Classical Music on the Web

JAMES WILSON (1922 - 2005)

by DR DAVID C. F. WRIGHT, PH.D.

If you like, for example, Prokofiev's Lieutenant Kije or Kodaly's Hary Janos you will probably like much of the music of James Wilson. His colourful Symphony no. 1 of 1960 has just the qualities needed to stimulate interest in the work of a British composer little known outside Ireland where he has lived since the late 1940s following war service with the Royal Navy. But, sadly, few are aware of his prodigious achievements; for example, his one-act opera Letters to Theo won an Independent Arts Award in 1985 and his two-act opera Grinning at the Devil of 1985 played to packed houses in the Riddersalen Theatre, Copenhagen in 1989 with critical acclaim. One paper even called it a 'world sensation', which may be an exaggeration; Opera magazine praised it highly.

James Walter Wilson was born at 356 Essex Road, Islington, London on 27 September 1922. His father, Edgar Wilson, was a chemist and druggist, and died when James was only four years old. Mrs. Wilson, who was born Margaret Alice Eldridge, managed the shop during her widowhood as well as bringing up three sons.

James' parents had only slight musical interests. Mrs. Wilson enjoyed playing the piano, singing, musical comedy and the popular classics. Neither came from families with any musical pedigree. James was fascinated by music 'as far back as he can remember'. Between the years 1927 and 1932 he attended Marquess Garden School, Canonbury, and in 1931 began piano lessons with Miss Mary Maskell which continued till 1938. Around 1932 he composed a tone-poem for piano, Marshlands at Twilight, dedicated to Miss Maskell; this was about the time he would have been in the first of his seven years at Highbury County School where he was interested in French language and English Literature. From the age of sixteen he was able to read French with enjoyment including the works of Flaubert, Proust, Mallarmé and others.

In his early teenage years he made many visits to Sadler's Wells to enjoy opera and ballet. By his late teens he was also an avid concert-goer and listened intently to all types of serious music. He loved the operas of Mozart and Puccini; the ballets of Tchaikovsky as well as such superb works as Schonberg's Pierrot Lunaire and Walton's Facade. He may have undervalued some classical styles and the music of Wagner although he acknowledges Wagner's astonishingly original mind.

James had no formal higher education but he did study the arts generally by reading, attending concerts, theatres and exhibitions.

In 1939, having taken the necessary entrance exam, Wilson joined the Civil Service as a clerical officer with the Admiralty. He worked in Whitehall, then in the Citadel on the Mall. This was interrupted by war service with the Royal Navy from December 1942 to July 1946 in which he eventually attained the rank of Petty Officer (Radar). During 1946 and 1947 he attended weekly composition and instrumental classes at the Trinity College of Music, London, studying composition with Alec Rowley, who became a close friend, and piano and harpsichord with Irving Hinchcliffe and Christopher Wood. Wilson once told me that he 'used to be a reasonably good pianist; has played percussion in public and also attempted the clarinet and violin'.

The last part of his naval service was spent in Londonderry when he found himself strangely attracted to Ireland. He decided to leave the Civil Service and make a complete break with his London life; an affair of the heart was also involved. He had also decided on a musical career believing that if his music were to he any good it required his full time. His mother was bemused but sympathetic. She recognised her son's increasing commitment to music and he found the music of such composers as Ravel, Debussy, Prokofiev, Britten and Stravinsky an irresistible stimulus.

There was an amateur performance by the Dublin Orchestral Players of two dances from his now-discarded ballet Esther in 1948 but, sadly, his first few years in Ireland were musically sterile. Consequently ,Wilson engaged in many other things including editing a book by James Campbell, DSO, DSC, about the history of the Aegean raiding operations during the war. He also spent 'a miserable year' as an interior decorator with a local firm 'in order to live' but 1950 and 1951 were happier and were mostly spent in sailing a thirty-ton gaff cutter to Turkey and the Greek Islands. Travel has always been a hobby. In fact Wilson has given talks on this subject, as well as music, on Radio Telefis Eireann.

In 1955, the year after the death of his mother, Wilson composed The Island King, a ballet in two acts. This was followed two years later by a one-act ballet Cynara. Neither has been performed but in 1957 his Divertimento for strings appeared. Cast in four movements it is an eminently likeable piece. The opening movement is lively but far from banal, with snatches of mellow warmth; music that is fresh and alive, sparkling like a mountain stream on an exhilarating day. The second may hint at an Irish jig in another lively movement of character and humour. The slow movement is rich in texture although there is one unfortunate moment which suggests the opening theme of Elgar's Symphony no. 1. The glorious music that follows redeems this temporary aberration. The finale is also lively if, perhaps, more lightweight; the slower central section is probably the most profound part of the whole work.

Wilson's own Symphony no. 1 dates from 1960, cast in four movements and belonging to his 'Prokofievian period'. The first movement benefits from a strong and memorable main theme and a coherent working out of the musical argument. At times there is an almost apocalyptic feel and real excitement is generated. Trumpet figures play an important part and, in fact, are a thumb-print to be found in many of Wilson's works, and there is an impressive part for the piano. The second movement has a compelling sense of purpose and the music is always full of interest. The third movement has the glitter of a sleigh ride. It is music with which one cannot fail to be caught up, and this itself is an index of its quality. As well as the scintillation there are some grisly effects in the strings. The finale is one of fascinating contrasts from rich warmth to wonderful chordal passages; gloriously sensuous string writing to exemplary use of the piano; prominent trumpets again, and an exciting climax (really a tremendous moment) before a woodwind reprise ushers in a quiet ending. The Violin Concerto of 1961 has not been performed and may well have been discarded by the composer in favour of his later work in this genre namely Pearl and Unicorn of 1989 which is a mature, competent, introspective work.

The Sonata for piano of 1962 is dedicated to the Greek pianist Gina Bachauer whom Wilson had met at Wexford. They became friends and they also shared a love for Greece itself. Sadly Bachauer did not perform the sonata. The composer is philosophical about it, 'Perhaps she did not like it', he once remarked to me. Far more successful was the two-act opera for children The Hunting of the Snark, of 1963, which was his first work performed before the general public. It was commissioned by Lady Dorothy Mayer who has been a marvellous champion for composers and one of the finest ambassadors for music both in Great Britain and Ireland. This success should have established the composer but the public have short memories; what was, however, becoming clear was Wilson's pre-occupation with music for the voice and his evident ability to set diverse and difficult texts with unfailing competence. There are many fine vocal, choral and instrumental works that span his creative life, including the superb Burns Night, for unaccompanied chorus of 1965. It is a work of great atmosphere, at times mercurial and spiced with rhythmic variety. It is truly satisfying and occasionally even sets the foot tapping. Yet Wilson, although acknowledging this work, says of his Idle Winds of 1966 for chorus, clarinet, timpani and piano that it is 'a dreadful work!' Conversely a very attractive work is Anna Liffey of 1965 for piano and orchestra. It captures the ebb and flow of the river and its famous city from dawn to night. The piano writing sparkles in this tone poem, which is as good as any by Bax. A military section may suggest Ireland's history and the famous trumpets of the first symphony reappear. It is easy listening and none the worse for that. It has truly memorable material and, towards the end, the idyllic mood of long hours on the river is successfully captured. There is bell-ringing; the morning awakens; it is a brighter day than the preceding one and this has brought more bustle into the thriving metropolis.

Wilson's wide interest in literature has led him to set many writers including William Blake in Trefoil of 1966 for contralto, baritone and piano, John Clare in Songs Eternity of 1966 for double chorus, and also in 1966 the substantial song cycle for baritone and piano Carrion Comfort to texts by Gerard Manley Hopkins appeared. Long vocal works must be outstanding to sustain audience interest. Combine this masterly ability to set the voice and the composer's love for Ireland and the result is an incomparable setting of W. B. Yeats in A Woman Young and Old of 1966 originally scored for soprano and Irish harp but, four years later, orchestrated. This work can be likened to Schumann's Frauenliebe und Lieben since it is a cycle of seven poems dealing with the whole life of a woman. The first song Before the World was made is the song of a girl making up her face at the mirror; she is desiring but not yet in love. The beautiful wordless cantilena delays the composer word-setting gift. The second song A First Confession contrasts coquettishness with more serious things, in a realistic mood calling for expert vocal articulation. Her Triumph tells of the girl falling in love for the first time; the voice rises in a lyrical outburst from its lowest to its highest note in a setting rich with evocative atmosphere. Consolation is a simple but touching setting of a bitter-sweet song. Chosen, which deals with the calm after passion is another truly beautiful song with a typically well-conceived vocal part. Her Vision in the Wood, in which the singer is now an old woman, portrays a vision of her dying lover This is a dramatic and dark song with a tremendous climax calling not just for a soprano but also an actress. A Last Confession looks back over the life and tragic love unsentimentally and perhaps frivolously After an orchestral cadenza the wordless cantilena which began the work reappears, a device that the composer was to use in his other masterpiece in this vein, namely the Irish Songs of 1970. Between these works are over thirty works of great interest including Spanish Arch of 1966 for two Irish harps named after the famous structure in Galway; the Quintet for accordion and strings of 1967 the first of several works inspired by the Danish instrumentalist Mogens Ellegaard which the composer believes is the first work of his maturity; the radio opera The Pied Piper of Hamelin of 1967; the instantly likeable and durable Horn Concerto of 1967; the impressive Colloquy for violin and piano of 1968; the Sonata for cor anglais and piano of 1969; the three-act opera, Twelfth Night, of 1969, which attracted good reviews; two splendidsolo piano works, Thermagistris of 1968 and Capricci of 1969, which, as with most of his piano works, calls for high technical assurance. There are four other works of this period employing the accordion: the primitive and intriguing Music for a Temple, of 1969, which also features an electric guitar and percussion; the Donizetti Variations of 1969, the Fourteen Rhythmic Studies of 1969 and the Double Concerto of 1969 which calls for two accordions and small orchestra. There are further vocal works including Another Direction, for soprano, clarinet and piano, of 1968, to texts by James Parr in a translucent score; Ode to Autumn, for soprano, flute and piano of 1968 sets John Keats with that effortless flow of Wilson's pen, and Bucolics, for high voice and piano of 1968 to a text by John Clare, which that leading exponent of twentieth-century vocal repertoire, Jane Manning, highly praises in her recent book. There are also the Three Yeats Songs, of 1970, for soprano and piano; in fact, an untapped mine of vocal gems.

The Irish Songs of 1970 appear in two versions; one for mezzo-soprano and piano, the other for soprano and orchestra. As with A Woman Young and Old and Humphrey Searle's The Riverrun the soloist needs to be an actress if adequate justice to the score is to be achieved. The second song, City Shower, is a case in point as is the fourth, The Widow Malone, which is hair-raising and impossible to forget, and the sixth song, A Glass of Beer, which is about two acrimonious Irish women fighting over the loan of a glass of this particular beverage. The third song Swallows is both evocative and true to life. The fifth Sea Ritual is simple and imbued with that individual beauty that seems to flow so effortlessly from this composer. It contrasts a superb orchestral climax with a later vocal one. The seventh and final song, The Black Rose, employs the cantilena device to begin and end the setting in which the orchestra is reduced to strings alone, but what exemplary writing it is! The range of expression in this work of unequalled presence is remarkable the effects, which are not for effects' sake alone, are well-judged. It is as good an orchestral song-cycle you could hope to encounter, surpassing those of, for example, Britten.

The next four years saw the steady production of more works including Carmen Carmeliticum of 1971 for mezzo-soprano, chorus, piano, violin, viola and cello, to a text by St. John of the Cross. This was written to commemorate the 700th anniversary of the arrival of the Carmelites in Ireland. Le Bateau Ivre (1971) is another example of Wilson's highly enjoyable orchestral style; the String Quartet no.1 of 1972 is a disappointment, according to the composer; the Dances for a Festival of 1973 is a curious orchestral work. Like Music for Castletown of 1981 it seems to be in two parts and in disparate styles, which is aurally worrying. Dances begins with robust energy and rhythmic vitality. There is a wonderful blend of brass with woodwind in an ensuing slow section, and a long percussion solo, with the strings taking up the excited flurry, to which first the trumpets are added, then the tremendous energy of the full orchestra. This is where the piece should have come to a conclusion. The slow music that follows, albeit of some depth, and the curious passages with its hints of pageantry and bassoon humour is too episodic to belong to a work that began with a good sense of integration. I am also undecided about Music for Castletown which seems to be an orchestral essay without a subject. Yet about a quarter of an hour into the work we are left with a ten-minute piece which is very fine. Both these works are pieces in two halves which stylistically do not match. The Violin Sonata no.2 and the Third Violin Sonata both dating from 1972 with the Colloquoy and Sonata de Valldemosa complete the quartet of extremely successful works in this particular medium.

The Symphony no. 2 of 1975 was written at the time a close friend of the composer was dying. Like Dances for a Festival and Music for Castletown it is in two parts which seem at odds with each other. In the case of the Symphony no. 2 it would fare very much better if the final section, which begins with a slowish, slightly humor6us passage introduced by the bassoons, appeared just before or just after the setting of Shakespeare's Sonnet number fifty five (which is sung by a mezzo-soprano) or if it was removed from the work altogether. As the work stands, the sonnet is immediately followed by some impressive orchestral music of cheerful confidence, celebrating life in the most persuasive musical terms. There are the Wilson trumpets and superlative high string writing only to be followed by this lightweight material. Perhaps it is biographical, recalling events of a life that is no more and proclaiming that, while life can be taken away, memories cannot be stolen. The symphony has an impressively coherent, very well-structured opening. There is some fine colour, including that supplied by the tenor saxophone, as well as brief moments of nostalgia and other moods which pervade this well-argued score. Often it is like the music of a distracted, pain-ridden soul, frustrated, angry, hurt and demoralised. There is much animation, and the Wilson thumb-print is very evident. The soloist enters with 'You shall shine more bright' and refers to 'the living record of your memory. Gainst death and all-oblivious enimity shall you pace forth ... you ... dwell in lover's eyes'. This is indeed an effective and telling setting. The music is sad but neither mournful nor miserable. The robust orchestral passage that follows is nothing short of magnificent, but it is a pity about the final section!

The Concerto for four flutes and orchestra, of 1978, is attractive if not startling. The Rape the Lock, of 1978, sets Alexander Pope's story of an amorous individual who steals a lock of his beloved's hair despite the moral that one 'weighs mens' wits against the lady's hair'. It is scored for chorus and accordion which does not quite blend with the 18th-century text, the music being more satisfactory when unaccompanied. Songs of Welcome for soprano, tenor, guitar, piano, violin and cello to a text by Francis Ledwidge was commissioned by the Arts Council of Dublin for Queen Margrethe of Denmark's state visit to Ireland in 1978. Another dramatic work for voice and piano is the chilling Witches' Ballad of 1979 to a clever text by William Bell Scott. It recalls The Widow Malone and Glass of Beer from the Irish Songs. This is not only music but also engaging entertainment which would draw a genuine response from any audience. The Harpsichord Concerto of 1979 does not come off; it is somewhat arid and lifeless whereas the Symphonic Variations, for piano and orchestra, of the following year is a robust, interesting score. If you enjoy the music for piano and orchestra of Bartok or Prokofiev you should appreciate this. It was written for the brilliant Irish pianist, Philip Martin, who is a gifted and sensitive composer in his own right.

Letters to Theo of 1982 is an opera in one act built on a twelve-note row, scored for baritone, who takes the part of the artist Vincent van Gogh, with chorus and orchestra. As the opera begins, the painter is in his room in the asylum writing a letter to his brother during a summer evening towards twilight. He is greatly disturbed and calls upon God to make his life bearable. The chorus, dressed in cheap, ill-fitting uniforms of hospital orderlies, echo extracts and quote from a sermon he is writing. He is desperate to go to Belgium to the district called the Borinage to be an evangelist. The second scene is night. Van Gogh believes he is in the Borinage; he complains about his family, who do not understand him, and tries to justify himself, but realises he is going downhill and is a caged bird. He despairs at being seen as a useless idler. To him the future is only dark. Solo voices of the chorus sing wordlessly above a radiant and light orchestral accompaniment. There follows a brief passage in which the chorus sings a 'representation of creative ecstasy.' The thirty-year-old painter believes his real work is about to begin; he speaks of his need for a woman and that God is as dead as a doornail. The contrast of soloist and chorus is always well-timed; the passage at the end of part three which describes a projected painting of the Borinage is music of supereminence. In the final part of the opera van Gogh has lost desire for marriage and children since 'love of art is the only real love'. There is an indefectible interlude for chorus and orchestra depicting winter. Van Gogh contemplates his work and death. He goes back over his old fears. His ear is bandaged; he is upset by Theo's visit and asks him to tell mother some story so that she will not worry. He epitomises his condition: 'I am wrung by enthusiasm or madness or prophecy'. His final words before he shoots himself highlight his real predicament: 'Love needs so much more than people imagine'. The final pages do have moments of dramatic musical tension but the opera obviously depends upon visual effect for maximum impact. It is a piece of theatre; its starkness and tragic overtones do not make it completely satisfactory as a mere aural presentation. It seems to me that the composer has purposely kept any personal comment out of Theo, wanting, rather, to say 'This is what happened. Make up your own mind about it.' Its television production was outstanding.

Consistency of material is a problem in the Cello Concerto of 1984. At its best it has a captivating atmosphere when the cello soliloquises and is employed to exploit its best features, including that deeply-felt singing quality; but there seems no direction. It contains some fine music but this contrasts with less worthy content.

The return to vocal music in 1985 saw the production of Emily Singing, for soprano and chamber orchestra, to a text by Emily Bronte which is another superlative example of Wilson's expertise in writing for the voice; the orchestral colour is translucent and sensual, often giving a feel of brightness and warmth. Runes for soprano and cello is a superb little masterpiece, appealing, effective, concise, infectious, delightful and Irish.

But perhaps his finest achievement is the two act Opera Grinning at the Devil of 1985 to a text by Elsa Gress. It is inspired by Karen Blixen of 'Out of Africa' and 'Seven Gothic Tales' fame. I quote from Poul Erik Pind's review in Opera:

It is rare nowadays for music to express heart-rending feelings, and a love story like this becomes real opera when music and text become a dramatic unity. Wilson and Gress have succeeded creating a mystical African mood and erotic tension combined with a constant underlying tragedy. Like Sheherazade, Tania (the Blixen character) tries to keep her Denys (Finch Hatton) with her by telling him tales in which they are the main characters. After Denys dies the Simorgh_,mythical Persian bird of love, takes Tania into the world of poetry where she survives despite her grief.

The second act finds her meeting famous personalities like Marilyn Monroe and Arthur Miller at a cocktail party in New York given by Carson McCullers. Tania feels desolate and remembers how alive she was in her African life with Denys. Sounds of Africa are heard, and Tania sees a vision of Denys appearing in a moon like a human brain on the backdrop. He tells her that he now knows all stories, and that even hers will end. In an apotheosis the Simorgh takes Tania to her lover. Wilson's music has an English quality in associations with mediaeval and Renaissance melodies and harmonies, and there are quotations from Handel and Mozart, music that Blixen and Denys listened to at the African farm.

John Cashmore as Denys displayed an imposing level of musical and dramatic intensity, and made every word audible. Edith Guillaume as Tania gave stature to her role, her velvet mezzo expressing heart-rendingly Tania's love and longing. A chorus of 15 singers were fantastic Masai warriors or birds in Act 1, and colourful high society guests in Act 2. I hope this opera will soon have a chance to be seen on a larger stage. It deserves it.

Another opera The King of the Golden River of 1987 awaits its premiere.

What of this unknown man? He is a bachelor and describes himself as apolitical and an atheist. He is a man of compassion for it was this that inspired Letters to Theo; a visit to the memorial at Jerusalem to children killed in the holocaust inspired Menorah for viola and orchestra of 1989 premiered in 1991 by Rivka Golani who enthuses about it with a crusading spirit of sincerity; the Symphony no. 2 is also clearly written from the heart. Wilson enjoys sailing, cooking and gardening as well as travelling. His literary interest has already been expressed; as for other composers he reveres Mozart and Schubert; makes the astute comment that Beethoven's intellect humbles him as does Berg's but Beethoven could not write for the voice whereas Berg certainly could; he suggests that Brahms's chamber music may be the best ever written; Britten is the best song-writer of the century and Ligeti is always fascinating. He singles out as an one example of 'special' modern music John Casken's Orion over Fame. He is undecided about Schonberg and Webern but does not respond to Stockhausen and some Messiaen. Wilson is a courteous man, sometimes pithy and blunt in his opinions which are always precise, displaying confidence in what he says. As to his own music he describes some of it as 'junk' although he quite enjoys talking about his work. To him public reception is much less important than the reaction of the performers. There is a lot of music being written today and it is not always judged on its merit, but often by standards of cult snobbery. If Tippett or Britten had written Grinning at the Devil exactly as Wilson has, it would be on a commercial recording within months and fawned over!

Indeed if you enjoy the music of Britten and Bax, as well as Prokofiev and Kodaly, there is much in James Wilson's output that you will equally enjoy, it not prefer. I am very glad that I badgered him for scores and tapes. There are some of his works that I could not do without.

In 2004 I suggested to Jim that he ought to write his biography. He declined, such was his modesty. Someone suggested that I write his life story but my failing health meant that I was unable to undertake such a task although he often said that this article on this site was the best essay ever written about him. A writer was found who was eager to undertake this task and interviewed Jim for the first time on Wednesday 10 August 2005. During that interview Jim suddenly felt very strange and collapsed. He was taken to hospital and the doctors were unable to determine the exact cause of his illness. He died at 2.15 on Sunday morning 14 August.

Jim�s will left his body to the College of Surgeons for medical research but an autopsy had to be carried out and this was delayed and so Jim�s wishes could not be implemented. The pathologist eventually declared that it was a heart attack. A service followed by cremation was held at Mount Jerome, Dublin.

Jim was a lovely man and although we were completely different on many matters we were great friends. He was always honest and used to say that we were both blessed with ESS, extra sanity syndrome which results in an honesty to which some people object . Although he was gay, he had a legion of friends of both sexes including great singers like Dorothy Dorow, Jane Manning and Veronica Kerr. He had a pithy sense of humour and was always direct. If he thought a composer wrote rubbish he said so and proved his point by several references to that composer�s work which he rightly referred to as evidence.

He was man with a heart and it was a good one. He agonised over the plight of suffering children in the Middle East as shown in his Viola Concerto. He detested violence of all kinds and he had a saying, "If we do not fight evil it will prevail, and he always said, "If we do not rid ourselves of the trivial evils of today they will major events tomorrow!"

I was glad to know him and have him as my friend. His quiet influence has done my soul good and, I submit, that everyone who had the pleasure of knowing him benefited by his generous spirit.

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