With the one obvious exception, Ireland’s songs are not made of the stuff that gains popularity.In Sea Fever he hit upon a catchy poem and found a style to match, but in general ‘catchiness’ is not one of his more notable attributes. A few other songs have something of it – Santa Chiara, The Bells of San Marie, I have twelve oxen, for instance – but, mostly, a fastidious taste made him perhaps unnecessarily wary of melodic obviousness. In many of the songs, too, the piano part leads, with stronger ideas than in the writing for voice, which serves the text rather than any prime demands of melody. Add to this a preference for a moderate tempo and a habitual avoidance of extremes, whether in vocal range or volume, and the ingredients are clearly not such as qualify for entry in ‘the charts’, even of the kind called classical.
A substantial collection such as this is particularly valuable with composers of Ireland’s kind, enabling attentive listeners to catch the elusive identity, the personal touches. The last comparable offering was on LP, a three-record set on Lyrita, with Benjamin Luxon as the principal singer with the pianist Alan Rowlands. These were intended ‘to include all that it is thought the composer would want.’ The present issue could not have that claim made for it, as notably absent is Ireland’s best-known cycle, The Land of Lost Content (for that we have, currently, Rolfe Johnson on Carlton, or, with the second song missing, Hyperion, 8/95, and Pears on Belart, 12/97); also missing are some attractive songs such as Hawthorn Time, The East Riding and The Three Ravens. The selection is still generous and representative, the most comprehensive now available.
Almost half of the songs go to Christopher Maltman’s share. As on previous occasions, I find pleasure in his singing to be much reduced as increased volume brings increased unevenness of production. Otherwise his voice is well suited and he sings with care for meaning: good, for instance, in the Hardy settings. John Mark Ainsley does particularly well with the Housman songs, We’ll to the woods no more and In Boyhood. Lisa Milne’s contributions are delightful: the tone pure, production steady and her style refreshing, as in Mother and Child, where, although the word ‘mawkish’ may come to mind (as mentioned in Andrew Green’s engaging notes) I don’t really find it to be the effect at all. Most persuasive throughout the discs (and personally I still need some persuasion) is Graham Johnson’s playing, responsive to the special character and developments of every one of these songs, many of which have a more direct ‘line’ to the composer through the pianist than the singer. Incidental query: in Great things, where does ‘greatest’ come from (cf. Collected Poems of Thomas Hardy; Macmillan: 1930)?'