The German title, meaning A Canopy of Stars, is taken from Schiller’s An die Freude (Ode to Joy), and the subtitle refers, not to the really famous melody, but to the weird theme that appears towards the end of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony setting the following words:

Ihr stürzt nieder, Millionen? Ahnest du den Schöpfer, Welt? Such’ ihn über’m Sternenzelt! Über Sternen muß er wohnen.
(Do you bow down, you millions? Do you sense your creator, world? Seek Him above the canopy of stars! Above stars must He dwell.)
Beethoven’s theme is strange in a number of ways: it is chromatic, employing 11 of the 12 notes of the traditional western scale; it does not seem to be in any particular key or suggest any conventional kind of harmonization, and Beethoven orchestrates it simply with the chorus singing it in bare octaves in unison with the orchestra, without any chords. Moreover, it is stated only once as a kind of transitional passage, never to appear again in this or in any other of Beethoven’s works.
Given its compellingly distinct, unusual nature, and its subject-matter, I realised that the theme could form the basis of a set of orchestral variations, each describing a different constellation in the night sky. Moreover, the piece also deals, albeit less obviously, with other issues implied by and related to Schiller’s text.
Rather than conforming to the structure and harmonic outline of the theme as a set of traditional variations would, these variations, or inventions, instead use the theme as a starting point and transform it in a variety of different ways.
The piece should ideally be performed in its entirety in the following order, but there are alternative endings where necessary so that most of them can be performed separately or put together to form mini suites.

PROLOGUE: DUSK Set against a pale blue sky, the stars appear one by one until the listener (or viewer) is overwhelmed by the vast array of the cosmos. This climax foreshadows that of the finale.

THEME The theme appears at first simply in the lower part of the orchestra, and because it is played simultaneously by the different instruments at slightly different speeds it effectively harmonises itself.

VARIATION I: ORION The hunter of Greek Mythology is here portrayed ruthlessly pursuing his prey, the hunt itself inspiring an exciting musical structure. This variation is characterised by sudden movements punctuated by tense silences before the predator makes his terrifying assault.

VARIATION II: GEMINI Of the twins, Castor and Pollux, only Castor was immortal so that when his brother died he was distraught. This variation is melancholy and reflective. The theme is played by clarinet and bass clarinet in contrary motion.
VARIATION III: URSA MAJOR & URSA MINOR The great bear strides dramatically with major chords, then the little bear appears more playfully on oboes, bassoons and horns with minor ones – before the pair interact.

VARIATION IV: HYDRA Whilst this short variation is concerned with water, the title also refers to the many headed beast fought by Hercules. According to legend, whenever he cut off one of its heads, two more would immediately grow to replace it. Accounts vary as to exactly how many heads the beast had – as you will hear, this one has thirteen.

VARIATION V: PEGASUS The famous flying horse begins his gallop in the distance before he can be clearly heard making three attempts to fly, the last of which is obviously the most successful. Two related tempos alternate to depict the galloping on the one hand, and the flapping of wings and flying on the other.

VARIATION VI: VELA Weirdly, since the time of the Ancient Greeks, Vela (the sail) has moved apart from the rest of Jason’s ship, the Argo – but the title could also refer to the sails of a windmill. This variation is largely concerned with the wind, and some listeners may detect a little nod to Debussy’s Voiles in the closing bars.

VARIATION VII: CANCER & SCORPIUS This variation is based on a series of “crab” canons – the same music played forwards and backwards simultaneously.

VARIATION VIII: CANIS MAJOR & CANIS MINOR The title refers to Orion’s two hunting dogs but the variation was also inspired by watching two dogs, one big, one small, playing together on the beach.

VARIATION IX: ERIDANUS & CETUS Eridanus, the river, is the longest constellation in the night sky meandering from Orion to Cetus, the great sea monster or whale that attempted to devour Andromeda.

INTERLUDE: HYMNUS UNIVERSALUS
This interlude – really another variation, taking as its starting point, the 5th, 6th and 7th notes of the theme – is based upon the following imagining:
The inhabitants of a distant planet are perplexed by all the religious conflict on earth as their deity, the Goddess Una, unlike many of the gods we worship here on earth, does not mind whether people worship her or even acknowledge her existence. Una knows she is not perfect – it is not, after all a perfect universe – but she loves us, and this hymn, her gift to us, conveys her love for all the peoples of the universe and her longing for the time when we will all join together in love, joy and friendship.

VARIATION X: PERSEUS & ANDROMEDA This short, transitional variation, employing alternately lively and slow tempos, can be heard as a send up of the roles of hero and heroine as they are traditionally portrayed. When Perseus first meets Andromeda, chained to a rock awaiting Cetus, she is too overwhelmed to speak to him – though she soon overcomes this and returns his passion.

VARIATION XI: CASSIOPEIA As a punishment for her pride, Queen Cassiopeia can be seen in a cradle (or on her throne) swinging relentlessly in the heavens from side to side. This can be heard in the interaction between strings and woodwinds, who also outline the distinctive zigzag shape of her constellation.
VARIATION XII: LIBRA Scales in the strings and woodwind are punctuated by brass fanfares which eventually evolve to quote Walton’s setting of “Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting” from his oratorio Belshazzar’s Feast.

VARIATION XIII: CRUX This last constellation is perhaps more commonly known as the southern cross. The pattern of the sustained horn chords punctuated by shorter chords from the rest of the orchestra is a kind of “eye-music” inspired by the shape of the cross, symbolising both suffering and salvation. The variation follows the example of many settings of the Crucifixus, pervaded by chromaticism and dissonance.

FINALE This makes use of the theme as a kind of varied passacaglia combined with canonic imitations, earlier variations and the melody from the interlude. There are very few notes and much silence to begin with before the music gradually intensifies and speeds up through a series of metric modulations towards the climactic return of Hymnus Univsersalus.

EPILOGUE: A TINY BLUE DOT This last section is inspired by the famous Voyager photograph of earth (represented by tuned percussion and a wine glass played around the rim with a damp finger) as it appears from the outer solar system. It is a meditation upon the infinitesimal minuteness of our world compared to the vastness of space, until we are left with nothing but pre-recorded percussion fading into the distance.

JC

Elegy on a floating Chord was commissioned by Oxford University Chamber Orchestra (Conductor, Duncan Hinnells) and premiered by them in New York in 1996. Since then it has been performed frequently both in the UK and on the continent as well as broadcast on radio. It was awarded the Surrey Sinfonietta Composition Prize in 1997.

The original idea was to write an exciting new piece lasting about a quarter of an hour for the traditional classical orchestra (double woodwind, 2 horns, 2 trumpets, timpani and strings) which could therefore easily be inserted into a standard chamber orchestra programme.

The title refers to an extraordinary chord originating from a late Haydn symphony which, when played in its full version in this piece, comprises all twelve notes of the chromatic scale. The chord is in some way present throughout the piece and is treated in various ways:

These two short, interlinked movements are arranged from my oratorio Creation first performed in London in March 2023. The oratorio sets the biblical Genesis texts alongside more recent texts about ways in which mankind is undermining and destroying the original creation. At the start of the Precession in the original piece the alto soloist sings words by Franta Bass (1930-1944) describing our rotating world, suggesting that it is dying. The rotation here is represented throughout by the alternation of two notes G and A starting low down in the cellos and basses but gradually ascending through the orchestra as the piece reaches its climax.

JC May 20

From Rocky Beach

Yet forever unchanged

Quiet Music is one of my first pieces for orchestra and it still remains one of my most performed works. I conducted the premiere in 1992 with a student orchestra whilst I was still a student myself. Although I felt somewhat ambivalent about the piece at the time, I have since greatly warmed to it, and am delighted that it still receives frequent performances. This 2013 version comprises a few minor changes to the orchestration, most notably at the climax, but is in essence the same as the original.

The piece was originally conceived as the second of a set of three little piano pieces which were somewhat macabre in character. Indeed, one of my friends at the time suggested as a possible title “Danger in the Nursery”. At the same time, I was also contemplating writing an opera on the subject of Oscar Wilde’s novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray” and was thinking of ways in which the gradual distortion of the picture in the story, representing moral decay, could in turn be described by a simple diatonic melody gradually undermined by non-diatonic harmony. Although I did not know it at the time, this has become a prominent feature of some of the music I have written since.

Several listeners have remarked on the piece’s eerie, dream-like atmosphere commenting that the sighing quality of the opening string chords suggests the start of sleep and that the piece depicts some kind of nightmare. In contrast, a few years later when it was used for a BBC film, it underscored images of brooding landscapes. Ultimately of course, as usual, it is up to the listeners to imagine whatever they will.

The title, as far as I remember, was originally a bit of whimsy on my part, trying for the fun of it, to imagine the dullest, most boring title a piece of music could have! But, as it turns out, whilst this title is not entirely appropriate (since the piece is not entirely quiet!), I have since grown rather to like it.

Quiet Music is based on the alternation of two notes, G and A flat, which are in some way present throughout and which emerge most prominently at the central climax. The piece lasts about eight minutes. JC

Following the death of Marcus Ames-Lewis, the former principal cellist of the Hounslow Youth Orchestra which I conducted, I felt compelled to commemorate him in some way. Writing a piece in his memory, however, was quite a challenge; memorial pieces can so easily sound pompous and self-indulgent and given Marcus’s robust character it was impossible to write an entirely sad piece. On the other hand, a happy piece did not seem appropriate either. What was needed was something that was melancholy yet at the same time did not take itself too seriously, something perhaps resembling a nineteenth century salon piece.

As usual, I struggled to find a suitable title and, in search of inspiration, looked through a transcript of Marcus’s funeral address where I came across the following quotation from Julius Caesar:

“When beggars die, there are no comets seen
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.”

And this prompted me to add an extra section where the woodwinds play scales rising and falling, and the soloist soars up into the sky.

Incredibly, as I was writing the closing bars, we heard the tragic news that yet another former member of the orchestra, our double bass player Joe, had died. And so, just before the end, reference is also made to her.
The piece was later adapted so that it could also be performed alternatively with violin or viola soloists. It is dedicated to Hounslow Youth Orchestra in memory of absent friends.

JC

Originally written for the City of Oxford Orchestra, this piece was for some years a regular feature of the orchestra’s annual Christmas Concert. It is inspired by a picture of snowflakes dancing by the tower that is now normally known as Big Ben in London but was originally named St Stephen’s Tower.

JC

Three Nottingham Dances was commissioned by Nottingham Philharmonic Orchestra to celebrate its 25th anniversary, and was therefore inspired by legends associated with the city’s most famous son, Robin Hood. My original plan was to write a dance for each of the characters in the story: a pas-de-deux for Robin and Marion, a stomp for Friar Tuck, a dance of the merry men, and so on! But this would have resulted in a composition that was far too long for the original programme so in the end I settled for three dances which could be played in about a quarter of an hour.

The Golden Arrow was the prize offered by the Sheriff of Nottingham for the finest archer. Robin Hood, knowing that the Sheriff planned to ensnare him, disguised himself as an old man in order to win the competition and avoid suspicion. This short, introductory movement is characterised by fanfares suggesting heraldry and shooting arrows.

Allan-a-dale was a minstrel and friend of Robin Hood. When we meet him he is distraught because his bride-to-be is to be married off to a rich old knight. The melody is derived from Mendelssohn’s famous wedding march from A Midsummer Night’s Dream and there is perhaps a hint of the melancholy troubadour in The Old Castle from Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition.   

The last dance, Duel – by far the longest of the three – depicts the famous sword fight between Robin Hood and Sir Guy of Gisbourne. If you have ever seen a fencing match, you will have noticed that the movements are not continuous and this is reflected by jerky rhythms and abrupt silences. According to the legend, Sir Guy was a renegade knight who dressed himself up in a grotesque horse-hide and was hired by the Sheriff to kill Robin. The two chased each other through the forest as they desperately fought for their lives. Nearby, the Sheriff eagerly waited for the knight’s horn call signalling victory. In turn, Robin tried to blow his bugle to alert his men of the danger but to no avail. The birds flew in terror from the sound of the clashing swords and angry oaths of the knight. When Robin finally defeated Sir Guy he seized the knight’s horn and blew it to trick the Sheriff into thinking that he had lost, and so, as Sir Guy staggers to his death, the fanfares of the opening movement return.  JC