Music-hack: Twelve neglected pieces of music that are worth your time
I always intended and expected to write about music on this Substack. Listening to music (mostly but not entirely ‘classical’ music, broadly defined), is a big part of my life. But it hasn’t turned out that way; somehow the experience of listening to music seems a less interesting thing to write about than - for example - the experience of being a sports fan facing relegation; or at least I haven’t felt the same urge to explore it. I know more about music than I do about sport, so I can write about football or cricket as an unapologetic outsider and consumer; whereas I hesitate to think that my knowledge of music could add much, given that there’s so much good writing out there already, about music itself and the people and events associated with it.
However, one of my enthusiasms is exploring some of music’s overgrown byways, and finding hidden jewels - pieces you will rarely hear in the concert hall or on the radio, but which the listener with open ears may find an unexpected delight. So I thought I would do a lists of such pieces, perhaps as the first of a series: say a little bit about twelve pieces by twelve different composers that readers may not have come across before, but which I think are worth a listen.
There is such a vast amount of classical music to choose from that it can be hard - even for people who listen to a lot - to decide what new things to try. So I hope this list provides some helpful signposts along those byways, and that you enjoy at least some of what’s here (and either way I would welcome feedback). Some of this music is not particularly easy to listen to and may need a few listens to appreciate, but I would encourage listeners to persevere.
These pieces have almost nothing in common, except that I happen to enjoy them - the list is not ‘the best’ or ‘my favourites’, just a personal list of good music that deserves to be listened to more widely. There is a wide range here: orchestral, vocal and chamber music, and music from all ages, ancient to contemporary. These were all pieces I knew I liked already, but I listened to them again for this Substack: sometimes my listening notes refer to other composers where I found stylistic similarities, to provide possible reference points (‘listeners who liked x might also like…’), but that is not to imply any of these pieces are derivative: they can all, I hope, be appreciated in their own right.
I have provided Spotify links to make the music easy to sample, but if you enjoy it please consider buying the albums. Where BBC Radio 3’s invaluable Composer of the Week programme has covered the composers, and the podcast is still available, I’ve provided a link to that too, to help readers/listeners to explore further.
Grażyna Bacewicz (1909-69): String Quartet no 2 (1943).
I could have chosen almost any of Bacewicz’s seven string quartets, which are performed on an invaluable Chandos album by the Silesian String Quartet, but the second is as a good an introduction as any to these works. It is a three-movement work lasting just over 20 minutes. The first movement has a slightly ragged astringency, dancing around with barely a pause for breath, with moments of lyricism peeping out, as if it’s been put together slightly carelessly - actually of course it’s beautifully crafted, and the final flourish of the movement makes a satisfying conclusion. The second movement is intensely - and in places dissonantly - lyrical, with an underlying sadness. The final movement is a lively dance, constantly moving, each of the instruments taking their turn to come forward almost as if improvised, with plenty of grit. Eventually it stops, slightly exhausted, with some grand-sounding chords. Overall, I find it has an uncompromising depth and coherence that is really impressive.
Lili Boulanger (1893-1918): Faust et Hélène (1913).
This cantata won the 1913 Prix de Rome, a long-standing and prestigious scholarship for French artists and composers; the composer died just a few years later at the tragically young age of 24. (Her sister, Nadia, was one of the most influential composition teachers of the twentieth century, whose pupils included Aaron Copland, Quincy Jones, Astor Piazzolla and Philip Glass). It has a serious introduction, with something of the epic quality and colouring of Wagner (restrained horns, winds and harp telling great stories of old - this could be a French Tristan). The solo voices sing of great, serious events (the text, which was prescribed for the Prix de Rome, is loosely based on a scene from Goethe’s Faust). Towards the end, it gets more powerful, intense and urgent. The orchestration is stunning - snarling lower brass and dramatic strings, and echoes of Elgar’s Gerontius. It is, though, very definitely French, and not just because of the inflections of the language: anyone who loves the music of Ravel and Debussy should enjoy this - there are echoes of Ravel’s sublime Shéhérazade in places. But despite the similarities with some other composers - I wanted to stop it in a number of places to work out what a passage or sonority reminded me of - it is woven together coherently, in a way that does not feel remotely derivative: it is a genuinely remarkable achievement for a 19-year old. (Full disclosure: Bonaventura Bottone, who is the tenor on this recording, is a family friend!)
Composer of the Week on Boulanger
Louise Farrenc (1804-1875): Symphony no 3 (1847).
This is an absolute peach of a symphony, and anyone who enjoys, for example, Schumann or Schubert should listen to it at once (and its two predecessors, for that matter). It’s one of those pieces that I liked so much when I first listened that I was almost hesitant to listen to it again in case I was disappointed, but I wasn’t. After a short, yearning slow introduction it dances off, with some lovely, thoughtful wind interjections. The momentum and interest keeps going through the first movement, with new ideas piling in regularly, and a certain earthy charm at times. The second movement starts with a slow, plaintive clarinet tune, delicately echoed by the strings. It has an effortless lyricism about it which reminds me a little of Brahms, though it never sounds at all derivative. As with the first movement, there is constant movement in the accompaniment which create endless changes of colour and harmonic interest: this is a composer completely in command of her craft. The third movement (Scherzo) has a real sense of mystery about it, as if it is creeping nervously round in the twilight, with occasional syncopated interjections. I also thought I sensed Harold in Italy, the symphony by Farrenc’s compatriot Berlioz, making a fleeting appearance. The finale has a ‘Sturm und Drang’ quality - an urgent theme with lots of loud, stressed responses. The piece finishes loudly and defiantly, with (on this recording) much-deserved applause.
Guardian guide to the Symphony
Composer of the Week on Farrenc
Sofia Gubaidulina (b. 1931): Pro et Contra (1989).
I don’t know what this music means - the composer’s notes are cryptic, to say the least (‘The title of this piece reflects the goal of putting together purportedly incompatible, mutually contradicting sound materials…different episodes come out for and against such coexistence’) - but it’s a strikingly engaging listen. The first movement glitters beguilingly from the very opening, with shimmering wind and yearning string chords. It briefly gets faster and louder, with brass shouts, before quietening mysteriously again, and the movement ends quietly with grumbling lower brass. The long second movement starts with a flute solo and tuned percussion, and then proceeds quietly and intensely, like mahogany - there are echoes of Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique Symphony. The third movement has an insistent string figure, which sounds like it’s going to be a fugue. The overall mood is austere, with loud drums, and a sad, lone trumpet towards the end.
Composer of the Week on Gubaidulina
Hildegard of Bingen (c1098-1179): A Feather on the Breath of God.
This is an outlier in this list because it is neither a piece of music (it is a collection of pieces), nor is it really particularly neglected - this 1982 album is probably the most famous album Hyperion have ever produced, and it has won multiple awards. Moreover, Hildegard of Bingen is probably the most famous composer on this list: she was a twelfth century abbess, mystic, composer and philosopher who lived in what is now Germany. Nonetheless I wanted to include it because I find it mesmerising: there is something profound and moving about hearing music from such distant, unknowable times, ripped from its specific context, but still absorbingly beautiful, in an age that would have been incomprehensible and unimaginable to the Abbess. The album opens with a drone, over which a pure solo voice (the great Emma Kirkby) and a unison group of female singers weave long lines of melody, with strange and unexpected intervals and changes of note length, and regular repetitions catching the ear. The acoustic suggests a cold, austere stone abbey. There is a surprising amount of variety as the album progresses: the third piece introduces lower voices; the fifth starts with a majestic, sad upwards swoop in the solo voice, and carries on in that vein; and the sixth reintroduces the drone and lower voices. Listen and be transported.
Composer of the Week on Hildegard of Bingen (and Isabella Leonarda)
Elizabeth Lutyens (1906-1983): And Suddenly It’s Evening (1966).
This piece, a setting of four poems by the Sicilian Salvatore Quasimodo for tenor and chamber ensemble, was written for the opening concert of London’s Queen Elizabeth Hall in 1967. It Has a refined, distant vibe - lots of meaningful, quiet, sad, ritualistic solos, with echoes of Benjamin Britten, and I wasn’t surprised to learn that Monteverdi was one of the inspirations - though the third movement unexpectedly sounded to me a bit like Walton’s Facade. The piece finishes with a sad brass funeral march. A work of real substance.
Fanny Mendelssohn (1805-47): String Quartet in E flat (1834).
Fanny was the older sister of Felix, also a composer. The first movement has a slow, intense richness, almost Beethovenian in its depth. The only surprise (and disappointment) is that it is not longer - the opening movement, which lasts less than five minutes, sounds like the slow introduction to an epic piece. The second movement is even shorter, a fast, serious dance with fragments of melody, with a fugue in the middle, with some gloriously snarly cello playing, and then finishes with two slightly dismissive pizzicati. The third is an intense Romanze, which sounds more troubled - and in place tormented - than romantic to me, despite lyrical moments. The finale is an Allegro, scampering around intently, with great seriousness of purpose. In places I thought it might break into a smile, but it always pulls back, until the end which radiates a sense of achievement: this is not music to be messed with. Overall, this music puts the listener (and no doubt the performers) through the ringer; it deserves to be much better known and much more widely performed.
Dora Pejačević (1885-1923): Symphony (1916-17, revised 1920).
The only symphony by this Croatian Countess starts quite seriously, but with various dances peeping out. Stylistically it felt like Zemlinsky via Dvořák, though Richard Strauss and even Delius (the Florida Suite?) and Walton might be in there somewhere. The harp glitters as it recovers from some assertively brassy sections. The first movement finishes like the climax of a whole symphony, brass ringing out. The second movement has plaintive wind solos, yearning string chords and Vaughan Williams-like harmonies. It is beautifully crafted - we are swept along on a wave of lyricism, occasionally getting louder, but with an underlying tone of sadness, and it finishes with a plaintive oboe. The third movement is an energetic dance led by the winds but with every colour of the orchestra joining in: it has a self-confidence and freshness that is irresistible. The finale gives a prominent role to jaunty brass, but still has moments of repose. One of those pieces that can be enjoyed as a stream of music without worrying too much how it fits together (though I’m sure structurally it does) - it has endless beguiling moments and passages which are a joy to listen to, some of which make me think of other composers, but put together I don’t think it could be by anyone else. The symphony ends loudly, defiantly, but to me somewhat uncertainly - though we’ve definitely completed some sort of journey.
Composer of the Week on Pejačević
Kaija Saariaho (1952-2023): Tag des Jahrs (2001).
When Saariaho sadly died earlier this year, she left behind plenty of great music (and some fascinating interviews - see link below, for example). This piece, for chorus and electronics, sets four poems of Hölderlin, which are fragmentary and reflect his mental disorder. It is dedicated to the composer’s mother. Tuned percussion, distant, modal voices and recordings of chanting human voices, birds, the wind and other nature sounds, create a wonderfully strange, medieval, archaic atmosphere, which is seductively beautiful, and an appropriate sense of timelessness.
Composer of the Week on Saariaho
Barbara Strozzi (1619-77): La Voce Sola.
Like the Hildegard, this is a collection rather than a single piece: it is a feast of passionate singing with varied instrumental accompaniments (plucked, organ, harpsichord and continuo) by a remarkable composer who had to fight to get her music recognised. She mostly wrote for a solo voice - her own - which makes the music particularly intimate and personal: I find it breathtakingly beautiful. The fourth track, O Maria, has some clicks from the accompanying organ that are gloriously earthy. The final track, Che si puo fare, is darkly mysterious. There is very little harmonic innovation or anguished dissonance here, unlike some of Strozzi’s contemporaries: it’s all about gloriously intense and colourful singing. You could say she’s a bit like a seventeenth century Adele, and this is her Greatest Hits album.
Composer of the Week on Strozzi
Anna Þorvaldsdóttir (b 1977): Metacosmos (2017).
I was at the UK premiere of this piece at the 2019 Proms, the first time I’d come across this Icelandic composer. A one-movement work for orchestra, it starts with a quiet, menacing chord like it’s in some dark, elemental space, then anguished, sometimes angry voices cry out. It has something of the power of Birtwistle’s Earth Dances. Then it gets a little warmer, but always with strange sounds - a panting wind machine - then faster and noisier, underpinned by loud, mechanised percussion. It seems to settle towards the end, as if reconciled to whatever drove it before: an upwards string glissando reaches a high note and peters out. Strange, mysterious and powerful.
Errollyn Wallen (b 1958): In Our Lifetime (1990).
This piece is a tribute for baritone and tape to Nelson Mandela on his then impending release from prison, which beautifully and skilfully incorporates South African music. After a declaimed cry, “Africa!”, a colourful, rhythmic choral work for multi-tracked a cappella choir - the singing is in both English and Xhosa. Some glorious sounds, including some wonderful bass noises. The overall effect is intriguing and in places beguiling. Fairly brief (under eight minutes) and left me wanting more (and there’s plenty more worth listening to just on this album).
Composer of the Week with Wallen
Observant readers will have noticed that there is actually one thing these pieces have in common: they are all by women. There is of course a terrible gender imbalance among famous composers - I suspect you have to be fairly seriously interested in classical music to be able to name more than one or two female composers, let alone know any of their music. Just two of the 30 entries on Classic FM’s recent list of the Greatest Classical Music Composers of All Time are women, and that is no particular criticism of Classic FM - many such lists would include no women at all.
While a good proportion of contemporary composers are female, until recently women who wanted to compose typically faced significant barriers and sometimes active discouragement1 2 .
I don’t think the pieces I have chosen have anything in common because they are by female composers, nor does the fact they are by women in itself recommend them. They are simply good pieces of music, and the fact their composers are female almost by definition means they are neglected, so this seemed to be a good starting point for this list3.
I hope you have time to explore some of the music here, and perhaps will be intrigued enough to find out more about its composers, their lives and more of their music too. Enjoy!
The fascinating story of four British women composers of the Twentieth Century is told in Dr Leah Broad’s excellent recent book ‘Quartet’, and though I did not include any of those four in my list above, I could easily have done so, and may do in future.
Anna Beer’s book ‘Sounds and Sweet Airs’ is also highly recommended (I hope to read it when I can borrow my daughter’s copy!)
Before anyone says it, of course there is much unfairly neglected music by male composers too - if I do another Music-hack I will recommend some of that.
I was brought here by Leah Broad's excellent Substack. Fantastic list you have put together here, thank you.
According to Fiona Maddocks, Hildegard was never elevated to abbess despite being head honcho (honcha?) of her establishment.