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ClassicsOnline Home » HOIBY, L.: Pocket of Time (A) - 21 Songs and a Duet (J. Faulkner, A. Garland, L. Hoiby)
Lee Hoiby’s immense contribution to the American song repertoire is widely recognized, his style elegantly and convincingly bridging the lyrical worlds of Verdi and Gershwin, Schubert and Sondheim. Whether profoundly moving or smoothly good-humored, setting texts of great literary and civic value by William Blake, Lewis Carroll, Walt Whitman, Wallace Stevens, Marguerite Duras or his own lyrics, Hoiby’s songs speak with emotional immediacy. The interplay between the clear, eloquent beauty of his vocal lines and frequently virtuosic piano accompaniments marks him as a composer of distinction.
By Robert A Moore
American Record Review
By David Denton
In the world of winners and losers, this disc of music by the eighty-three year old Lee Hoiby is an absolute winner, and a revelation to those not familiar with his music. Born in the States in 1926 and a student of Menotti, Milhaud and Barber, his search for lyric beauty found him swimming against the tide of atonality that was sweeping the world. It left him largely working in isolation and out of favour. He has never wavered, his choice of poets—including Walt Whitman, William Blake, Thomas Hardy and Lewis Carol—have provided the inspiration, and they could have hardly hoped for a more receptive composer. Above all, he knows and understands the voice, its requirements and limitations, and writes within those limits. But it was his early days as a pianist, and his years playing Schubert, that brought such a proactive role for the keyboard, playing a major role in colouring such works as the dramatic, Five Poems of Walt Whitman. In the celebrated soprano, Julia Faulkner, and American baritone, Andrew Garland, the songs certainly have two singers who project with a mix of beauty and angst as the texts require. At the age of eighty-one, when this disc was made, Hoiby shows he is still a world class accompanist, often in music that needs nimble fingers. The disc contains twenty-two tracks, but Hoiby has composed over eighty songs and is still adding more. How I wish that Naxos would commit to a complete recording. Sound quality is good.
Lee Hoiby (b. 1926)
A Pocket of Time
Lee Hoiby has written a variety of music, in a long composing career: sonatas, concertos, chamber works, oratorios, operas. Probably his two most acclaimed operas are Summer and Smoke, based on the Tennessee Williams play, and A Month in the Country, based on Turgenev. He has worked with the librettist Mark Shulgasser for many years. Who knows what other operas may emerge from their studio? It is as a song composer, however, that Hoiby is best known, and best loved. He has written about a hundred songs, of which about twenty are included here—making for a fine sampling.
Hoiby was born on 17 February 1926. He was a pianist, studying with (among others) Egon Petri, one of the great players and teachers of the twentieth century (a pupil of Busoni). Hoiby is still a pianist, as this disc makes clear. He practices Chopin Etudes every day. But he long ago gave up a career as a touring pianist in order to compose—this was a calling he could not ignore. His principal composition teacher was Gian Carlo Menotti, at the Curtis Institute in Philadelphia, but he also worked with others, including Darius Milhaud and Samuel Barber.
While Hoiby was finding his way in the world, a curious thing was happening to music: Atonality was in, tonality was out; severity and formalism were in, beauty and inspiration were out. Hoiby could not swim with this tide. He had no choice but to swim against it, because he had to write the music that was in him. In 1952 he won a Fulbright scholarship, to study at the Santa Cecilia Academy in Rome, but he never made it in: The academy’s bosses insisted that he abandon all “nineteenth-century notions” and compose in their prescribed fashion; he refused. As he likes to say, “I wanted to grow heirloom roses, but they allowed you nothing but cactuses”.
Hoiby has always been a nonconformist, even a rebel. Recently a young composer referred to him as a “maverick”, which tickled Hoiby. Obviously there is a price to be paid for nonconformity: a price in fame, commissions, and general acceptance. Yet Hoiby insists that no one feel sorry for him: “I have had a wonderful life. I have been free to compose as I please, and there have always been people around, mainly singers, who would commission something. I never starved. And I’ve had the privilege and thrill of writing music!”
Important influences on him have been Schubert, Strauss, Mahler, and Barber. When he was a student, Hoiby and a friend would ring in the new year by reading through Schubert songs—on into the night. “It was Schubert who taught me to write songs”, Hoiby says. And he has requested a specific track for his funeral: Schubert’s Im Abendrot, sung by Elisabeth Schumann. As for Strauss, “he was the one, in Capriccio, who gave me the courage to write simple lyricism”. Hoiby will also cite to you a pop artist: Joni Mitchell. She proved that “there is still juice in the tree of melody”. And that juice will never run out, as long as there are people who are open to it.
He had one great champion, the Mississippi-born soprano Leontyne Price. She took Hoiby songs all over the world, and they were a great success for her. She was kind to them; they were kind to her. Often, she would set off a near riot in the hall, after a stirring, passionate Hoiby song. I know, because I was there, several times. Price retired in 1997, and a singular Hoiby voice was stilled. But the songs go on, of course.
Dalton Baldwin, the pianist and accompanist, once paid Hoiby a supreme compliment. On meeting him, Baldwin said, “Your songs are for the ages”. He may well prove right.
There are familiar and beloved songs on the present album, such as Where the Music Comes From. Hoiby has called it “my Cat Stevens song”. Also, The Lamb, to Blake’s famous poem. And Lady of the Harbor, written for the bicentennial of the Statue of Liberty. Hoiby says, “It’s only a minute long, but it’s a kick-ass piece”. One cannot disagree.
But this collection is by no means a “best of” or “greatest hits”. There are many hits among Hoiby’s other eighty songs, including The Serpent, which is probably his most popular. In fact, it’s so popular, there was once a program called “Hoiby: Beyond The Serpent”. And a voice coach once told him, “If you throw a brick out of a window on the Upper West Side [of Manhattan], you will probably hit a soprano who has learned The Serpent”.
The new album gives us many new, or newish, songs. We see that the juice has not run dry. Hoiby is not necessarily one for social events, even those events that could help him, professionally. (A lot of networking and politicking goes on in the music world, believe you me.) “I could go out”, he says, “or I could stay home and write another song, which might please people and last”. Speaking of lasting, Hoiby expects to go on, in the flesh, many more years: A great-aunt of his recently died at 108.
We find in the songs here many of Hoiby’s hallmarks: a gift for melody (of course); a gift for harmony; a gift for modulation. I once said to Hoiby, about a particular modulation, “How’d you come up with that?” He said, “I don’t know—it just appeared”. Hoiby also has a gift for fluidity: His music tends to flow and stream and lap. Furthermore, many of his songs are simple—but they are not simplistic. There is true art behind the simplicity. Do you happen to know the story about Irving Berlin and Always? He once said that it was his favorite of his songs. And someone had the temerity to say, “But Mr. Berlin, it’s so simple. Anybody could have written it”. He answered, “I know, but I did”.
Hoiby songs are often imbued by the spiritual. And though they are usually beautiful—sometimes very beautiful—they are never merely sweet. Hoiby applies astringency, where desirable. And here is a smaller matter, though not unimportant: Hoiby’s songs tend to be the right length, neither too long nor too short. The pianist Earl Wild once said, “Music ought to say what it has to say and get off the stage”. And in a Hoiby song, there is typically a climax, or some release. Also, you will notice what I call “Hoiby flying music”: The singer soars on long, high notes, and the pianist runs rhapsodically underneath.
This composer always looks out for the pianist. One afternoon, he played me a new song—a lullaby. While simple (naturally), it contains a neat, surprising piano lick. He said with a wink, “You have to give the pianist something to keep him interested”.
Many people have remarked that Hoiby’s music is particularly American. What might that mean? I will hazard a guess: He is open, warm, direct, candid—guileless (while no naïf). In any case, he is universal, without question. And his music is exceptionally humane: The composer is on your side.
In the course of making this album, with his soprano and his baritone, Hoiby made a few changes in his songs. Rare is the composer who refrains from tinkering. And you might say that, given the presence of Hoiby as pianist and guiding spirit, these interpretations have real authority. (But a composer, I maintain, does not own his compositions—after he publishes them, the world does.)
Some years ago, at a party, Hoiby accompanied Leontyne Price in one of his songs (Evening, which is in fact part of the group known as Songs for Leontyne). Afterward, the soprano said to the composer-pianist, “You played that awfully fast”. He replied, “That’s the way it goes, Leontyne”.
I have heard a number of singers sing Hoiby songs. But the best singer of them, I have to tell you, is Hoiby himself—even now, even in his eighties. He truly knows how they go. More than once, I have heard him sing Where the Music Comes From, which, from his throat, becomes a personal prayer: a prayer for direction and growth. Once you’ve heard him sing it, the song gets under your skin. Of course, it gets under your skin anyway, as does so much of the music of this remarkable, individual man.
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