Elgar's Hillside

[Luke]

Everything I did and everywhere I went wrt Elgar whilst I was writing my book led me to the conclusion that he was one of the most visionary of composers, in that, putting myself in his footsteps and trying to immerse myself in his life, thoughts and music, I felt utterly transported.

[Karl Henning]

I like how lordlance's post is about how his preconceptions about Elgar were wrong, and Elgar's music is great... but we just focus on those preconceptions, which wasn't the point of his post!

Excellent observation!

If you like chamber music, try Elgar's string quartet.

And the Violin Sonata.

[Luke]

And, come on, the Piano Quintet to round out the Brinkwells trilogy. Minor key masterpieces all

[71 dB]

If you like chamber music, try Elgar's string quartet.

Not only the string quartet. Personally I prefer the piano quintet and violin sonata.

[Roasted Swan]

Depends what you mean by 'visionary', I suppose, but to a very great extent since I first heard 'Introduction and Allegro for Strings' at the age of sixteen, my response to landscape has been very strongly influenced by Elgar's music. Especially in works like the chamber pieces, the cello concerto, and parts of the 1st symphony ('play this as if it were something you saw down by the river', he told an orchestra he was conducting when they came to the slow movement), I always find a musical vision of the English landscape that has greatly enhanced my own experience of it during the last 60 years.

There are within British music quite a few of "visionary" composers in a literal sense.  John Ireland "saw" ancient children dancing around a stone circle on the Sussex Downs, Bax "saw" faery folk in the west of Ireland for starters.  Elgar's music (and his writings) are full of visions given musical form - the welsh theme" in the Introduction & Allegro, the haunted trees in the violin sonata.  I think Elgar is without doubt a genius composer and no small part of that genius is the way he brings the visionary into his music in a way British music up until that time had not.

[Elgarian Redux]

There are within British music quite a few of "visionary" composers in a literal sense.  John Ireland "saw" ancient children dancing around a stone circle on the Sussex Downs, Bax "saw" faery folk in the west of Ireland for starters.  Elgar's music (and his writings) are full of visions given musical form - the welsh theme" in the Introduction & Allegro, the haunted trees in the violin sonata.  I think Elgar is without doubt a genius composer and no small part of that genius is the way he brings the visionary into his music in a way British music up until that time had not.

Yes. I'd say he fits perfectly into that whole idea of the 'English landscape pastoral vision' that one finds in the watercolours and etchings of Samuel Palmer, the wood engravings of Blake and Gwen Raverat, the landscapes of Paul Nash, and so on. The pastoral vision transcends the category boundaries - we recognise it in the visual arts as well as in music.

And in Elgar it's not merely a pastoral vision that is musically expressed. He brings with him a concept of the chivalric ideal which is also visionary, tinged with a specifically English flavour. I'm thinking of The Spirit of England, Caractacus etc., and the noble, stately expressiveness of the final movement of the 1st symphony, which is sometimes misrepresented as a kind of jingoism.

[Luke]

There are within British music quite a few of "visionary" composers in a literal sense.  John Ireland "saw" ancient children dancing around a stone circle on the Sussex Downs, Bax "saw" faery folk in the west of Ireland for starters.  Elgar's music (and his writings) are full of visions given musical form - the welsh theme" in the Introduction & Allegro, the haunted trees in the violin sonata.  I think Elgar is without doubt a genius composer and no small part of that genius is the way he brings the visionary into his music in a way British music up until that time had not.

This is exactly right and - sorry to bang on about it - it's a theme that kept returning as I researched and wrote my book. The John Ireland example given above, and both Elgar examples too, are 'covered' in it (the Bax not, as I was concerned with the UK, not Ireland - maybe another time!); there are of course other examples too, such as John Foulds' 'clairaudient' experiences. In general the sense of the land bursting with musical immanence, and also of music as a kind of haunting, is well expressed by Elgar's most famous 'quotations,' such as:

my idea is that there is music in the air, music all around us, and—you—simply—take as much as you require!

and

This is what I hear all day—the trees are singing my music—or have I sung theirs?

and

if ever you're walking on the Malvern Hills and hear that [the Cello Concerto], don't be frightened, it's only me.

and also the already-quoted

play it like something you hear down by the river

[Luke]

Elgar also expressed his desire to haunt a country lane a little way outside Worcester, too (I went there at 3.00 a.m. to see if he was around, but he must have been somewhere else that night)

[Luke]

Here (or to be precise in my next post, below) are some Elgar-related photos from my travels (some will be in the book).

1 The 'haunted trees' near Brinkwells that are so important to the Quintet and the Violin Sonata. The haunting refers to a legend of blasphemous Spanish monks who were turned into trees, but as the legend was invented (probably by Algernon Blackwood when he was a guest of Elgar's) there are no particular trees to hunt out, just a general area, Bedham Copse, of which this is a photo.

2 Ynys Lochtyn, off the Welsh coast, where Elgar heard the distant singing which chrystalised as the 'Welsh tune' in the Introduction and Allegro.

3 Rocky Valley, near Tintagel, Cornwall, where something unknown but profoundly important happened between Elgar and 'Windflower' which seems to have been formative in the writing of the Second Symphony

The next three were all taken one frantic night. One of the sub-themes of my book is about my composers' block, which has been going on for far too long, and I talk a bit about how the stresses and complexities of modern life, or at least of my life, may be behind it. In the book we see a reflection of these complexities in the fact that I had to squeeze my travelling into short spaces of time and strange hours of the day. So my trip to 'Elgar country,' in Worcestershire, had to be made as part of a mad dash to Newport, in Wales, where I had to be at 9.00 a.m. So I left home at about 10.00 one evening and planned to make all my visits on the way. It meant that I saw some very famous sights, but at very unusual times of day, and it is partly this fact that made what might have been rather ordinary a really transcendent experience for me. So...

4 I got to Worcester at 2.00 a.m. and went to a spot steeped in Elgar lore: the Severn, looking across to the Cathedral. The stuff of countless CD covers and even the old Elgar £20 note. But I saw it in the pitch black, the cathedral only partially illuminated. I stepped down towards the darkness of the river to re-enact another of his most famous sayings:
    I am still at heart the dreamy child who used to be found in the reeds by Severn side with a sheet of paper trying to fix the sounds.
...and, with the river lapping at my feet, I sat amongst those reeds in the darkness, listening to the midnight breeze rush through them. It was an intoxicating experience, and not just because the place smelt strongly of marijuana (today's young Worcesterians clearly get their fix differently to the boy Elgar.)

5 A little later, a few miles outside town, I stopped partway along the road Elgar said he intended to haunt.... He was not apparent that night (it was very cold at this point so I don't blame him) but these trees looked nicely spectral in the glare of my headlights

6 And then, at about 4 a.m., I reached Elgar's beloved Malvern Hills and (passing near to his burial place) I parked and climbed the Herefordshire Beacon, up to the ancient earthwork at British Camp. This is the 'site' of Caractacus, his last stand here the subject of Elgar's eponymous cantata - I recall the lines in the libretto which describes this precise moment:
tow'rd the day
The night is waning fast away;
Bent on thee with benignant eye,
Morn's silver star ascends the sky...
This is the classic Elgar landscape - the Malvern Hills themselves - the Elgar hillside from which this thread draws its name. But in the Elgar imagarium (CD covers etc) we usually see the Malverns spreading out, green and pleasant under sunny skies. To stand atop them at dawn, with the sun illuminating the grass and turning it a shade of pink, and the immense views slowly flooding with sunlight but still filled with pools of darkness, was transcendent!  I didn't hear the Cello Concerto, however, though I tried. Elgar's ghost is clearly quite shy and retiring.

[Elgarian Redux]

In general the sense of the land bursting with musical immanence, and also of music as a kind of haunting, is well expressed by Elgar's most famous 'quotations,'

Yes, and while reminding ourselves of the importance of landscape in his music, we ought not to forget the importance of cycling in his composing habits. He knew the Malvern landscape extremely well, not only by walking, but also by cycling through it, doubtless taking as much music from the air as he wanted.

There used to be a drawer upstairs in the Elgar Birthplace cottage which contained his cycling maps, on which he marked all the routes he cycled. I spent a pleasant afternoon there some years ago, copying them out onto an old OS map, so that my wife and I could cycle his routes ourselves. I kept a journal (and sketch maps) of these journeys, and I could upload some of them (as well as my copy of Elgar's routes) - except I can't remember how to do it! There will now be a pause while I try to remind myself of the method ....

[Florestan]

Pardon me while I experiment! I see there's a limit on the size of the file I can attach, so I'll try this, and we'll see if it's too small to be useful. Here goes: my copy of Elgar's cycling map. Is it legible?

Only with a magnifying glass. 

[Luke]

This is the 'next post' referred to in my previous post above!

[Roasted Swan]

Pardon me while I experiment! I see there's a limit on the size of the file I can attach, so I'll try this, and we'll see if it's too small to be useful. Here goes: my copy of Elgar's cycling map. Is it legible?

that is great!!  thankyou for sharing.

[Elgarian Redux]

Only with a magnifying glass. 

Andrei, do you mean, even when you've clicked on it twice, to see the full size image - it's still unreadable? I can post a larger image, but it will take up a lot of the 1 MB allowance, you see, and there's more stuff I was wanting to post.

(later) OK I've tried again, not reducing quite so much. How's this?

[Luke]

If you click it enlarges and is legible, but the resolution isn't great so some of it is unclear.

(The location of my picture 6 is at the bottom of that map)

[Elgarian Redux]

Here (or to be precise in my next post, below) are some Elgar-related photos from my travels (some will be in the book).

1 The 'haunted trees' near Brinkwells that are so important to the Quintet and the Violin Sonata. The haunting refers to a legend of blasphemous Spanish monks who were turned into trees, but as the legend was invented (probably by Algernon Blackwood when he was a guest of Elgar's) there are no particular trees to hunt out, just a general area, Bedham Copse, of which this is a photo.

Marvellous stuff. I haven't been there, so this is a treat.

2 Ynys Lochtyn, off the Welsh coast, where Elgar heard the distant singing which chrystalised as the 'Welsh tune' in the Introduction and Allegro.

Again, I haven't been there myself so this is smashing.

3 Rocky Valley, near Tintagel, Cornwall, where something unknown but profoundly important happened between Elgar and 'Windflower' which seems to have been formative in the writing of the Second Symphony

I know Tintagel (mainly through its Arthurian connections) and Rocky Valley well, but had forgotten the Elgar link. Thank you.

6 And then, at about 4 a.m., I reached Elgar's beloved Malvern Hills and (passing near to his burial place) I parked and climbed the Herefordshire Beacon, up to the ancient earthwork at British Camp. This is the 'site' of Caractacus, his last stand here the subject of Elgar's eponymous cantata - I recall the lines in the libretto which describes this precise moment:
tow'rd the day
The night is waning fast away;
Bent on thee with benignant eye,
Morn's silver star ascends the sky...
This is the classic Elgar landscape - the Malvern Hills themselves. But in the Elgar imagarium (CD covers etc) we usually see them spreading out, green and pleasant under sunny skies. To see them at dawn, with the sun illuminating the grass and turning it a shade of pink, and the immense views slowly flooding with sunlight but still filled with pools of darkness, was transcendent!  I didn't hear the Cello Concerto, however, though I tried. Elgar's ghost is clearly quite shy and retiring.

I almost feel as if I'm there with you. The top of the Herefordshire Beacon is one of my favourite places on the planet. Whenever we stay at the Malvern Hills Hotel (once or twice a year) we try to get to the top of the Beacon if the weather permits - and sometimes if it doesn't.

Thanks for sharing all this Luke. Very much appreciated.

[Karl Henning]

This is exactly right and - sorry to bang on about it - it's a theme that kept returning as I researched and wrote my book.

Au contraire, I hope you will continue to beat the drum for your book. For instance, it is probably news to @Elgarian Redux

[Luke]

@rElgarian Redux - it's a genuine pleasure. These intense journeys, and many others like them in my book, all taking place in the 10 months from April 2022, were concentrated, solitary and packed with magical experiences, and about the most overwhelming times I ever had. Reliving them is always fun!

@Karl - yes, you might be right, thanks!

[Elgarian Redux]

Au contraire, I hope you will continue to beat the drum for your book. For instance, it is probably news to @Elgarian Redux

It is, and I was eventually going to get around to asking about it. Luke, please tell me more. And Karl, well spotted! Thank you.

[Florestan]

Andrei, do you mean, even when you've clicked on it twice, to see the full size image - it's still unreadable?

It's not entirely unreadable but one has to make a considerable effort to decipher the small print. As I said, a magnifying glass is needed.

That's just me, other people's eyes might be better than mine (I wear glasses).