British Music

Is There Actual History in the Song “With a Hundred Pipers”?

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Prince Charles Edward Stuart. Eldest son of Prince James Francis Edward Stuart. Painted by William Mosman around 1750; accessed via Wikipedia.

I’ve written about the history of conflict between England and Scotland in several other posts, but if you’re coming to this material without having read those a bit of background is in order. Scotland and England fought each other for centuries, but it looked as though things were settled in 1603, when Queen Elizabeth I died and left no children, naming the king of Scotland, her cousin James Stuart, as her heir. He became James I of England and in theory united the countries. (He is perhaps most famous for commissioning the King James Bible.)

Alas, relations between the two countries did not remain peaceful. A big bone of contention was religion, even though both countries were Protestant. Charles I, James’ son, riled the Scots by his determination to control Scottish church government. England was also determined not to go back to the Roman Catholic church. In 1688 James II, who was James I’s grandson, was kicked off the throne over this very issue. He had converted to Roman Catholicism before becoming king, and his second wife was French and Catholic.  But his first wife had been Protestant and English and his two daughters from that marriage had been raised Anglican. So the English kept their fingers crossed that he wouldn’t have any sons from this second wife. A male heir would automatically take his place at the front of the succession line, but James was 51 when he became king and his wife had a long history of miscarriages and stillbirths. So what could possibly go wrong? Well, as it turned out, a lot. James’ wife did indeed finally produce a surviving son, and a Catholic dynasty seemed in the offing. England rose up against him and offered the throne to Mary of Orange, the eldest daughter of James’ first marriage, and her husband William. (“Orange” is a region in The Netherlands.)

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How Ralph Vaughn Williams launched his career into the Unknown Region

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Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

I have to say that I hadn’t realized what a fruitful source of lyrics for choral music Walt Whitman has been until I started writing this article. My own choir, the Cherry Creek Chorale in the Denver area, has sung a couple of other pieces besides this one with lyrics by Whitman over the years that I’ve been involved with the group. (You can read about them here and here–you’ll have to scroll down to read about the Whitman poem in that second article.) His poetry is so open, fresh and enthusiastic that music seems like a logical next step in presenting his work. About five hundred composers have written about twelve hundred works rooted, in some way, in Whitman, and the use of his poetry has only grown over the years.

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What’s the Meaning of the Phrase “Whistle Down the Wind”?

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Image accessed via https://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/whistle-down-the-wind.html

I am, of course, referring to the song from the musical by Andrew Lloyd Weber that premiered in 1996 and has been arranged for use by choral groups. But Weber wasn’t the first to title a major work by this name. Here’s the genealogy:

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Three Men, Three Countries, One Masterpiece—“Homeland”

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National Guard troops guarding the US Capitol building, Jan. 13, 2021, accessed via bbc.com.

Do you want to know my clearest memory of this piece? My choir had scheduled it for a March 2013 concert; when we sang it through for the first time at rehearsal I suddenly realized that the woman who sat next to me was crying. The words had hit her like a ton of bricks—her fiancé had been killed in Vietnam, she said. And indeed the words are very emotional, even more so when you know their history.

The first of the three men associated with this piece was Cecil Spring Rice, a British diplomat who served as ambassador to the US starting in 1912 and who wrote a poem named “Urbs Dei”

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The Wild and Wacky World of Wassailing

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no image attribution given on the website https://www.manmadediy.com/

Oh my goodness! If you’ve read many of my posts on this site you’re probably familiar with my saying, “Well, I thought this was a simple song . . .” But nowhere would this phrase be more appropriate than it is here, as I attempt to explain the concept of “wassailing” and then apply those ideas to two traditional Christmas songs that are often performed during the holidays, “Gloucestershire Wassail (Wassail, Wassail, All Over the Town)” and “Here We Come A-Wassailing,” with a bonus mention of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” which doesn’t directly mention wassailing but which contains wassail-adjacent ideas as you’ll see below.

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Britten’s Blunder but with a Bright Side–Choral Dances from Gloriana

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Benjamin Britten in his library
Britten in the mid-1960s, by Hans Wild; image accessed via Wikipedia.

I want you to imagine yourself in this situation: You’re a very popular English composer, becoming especially known for your operas. Your country has just gone through the rigors and horrors of World War II, the current king has died, and now a new queen is to be crowned. She’s young and quite attractive, and she’s been an inspiration during the war, speaking via radio to displaced children and joining an ambulance corps over the objections of her family. You’ve been asked to write an opera to be performed as part of the coronation festivities.

So what would be a good subject for said opera?

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A Motet by a Master

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Stanford as a young man; anonymous public domain photograph; accessed via Wikipedia.

The master of this motet, “Beati Quorum Via,” was Charles V. Stanford, an Irishman who lived from 1852-1924 and who had an extremely distinguished career as a composer, teacher, and conductor. Out of the extensive list of his accomplishments I’ll just mention that he was one of the founders of the Royal College of Music, which is still around today. He produced over 200 works, including symphonies and operas, but nowadays the performances of his works are limited to some of his church music and an iridescent, shimmering piece “The Blue Bird” which I’ve performed with my own choir. Head over to that post if you’d like to read about it.

Two interesting tidbits about Stanford’s productive years: 1) He really, really wanted to be recognized for his operas and wrote nine of them. Only one had any success to speak of, Shamus O’Brien, which premiered in 1896 and ran for 82 performances. But it was a comic opera, not at all what he’d been writing previously in the genre. Alas! And while that number of performances was pretty good, guess who his comic opera competition was? None other than Gilbert & Sullivan. (Arthur Sullivan was also Irish, by the way). So Stanford was probably never going to get much traction if he’d pursued that path. But his serious operas got basically no traction at all, with a review of one, Savonarola, calling the music “crushingly tiresome.” 2) He was known for his combative personality. Here’s a description from his time on the board of the Royal College:

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A Neglected Gilbert & Sullivan Gem and Its Complicated Finale–The Gondoliers

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From Act I of the 1907 D’Oyly Carte production at the Savoy Theatre; image accessed via Wikipedia.

I’m a certified Gilbert & Sullivan junkie, as are my husband and his family. When I was in grade school I had a set of Golden Something-or-Other records and a little record player (yes, it’s true), and one of those ancient disks had G&S selections on it. I can remember listening over and over again to the Mikado’s “My Object All Sublime” and trying to figure out what on earth the words meant about the punishment doled out to a “billiard shark” (whatever that was): “On a cloth untrue/With a twisted cue/And elliptical billiard balls!” I finally realized that this was a pool table with a distorted tabletop, cues and balls. I’ve seen numerous productions of The Mikado and even two performances of the Hot Mikado, a jazz version that is, like, totally great. (The gentlemen of Japan are dressed in zoot suits.) I’ve seen H.M.S. Pinafore and The Pirates of Penzance on both film and in live performances. (Check out the Linda Ronstadt/Kevin Kline/Angela Lansbury version.) I’ve seen a live performance of Patience, one of the lesser-known in the canon. But until I participated in a concert that included the finale from The Gondoliers I’d never even heard of this particular creation.

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How did William Mathias attain the honor of having one of the largest audiences ever to hear the premier of a musical work?

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Image by sandid from Pixabay

How large was that audience? Well, estimates vary–all the way from 750 million to one billion. And I was one of them, folks.

Oh how well do I remember the early morning of July 29, 1981, when my mother came into the bedroom at 3:30 AM to get me up so that we could watch the wedding of Prince Charles and Diana Spencer live on my parents’ color TV. (The festivities began at around 10:30 AM British Summer Time, which is 7 hours ahead of Mountain Daylight Time, thus the unearthly rising time.) All I had at my apartment was a little black-and-white set, so we’d decided that I’d come over and spend the night and then get up with her. (I think my dad was working his night shift at the Post Office so he was out of the picture, in more ways than one—there’s no way he would have gotten up to watch it, I’m sure.) I remember groaning when she woke me up and saying, “I don’t want to do it” or something equally graceless, to which she said, “What? You don’t want to get up? You want to miss this?” So I heaved myself out of bed and we watched the whole thing. I have to say that my most vivid memory of the ceremony itself was thinking that the train on Diana’s dress looked kind of . . . strange. Like a hugely-long apron stretching down the aisle. Sorry! For some reason Diana did not consult me about the design of her gown. I also remember watching her climb out of that Cinderella coach and having to pull all those yards of silk out after her. Just as I thought, ‘Wow, that dress is really wrinkled,’ the commentator of the moment said that the dress had been made of heavyweight silk that would shed its wrinkles quickly. Well, maybe so.

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Why Is Henry VIII Associated with the Song “Greensleeves,” and Does the Song Have Anything to Do with Sleeves on a Dress? Etc.

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“The Lady Greensleeves” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, By Dante Gabriel Rossetti – No machine-readable source provided. Own work assumed (based on copyright claims)., CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2522302

I am constantly, I mean constantly, realizing that some piece of music I’ve heard all my life is full of unanswered questions. So, honestly, I had never asked myself, ‘Is someone actually wearing green sleeves in “Greensleeves”?’ When I saw this piece on the list for a concert by my own choir, however, I realized that I knew very little about it even though I’ve heard it all my life. The tune is also used for “What Child Is This?” and for one of the songs in the movie How the West Was Won, “I’ll Build You a Home in the Meadow.” So what’s what here?

Let’s start with the whole reason that this piece is seen as having some connection to royalty: the idea that King Henry VIII of England wrote it for the woman he loved, Anne Boleyn, who became his second wife and ultimately lost her head. Alas, my friends. That little idea seems to be a total myth, although it makes a good story. The first public appearance of the song was as a “broadside ballad” in 1580, but Henry had died in 1547, and his pursuit of Anne Boleyn had taken place well before that, in the mid-1520’s. Could he have written the song then, with its only being ublished over 50 years later? Well, of course he could have. Anything could have happened with this song, really. But is there any actual evidence of Henry’s authorship? Not a jot. There’s one glancing reference in another song using the same tune to “King Harries time,” and that’s it.

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