York Bowen wrote his fine, sweeping Cello Sonata for Beatrice Harrison, who premiered it in December 1921 at London’s Wigmore Hall with the composer himself at the piano. It is a really well-made, characteristically lyrical outpouring, harmonically eventful, technically challenging (Bowen was a formidable performer in his own right) and definitely worth getting to know.
John Foulds originally completed his Cello Sonata in 1905, revising the piece for its eventual publication 22 years later (by which time he had settled in Paris). No less an authority than Calum MacDonald has described the work as “remarkably powerful and original … one of the finest, if not the finest Cello Sonata by an English composer”. I wouldn’t hail it in quite such extravagant terms myself, though it certainly contains much striking thematic material, confident argument and plentiful incident along the way, not least the appearance of those quarter-tones at 3'58'' into the eloquent central Lento (readers familiar with the second movement of Foulds’s remarkable Dynamic Triptych will know what to expect). Less distinctive than either of its partners here is the Sonata written in 1914 by Ernest Walker (1870-1949), who was a distinguished product of Oxford’s Balliol College and Director of Music there from 1901-25. None the less, this piece also has a great deal to commend it, not least a fastidious craftsmanship as well as a big-hearted integrity.
Had it received more commanding advocacy, I would surely be welcoming this typically enterprising BMS programme with unbridled enthusiasm. The disc remains a very useful one, but, for all the present team’s evident commitment and passionate ardour, there are perhaps rather too many moments of distracting strain to give unalloyed pleasure. Turn up the volume just a notch, and the sound is vivid and true. A final point: the jewel-case warns of possible “ejection difficulties in some older-generation players” caused by the extraordinarily generous duration of over 81 minutes (making this, I think, the longest CD I have ever come across) – a problem easily rectified by switching the machine off and then on again, and pressing the eject button. (I personally encountered no such practical gremlins on my 1990 Sony player.)'