Two new releases in this distinguished Alwyn/Chandos series each serve to increase our knowledge of the composer. The Piano Concerto No. 2 (1960) was written for the Dutch pianist Cor de Groot, but he became paralysed in one arm immediately before the planned premiere. Alwyn threw the score into a cupboard where it remained for three decades and when Chandos proposed a recording, the composer's widow found it was necessary to devise a closing section for the first movement and restore the slow one, which Alwyn had jettisoned.
The work opens heroically and contains a good deal of rhetoric, yet the string writing has a romantic sweep and the Andante proves to be the highlight of the piece. The finale, with its lively jazz syncopations, is marked allegro con fuoco (a strange combination), its stridency demanding the tranquil central section which then combines with a further burst of romanticism. The movement is undoubtedly too long (13 minutes) and had Alwyn heard it performed he might well have made cuts or revisions. Howard Shelley plays with much bravura and an appealing sensitivity, and there is plenty of energy from the orchestra.
The powerful Fifth Symphony (1973) with its cogent argument distilled into one movement with four sub-sections has a curious subtitle, Hydriotaphia. This derives from the works of physician/philosopher Sir Thomas Browne (1605-82), the symphony's dedicatee, whose writings were always by the composer's bedside. Browne's elegy on death was published under the title, Hydriotaphia: Urn burial, or a Discourse at the Sepulchral Urns lately found in Norfolk.
Quotations preface each section of Alwyn's score: ''Life is a pure flame'' inspires the energetically kaleidoscopic first movement, while the melancholy Andante brings ''sad and sepulchral pictures expressing old mortality''. The violent scherzo suggests that ''iniquity comes at long strides upon us'' and the curiously ambivalent finale brings the thought that ''man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes''. This is a Marcia funebre and provides a moving and compelling, if equivocal, apotheosis for a succinctly argued work. The symphony is not too easy to come to terms with, and hardly shining with optimism about the human condition, but rewarding to listeners who persevere.
The richly expansive Sinfonietta for Strings is almost twice as long as the symphony. The string writing, very much in the English tradition, is vigorous in the first movement and hauntingly atmospheric in the beautiful but disconsolate Adagio, very touching in Hickox's tender performance. The unpredictable finale begins impulsively before the mood changes completely and becomes altogether more subdued and muted in feeling. Then Alwyn builds contrapuntally to an emotional climax using themes from earlier movements, with the momentum continually fluctuating.
The recordings were made in All Saints, Tooting, in south-west London, where the resonance brings spectacular results. The acoustic suits the Sinfonietta especially well and provides richly beautiful string textures. In the Symphony, although the sound is thrillingly spectacular, detail is not always sharply defined. Hickox, who is completely at home in the composer's sound-world, is consistently sympathetic, while at the same time tautly controlling the structure of the work. The obviously dedicated LSO is particularly responsive in the Sinfonietta, a masterly work which ought to be in the concert repertoire.
The Violin Concerto (so sympathetically played here by Lydia Mordkovitch), like the Piano Concerto No. 2, is little known. In 1940 it was first heard at a private performance. On that occasion Frederick Grinke was the soloist, with the composer playing the orchestral part on the piano. Sir Clifford Curzon, who was there to participate in some of Alwyn's chamber music at the same 'promotional' concert, thought highly of it and wrote to Alwyn to say so. But the work was refused a first performance at the Proms (Sir Henry Wood's enthusiasm was not shared by the BBC) and that, too, went into the cupboard. It is surely an ideal piece for a disc. Although essentially threnodic and lyrical, the first movement opens confidently and the orchestra returns with regular bursts of energy, and the end of the movement (the rapt pianissimo closing section) is exquisite. One is reminded here of the Vaughan Williams of The lark ascending, although as the second movement Allegretto opens, the melodic writing also brings hints of Elgar. Later the Vaughan Williams impression returns when a solo viola gently shares a duet with the soloist. The finale is fairly vigorous, but again the lyrical impulse is all important. The work is discursive, yet has moments of great intensity. The performance could not be bettered and Mordkovitch's pianissimo playing is touchingly beautiful.
The Third Symphony is an outstanding example of Alwyn's earlier symphonic manner and a more immediately enjoyable work than the Fifth. John Ireland thought it ''the finest British Symphony since the Elgar No. 2''. It is in three movements. The first combines driving rhythmic agitation with a powerful lyrical thrust. The Adagio, introduced by a peaceful horn theme (bringing a distinct reminder of ''Venus'' from Holst's Planets), has an animated, brassy development, then ethereal strings restore the sense of repose, the horns returning glowingly (5'09''). After another angry disturbance, the movement ends ethereally with strings and cor anglais (a particularly beautiful moment here). The finale restores the forward momentum with its rhythmic zest and has a powerful and satisfying resolution (after another clear allusion to The Planets—this time to ''Mars'').
Hickox's reading is every bit as convincing as that of the composer on Lyrita and the LSO once more responds committedly to a work that must be rewarding to play when the orchestration is so effective. The Chandos recording gives much less cause for grumbles here concerning lack of definition, for the resonance suits both works largely because of their expansive character.'