The hopes and glories of Edward Elgar
March 22nd, 2008, 10:00 pm Hobbies Ideas
By turns adulatory and neglectful, the English did not know what to make of
Elgar during his lifetime, and they have been strongly ambivalent about him
ever since. He rules as a monarch over our national inferiority complex %26ndash;
the not quite hidden belief that nobody English could be quite that good a
musician, not compared with abroad. After 150 years of mediocrity, it was
disconcerting for his contemporaries to find a home-grown genius in their
midst. So although the Elgar Festival of 1904 was an unprecedented event,
and the greeting given to his First Symphony in 1908 not only national but
worldwide, nevertheless there was also the disastrous Gerontius premiere in
1900, the indifferent public reaction to the Second Symphony in 1911, and
the ill-preparedness of both orchestra and audience for the Cello Concerto
in 1919. Then, after the death of his wife and the rise of the new post-war
generation, Elgar was thought to have withdrawn into semi-retirement. One of
the happier aspects of those years was the support he gained from his
friendship with Bernard Shaw, who did more than anyone else to urge him on
towards a Third Symphony. Meanwhile, on the roofs of King%26rsquo;s, Cambridge, the
critical vultures had begun to gather %26ndash; chief among them Professor E. J.
Dent.
In cathedral or concert hall after Elgar%26rsquo;s death, the performances of the
chief pieces went on. Gerontius became and remains a festival fixture; the
symphonies (not so much, for various reasons, the concertos), the overtures
and the Enigma Variations were in the safe hands of Sir Adrian Boult and Sir
John Barbirolli. The biographers had already moved in: Basil Maine wrote one
at the very end of Elgar%26rsquo;s life; Percy Young published his a generation
later, in 1955. In that same year, a twenty-year-old author made her
appearance: Diana McVeagh. In A View from 1955 (her contribution to Sir
Nicholas Kenyon%26rsquo;s Elgar volume), she describes with engaging modesty the
circumstances. After two or three other writers had turned his proposition
down, Eric Blom had commissioned a biography from her: I was a last resort.
Elgar, in the mid-twentieth century, was not thought a proper academic
subject.
If 1955 is to be taken as a rough date for a nadir of interest in Elgar, then
this applies only to the academic and critical fraternity; performers and
listeners tend to remain steadier in their tastes. And soon the biographical
scene was to be transformed. Michael Kennedy%26rsquo;s Portrait of Elgar (1968;
revised 1973; 1987) painted for the first time the compelling and altogether
convincing picture of the complexities and contradictions of a
hypersensitive man. The book was thought to mirror the 1960s, the decade in
which it was written; we can now see that it was a revelation of lasting
value. Jerrold Northrop Moore%26rsquo;s Elgar: A creative life (1984), the product
of many years%26rsquo; work, offered biography on a much grander scale than
hitherto, but with a great command of detail and copious music examples well
integrated into the text. Both these authors have continued to publish books
about Elgar; Moore has produced four volumes of his letters. The already
mentioned biographies remain unsurpassed. What is still lacking is a
full-dress analytical examination of Elgar%26rsquo;s music. Alas, the person best
qualified to undertake such a task died tragically in 1996: Derrick Puffett
had over many years contemplated such a work, and he would have made a
superb job of it.
There was a distinct revival of interest in Elgar%26rsquo;s music during the 1980s and
90s. A new generation of conductors who were Elgar enthusiasts had already
arrived; the names of Sir Andrew Davis, Mark Elder and Richard Hickox come
readily to mind. Some of the more academic interest was generated in the
United States. And now the anniversary season is upon us. Elgar was 150
years old last June 2; and there has naturally been a welcome rush of
performances, and not only of the best-known works. Less propitiously, the
skies have darkened with flocks of celebratory books coming home to roost.
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