One of the greatest treasures of the English language is the wealth of beautiful poetry from different eras inspired by the story of Christmas. Writers at all times from the Middle Ages to the twentieth century have set pen to paper and produced verse of high quality, drawing on different aspects of the Christmas story for their themes.
Among all these Christmas poems, the imperial pride of place must go -- I think -- to John Milton's majestic Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity. Composed on a most unusual rhythmic and rhyme scheme, Milton's poem in 27 stanzas with a four-stanza introduction is not overly lengthy but in its scope and interweaving of multiple themes clearly foreshadows the more epic creations that would flow from his pen in years to come. Nothing about this poem is quite so startling as the fact that Milton completed this work while still a university undergraduate.
Although the vivid imagery of the poem and its themes alike seem to me to cry out for musical illustration, no truly well-known composers have undertaken the task. Certainly Vaughan Williams made magnificent use of six stanzas in two separate sections of his 1954 Christmas cantata Hodie (read about that work here: A Christmas Miracle in Music). But years earlier, back around the turn of the twentieth century, Scottish composer John McEwen produced a setting of symphonic scale, bearing the title of the poem. He set most of the text in due order, omitting the four introductory stanzas and three more from the Hymn proper.
As far as anyone has been able to discover, this uniquely powerful and evocative music -- although written up in at least one contemporary musical journal -- was never performed or even heard until Scottish conductor Alasdair Mitchell recorded it in 1998 with Chandos Records, fifty years after the composer's death.
My first reaction on hearing this large-scale work was to feel regret that the man who created it never (apparently) got to hear it played and sung. Despite that lack, the music seems to me to display an uncommon degree of assurance and sophistication such as might be expected from an older composer of much more experience. This is the more startling when you realize that his two greatest works for the orchestra, the Three Border Ballads (reviewed here: Unknown Scottish Romantic Music) and the Solway Symphony, still lay ahead of him when he composed this setting of Milton's verses.
I wanted to emphasize that point because what strikes me most of all is the strength of the structural organization in the different sections of McEwen's Ode, and his mastery of orchestration and colour as a means of underlying his view of Milton's words. The very opening proves the point: a chilling orchestral introduction which effectively paints both the violent negative energy and the sheer coldness of the opening line of the poem, "It was the winter wild...."
Even more gripping is the extraordinary battle music in the sixth movement, and the powerful post-Wagnerian chromaticism of the seventh, reaching almost into the sound world of Schoenberg's monumental Gurrelieder.
But in between these more dramatic moments are others of great lyrical beauty and repose: the moving pastoral vein of Nos. 2 and 3 or the gentle lullaby evoking the sleeping Christ Child in the final pages. All these, and more besides, are skillfully drawn by the composer.
In some ways, the most startling moment for me comes in the sixth movement where McEwen sets the same stanzas used by Vaughan Williams in the exhilarating finale of Hodie. But McEwen approaches the poetry from a completely different angle, and the words (as a result) sound brand-fire-new rather than old familiar friends.
The net effect of this entire work is very much a unified whole in spite of its division into numbered movements, a single mighty arch of choral and orchestral sound. There's no denying McEwen's skill in setting Milton's sometimes-complex phrases, nor the deep insight which the composer has brought to the underlying messages and meanings of the poem. And, like all the greatest works of music, the end comes far too soon for my liking.
Indeed, I think I admire most of all the concision of McEwen's structure and writing that lets him cover this rather lengthy poem, all but completely, in less than an hour's span.
The one and only (as far as I know) recording is still available as a download from Chandos Records.
As far as anyone has been able to discover, this uniquely powerful and evocative music -- although written up in at least one contemporary musical journal -- was never performed or even heard until Scottish conductor Alasdair Mitchell recorded it in 1998 with Chandos Records, fifty years after the composer's death.
My first reaction on hearing this large-scale work was to feel regret that the man who created it never (apparently) got to hear it played and sung. Despite that lack, the music seems to me to display an uncommon degree of assurance and sophistication such as might be expected from an older composer of much more experience. This is the more startling when you realize that his two greatest works for the orchestra, the Three Border Ballads (reviewed here: Unknown Scottish Romantic Music) and the Solway Symphony, still lay ahead of him when he composed this setting of Milton's verses.
I wanted to emphasize that point because what strikes me most of all is the strength of the structural organization in the different sections of McEwen's Ode, and his mastery of orchestration and colour as a means of underlying his view of Milton's words. The very opening proves the point: a chilling orchestral introduction which effectively paints both the violent negative energy and the sheer coldness of the opening line of the poem, "It was the winter wild...."
Even more gripping is the extraordinary battle music in the sixth movement, and the powerful post-Wagnerian chromaticism of the seventh, reaching almost into the sound world of Schoenberg's monumental Gurrelieder.
But in between these more dramatic moments are others of great lyrical beauty and repose: the moving pastoral vein of Nos. 2 and 3 or the gentle lullaby evoking the sleeping Christ Child in the final pages. All these, and more besides, are skillfully drawn by the composer.
In some ways, the most startling moment for me comes in the sixth movement where McEwen sets the same stanzas used by Vaughan Williams in the exhilarating finale of Hodie. But McEwen approaches the poetry from a completely different angle, and the words (as a result) sound brand-fire-new rather than old familiar friends.
The net effect of this entire work is very much a unified whole in spite of its division into numbered movements, a single mighty arch of choral and orchestral sound. There's no denying McEwen's skill in setting Milton's sometimes-complex phrases, nor the deep insight which the composer has brought to the underlying messages and meanings of the poem. And, like all the greatest works of music, the end comes far too soon for my liking.
Indeed, I think I admire most of all the concision of McEwen's structure and writing that lets him cover this rather lengthy poem, all but completely, in less than an hour's span.
The one and only (as far as I know) recording is still available as a download from Chandos Records.
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