A generously filled disc and a potentially important one – we haven’t had new recordings of the main works here, Appalachia and A Song of the High Hills, for over a decade. By now, Delius collectors will be familiar with Mackerras’s Delius from Wales: full of contrast but most memorably fresh, lucid and at times unexpectedly vigorous, with climactic moments powerfully (and often relatively brassily) realized. Of course, the lean Welsh strings contribute to these impressions, as does Decca’s relatively dry recording, with ‘forward facing’ horns in the best traditions of the house, and an acoustic (as before, Brangwyn Hall in Swansea) that doesn’t always comfortably accommodate the uninhibited double or triple fortes (the dynamic range of the recording is such that you will want a higher volume setting than usual).
The chorus work is good: I noted a pronounced vibrato from some of the women in Mackerras’s Sea Drift (Argo, 12/91); here it seems less of a problem (and vocal vibrato is, in any case, very much a matter of personal preference); indeed, it is arguably apt for Appalachia’s ‘slave song’. And I am happy to report that the sopranos’ final climactic top C on the word “scented” is a moderate success. Here, ‘moderate success’ is a major achievement, especially when you consider that Delius inconsiderately gave the same note to the trumpet, and that it was a singular (and surprising) moment of catastrophe from the London Symphony Chorus in the 1980 Hickox version (Argo, 7/81 – nla), otherwise the finest stereo recording so far made of Appalachia, not that there have been that many.
Since all Delians will, surely, already own Beecham’s A Song of the High Hills from 1946 Beecham (HMV, 10/47 – nla) and/or the broad and profoundly communing 1983 Fenby (recently reissued at mid price), a few specific words on the new Mackerras may be relevant. Timings tell part of the story, with Mackerras, at 26'00'', closer to Beecham (24'30'') than Fenby (29'40''), most noticeable in the vigour (the “joy and exhilaration”) of the ascent to (and descent from) the peaks. He is also closer to Beecham in the way phrases have a tendency to swell, and in general precision of ensemble, though not remotely in matters of string style and balance. In and around the vast quietness of the lonely peaks, Beecham would often encourage his strings to play louder than marked and with warmth (portamento and wide vibrato); Mackerras prefers a colder radiance from his strings than either Beecham or Fenby. He balances his forces with great skill and imagination, and though, for those peaks, Decca deploy his chorus with a well-judged ‘distance’ for “the wide far distance”, it is less ‘wide’ than Fenby’s (whose nature voices also achieve more breathtaking triple pianos and whose recording is generally more spacious); and Delius’s elemental timpani trio is marginally better defined on both Beecham’s and Fenby’s recordings.
Small points perhaps, and let me add that I was never less than completely riveted by Mackerras and his team. What an extraordinarily horizon-widening (1911) score this is, in every sense. In “the great solitude”, one seems to hear so much yet to come: Tapiola, “Neptune” from The Planets and the ‘Volga voices’ from Janacek’s Kata. And what a brilliant idea to couple it with the early Over the hills and far away, which pre-echoes A Song of the High Hills in at least two ways; in its form, and the kinship of its folk-tune to one in the later work (though it is the later piece that allows you to see ‘over’ the hills).'