I first heard of George Lloyd about twenty years ago when I came across his second piano concerto on the BBC. I was overwhelmed by it, by its simplicity and stretched melodic lines that slowly embrace you like a lover. And the music is both mysterious ( like a good thriller writer Lloyd doesn’t give too much away too soon) yet familiar - familiar in the sense that its root stock comes from Delius and Vaughan Williams, yet, with that combination of faith and hope, a third voice, the unique voice of Lloyd, comes through like great shafts of sunlight striking Bodmin Moor on a dull summer’s day with the wind turbines marching across a landscape that, in musical terms, is undoubtedly Lloyd’s.

A couple of years ago I was in Cornwall researching for some pieces I was writing on D.H.Lawrence and inevitably found myself at the Zennor Folk Museum which has a good display of the fraught times Lawrence and his wife Frieda spent on the outskirst of Zennor during the First World War. Toward the end of my visit to the museum I came across a first floor room full of rusty domestic nick nacks that made me realise what a major task it must have been to simply open a tin can when Lawrence was looking for the quiet life back in 1917 and simply wanted to be left alone to write and look at the sea as I was now doing through a small church-like window set in the north-west-facing end wall of the room, a window that had a small sign above telling the world as secretly as it could that the composer George Lloyd was born in that very room in 1913, which meant that, as a four year old, he would have seen the strange red bearded man in a green corduroy suit, and his flamboyant German wife in flowing red skirts walking through the village or on the cliff tops many times. They are in his music - their oddness and their vibrancy and their colour, the red and the green.

George Lloyd began to compose early and had some success in the 1930s with two operas and a couple of symphonies, but then World War II came along Lloyd joined the Royal Marines where his long association with band music started. When his ship, HMS Trinidad was torpedoed on artic convoy service he thereafter began to suffer badly from shell shock which effectively destroyed his post war musical career. He spent many years earning a living growing mushrooms and carnations when Benjamin Britten for instance ( who lived in the US during WWII and saw no military service) was making a big musical name for himself.

When Lloyd came back to composing he was considered by many to be old hat, but listen to his music now and there can be no doubt that his creativity and genuine emotion, and not least his skill as an orchestrator and composer of mood and place is second only to the aforemention Delius and Vaughan Williams. He leaves many another English composer out in the cold.

Of his work Lloyd wrote:

” In the early ’60’s I was browsing over the idea of writing a piano concerto when I heard John Ogden for the first time: from then on I knew the style of playing I needed and always had the sound of that great player in my head. It was fortunate for me that Sir Charles Groves decided to give the first performance during October 1964 with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra and John Ogdon as soloist.

” I had intended writing a large scale concerto with three movements but early on the first movement took on so much life of its own that it became the single-movement concerto I called ‘Scapegoat’.”

George Lloyd died in 1998 and left a lasting legacy of 12 symphonies, 4 piano concertos, 2 violin concertos, 3 operas, a large cantata for chorus and orchestra, ‘The Vigil of Venus’, and numerous smaller works including several for brass band.

If you want to find out more about George Lloyd, and support his music go to The George Lloyd Society.

Or visit the museum in Zennor.

Steve Newman