laughs on the quarter deck.
Its purple-flowered cutlasses
Muster the wicked mates of history.
II. Rowan
They planted me outside the cottage door
To keep them safe from witchcraft, so unsure were they
Of what foul fate might bring.
I guard them still, but not against
Old women with shrewd eyes.
A deeper evil lies out there,
A darkness of untruth that dims the sun
And numbs the fingers’ skill,
denies the senses, elevates the will
Into a shibboleth that binds the eyes.
My alchemy is simple.
Look at me
Each time you leave the house and on return.
Witness anew the detail of my leaves
And each component of my springtime bloom.
Take the simplicity
That rises from my roots to the clear sky
and hold it as your talisman. It is invisible,
but it will keep you from the wicked spells
cast on you by arrogance.
Harvest me in autumn
And store my scarlet bounty for the days
Of doubt and weakness.
I will make you strong.
III. Catmint
Ecstasy
Is what the cats expect of me.
I’m treated without courtesy
And precious little sympathy –
And yet my gifts are offered free,
I’m never known to charge a fee
(unlike the garden nursery that grew my seed.)
No-one will ever wonder why
These felines adore to get so high –
My buds have a quite amazing flavour
That turns the tamest mog into a raver.
Their randy behaviour often shocks
My nicer-minded neighbours like the phlox –
And nothing can leave me quite as flat
As a stoned and rolling fourteen-pounder cat.
Frequently,
I wish I had some armoury –
the prickles of a blackberry
or even mild toxicity.
perhaps aversion therapy
might cure them of their lust for me
and switch them to dependency
on plain old weed.
IV. Bramble
I guard my children carefully, surround
them with my prickly love.
They cannot leave
until
the right ripeness loosens them from
the dried-out tie that was my blossoming.
When they are ready, all my little ones,
glossy and dark and beautiful, I will release them to the sun
and to the need
of those whose mouths encircle their young flesh.
My children will be perfect. Potent seed
waits in their sweetness, wantonly, and some
will grow. I let my darlings go. Autumn
will never touch them with its bitterness.
V. Foxgloves
She foxed him, slipping silently away
Into the willow-shaded afternoon
Where creamy elder blossom wandered down
As though this should have been her wedding day
He stares about him, sharp-nosed, yellow-eyed.
Nothing is moving. Poppies in the sun
hold their soft soot untouched. Where has she gone?
What sleeping leaves conceal his errant bride?
Tall by the cherry tree the foxgloves stand
pale in their purpleness, their long bells sweet
and profligate. Each one of them could fit
a lady’s narrow, faithless, foxy hand.
(Alison Prince)
Luciano Berio (1925-2003)
Sequenza III per voce femminile (1965-6)
Luciano Berio was one of Italy’s leading composers of the 20th century. He studied originally with his grandfather and then his father, both composers, and then with the great Italian serialist Luigi Dallapiccola. His output was extensive and varied and included works for stage, chamber music, choral pieces and orchestral works. The series of Sequenza's for solo instruments (14 in all) date from 1958 to 2002. The third one, for female voice, was inspired by the theatrical performances of his then wife, the singer Cathy Berberian, and is dedicated to her. As mentioned above, many vocal techniques and effects are used, that extend the expressive range of the voice. We find tongue clicks, muttering, panting, sighing, finger clicks, coughing, laughing, and singing with the hand in front of the mouth. The text, by Markus Kutter, is fragmented – syllables are disordered, sometimes randomly. There are many directions as to mood and emotion to the performer and these change constantly, taking the listener on something of a rollercoaster ride.
give me a few words for a woman
to sing a truth allowing us
to build a house without worrying before night comes