When Sir Paul’s tone Poem Standing Stone was first premiered, and then released as a CD in 1997, it attracted a very mixed reception, which is fair enough. In fact I rather like to see the musical purists get their underwear in a bit of a twist when they try to tell us how bad something is, how derivative, how shallow, how it sounds as if it has been written by a committee, and, how dare you step over the musical boundaries and try your hand at ’serious’ music. In other words elitism at its worst. And believe me if there was a decree from No 10 and the White House tomorrow that all music be left in the hands of the purists, then music, all music, would die very quickly, and good riddance because none of it would be worth listening to.

And McCartney’s Standing Stone is worth listening to, and more than once.

Sir Paul’s first recorded effort at ’serious’ composing (as if composing hundreds of popular songs was not serious for goodness sake) was his 1991 Liverpool Oratorio which I remember as a tremendously moving piece of work that quite naturally showed the influence of Elgar (who made the oratorio his own in the early 20th century), but to my ears much more that of Vaughan Williams, Arnold Bax, plus a good helping of John Tavener and Malcolm Arnold, who were, and are, masters of assimilation, as is McCartney - you only have to listen to Sgt Pepper, the early Wings recordings, and some recent solo McCartney, to understand what I’m getting at; and without assimilation art, any art, cannot move ahead, cannot be creative.

And it’s the same with Standing Stone, McCartney’s first real stab at a symphonic piece. It worked in October 1997 when it was premiered and released, and it worked last night when, with Hilary, I listened to it again.

This is what McCartney has to say about Standing Stone in the liner notes to the CD…

” I’ve spent much of the last four years composing what has now become my second large-scale classical work, the symphonic poem Standing Stone. Unlike the Liverpool Oratorio which features prominent roles for four solo singers, Standing Stone relies entirely on colours and effects drawn from the orchestral and choral forces. With no soloists to propel the “story” and to help keep me on track throughout the writing of about 75 minutes of music I wrote a poem in which I try to describe the way Celtic man might have wondered about the origins of life and the mystery of human existence…”

And it is there that we have the secret of this piece of wonderful music - that of man wondering what life is all about. It’s the same secret we discover when we look at Anthony Gormley’s 100 iron men looking out to sea from Crosby beach - their solitariness, their stillness and their fortitude. It is what we hear in this music, especially in Part 9, where McCartney introduces a melody of such simplicity and beauty that it almost breaks your heart (which has come from a good deal of contemplation and experience), and what we hear too in the music of Sir Malcolm Arnold who, like McCartney, was criticised by those damned purists for being popular. And the more I listen to Standing Stone the more I realise that Arnold has undoubtedly been a greater influence (consciously or subconsciously) than any other composer on McCartney’s symphonic music, but not in a negative sense. The underlying echoes of Arnold (Sir Paul might disagree) come through to me as a kind of homage to a man who shared many of Sir Paul’s ideals and beliefs, and, like Paul, wrote music from the heart.

Then it occurred to Hilary - who has recently started a campaign to save Gormley’s ‘Another Place’ at Crosby - that McCartney’s Standing Stone is effectively the soundtrack to Gormley’s magnificent work on that haunted, industrial, almost derelict beach, and that McCartney’s wonderfully evocative, emotional music must, somehow, be performed there.

Any thoughts on how we can make it happen?

Standing Stone, recorded by the London Symphony Orchestra, and conducted by Lawrence Foster, is available on EMI Classics (USA link or UK link).

Sir Paul McCartney’s latest classical work, Ecce Cor Meum, Behold My Heart, a work for chorus and orchestra, will be premiered on Friday 3rd of November at the Royal Albert Hall, London. It is also available on EMI Classics.

Steve Newman

The New York Times has a piece today on a short video over on YouTube in which Pachelbel’s Canon is played with extraordinary virtuosity on an electric guitar by a complete unknown called, Jeong-Hyun Lim.

“The piece that funtwo played with mounting dexterity was an exceedingly difficult rock arrangement of Pachelbel’s Canon, the composition from the turn of the 18th century known for its solemn chord progressions and its overexposure at weddings. But this arrangement, attributed on another title card to JerryC, was anything but plodding: it required high-level mastery of a singularly demanding maneuver called sweep-picking.

“Over and over the guitarist’s left hand articulated strings with barely perceptible movements, sounding and muting notes almost simultaneously, and playing complete arpeggios through a single stroke with his right hand. Funtwo’s accuracy and velocity seemed record-breaking, but his mouth and jawline — to the extent that they were visible — looked impassive, with none of the exaggerated grimaces of heavy metal guitar heroes. The contrast between the soaring bravado of the undertaking and the reticence of the guitarist gave the 5-minute, 20-second video a gorgeous solemnity.”

Hear it on The Blog Herald.

Driving through the Welsh mountains this last weekend with the most beautiful woman in the world, and listening to a Jon Lord CD, I began to think about which genre of music Jon Lord belongs, or should belong, if he belongs anywhere at all.

The CD in question is Pictured Within and was recorded and released back in 1998, and on first hearing might be considered to be a rock album for no other reason than Jon Lord was, is, the keyboard player with Deep Purple. But on second and third hearing, and in my case 40th hearing, the very personal music of Jon Lord can only sit within the classical category for the very simple reason that it uses all the musical ammunition available to the classical composer thereby creating a depth of emotional feeling that today is only found, for instance, in the work of such contemporary composers as John Tavener ( most obviously in The Protecting Veil), and John Adams, whose haunting piece, Harmonium, is probably, for such musicians as Jon Lord, a hugely influential source of creative possibilities.

Pictured Within uses a very simple format of piano, solo cello (very Tavener), solo violin and voice, backed by a small orchestra consisting of a handful of strings, a couple of French horns and a soprano saxophone. What Lord creates out of this small gathering is a huge earth shattering sound ( most notably in the title piece) that at other times, in the pieces ‘Mountain - sunset’, and ‘A Different Sky’, are also little more than whispers.

As with the aforementioned Tavener and Adams Jon Lord proves the point that contemporary music can be accessible and inclusive.

Buy Pictured Within by Jon Lord.

Steve Newman

Does classical music need superstars? Music critic and arts consultant Steve Metcalf writing in NewMusicBox.org thinks it does. “Or one, even,” he almost begs.

But what about Placido Domingo? Or the many great orchestras and conductors we have now, or does it go deeper?

Back in the 1950s, he writes, among performers, Toscanini, Heifetz, Maria Callas, and others, were known to almost everyone. Even as late as the 1980s, a classical performer could be truly famous. Now it’s different, he claims.

“If we speak of instrumentalists who can reliably sell out a house somewhere other than New York or L.A.,” Metcalf continues, “we have basically Yo-Yo (Ma). After that we have a roster of names that are known mostly to aficionados and the readers of Gramophone, but who are unknowns to everybody else. You don’t realize the extent to which this is true until you start working with and around people who pay no attention to serious music, which is most people these days. Try dropping the name Leif Ove Andsnes in your company cafeteria.”

Isn’t it great composers we need? There don’t seem to be many of those around now.

Stephen Walsh recalls the throngs that greeted the composer at concerts in America’s smaller towns and cities, not because they necessarily understood the music but because they wanted to see an icon.

Could crossover music have removed the gloss from the purely classical?