Music
Composing for Fun
By COLIN MASON
IN his youth Vaughan Williams declared that he would never attempt a symphony. Last week his Ninth was given its first perfor- mance. He was over forty when he changed his mind, and at George Butterworth's instigation produced the 'London' Symphony. (The 'Sea' Symphony, which was written some years earlier, and is known as No. 1, scarcely qualifies, since it is properly a cantata in symphonic form.) He con- tinued with new symphonies every eight or twelve years until, at the age of seventy, he reached No. 5. The next two appeared at five-yearly intervals, and since passing his eightieth birthday he has progres- sively reduced the interval until it has fallen to under two years between the latest pair.
The increase in pace has been accompanied by a change in quality, which has become very marked in the last two symphonies. Vaughan Wil- liams has often given the impression in his com- ments on his own music that he does not take composing quite seriously. In the past the music itself has always belied him. Now it does so less vigorously. In his old age he has begun to com- pose for fun, and as his fun increases, he gives less to us. The orchestral skylarking in the recent symphonies suggests an increased interest in the presentation of his material, and this has been accompanied by an undeniable falling-off in con- sistency of content.
As early as No. 5 (early by Vaughan Williams's standards, that is, for he was already seventy) he began to work again over ground already covered—in No. 3, the 'Pastoral.' A spiritually more profound and less idyllic tranquillity dis- tinguished No. 5, however, and made it an ad- vance into new territory. The new developments in the subsequent symphonies have been more super- ficial and less important. No. 6 affected again the fierce tone of No. 4, but the language was much diluted and the neo-classical severity of form and concentration of counterpoint were abandoned. Possibly for this reason it was at first much more popular. Since its extraordinarily successful flag two years it has gradually lost ground, while No. 4 has continued to gain. It is now remembered most for its enigmatic last movement. In No. 8 Vaughan Williams reverted to the neo-classical spirit of No. 4, with a change of tone from the aggressively austere to the gently and gaily lyrical. It was the obverse of No. 6, with the same imperfections and disunity of form. No. 9 is more serious again, and in some respects better than No. 8. The only orchestral oddities are three saxophones, discreetly and effectively used, and a flugelhorn, which is so little remarkable in tone-quality that it was hardly worth specifying. The form, with_ two excellent, weighty and well-matched outer movements en- closing a more uneven slow movement and scherzo, is stronger and much better balanced than that of No. 8, and except for the poor march- theme in the slow movement, it avoids such extreme disparities in quality of invention. On the other hand, nowhere in it is there any note com- pletely new to Vaughan Williams's music, such as there was in the first movement and scherzo of No. 8.
If Vaughan Williams's reputation as one of the great originals of the modern symphony does out- live him at all, it will be the first five that are like- liest to be remembered, while the later ones will probably be written off as errors of his old age. The recent one that stands the best chance of survival is the one now least admired, the Antartica, which comes nearest to the stature of the early ones—possibly because it has an avowed `programme.' The value of the 'programme' there was not that it propped up a rickety musical form but that it inspired the composer to that sustained seriousness and intensity of musical purpose that seems to be the real lack in No. 9, as in all the `pure' symphonies that he has written since the war.
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