Julian Bliss / Carducci Quartet DAVID BRUCE Gumboots JOHANNES BRAHMS Clarinet Quintet

There is a paradox in music, and indeed all art - the fact that life-enriching art has been produced, even inspired by conditions of tragedy, brutality and oppression, a famous example being Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time, written while he was in a prisoner of war camp. Gumboot Dancing bears this trait - it was born out of the brutal labour conditions in South Africa under Apartheid, in which black miners where chained together and wore Gumboots (wellington boots) while they worked in the flooded gold mines, because it was cheaper for the owners to supply the boots than to drain the floodwater from the mine. Apparently slapping the boots and chains was used by the workers as a form of communication which was otherwise banned in the mine, and this later developed into a form of dance. If the examples of Gumboot Dancing available online are anything to go by, it is characterised by a huge vitality and zest for life. So this for me is a striking example of how something beautiful and life-enhancing can come out of something far more negative. Of course this paradox has a far simpler explanation - the resilience of the human spirit.

My 'Gumboots' is in two parts of roughly equal length, the first is tender and slow moving, at times 'yearning'; at times seemingly expressing a kind of tranquility and inner peace. The second is a complete contrast, consisting of five, ever-more-lively 'gumboot dances', often joyful and always vital. 

However, although there are some African music influences in the music, I don't see the piece as being specifically 'about' the Gumboot dancers, if anything it could be seen as an abstract celebration of the rejuvinating power of dance, moving as it does from introspection through to celebration. I would like to think however, that the emotional journey of the piece, and specifically the complete contrast between the two halves will force the listener to conjecture some kind of external 'meaning' to the music - the tenderness of the first half should 'haunt' us as we enjoy the bustle of the second; that bustle itself should force us to question or revaluate the tranquility of the first half. But to impose a meaning beyond that would be stepping on dangerous ground - the fact is you will choose your own meaning, and hear your own story, whether I want you to or not. (David Bruce)

Carducci String Quartet / Julian Bliss MOZART Clarinet Quintet in A Major K. 581 WEBER Clarinet Quintet in B flat Major

Julian Bliss joins the Carducci String Quartet in performances of two seminal works – Weber’s Clarinet Quintet in B flat Major, Op. 34 and Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet in A Major, K.581. 

Both Mozart and Weber were inspired by the artisty of performers of their day (Anton Stadler in Mozart’s case, and Heinrich Baermann in Weber’s). Their technical prowess, tonal quality and imaginative range allowed each composer to expand the clarinet repertoire with these works, which remain pre-eminent in the genre.

Christopher Glynn / Sir John Tomlinson SCHUBERT Swansong

Schubert's Schwanengesang is here performed in a new English translation by Jeremy Sams: songs of love and songs of horror all the more eviscerating 'in the vernacular'. English versions of two other major songs—mini cantatas almost—from Schubert's final year complete the programme, Sophie Bevan performing Der Hirt auf dem Felsen and Auf dem Strom with obbligato contributions from Alec Frank-Gemmill and Julian Bliss.

Schubert’s Schwanengesang, though not itself a cycle, is a logical extension of Die schöne Müllerin and Winterreise. Here again are the brooks and the birds, the jilted suitors leaving town, the lovers looking at or into the beloved’s house. Loss and longing are everywhere. But if Die schöne Müllerin is about hope (finding someone to love) and Winterreise is about despair (leaving someone loved), Schwanengesang is about resignation. The beloved is not by your side and one can deal with that in different ways. By sending messages via rivers, trees or even pigeons. By flight, by self-imposed exile, by dreaming of what might have been and by accepting what never will. The distant or absent beloved is present in almost every song, and though there is no journey involved as in the previous cycles, there is a unity in this collection which shows one where Schubert’s thoughts were. He knew he was going to die and die alone.

I’m glad, though, that I translated them in the order in which they were written. For here, suddenly, one comes across a major challenge. A Great Poet, Heinrich Heine, before whom the mere versifier should genuflect. But of course, Schubert does nothing of the sort. He draws from Heine what he needs, just as he does from Rellstab in this collection and Müller in the others. And what he gets from Heine one can hear in the music. Monolithic, massive, Beethoven and beyond. A glimpse of what might have been but could never have been. (Jeremy Sams)