A native of Hawick in the Borders, Sir John Blackwood McEwen (1868-1948) was one of a group of gifted composers who, in the early years of this century, seemed destined to spark a Scottish musical revival. In what is a highly informed and enthusiastic booklet-essay, Bernard Benoliel draws our attention to such figures as Hamish MacCunn, Leamont Drysdale (both of whom died comparatively young) as well as William Wallace and Sir Alexander Mackenzie (whom McEwen eventually succeeded as Principal of the Royal Academy of Music in 1924). Despite producing a number of large-scale orchestral and choral works in the years preceding the First World War (most notably The Ode on the Nativity, a comic opera entitled The Royal Rebel and the Solway Symphony), McEwen lacked the necessary self-promoting skills and social clout to establish himself on the London musical scene and opted instead for a life of distinguished academic achievement. In his later years, he wrote a substantial body of chamber music, completing (amongst other things) over 20 string quartets.
The present Three Border Ballads were written between 1905-08. Although the last to be completed, the evocative nature-poem ''Grey Galloway'' is presented first on this CD—a sensible move, as it is also easily the most rewarding of McEwen's trio. Its introductory flourish is a striking idea, and the Molto tranquillo oboe melody at 5'45'' is hauntingly lovely, its piercing beauty momentarily distilling something of the same Celtic enchantment one finds in Bax's roughly contemporaneous Eire trilogy. By contrast, ''The Demon Lover'' is a brooding, sultry creation, its post-Wagnerian soundscape reminiscent of similar pictorial offerings from composers such as Rabaud, d'Indy and (closer to home) Bantock and Holbrooke. Despite some felicitous scoring and many incidental charms, however, the dearth of any truly memorable melodic invention proves a real stumbling block and the overall impression is of comparative aimlessness. That just leaves ''Coronach'', a rather wanly conventional funeral march—certainly not a patch on Elgar's magnificent essay in the genre from his incidental music for Grania and Diarmid.
Who knows, perhaps McEwen's music might have made a stronger impact in a performance of greater fire and imagination. As it is, there are times when the LPO rather seems to be going though the motions under the baton of McEwen's fellow Scot, Alasdair Mitchell; consequently, there is a certain flabbiness and caution about the finished product (surely, for example, the opening of ''Grey Galloway'' should have more of a spring to its heels?), an impression merely reinforced by Chandos's distanced, characteristically resonant engineering. Nevertheless, this remains a bold, enterprising release, and I wouldn't want my niggling reservations to deter British music fans everywhere from exploring some intriguing, truly unusual repertoire for themselves.'