Charles Villiers Stanford’s part-song ‘The Blue Bird’
is one of my all-time favourite pieces of choral music; it is definitely one of
my 'Desert Island Discs' along with the same composer’s Second Piano Concerto. There
is still a residual school of thought that decries Stanford’s name. He is
accused of being as 'dry as dust' (along with his near-contemporary Hubert
Parry), he is charged with being unoriginal - Brahms with an Irish accent and
he is accused of lacking inspiration. Not every composer breaks new ground and not every
composition is free from derivation. It is a very different thing to use an existing
musical languages than to deliberately indulge in pastiche. As for inspiration,
one cannot but recall the old adage about 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration.
Stanford did compose much music. Some of it is
probably best left to the specialist; it was music of its time. However, the
more I hear of this great man's music the more I appreciate it. We have two
excellent cycles of the seven symphonies (Naxos & Chandos), the three piano
concertos, the Requiem and many songs
and choral pieces. All of these works reveal hidden depths and suggest that
they may well be lost (or misplaced) treasures.
But no work by Stanford, I believe, is more perfect
than his setting of Mary Coleridge's (1861-1907) verse the ‘Blue Bird’. I give the words here:-
The lake lay blue below the hill,
O'er it as I looked, there flew
Across the waters, cold and still,
A bird whose wings were palest blue.
The sky above was blue at last,
The sky beneath me blue in blue
A moment, ere the bird had passed,
It caught his image as he flew.
Literary critics may classify this as second-rate verse:
I do concede that it does not attain to the heights of English Poetry. But
there is something compelling about these words. Perhaps some of the effect is
explained by later imagery. The Americanism, if such it be, of being 'blue' and
the wartime song so beloved of a generation, ‘There'll be ‘Bluebirds over the
White Cliffs of Dover,' has tinged these words with a feeling that was not
present in its original. There is a creation of colour and effect in these
words - it is a 'blue' study. I can never decide if it is warmth I feel on
reading these words or a chill. A blue-sky possibly means a warm day - but ice
is also blue. And the lover's heart can be chilled by his beloved passing over
the seas into the blue yonder?
This poem is taken by Stanford and is turned
into a glorious miniature - a perfect fusion of words and music. He creates an
unbelievable atmosphere. Few other pieces of music have this feeling, this
magic, this power to move. There is a combination of coolness and warmth - of
sunlight and cloud.
'The Blue Bird' was one of eight settings included in Op. 119; the other
seven are no longer well-known. If this
was the only work that we remembered Charles Villiers Stanford for, he would be
well-worth recalling.
There is a lovely version (amongst others) of Stanford’s 'The Blue Bird' on YouTube
11 comments:
Thank you! Your feelings about this piece echo my own.
I heard it on R3 last night which, not expecting it, touched me suddenly.
Perhaps this was potentiated by the book I’m reading – Juliet Nicholson’s Perfect Summer (about 1911).
Both works evoke for me a mix of beauty, melancholy and foreboding.
Thanks for the impression of Stanford and The Blue Bird. I think what the music does with the verse is sublime, and to me it’s not at all second-rate. If we can get into the imagery,, then we’re led to a transcendent moment. I’m sitting beside a lake beneath the sky, framed by hills. I see a lone bird of palest blue fly over the water now reflecting the sky’s blue—blue and blue—and at the last instant the bird catches its image in the water—the end, no denouement. This piece proposes that we accept that a bird “caught” its image, for an instant became aware of itself. It’s a little miracle we take on faith. And Stanford makes it happen, with that soaring treble, a cappella—still, like the setting. But neither I nor we shall ever experience it except this way.
Thanks for that!
John F
Last line of both poem and song is: "It caught his image as he flew."
Thanks for that
Sorted
John F
I wonder if the soaring motif in the soprano part was inspired by a strikingly similar one in Elgar's Te Deum (cf. "Thou art the everlasting son...") published some 13 years earlier...
Thanks for that! I will check that out!
J
Thank you, I just stumbled across your excellent article. The Bluebird is indeed a treasure - I played it last night for friends who had never heard of it. Brought back sweet memories of singing it at University on the river in the dark with candlelight - happy days. Having been brought up as a chorister I have many deep rooted memories of singing Stanford works and agree there is much deemed currently out of fashion which is overlooked
I've sung this beautiful piece with an excellent choir. The soprano soloist had an incredibly beautiful voice that soared as the rest of us provided the background. Sadly, the soprano is no longer with us, but I still treasure listening to the recording.
Just heard it for the first time on ClassicFM. I was unaware of this even though we used to sing a lot of Stanford's choral music when I was a chorister at Worcester Cathedral 1947-56,
I just came across this thread while researching the song. My story: the Cambridge University Chamber Chorus used to (and still does?) include it in their May Week concert held on the river - literally, sitting in punts. The song traditionally started the second half, and they lit lanterns on the boats before singing it. I was there in either 1970 or 1971, and as they started, a bird - and I didn't see the color - flew up from behind the singers and quietly perched in a tree, as if to listen.
It's very likely that John Rutter was there, as he was a graduate student at the time. Small wonder, then, that his recording with the Cambridge Singers, albeit 10 years later, is my favorite.
After emigrating to the US, I included it in what turned out to be the last concert by the Microsoft chamber choir (the Microtones) in 2002. I preceded it with my predecessor's own setting of Emily Dickinson's "The Moon", which ends with "her dimities of blue" and of course he set the last word to an F# major chord.
And a plea: I once heard it described by a critic as "the most impressionistic choral work in the English language" but can't find a citation. Tovey? Lebrecht?
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