Uploaded May 2011 | Updated September 2026, 2 days ago
performed by The Humboldt Redwoods State Park Community Orchestra under the unflappable baton of Armand Aisselle. The baritone soloist is Hans Dieter Schwungvoll.
Havergal Brian's Fifth Symphony, called Wine of Summer is a setting for baritone and orchestra of words by Lord Alfred Douglas, Wilde's Bosie. He was now in his sixties and the composer visited him at his Brighton home in 1937. If anything, the choice of poet would have seemed even more bizarre in the late thirties than it does today. Douglas himself seems to have been surprised and flattered at this sudden display of interest in his work. The words Brian had chosen were forty years old and had been written in France in the aftermath of the Wilde affair. It is sensual and fluent verse of a Swinburne cast but Brian sets it in a hung-over, cold light of morning style which has puzzled some commentators. It is as if the composer wanted to reflect the disenchanted meaning rather than underline the music of the words themselves. "No joy is here but only neutral peace". Earlier the music has risen to a violent climax at the point where the poet and composer recall a lost world:
" . . . old loves that used to burn
Dead summer days ago, like fierce red kings."
In his choice of the Wilde case to parallel his own, Brian seems more likely to be pointing to the cultural shift which it brought, rather than any more personal identification. At the time of the Wilde case, Brian would have been already nineteen years of age and it was an encounter the following year with Elgar's King Olaf which would inspire him to devote his life to composition. In that same year of 1896, he composed a Requiem, long since lost.
LETTER ABOUT THE SYMPHONY WRITTEN BY HAVERGAL BRIAN:
Symphony 'Wine of Summer'.
The poem 'Wine of Summer' by Alfred Douglas must have been written in Sussex, for years ago he lived with his mother the Marchioness of Queensbury at a house not far from Lewes. The poem is of a subjective Nocturnal type quality distinction such as is met with in much of Shelley's poetry - particularly the Indian Song 'I arise from dreams of thee'. The word 'Wine' only occurs once in 'Wine of Summer' and has no relation to the Common Noun of that name.
The Symphony was composed at Upper Norwood: the first sketches were finished on Sunday April 18 1937.
The Symphony is Scored for a large modern orchestra and Baritone soloist.
It opens with a short quiet passage for the orchestra leading to the theme announced by the Soloist with orchestra to the opening words of the poem: "The Sun holds all the earth / and all the Sky" On this theme the Symphony continues the music varied by changes of rhythm and tonality, but interrupted by several dramatic episodes by the orchestra. The climax of the Symphony is contained in the closing bars where the Soloist sings: 'I must hence. / Far off I hear night / Calling to the Sea' accompanied by the full power of the orchestra in which is heard broken fragments of the opening theme of the Symphony.
performed by The Humboldt Redwoods State Park Community Orchestra under the unflappable baton of Armand Aisselle. The baritone soloist is Hans Dieter Schwungvoll.
Havergal Brian's Fifth Symphony, called Wine of Summer is a setting for baritone and orchestra of words by Lord Alfred Douglas, Wilde's Bosie. He was now in his sixties and the composer visited him at his Brighton home in 1937. If anything, the choice of poet would have seemed even more bizarre in the late thirties than it does today. Douglas himself seems to have been surprised and flattered at this sudden display of interest in his work. The words Brian had chosen were forty years old and had been written in France in the aftermath of the Wilde affair. It is sensual and fluent verse of a Swinburne cast but Brian sets it in a hung-over, cold light of morning style which has puzzled some commentators. It is as if the composer wanted to reflect the disenchanted meaning rather than underline the music of the words themselves. "No joy is here but only neutral peace". Earlier the music has risen to a violent climax at the point where the poet and composer recall a lost world:
" . . . old loves that used to burn
Dead summer days ago, like fierce red kings."
In his choice of the Wilde case to parallel his own, Brian seems more likely to be pointing to the cultural shift which it brought, rather than any more personal identification. At the time of the Wilde case, Brian would have been already nineteen years of age and it was an encounter the following year with Elgar's King Olaf which would inspire him to devote his life to composition. In that same year of 1896, he composed a Requiem, long since lost.
LETTER ABOUT THE SYMPHONY WRITTEN BY HAVERGAL BRIAN:
Symphony 'Wine of Summer'.
The poem 'Wine of Summer' by Alfred Douglas must have been written in Sussex, for years ago he lived with his mother the Marchioness of Queensbury at a house not far from Lewes. The poem is of a subjective Nocturnal type quality distinction such as is met with in much of Shelley's poetry - particularly the Indian Song 'I arise from dreams of thee'. The word 'Wine' only occurs once in 'Wine of Summer' and has no relation to the Common Noun of that name.
The Symphony was composed at Upper Norwood: the first sketches were finished on Sunday April 18 1937.
The Symphony is Scored for a large modern orchestra and Baritone soloist.
It opens with a short quiet passage for the orchestra leading to the theme announced by the Soloist with orchestra to the opening words of the poem: "The Sun holds all the earth / and all the Sky" On this theme the Symphony continues the music varied by changes of rhythm and tonality, but interrupted by several dramatic episodes by the orchestra. The climax of the Symphony is contained in the closing bars where the Soloist sings: 'I must hence. / Far off I hear night / Calling to the Sea' accompanied by the full power of the orchestra in which is heard broken fragments of the opening theme of the Symphony.
![Billy Jim Layton, String Quartet in Two Movements (1955-1956), First Movement [2 of 2 total]
Billy Jim Layton, an innovative American composer of the 1950s and 60s who was well known in his prime but abruptly stopped composing and concentrated on academic pursuits, died on Saturday in Cambridge, Mass. He was 79.
The cause was complications of pneumonia, said his daughter, Daphne Layton.
Mr. Layton, who became the first chairman of the music department at the State University of New York at Stony Brook, was widely recognized in his time as a fresh musical voice. He wrote well-crafted pieces in a style he termed new liberalism, which he described, according to the New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, as a new, rich, meaningful, varied, understandable and vital music which maintains contact with the great cultural tradition of humanism in the West.
Reviewing a performance of Mr. Laytons work in The New York Times in 1960, Eric Salzman wrote, Billy Jim Laytons String Quartet is as vital, as startling, and as overwhelming as if nobody had ever written a quartet before.
Born in Corsicana, Tex., on Nov. 14, 1924, Mr. Layton started out in music as a jazz saxophonist and clarinetist before joining the Air Force and serving in a B-29 bomber in World War II. After the war, he studied at the New England Conservatory of Music, going on to Yale for his masters degree and Harvard for his Ph.D.; his teachers included the composer Walter Piston.
It was at the New England Conservatory that he met his wife, Evro Zeniou, a native of Cyprus, whom he married in 1949.
From 1946 to 1964, Mr. Layton wrote a number of well-received pieces, including Three Dylan Thomas Poems and Three Studies for piano; and won numerous awards, including a Guggenheim fellowship and the Rome Prize Fellowship of the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
In 1966, Mr. Layton was appointed chairman of the new music department at Stony Brook, which he helped to establish as a dynamic presence on the music scene, bringing in important composers and performers, in a tradition that remains alive today. In 2002, Brian Wise acknowledged the Stony Brook music department as small but vital in The New York Times.
In 1992, Mr. Layton retired and moved with his wife to Cambridge to be near his two children, Alexis and Daphne, and two grandchildren, all of whom survive him.
This recording of the String Quartet in Two Movements (1955-56) is by the Claremont String Quartet.
We apologize humbly, profusely, and on our bended knees for the execrable sound quality of this 1950s thirty-three-and-one-third revolutions-per-minute long-playing microgroove recording. Billy Jim Layton, String Quartet in Two Movements (1955-1956), First Movement [2 of 2 total]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/8nL5pkmdbc8/mqdefault.jpg)

![Billy Jim Layton, String Quartet in Two Movements, Second Movement [2 of 2 total]
ABOUT the String Quartet in Two Movements, composer Billy Jim Layton has this to say: The
quartet was written during 1955 and early 1956 while I was at the American Academy in Rome as a
Rome Prize Fellow. It is a composition to which I devoted a great deal of thought and effort and, as
I look back on it, it seems to me that it represents a kind of summation of my artistic development
and convictions up to that point. In it my aim was to achieve the widest range of expression possible
without lapsing into incoherence, by always maintaining the strongest formal control.
The thought and effort expended by Layton on this work has resulted in a Quartet which holds
qualities of extraversion and introversion in an unusual balance, with areas of high emotional
tension and vigor being set off against other statements of the utmost passivity and inwardness,
sometimes almost expressionist in esthetic. A highly complex treatment of rhythmic resources is
always in evidence, whether the music flows along with an ethereal line singing above a lightly
punctuated counterpoint, or steps out in jazzy, muscular syncops. Indeed, rhythm would seem to
be the real heart of this Quartet. In more than one section, it constitutes the entire subject under
discussion. Instrumental color, however, is another string preoccupation of the composer. The
resources of his medium are constantly exploited to the full, bringing into combination writing con
sordino and senza sordino; non vibrato and molto vibrato; col legno plus high and low pizzicato.
There are even trills beginning as whole-step intervals and gradually contracting to quarter-tones.
Every measure of the score bespeaks meticulous handling of all materials; a high consciousness of
the potency of timbre, and a delight in its manipulation.
about the composer:
Billy Jim Layton was born in Corsicana, Texas, in 1924. He studied at the New England
Conservatory of Music in Boston, Yale University, and Harvard. Several scholarships and prizes
were awarded him by these institutions. He has also held the Hertz Travelling Fellowship from the
University of California and the Rome Prize, 1954-57. In 1958, a grant in recognition of creative
work in music was awarded him by the National Institute of Arts and Letters, in connection with
which the present recording is issued. He has received several important commissions, including
one by the Koussevitsky Foundation. Performances of his music for solo, chamber, orchestral, and
choral combinations have been given in many cities of the United States and Europe.
Claremont St ring Quartet
Marc Gottli eb, violin
Vladimi r Weisman, violin
William Schoen, viola
Irving Klein, cello
We apologize must humbly, profusely, and in a virtual paroxysm of self-deprecation, for the poor sound quality of this 1950s thirty-three-and-one-third revolutions per minute micro-groove recording. Billy Jim Layton, String Quartet in Two Movements, Second Movement [2 of 2 total]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/8ssmcYKEIXo/mqdefault.jpg)
![Randolph Pitts, Sonata for Cello & Piano [3/3]
The Sonata for Cello & Piano was composed in 2010 and was dedicated to the composers fiancée. The work is in one movement. This is the third of three parts. Randolph Pitts, Sonata for Cello & Piano [3/3]](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/90eENyICHxM/mqdefault.jpg)
![Arnold Schoenberg, String Quartet No. 3 (1927)
Schoenberg diverged from the serial row-form in this String Quartet to the extent that, when questioned about a particular passage by a violinist from Kolischs quartet he angrily responded: If I hear an F-sharp I will write an F-sharp . . . Just because of your stupid theory you are telling me what to write? This is an indication of his
revulsion towards conceptual responses to composition
as an actual expression of feeling in sound. He was telling the theorist What it Is.
How did Kolisch look at it? The tone rows are used as motifs and not as schematic solutions to tonic dilemmas. The series form a dense contrapuntal texture which, apparently untrue to form, return to classical compositional procedure. For example, in the First Movement there is the
suggestion of sonata form and what seems to be a relaxation of 12-tone technique as the same pitches occur for 12 measures, in apparent defiance of his principled compositional stance. There is a recurrence of varied shapes which function as connective rather than motivic tissue and the movement ends with a leaping and falling theme in an increasingly higher voice.
In the Second Movement there is a series of variations which violate stylistic expectation and appear to repudiate notions of format and theme. The Intermezzo Movement with prominent viola presents a fluid thematic section, suggesting a motif with a narrow range and repeated notes
culminating in a violent trio fading to a lyrical conclusion.
The Fourth Movement is dense and complex with a contrast of internal musical logic and its leaps within a narrow melodic range breathing inconclusiveness and a frenzy to recapitulate sonic material.
This is what we hear and perhaps how we might respond, but does it get to the essence of it? Strictly speaking, a composition refers to nothing but itself and in that respect Hanslick is right. But let us look more closely. I listen to the Kolisch String Quartets interpretation of Schoenbergs
Third Quartet because I have the desire to hear it, a desire which is born of need or curiosity. This is also because of the unfulfilled expectation that the composition will present itself in the way in which Schoenberg wanted, without any concealment or betrayal by a theorist who might imagine that a composition is the end-result of a musicological
schema. I desire to experience the composition as a collaborative event in which an affective apprehension
will change me. This is an urge to transformation, not a confirmation of a sedimented emotional life which I might have. It is not a plea for the reassurance of a concretely determined pathology. It is an imaginative way out, a
reawakening. It possesses the logic of a dream
which will alter me. The Quartet is, therefore, not so much an object with quantifiable sonic or musicological
characteristics, but an event. This event takes place in time and it was written on a particular historical occasion. But when I listen to it I do not perceive it as an event in that sense. It is an occasion with a consuming fascination in which the everyday world has evaporated and only
essential meaning remains. This is the meaning of imaginative and affective apprehension. Quantifiable and calculable external circumstances have disappeared as I give myself over to the event. My apprehension of the
composition is not chronological but successive, the meaning of which unfolds as I attend to it. This is areal time, not the time of the clock, and its presenting itself is my composition, Schoenberg being the expressive inventor of the circumstance, the one who gives shape and logic to sound. The composition is not analogous to anything but itself and his Third Quartet invokes a meaning of
which, temporally and affectively,
I am the secret sharer.
We listen here for: What it Is.
Michael Lawrence Woods, Journal of Aesthetics and Culture, 2010
[This recording is by the Kohon String Quartet] Arnold Schoenberg, String Quartet No. 3 (1927)](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/9TDlBCrK56E/mqdefault.jpg)
![Arnold Schoenberg, Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15
Das Buch der Hängenden Gärten (The Book of the Hanging Gardens) is a fifteen-part song cycle composed by Arnold Schoenberg between 1908 and 1909, setting poems of Stefan George. Georges poems, also under the same title, track the failed love affair of two adolescent youths in a garden, ending with the womans departure and the disintegration of the garden. The song cycle is set for solo voice and piano. The Book of the Hanging Gardens breaks away from conventional musical order through its usage of atonality.
The Book of the Hanging Gardens served as the start to the atonal period in Schoenbergs music. Atonal compositions, referred to as pantonal by Schoenberg, typically contain features such as a lack of central tonality, pervading harmonic dissonance rather than consonance, and a general absence of traditional melodic progressions. This period of atonality became commonly associated with the expressionist movement, despite the fact that Schoenberg rarely referred to the term expressionism in his writings. Whether or not he wanted to be associated with the movement, Schoenberg expresses an unambiguous positivity with his discovery of this new style in a program note for the 1910 first performance of The Book of the Hanging Gardens:
With the [Stefan] George songs I have for the first time succeeded in approaching an ideal of expression and form which has been in my mind for many years. Until now I lacked the strength and confidence to make it a reality. I am being forced in this direction ... not because my invention or technique is inadequate, but [because] I am obeying an inner compulsion, which is stronger than any upbringing. I am obeying the formative process which, being the one natural to me, is stronger than my artistic education.
Schoenbergs libretto transcends the tragic love poems of George and become a deeper reflection of Schoenbergs mood during this period when viewing his personal life. Alan Lessem analyses the Book of the Hanging Gardens in his book Music and Text in the Works of Arnold Schoenberg. However, how to interpret the work remains debated. Lessem maintained that the meaning of the song cycles lay in the words. Lessem treats each interval as a symbol: cell a provides material for the expression of poignant anticipations of love, cell b of frustrated yearnings ...the structure of [the] cycle may, viewed as a whole, give the impression of progression through time, but this is only an illusion. The various songs give only related aspects of a total, irredeemable present.
Moods are conveyed though harmony, texture, tempo, and declamation. The inner meaning, if in fact there is to be found, is the music itself, which Lessem already described in great detail. Anne Marie de Zeeuw has examined in detail the three against four rhythm of the compositions opening and its manifestation elsewhere in the work.
As argued in Carl Schorskes groundbreaking study of Viennese society, the Book of the Hanging Gardens uses the image of the garden as a metaphor of the destruction of traditional musical form. The garden portrayed in Georges poem, which Schoenberg puts to music, represent the highly organized traditional music Schoenberg broke away from. Baroque geometric gardens made popular during the Renaissance were seen as an extension of architecture over nature. So too did the old order of music represent all that was authority and stable. The destruction of the garden parallels the use of rationality to break away from the old forms of music. Arnold Schoenberg, Das Buch der hängenden Gärten, Op. 15](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/9rGUov3Adlk/mqdefault.jpg)




![Roberto Gerhard, Wind Quintet (1928), Part 2 of 2 (3rd & 4th movements)
Roberto Gerhard, born in Tarragona in 1896, was a pupil of Felipe Pedrell, and has never lost (or despised) his gift for that picturesque style which stresses Spanish folk characteristics. But his works can preserve a subtle national flavor even when employing the more sophisticated technical resources he acquired during his study with Schönberg in 1925-28. Thus the Wind Quintet, written at the end of that period and four years after Schönbergs weighty essay in the medium, opens with a bassoon phrase that has the nonchalant rhythm of a folksong yet also establishes a seven-note row that is of crucial (though not, as in Schönberg, exclusive) importance throughout the first two movements. In the first, set against its inversion (oboe and clarinet, after the reiterated tutti chords), it also forms the second subject of a sonata scheme, but in the Andante (aba;c;aba;coda) it is constantly played off against its images in contrapuntal textures of extreme lucidity. The new theme (flute) of the Allegro giocoso, though also subject to quasi-serial transformations, demands a more harmonic accompaniment, while the trio, with an evocative echo of Spanish folk-song (oboe), finally transplants this serenade from Schönbergian territory. In the scherzoso finale, the refrain (oboe) and horn-call accompaniment piquantly dispute, rather than deny, tonalities; the central episode and the presto coda explore, with contrasted results, the conjunction of the refrain shape with the two rows of the earlier movements.
The members of The London Wind Quintet were Gwydion Brooke (bassoon), Alan Civil (horn), Gareth Morris (flute), Sidney Sutcliffe (oboe), and Bernard Walton (clarinet).
[We apologize for the rather poor sound quality of this 1960s lp.] Roberto Gerhard, Wind Quintet (1928), Part 2 of 2 (3rd & 4th movements)](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/AXdLyvZVPJ4/mqdefault.jpg)