Constant Lambert’s
Sonata is a work that has justifiably
garnered an increasing number of recordings
of late. Fortunately each exponent brings
something definably distinctive to it,
finding in it, perhaps, shifting elements
of the syncopated and the romantic.
Mark Bebbington, whose recitals teem
with unusual British work, and who advances
the national cause with great avidity
finds an unusually large element of
wistfulness in the sonata. John McCabe
on Continuum CCD1040 found, back in
1991, a more incisive degree of ebullience
and jagged rhythm. In a rather swimmier
acoustic than Bebbington’s Symphony
Hall, McCabe favoured bigger textures
and dynamics. On Hyperion, Ian Brown
was also fleeter than Bebbington and
turned corners rather more sharply.
But Bebbington’s conception, whilst
not as athletic as theirs (though doubtless
he "could if he wanted to"),
is rather different and entirely serious.
Less syncopated and rather less jazzy
he aligns it not to the contemporary
jazz inflected works of, say, Schulhoff
and Ježek
but to rather more explicitly French
models.
He uses rather less
pedal than his competitors as well,
and whilst he holds back in the second
movement – McCabe piles on the romance
here - it’s the better to bring out
some intriguing Gershwinesque hues and
some real introspection. The element
of reserve pays eloquent dividends in
the finale where Lambert as good as
quotes his own baritone solo from Summer’s
Last Will and Testament. Bebbington’s
considered view is slower than both
Brown and McCabe but its sympathetic
dexterity and its element of unease
will interest all Lambert admirers.
The 1925 Suite is also
Francophile - almost defiantly so –
in the Satie hypnosis of the opening
Andante. It also cleaves close to Stravinskian
lights later on, with lyricism and jazz-drenched
incision alternating with vibrancy and
engagement. It’s good that Bebbington
includes the brief tribute to Florence
Mills – in its alert reminiscences it’s
as much celebratory as funereal; more
so in fact. The 1938 Elegy is more conventionally
so.
I’m not sure that the
"subtle connections" that
Robert Matthew-Walker advances in his
booklet notes between the life and works
of Lambert and Arnold really amount
to such – I’ve never seen Arnold as
a "polemicist" more as a total
individualist – but it’s good to have
Arnold’s B minor sonata here. Arnold
veers from clement reflection to the
Sabre Dance in a trice, all the while
conforming to strict sonata principles.
There’s more than a hint of French impressionism
as well in the opening movement and,
not unlike the Lambert, hints of Gershwin
and tristesse in the Andante though
properly played con moto as marked.
The finale teems with pranks; Prokofiev
jostling momentarily with Bach and Bach
with a waltz.
The lyricism of the
Andante Lamentoso, the first of the
1943 Two Pieces, belies its title rather;
is it just me or do I hear prefiguring
of future symphonic slow movements there?
The second, a Romance, is gorgeous,
truly beautiful. The 1944 Variations
on a Ukrainian Folk Song is Arnold’s
most extensive solo piano work and highly
infectious it is too. Prokofiev is a
presence, maybe also Shostakovich as
well in the second variation. But otherwise
the pattern is Arnold’s own – colour,
vivacity, pawkiness, warmth, desolation
(variation nine), strange stillness
(variation ten) and nostalgia, loss.
In the plethora of
new and re-releases, Arnoldian recapitulations
and repackagings of symphonic and orchestral
works, do not overlook this Somm entrant.
Bebbington is an expert guide to Arnold’s
piano works and casts a very personal
eye on Lambert as well. He’s the first
pianist to record solo at Symphony Hall
in Birmingham, a fact that justifies
the confidence placed in him by Somm.
Jonathan Woolf
Mark Bebbington (piano) 
