I cannot think of a better way to start exploring Alywn's music than with this quartet of highly atmospheric and very communicative works. William Alwyn valued his Lyra Angelica concerto for harp above all his other music, and it is indeed very beautiful. It was premiered at the first night of the 1954 Proms and, not surprisingly, made an immediate impression. The work is inspired by stanzas written in the seventeenth century by the English metaphysical poet, Giles Fletcher, and Alwyn prefaces each of the movements with a line from his poem, ''Christ's Victorie and Triumph''. The music opens mistily and then a wondrous tune appears, like a carol, and it almost fits the words of the first quotation, ''I looke for angels' songs, and hear Him crie''. This glorious theme dominates the work through the first three movements, which are essentially reflective and then blossoms even more gloriously in the jubilant finale: ''How can such joy as this want words to speake?''. Alwyn is a master of texture as well as form and the textures here, delicately embroidered by the solo harp, are harmonically rich, and the effect on the listener is very moving. The concerto is played with a real feeling for the music's rapture, and the expansive recorded sound, with rich string timbres and a perfect balance with the solo harp is very fine indeed.
The score of the Pastoral fantasia for viola and strings had been lost for half a century and was only recently rediscovered. It was written in 1939 and looks back nostalgically to a more peaceful England. The music opens like Delius, but the entry of the viola brings an immediate affinity with Vaughan Williams as the solo viola begins in rhapsodic soliloquy. There is a momentary but very tangible hint of Sibelius (1'57'') and then the viola line floats free and one is reminded of The lark ascending, only Alwyn's lark is more troubled and does not soar quite so high. The Tragic Interlude dates from 1936 when the composer's foreboding of the imminence of the war brought an eloquent protest at the waste of life. The piece opens passionately and gathers momentum, but after its climax, disolves into a moving elegaic threnody. The Autumn Legend is much later (1954). It has a particularly lovely opening, with shafts of sunlight on the strings piercing the clouds, and the music's disconsolate manner has an underlying romantic feeling, rather than conveying pessimism. Yet the dark-hued cor anglais line has a pervading melancholy and has much in common with Sibelius's Swan of Tuonela, although the writing is more animated. It is a fine if ambivalent piece, and Nicholas Daniel, the soloist, captures its mood persuasively, while Richard Hickox shows himself in complete affinity with Alwyn's world, which may be eclectic in influences, but has strong individuality too. The Chandos recording is outstandingly fine.'