* Holst: Suite No. 1 in E-flat, op. 28a
       Suite No. 2 in F, op. 28b
* Vaughan Williams: Folk Song Suite
       Toccata Marziale
* Mennin: Canzona
* Persichetti: Psalm
* H. Owen Reed: La Fiesta Mexicana

Eastman Wind Ensemble/Frederick Fennell
Mercury Living Presence 289 462 960-2 MONO Total time: 71:12

Summary for the Busy Executive: At last.

Classic performances by the ne plus ultra band and bandleader of the
postwar era. In many instances, the accounts have never been bettered,
even at this late date. I've been waiting like Patience on a monument for
these recordings to be re-released. Indeed, I couldn't see why Philips and
Polygram didn't rush these out as soon as possible. The jewel box may have
provided the clue. Right on the back are the four dreaded letters "MONO."
I've loved these performances for so long, it never occurred to me even
to notice whether they were in stereo or not. The sound, at any rate, is
quite fine. Don't be put off by a trivial point. I've heard no recorded
performance of the Holst or the Vaughan Williams pieces with the bite and
vigor of these. Denis Wick provided acceptable stopgaps, but this release
supersedes his accounts, bland in comparison.

Fennell did much to popularize the concert wind ensemble in the U.S. and
to raise American notions of wind band repertoire. Even now, when most
Americans think of the wind ensemble, they think of marching bands at
high-school and college football games, rather than of Mozart's Serenade
No.  10 or of Stravinsky's Symphonies of Wind Instruments. The Goldman
Band, the spiritual ancestor of the Eastman Wind Ensemble, with much the
same repertoire, confined its activities mainly to the east coast and had
nothing like Fennell's recording schedule. Fennell also wrote a book on
wind band music, Time and the Winds, that in many ways set the serious
repertoire for these forces.

The Holst suites come from 1908 and 1910. Fennell claims the earlier
suite as "the first significant work for the wind band written in the
20th century." It may be true, for all I know. Holst had written at least
two earlier chamber works featuring winds, but these represent his first
mature productions. Both works come after Holst discovers English folk
song as a means to finding his own voice, and both show Holst's ruthless
elegance of expression, as if he had a holy horror of wasting a note. But
their similarity ends there. The first suite, to all intents and purposes,
has only one theme (a Holst original), which from which Holst builds three
movements: a chaconne, a rapid double-time scherzo, and a quick march. The
character of each differs radically from the other: a noble first movement,
a light-fantastic second, and a swaggering third. The second suite uses
Hampshire folk tunes as its basic material, but it is a no less original
piece than the first. The settings, meticulous as Faberge, seem made with
a mind to providing the "best possible" context of the tunes. Indeed, all
the movements take your breath away, especially the last two - "Song of the
Blacksmith" and "Fantasia on the Dargason." Holst has two surprises. He
begins "Song of the Blacksmith" with the main accent off-the-beat, so that
when the tune finally comes in, your inner feet have to do a little skip
to readjust. The finale, a contrapuntal tour-de-force, pits the "Dargason"
(also known, at least in the U.S., as "The Irish Washerwoman") against
"Greensleeves." Who knew these tunes went together? Holst had, I think,
a justifiable pride in the second suite, since he used it as the basis
of other works - notably, the choral Six Folksongs - and arranged the
"Fantasia" finale for strings as the conclusion to his St. Paul's Suite.

The Vaughan Williams Folk Song Suite of 1924, standing beside the Holst,
comes across as far more relaxed - a holiday good time. In its full
orchestration by Gordon Jacob, it has become one of the composer's
best-known works, but the original scoring, which I prefer, has more grit.
To some extent, it's one of those pieces Vaughan Williams wrote to get
English folk songs out to a wider audience. The structure of each movement
is generally pretty simple. Nevertheless, Vaughan Williams has such a
marvelous sense of harmony and such a great ear for a tune, the work
seduces totally. I can't think of a dull bar in it. From the opening brass
fanfares to the insouciance of the finale, the piece evokes images of
mounted guardsmen, band shells in Bath, kids with pennywhistles, and even
the elegiac promptings of night. The Toccata Marziale (again, 1924) shows
the composer working much harder, essentially inventing a polyphonic band
idiom of such immense rhythmic and harmonic sophistication that it
influences pieces written decades later. I think a case could be made of
its influence on the American Peter Mennin, particularly on his Canzona of
1951, commissioned by the Goldman Band. Mennin and Vaughan Williams share
the contrapuntal (as opposed to chorale or melody-accompaniment) approach
to wind writing and both use the counterpoint as a means of generating
rhythmic excitement. Mennin's orchestration sounds brighter and cleaner
than the older composer's, and the idiom comes through as a bit nervous,
perhaps even jittery. But it does indeed get the blood running.

Persichetti is a major player in contributing to the modern repertoire
for wind band, as opposed to the occasional dabbler, with several large
works, including at least one symphony, for this ensemble. The Psalm
appeared a year after Mennin's Canzona. Why Persichetti called it a "psalm"
I have no idea. It certainly doesn't use the conventional idioms of
religious music, and it doesn't call to mind any particular psalm. The
solemn opening Persichetti calls a "chorale," but it's definitely a chorale
filtered through Stravinsky. Persichetti lays out the work in three large
sections, each in a noticeably faster tempo, culminating in a brilliant,
electrifying allegro molto, which at the very end recapitulates themes from
throughout the work. It clocks in at a hefty 8 minutes, but it also takes
you on a thrill ride. Like just after a really good roller coaster, you
want to go again as soon as it's over.

H. Owen Reed has also contributed many works for band and has a special
place in the hearts of high-school and college players. However, compared
to similar pieces by Copland, Bowles, Moross, to say nothing of works by
Revueltas, La Fiesta Mexicana (subtitled "Mexican Folk Song Symphony") is
pretty small beer. The tunes are expertly arranged, the structure sound
enough, and the wind writing capable, but nothing here gets your jaw to
drop - no individually imaginative approach to the material or a
compositional technique beyond competent. To me, despite the addition
of harp and extra percussion, it sounds rather bland.

The sound, once again, is mono, but not "historic." The instruments
sound like their real-life selves rather than crammed in a tin box.
The performances are all knock-outs. Fennell's articulation of rhythm
electrifies. I haven't heard better accounts of the Holst and Vaughan
Williams works. I pass on the Reed, but I'm a stinker. Others have found
it delightful. Highly recommended.

Steve Schwartz