'Concentration and economy': Jeremy Dale Roberts by Richard CaustonOpen or Close
It has the uncanny ability to make a very few notes tell - as if the fewer notes there are, the more is being said. His work has been described as "interior in nature and very reflective", and though often jewel-like, intimate and private, it is also uncompromising: the listener cannot get too comfortable, for there could be an outburst around the corner.
Some of his most characteristic pieces come in the form of a series of miniatures in which bold or fleeting utterances (and equally importantly, the silences that punctuate them) become microcosms, grains of sand in which a world might be glimpsed. His music is informed by a profound fascination with visual art; a case in point is the piano work Oggetti - Omaggio a Morandi (2003), in which the restrained, hermetic world of the Italian artist finds a ready musical response.
The dignity and mute eloquence of Morandi's objects - bottles, jugs and pitchers disposed as if in a family photograph - is reflected in understated yet powerful music that somehow forces you into a slower pace of listening.
Karen Wilkin's remarks, in her monograph on Morandi, could apply equally well to Dale Roberts: "For anyone who pays attention, the microcosm of Morandi's tablecloth becomes vast, the space between objects immense, pregnant, and expressive ... The austere gives way to the seductive."
Just as it would be reductive to pigeonhole Morandi as an artist who only painted jugs, so Dale Roberts' compositional concerns are by no means restricted to miniaturism.
In Tombeau (1966-69), the sequence of studies and variations lasting some half an hour that he composed for the pianist Stephen Bishop-Kovacevic, we find him having a conversation with traditions of pianistic virtuosity, specifically of the sort found in Schumann and Szymanovsky.
In Croquis (1976-80), another large-scale work, the virtuosity is of a different kind: volatile, sinuous and intense, in response to the performing temperament of the members of the Arditti String Quartet for whom it was written.
When recently I asked Dale Roberts whether his views on virtuosity had changed since composing these pieces, his reply (characteristically) invoked the other arts; this time with a quotation from Constantin Brancusi, recounted to him by the sculptor's former mistress, Vera Moore: "The arts have never existed by themselves (outside of folklore); they have always been a prerogative of the religious, and every time religion has been in decline, art has fallen into virtuosity. To make art which is truly independent, one must be God to create it, a king to order it, and a slave to realise it".
Drama and theatricality are also recurring themes in his work: in the highly charged Cello Concerto – ‘Deathwatch’, which Dale Roberts wrote in 1971-74 for Rohan de Saram, the soloist is complemented by a "Doppelgänger" - another cellist, hidden from view, whose amplified sound reflects, mocks or tyrannises the soloist.
Central to the structure of this work is Rilke's idea of Wendung, or the deep, sudden change that may occur at a moment of darkest confusion. The idea of mirroring, which is further manifest in the symmetrical layout of the orchestra, was suggested by Cocteau's film Orphée, a factor that may also have influenced his conception of the piece as a "composition in black and white".
Theatrical elements are again present in works such as Stelæ (2003), commissioned by the Royal College of Music Gamelan, in which a kind of ritual is enacted by an ensemble of some 20 Javanese gongs with two drummers, again antiphonally arrayed. None of these pieces, however, betray much about the composer's origins.
Jeremy Dale Roberts was born in Gloucestershire in 1934, the same year that Elgar, Delius and Holst died. The prevailing musical culture of the time was that of the English Pastoral school and the Three Choirs Festival, whose ethos was, as he puts it, genetically imprinted on him. When he began to show interest in composition his godmother, who ran a small local music festival (and had been a friend of Holst) was able to introduce him to some of the leading composers of the time: he came to know both Finzi and Vaughan Williams well, receiving from them encouragement and advice on his music.
As a student at the Royal Academy of Music he studied with William Alwyn and Priaulx Rainier. Rainier was a South-African born composer and in many ways an outsider, progressive and radically at odds with the accepted norms of English music. It was she who challenged and stretched him, broadening his horizons with her more international outlook, Stravinskian aesthetic and rigorous technical approach. From her he inherited a muscularity and rhythmic vitality in his composition, as well as the economy that persists to this day.
After two years out, spent in the highlands of Cameroon, Dale Roberts returned to London to teach composition at Morley College - the same class that was taught over the years by composers such as Sir Michael Tippett and Sir Harrison Birtwistle. It was unusual in being open to all, and the students there included housewives, doctors, mathematicians, psychiatrists, and retired people: it was, says Dale Roberts, probably the most rewarding teaching he was ever engaged in.
Occasional extra work as a pianist and teacher brought encounters with figures such as harmonica legend Larry Adler, to whom he taught orchestration, and Bernard Herrmann, for whom he worked as a "répétiteur", note-bashing for the lead singer in the midst of some fraught recording sessions for Herrmann's opera Wuthering Heights in Barking Town Hall.
The 1960s were a time of great cultural awakening in Britain. The work of artists such as Fellini, Beckett, Cage and Merce Cunningham was coming to be known, and the avant-garde and experimental were well supported - and not necessarily tamed - by the state.
At the BBC, Sir William Glock was programming music by the more progressive European composers, and the works of Messiaen, Boulez, Stockhausen and Berio were introduced to British audiences for the first time. It was an extraordinarily stimulating environment, and Dale Roberts responded with works such as Reconciliation for Speaker and Musicians (1969), which uses specially written texts to explore a kind of no-man's-land between semantics, phonetics and instrumental "speech".
In 1966, he joined the composition staff at the Royal College of Music, where he was to remain, latterly as Head of Composition, for over 30 years. As the composer Erika Fox, who studied with him in the 60s, points out: "It's extremely difficult to teach composition. While compositional techniques, the study of other composers' works, historical perspectives etc, are a necessary part of the process, the real difficulties lie in discerning what another person actually wants to say, however obscurely expressed, so that one can point that person towards forging a language in which to say those things."
Dale Roberts has a rare gift for precisely this, alongside an uncanny ability to divine what will be useful for the student at a particular stage in their development and point them in the right direction. As well as concrete musical guidance this often yields a surprising list of new artistic avenues to be explored, whether it's the novels of Virginia Woolf or Proust, the poetry of Saint John Perse or Tsvetayeva, or the music of Prefab Sprout or KD Lang. As Erika Fox comments: "It is often said that good composers make bad composition teachers, because the temptation to impress one's own ways of thinking is too strong: Dale Roberts demonstrates that such an assumption is false. His own music is utterly individual, deeply moving and deeply felt."
Now celebrating his 70th birthday, and with several new and exciting works in the pipeline, his music is at last beginning to receive the attention it deserves.
Richard Causton © 2004
'An Individual voice': Jeremy Dale Roberts by Bayan NorthcottOpen or CloseBack in 1980: another evening on Radio 3, another new BBC commission – only there was something intriguingly different about this one. Instead of writing a single substantial work, the composer had asked if he could cast it in the form of a collection of short pieces to be spaced between programmes across an entire evening’s broadcasting – and so the three ‘Cahiers’ of miniatures comprising Croquis for string trio were duly launched by members of the Arditti Quartet. Yet, despite the interruptions of quite other music, discussion programmes and whatnot, the work’s disparate items accumulated a surprising cohesion. Evidently this was a composer of distinctive sensibility and a wide cultural reach, with a special gift for teasing concentrated character pieces from the most exiguous materials.
So who was Jeremy Dale Roberts? The name was not entirely unfamiliar to Radio 3 listeners or London concertgoers. Earlier works had comprised a Sinfonia da Caccia (1967) publicly rehearsed by the SPNM, and a substantial Cello Concerto – ‘Deathwatch’ (1971-74) for Rohan de Saram. And he was already established as a respected teacher of composition at the Royal College of Music. Yet compared with such contemporaries as Alexander Goehr, Harrison Birtwistle or Peter Maxwell Davies, he seemed a fugitive figure – and so, to a quite undue degree, he has remained almost until now. Far from being recognized as the major addition to the string trio repertoire that it is, Croquis had to wait till 2007 for its first complete concert performance – by the players on this recording.
Maybe he was unlucky not to attract an active publisher early on or to secure a prestigious Proms commission. Then again, dedicated teaching can be a creatively draining occupation. As he turns 75, his catalogue remains modest: some 30 scores, mainly for vocal groups, varied small instrumental ensembles or his own instrument, the piano – not the sort of works likely to wow mass audiences. Yet one suspects that, however much attention he might have received, the music would not have been very different. Though ‘Deathwatch’ is deeply felt, though his piano music can be sonorously spacious and his ensemble writing fiercely incisive, the essential Dale Roberts seems to be an intimiste, meditating on the fundamentals of his art and their many overtones; an individual voice speaking to the individual listener.
An individual voice – but with a multiplicity of nuances and implications. Born in Gloucestershire, he was early befriended and encouraged by Gerald Finzi and Ralph Vaughan William, and went on to study with William Alwyn. No doubt hints of their Englishry are still to be heard in the background of his music, but almost completely subsumed in an idiom that has variously drawn inspiration from French baroque, the Spanish guitar tradition, the paintings of Giorgio Morandi, the poetry of Cavafy and Mandelstam, and even the Balinese gamelan. Indeed, such a diversity of reference could easily have lapsed into a mere post-modern cultural pick-and-mix but for a residual austerity of means deriving perhaps from his other Royal Academy teacher, Priaulx Rainier. Yet where Rainier remained severely spare to the end, the effect in Dale Roberts is quite different.
To an exceptional degree, he seems to understand that the spaces between the notes, the pauses between the phrases, can be made to do much of the work; that, providing the pitches are right, the air around them can be made to vibrate with sonic, affective, pictorial and poetic resonances in the receptive ear far beyond what the few notes on the page might seem to suggest – what Benjamin Britten called the ‘magic’ of music that is ‘not in it, but of it’.
However, the two large scale works on this CD exemplify this gift in quite contrasting ways. The 27 miniatures assembled in Croquis are, by and large, relatively objective in manner: abstract studies in various techniques or playful ‘stylisations’ of genres ranging from 18th-century French dance forms to Hungarian gypsy music. When performed in order and complete, the overall impression is of a ‘multi-piece’ exemplifying the modernist ideal of the maximally fragmented surface masking a coherent and unified background. The more recent sequence of six pieces for violin and piano comprising Tristia are far more subjective and ‘internal’, in expression and mood, with intimations of early 20th-century St. Petersburg and its darkly flowing canals. Indeed, Dale Roberts and his players were still altering and refining its nuances during the recording session itself. It is to be hoped that the passionate performances on this CD will at last draw the attention it deserves to the music of a substantial and highly individual composer.
Bayan Northcott © 2009
‘Jeremy Dale Roberts: 70th-birthday retrospective’ by John FallasOpen or CloseThose who like to measure out composers’ lives in anniversaries can count themselves connoisseurs if they made this particular birthday party. Jeremy Dale Roberts, who was born in Gloucestershire in 1934 and came to his brand of internationalist modernism only after early contact with the very English father figures of Gerald Finzi and Ralph Vaughan Williams, has never received attention comparable to that which brings his exact contemporaries Peter Maxwell Davies and Harrison Birtwistle major Proms features this summer. But he has kept his integrity through the changes of the stylistic weather-vane which one associates with those four names, and produced a considered and refined output of perfectly crafted chamber works through what is now close on fifty years.
Not the least reason Dale Roberts has remained such a well-kept secret must be the near-absence of orchestral music from his worklist. He is a composer predisposed to the small and carefully made, whether in terms of instrumental forces, movement size, or expressive gesture. Which is not to say that he has eschewed the substantial utterance: rather that, as with Oggetti – Omaggio a Morandi (2001–3), a half-hour piano work premiered in this year’s Park Lane Group January concerts, or its predecessor, Tombeau, written in 1966–9 for Stephen Kovacevich, he prefers to put together a sequence of miniatures, a mosaic-like construction which speaks obliquely out of its intersections and odd angles of juxtaposition. The visual analogy is not accidental. Dale Roberts’s oeuvre manifests a collector’s openness to influence from other art forms, other areas of life (everyday bric-à-brac as much as exquisite rarities), other cultures. Encountering this music, one imagines the composer surrounded by an array of objects, some strange, some prosaic, all ripe for absorption in a new work of art.
Lontano’s tribute concert assembled four pieces which between them put on display several related preoccupations: the miniature form and associated possibilities of extended structuring; the use of quotation from other composers’ music; and a fondness for unusual instrumentations. Hamadryad (2001), for alto flute, viola and guitar, showed most clearly its composer’s international cast of mind and his primary stylistic orientation, a kind of ascetically sumptuous exoticism here evoking the sound-world of late-Debussy-thru-Le marteau sans maître, no doubt partly influenced by Dale Roberts’s teacher Priaulx Rainier but quite personal in its oblique beauty.
Perhaps the least ‘French’ of the works heard tonight, despite its title, was Croquis, composed in 1976–80 for members of the Arditti Quartet. In one way, Dale Roberts is a sort of English Kurtág, and that aspect was at its clearest in this trio, a suite-like convolute (to borrow a term from Walter Benjamin’s English translators)obeying Brian Ferneyhough’s dictum that the string trio has a history and a genetic make-up more ‘alternative’ and more various than that of the quartet. The title means ‘sketch’, and appears to designate certain sections as well as the work as a whole, though the programme note was so unclear that I remain unsure whether we heard the complete work or – as I suspect – movements of a larger opus designed for partial performance in this manner. There was a piece of exquisite ‘chinoiserie’ and a shadowily fascinating berceuse ‘pour les violes’. Snatches of Vivaldi, Elgar, Bartók, Lutosławski and others were just the musical elements in a piece which drew for its inspiration on a diverse list of objets trouvés – Blake’s woodcuts and the drawings of Watteau were also among those cited by the composer.
Other musics got a look-in, too, in Layers (1995), Purcell in his tercentenary year meeting Chopin, Debussy and Mahler in a rather uglified response to Dido’s beautiful lament. This was one of two pieces, framing the programme, which originally arose as commissions from the ensemble Sounds Positive for its idiosyncratic line-up of four high melody instruments: flute, oboe, clarinet and trumpet. But it was the evocative Winter Music (1990) which seemed the more successful solution to the inherent problems (how to achieve variety and relief with four wind instruments of similar register and limited compass), with its judicious use of the cor anglais and of the clarinet’s chalumeau register, as well as the halo of tuned percussion and bells surrounding the core quartet. Both pieces were played, like all of the music tonight, by a line-up of committed Lontano regulars.
The Dale Roberts recordings scheduled for release in early 2005 will be a more than usually welcome addition to Lontano’s burgeoning discography (on their own Lorelt label) of neglected composers, and a chance to re-hear this difficult, rewarding music, which gives up its secrets slowly.
John Fallas © 2004