Terry Hawes: His Excellency (operetta, 2001)
Libretto by W. S. Gilbert (1894) Performers: David Luck (Matts Munck), Paul Mills (Erling), Nova Skipp (Christina), Faith Stretton (Nanna), Jean Aird (Thora), Stan Wilson (Griffenfeld), Mick Wilson (The Regent), Harald (Leon Berger), Chris Vincent (Tortenssen), Rosalind McCutcheon (Dame Hecla), Sarah Lodge (Blanca), Peter Francis (Sentry) Chorus and Orchestra of the; Royal Academy of Music under Terry Hawes Label: BRILLIANT Classics [69:40] Recorded London, 2001 — It’s curious, isn’t it, how a work like His Excellency, long consigned to the dustbin of theatrical history, can find new life nearly a century later through the alchemy of rewriting and re-orchestration?
Originally a 1894 collaboration between W. S. Gilbert and Osmond Carr, this operetta floundered with a score many deemed uninspired.
Hawes—who, unlike his predecessors, chooses not to pilfer or collage Sullivan’s existing music but to compose anew in his idiom—draws on a musical palette that’s less Victorian charm, more Edwardian polish, though always with Sullivan’s shadow at hand. The libretto is a sharp, witty piece—far superior, I dare say, to Gilbert’s swan song with Sullivan, The Grand Duke. The plot of a practical-joke-playing Danish governor and his court offers ample comic opportunities, and Hawes’s score rises to the challenge with a freshness that belies its derivation.
One hears hints of Offenbach’s joie de vivre and Lecocq’s graceful effervescence without ever straying into mere pastiche. This is no pale imitation but a confident homage—albeit with orchestration noticeably weightier than Sullivan’s typically airy touch. The winds here aren’t as sparing; horns and strings thicken the textures, lending a slightly more robust, perhaps less transparent, sheen than the light, airy scoring one associates with the Savoy tradition.
The subtle intake of breath before the pianist’s attack.
Particularly striking is the vocal writing. The roles demand a flexibility and range that occasionally presses their limits—Griffenfeld’s (Stan Wilson) long-held; notes in track 17 wobble just a bit, betraying the demands Hawes places on his singers. Yet across the board, diction remains crisp, articulation clear, and the ensemble work tight.
The chorus, drawn from Royal Academy musicians, is polished and responsive, while the orchestra, though sometimes a touch intrusive in the mix, maintains a buoyant energy that propels the action forward. Musical references nod subtly to familiar Savoy numbers—track 8’s vocal lines recall the Lord Chancellor’s aria from Iolanthe—but these are fleeting, not blatant borrowings. Hawes seems to have internalized Sullivan’s idiom so thoroughly that his creations breathe with an authentic Sullivanesque spirit rather than mere mimicry.
The recitatives flow naturally into the numbers, with a freshness and immediacy that sustains dramatic momentum. It is here, in the seamlessness between speech and song, that Hawes’s sensitivity to theatrical pacing shines brightest. The recording itself is—how to put it?—intimate, almost chamber-like.
Close miking of the singers brings their voices forward with warmth and immediacy, while a modest, judicious reverberation adds just enough depth without veering into unnatural echo. Yet the company occasionally feels pushed too far into the foreground — occasionally crowding the vocal lines. A lighter touch in the balance might have preserved more of the tender interplay characteristic of the Savoy style.
In terms of presentation, the disc arrives in an attractive, non-jewel French-style case, accompanied by informative notes and a libretto that — while concise, perhaps underplays the historical context. Michael Walters’s involvement hints at deeper scholarship, and one might have wished for — a more expansive essay on the original production’s troubled history and Hawes’s creative decision-making. Still, the essentials are there, enough to satisfy the curious listener and aid comprehension.
What impresses most is the sheer professionalism of the rendition. Far from an amateurish curiosity, this is a polished, lively production that makes a persuasive case for the operetta’s revival. It invites us to reconsider His Excellency not as a failed curiosity of the 1890s but as a viable, even enjoyable, piece of musical theatre.
Hawes’s choice to write afresh rather than patchwork existing Sullivan material pays dividends, yielding a score that—while perhaps a touch heavier in orchestration—retains the wit, charm, and rhythmic vitality one expects. In sum: this release is a commendable, even delightful, resurrection. It’s a reminder that lost works need not be lost forever, especially when the creative torch passes to someone as well-versed and respectful as Hawes.
For collectors and enthusiasts of the Savoyard tradition, this is a worthy addition—one that may yet spark renewed interest in a neglected corner of the Gilbert canon. A measured recommendation, then. Not quite a masterpiece, but a thoroughly enjoyable, often inspired musical revival that stands on its own merits, and which deserves a place in any serious Savoyard’s collection.
