**WALTON** Five Bagatelles · **BERKELEY** Guitar Concerto · **ARNOLD** Guitar Concerto op. 67 · Serenade op. 50
Craig Ogden, guitar; Northern Sinfonia / Richard Hickox
Chandos CHAN 9959 (72:34 · CD) · Rec. 2001, Sage Gateshead
The guitar and orchestra make uneasy bedfellows—something about the disparity in volume, the timbral mismatch, the way even the most discreet string section can smother those tender upper partials. Which makes the success of this Chandos disc all the more remarkable.
Patrick Russ’s orchestration of Walton’s Five Bagatelles could have been a disaster. These pieces, written in 1971 for Julian Bream, are so perfectly conceived for solo guitar that one wonders what possessed anyone to meddle with them. But Russ has exercised real taste here—and intelligence. The third Bagatelle, that wistful nocturne, gains something unexpected when a solo bassoon takes the opening phrase before the guitar enters. There’s a lovely moment around bar 28 where cor anglais and guitar share melodic duties, the wind instrument’s reedy melancholy complementing rather than competing with the guitar’s more intimate voice. The outer movements receive fuller orchestral treatment, and while purists may object, the dramatic weight serves the music well. I found myself convinced.
Berkeley’s Guitar Concerto of 1974 presents a different challenge altogether. Here’s a composer known for his elegant neoclassicism—all those Poulenc-inflected textures and graceful phrase shapes—flirting with something harder-edged, more astringent. Not quite atonal, but certainly pushing at the boundaries of his usual harmonic language. The result feels genuinely exploratory, as if Berkeley were using the guitar’s percussive attack and limited sustain to rethink his compositional approach. Craig Ogden catches this quality beautifully, his tone lean and focused, never prettifying the music’s occasional angularity.
But it’s Arnold’s Guitar Concerto, op. 67, that justifies the entire program.
What a piece this is. Written in 1959, it predates the composer’s later struggles but already shows that characteristic Arnold blend—serious craft worn lightly, modal melodies that stick in the memory, a rhythmic vitality that never tips into mere jollity. The first movement’s opening theme, built on the Dorian mode, has an antique flavor that’s somehow utterly fresh. Arnold knew exactly how to write for the guitar with orchestra: he doesn’t ask the soloist to compete, but rather creates spaces where the guitar can speak. Listen to how the strings pull back at crucial moments, leaving just enough orchestral color to frame the solo line.
The central slow movement deserves special mention. That “oily texture” mentioned in the program notes—yes, exactly right. There’s something almost slinky about the harmonic movement here, the jazz influence (Django Reinhardt, apparently) absorbed so completely that it never sounds like pastiche. The writing for guitar exploits the instrument’s percussive possibilities, those subtle gradations between plucked and strummed, between the bridge and the soundhole. Ogden’s control of dynamics and articulation brings out these distinctions with real sophistication.
The earlier Serenade, op. 50, makes an apt coupling, though it’s slighter fare—charming rather than profound. Still, Arnold’s melodic gift is everywhere apparent, and the Northern Sinfonia under Richard Hickox provides support that’s both sensitive and shapely. Hickox understood how to balance these forces; the strings never overwhelm, yet maintain their own musical identity.
Ogden himself deserves considerable credit. He’s working in the long shadow of Julian Bream, for whom most of this music was written, and Bream’s recordings remain formidable—well, competition isn’t quite the word. Reference points, perhaps. But Ogden doesn’t attempt to replicate Bream’s more extroverted personality. His approach is cooler, more classical in the best sense—precise articulation, radiant tone production, a certain restraint that serves Berkeley particularly well. In the Arnold Concerto’s "finale", that two-octave glissando arrives with real dramatic impact, the culmination of carefully managed tension rather than an isolated effect.
The Northern Sinfonia plays with real character throughout. Bradley Creswick’s leadership from the first desk is audible in the strings’ unanimity of phrasing, and the wind soloists—that bassoonist in the Walton, the cor anglais player—contribute memorable moments. Chandos provides its typically warm, well-balanced sound, though I’d have preferred the guitar slightly more forward in the Berkeley. A minor quibble.
This disc makes a persuasive case for English guitar music as a genuine repertoire, not just a specialist corner. Arnold’s Concerto alone would justify the purchase, but the pleasures here are more evenly distributed than that suggests. Recommended without reservation.
