Hubert Parry - time for a rethink?

Before talking about two new discs featuring choral music by Hubert Parry, I should immediately admit to one thing – that up until now, Jerusalem has been one of my least favourite pieces in all music. Yet listening to two new recordings from Neeme Järvi and Robert King has taught me one thing – it’s the words of William Blake that are the reason for my discomfort. It's not even Blake's fault either, as I'm sure his words about England were much more accurate at the time than they might be now. I believe my pathological dislike spreads from hearing the hymn sung and experiencing an extreme reaction to its meaning now, that this country isn't really as great as we like to think it is when we’re at the Last Night of the Proms.

But there I must stop digressing, as this is a music blog! Taking Jerusalem at face value, it is a very fine and memorable piece of music, and the two performances under scrutiny here reveal very different aspects of its splendour. Robert King, as part of the first release on the King's Consort's new VIVAT label, aims to present this music as it might have been heard at the time of composition in 1916. He succeeds handsomely, with performances of great clarity and precision. His singers are brightly toned and extremely well drilled, and the orchestra, with a rich treble of brass at the top end, are relatively spare in texture but reassuringly full bodied in the execution of the performance.

Neeme Järvi's forces on Chandos are the more conventional sounds of the BBC National Orchestra of Wales, and there is a greater heft here, a firmer drive to the tempo too. Järvi uses the original version of the hymn, his first verse given by a solo soprano (), which makes it sound more bound to the concert hall than the church.

The same is true of the 'Coronation' Te Deum, a piece also common to both discs. It is an impressive utterance, working up a head of steam in the Järvi version with some expansive sweeps that lend grandeur to the setting, especially when the organ is used. King goes for a little more English reserve but his key watchword is clarity, and his singers are excellent in the quality of their singing and diction. Reserve does not mean less passion, either, the input of the conductor and his forces unstinting – which is abundantly clear from the detailed and enlightening booklet notes.

King's Jerusalem comes at the end of an exceptionally fine collection of Parry and his contemporary, and fellow 'English music renaissance godfather', Sir Charles Villiers Stanford. King alternates four Stanford settings of the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis with Parry anthems, the first of which, I Was Glad, is a real thrill, its celebratory air given plenty of room. The Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis settings are beautifully observed, too, alternating moments of contemplation with unadorned praise, and it doesn't matter too much that the same text is heard on four occasions, because the settings are varied enough. On several occasions King's choral forces bring a tear to the eye, such is the magnificence of their singers, while in the orchestra, performing at more or less absolute pitch, the sound is extremely cultured. It is natural to experience a minor tuning problem or two with the brass, given the temperamental instruments they play, but enjoyment is never compromised – as is abundantly clear from this video clip.

Neeme Järvi's disc focuses exclusively on Parry, the first time this often recorded conductor has looked at his music. He unearths a couple more examples of nationalism to complement Jerusalem, and finds a substantial and rarely heard sacred piece too. This is the Magnificat, a bold piece that works well with Amanda Roocroft's commanding singing, and although her vibrato is sometimes a bit wide she gives the music the passionate input it deserves. Of the secular pieces The Birds of Aristophanes finds Parry in rare energetic mood, while the funeral ode The Glories of Our Blood and State is dignified and elegant. Meanwhile the short song England is a curiosity that deserves to be better known.

Parry has not always enjoyed a great reputation. Although he is in essence the grandfather of English classical music, his music has received its fair share of flack. In his book The English Musical Renaissance, Peter Pirie is extremely disparaging about the composer's achievements. "Robust, solid and plain, Parry’s music was like himself", he says. Both these discs think – and prove – emphatically otherwise.

Chamber Music by Jacques Ibert

Jacques Ibert (1890-1962) is one of those fringe composers whose name you often hear, but whose music is rather more difficult to pin down. If you choose to explore his orchestral works, the rewards are many – the exuberant Divertissement, the colourful Escales (Ports Of Call), the Flute Concerto and the Bacchanale are more than enough for starters. The chamber music, however, has had a very raw deal on record, so it is to Somm's credit that they have enlisted some fine musicians to give us a disc of Ibert writing for smaller scale forces.

Unfortunately they begin with a tough nut to crack. Like many of his compatriots, Ibert wrote just the one String Quartet – and this one came at a particularly difficult period in his life, when he had to relocate his family to Switzerland at the height of World War Two. The music betrays a lot of the strife and uncertainty that so many works of the time do, but it does so in a way that can leave the listener similarly uptight. There is very little let up, the four instruments playing almost all the time, and the melodies they exchange do not last long in the memory. The overriding impression is that this is a work Ibert had to write, to purge his feelings, but in my mind it doesn't communicate well to the recording studio or concert hall. The Bridge Quartet are not in any way responsible for this predicament, for they give an excellent account of it, impassioned in the cello second theme of the first movement, and impressive in their ensemble when the writing gets choppy.

Elsewhere the story is a much happier one. The Trio for violin, viola and harp, written the same year as the String Quartet was premiered, displays more of Ibert's exuberance, as well as his ability to score lightly for instruments. It is a substantial three movement piece, but with none of the hang-ups of the Quartet, and Ibert's fun side comes through a lot more naturally.

It is also interesting to hear shorter pieces such as Ghirlarzana for cello, and Caprilena for violin. Listening to Caprilena, it is perhaps a surprise that Ibert did not write a Violin Concerto, as he wrote very naturally for the instrument. This comes through also in the charming Jeux Sonatine for violin and piano, which transcribes effortlessly from the flute version, singing sweetly in a way that reminds of the Franck Violin Sonata. The Entr'acte for violin and harp, meanwhile, has a strong Eastern flavour and some clean, Ravelian lines that are immediately appealing. Finishing the disc is a Souvenir for string quartet and double bass, a charming piece that is also lightly elegiac.

A mixed bag, then. Newcomers to Ibert are directed firmly in the direction of the orchestral works, but if you're willing to give the String Quartet a go you're unlikely to find a better performance than this one – and the reward for hearing it is to then explore the lighter side of one of French music's more underrated composers of the 20th century.