The booklet cover pictures Grainger in First World War khaki, a soprano saxophone slung around his neck—''musician, second class'' in the US Army Band. A revealing image: Grainger on the campaign trail to win symphonic credibility for the military band. His success is well measured here in a lively cross-section of wind-band 'Graingerphilia'—from one-off originals to folk-song settings and transcription 'gems'. The Michigan State University Symphonic Band may not be the equal of its counterpart in Cleveland (far from it, in fact) but it is a determined champion and the biggest and best of these items—Grainger's remarkable realization of Franck's no less remarkable Chorale No. 2—cannot, to my knowledge, be found elsewhere.
With this extraordinary transcription, the augmented wind band turns cathedral organ: bass tuba leads off the pedalled opening measure, saxophone, oboe, and clarinet combinations work wonders in the middle and upper registrations; traditional wind-band sonorities are enriched and extended (sometimes completely turned around) to often surreal effect. But then one never could second-guess Grainger's orchestration, whatever the instrumental mix. Comparisons between two or more of his 'elastic scoring' options is in itself always an education.
Colonial Song—a favourite of mine among Grainger originals—stands or falls on the generosity of its long, seamless legato: in this instance, mellow brasses eloquently lend themselves to the 'old-world' fireside harmonies, while Grainger's saxophones again accentuate the melancholic ache. Only the climax is diminished for want of strings—the reach and sustaining power of violins high above the stave: once you've heard Grainger's full orchestral garb (never mind the original for soprano, tenor and orchestra) it's not easy making the adjustment. Perhaps the Michigan band (or the direction of Keith Brion) need to loosen up a little—a hint of military formality hangs over even the joviality here: old favourites like the Children's March Over the Hills and Far Away need considerably more of a spring in the heel. This pied piper is not entirely the equal of his material: the wit and novelty of the scoring (right down to that crafty little percussive codetta receding over the last hill of all) could be sharper, brasher. Something is missing: insolence, perhaps.
The recording is not always entirely helpful in the upper frequencies (which could generally be brighter and better focused): plump is probably the word (with a booming bass extension), or is it just that we've been completely and utterly spoiled by those sensational Cleveland Symphonic Winds/Fennell discs for Telarc/Conifer (Bach/Handel/Holst, 12/83; Grainger, Vaughan Williams, Sousa, etc., 10/84)? Even so, the Franck alone is almost worth the price of the disc and who with a grain of curiosity could possibly resist Faure's Tuscan serenade, where hangdog euphonium (beautifully played by David Cleveland) makes for a heavyweight but affecting troubadour. You've also the opportunity to compare Grainger and Sousa in their respective Country Gardens. Grainger: 2—Sousa: 1, I'd say. English flora was never so gaudily landscaped.'