‘Night Music’ is one of three releases this year from NMC as part of their Debut Discs series. It comprises eight chamber works by Mark Simpson showcasing pieces from 2006 – the year he won both BBC Young Musician of the Year and BBC Proms/Guardian Young Composer of the Year – to 2015.
The works here are most often inspired by such dark themes as loss, ghosts, fragility and deaths both human and abstract – Night Music indeed! Simpson gives weight to these inspirations in the sleeve notes, and the austere cover images and colour palette let us know we should steel ourselves for Seriousness. However, in this compilation he reveals himself to be a composer who veers more towards passion and hope than introspection and melancholy.
The most engaging illustration of this optimism is the pure rhythmic muscle that drives the music forward, around and upwards. Lov(escape), the earliest work here, which Simpson wrote expressly to play in the semi-final recital of Young Musician, has this in spades: it is a four-minute crescendo, gleeful and whirling, giggling despite itself, defying the yearning/escaping dichotomy set up in both the portmanteau title and initial musical material. This kind of emphasis on the rhythmic feels very natural on the clarinet, and it seems that Simpson the clarinettist and Simpson the composer cross paths here. But he doesn't keep all for himself: rhythmic impetus is a recurring feature of all eight works, regardless of instrumentation. The most affecting sections of the title track, Night Music (2014), have muscle too, knitting together many disparate fragments of floating gestures. Ariel (2012) was inspired by Sylvia Plath's poem of the same name; this also makes striking structural use of rhythmic passages, which gallop towards a final goal – a repeated three-chord cadential figure. This insistent short chordal progression is arresting, a calling card for both Plath's poem and Simpson's clean, harmonic approach; a simple statement that might perhaps have benefited from a swift conclusion rather than the multiple endings we have here.
This is not to say that Simpson writes only in a pulse-led manner. His compositional language is absolutely in the romantic tradition, in which you hear admiration for Stravinsky, (then) Britten, as well as twinklings of jazzier and even pop harmonies. Lush melodies, yearning to be heard, feature prominently and – dare I say it? – sound very pleasurable for the musicians to perform: Simpson writes ‘musicians’ music’. These melodies can feel improvisational, as in Un Regalo (2015), written for Guy Johnston's cello's 300th birthday, or combative, as in Echoes and Embers (2012), and are most affecting when allowed simply to sing. They are less affecting when undercut or interrupted (which happens quite frequently) as often such interruptions seem like a structural tool, rather than something that comes from a holistic emotional core.
Windflower (2013) was commissioned to be a companion piece to Britten's Six Metamorphoses after Ovid; Simpson chose Ted Hughes's Venus and Adonis as inspiration. This is the standout work of the recording and, interestingly, it is also the least explained in the sleeve notes. Simpson weaves pure poetry here, displaying an unselfconscious style that is the most relaxed and authentic on the disc. This is a work for solo oboe that stylishly morphs into an oboe ‘duet’ for one player; the lines then fragment in ravishing fashion. Even though we hear quite clearly the ripping of Venus's hair and the splatter of Adonis's blood, the message that stays with us is of the constant creation of life and beauty beyond death.
If in Windflower Simpson is at his most musically captivating, it is tempting to surmise that extra-musical influences suit his purpose best. However, Nur Musik is a completely instrument-led composition, written for Ensemble 10/10 in 2008 (the year his birthplace, Liverpool, was European City of Culture) and is charming. This work might be alternatively titled ‘The Oboe Ascending’; structurally and harmonically, it is a piece very much rooted in the English tradition. The aggressive rumblings of the ensemble texture create a dense cage that the oboist, Jonathan Small, resists and tries to shatter. The most intense music, however, is reserved for the simpler oboe–piano duo passages, which breathe beautifully: the open and clean language Simpson displays here feels much more demonstrative of the track title.
All eight works are performed here by the musicians for whom they were originally written, and, as you might expect, the works featuring Simpson himself are placed centrally in the track order. The performances are all of the very highest standard. Particular mention must be made of Nicholas Daniel and Guy Johnston, who shine as the interpreters of the two solo tracks. The production is clean and crisp and feels suitably intimate.
This is an assured and fluent recording, and the order in which the works figure makes both stylistic and logical sense. If I were to venture a mild criticism, it would be that the choices showcased in ‘Night Music’ tend to hit too similar a note. I might have welcomed, as contrast, a touch of outright levity. It is clear that Simpson has a lot of light and charm in him. I hope to hear some Day Music in the not-too-distant future.
