A Short History of English Music

In Short

This volume provides an accessible, non-technical overview of the development of English music from medieval times to the early twentieth century. It examines the shifting status of the composer, the impact of religious upheaval on musical tradition, and the long shadow cast by foreign artists over the British concert stage. By tracing the rise of oratorio, the masque, and the struggle for a national opera, the work explores why England has historically looked abroad for musical legitimacy and celebrates the eventual dawn of a truly indigenous school.

The Story

The narrative begins in the shadows of history, where the early English musician was often viewed with social contempt—a status further eroded by the severe, fanatical leanings of the Reformation. In these early eras, music was a vital, living force for the common people, deeply entwined with the plain-song of the Church. As the country transitioned from the old religious rites to the new, composers like Thomas Tallis navigated a perilous landscape, forced to adapt their craft to survive the shifting theological tides of monarchs from Henry VIII to Elizabeth I.

As the centuries progressed, the masque emerged as a grand, popular precursor to opera, flourishing under royal patronage before eventually losing its vitality and becoming an exclusive entertainment for the wealthy. The narrative highlights the profound disruption caused by the rise of foreign supremacy. The arrival of figures like Handel, while undeniably brilliant, inadvertently convinced the English public that serious musical creation was a foreign import rather than a natural native gift. This deep-seated insecurity forced talented Englishmen to either adopt foreign idioms or labor in the obscurity of provincial cathedral towns.

The mid-nineteenth century serves as a focal point for this struggle. While the burgeoning system of musical education promised a revival, it often relied on foreign staff and imitative curricula. Orchestral pioneers like August Manns and Sir Charles Hallé arrived from the continent, doing the heroic work of establishing orchestras and championing classics, yet often remaining indifferent or hostile to the potential of British composers. Native attempts at opera, such as those by Sir George Alexander Macfarren, frequently struggled for recognition against the tide of continental influence.

The final arc of the story moves toward the dawn of a new century. The author examines the "new English school," led by figures like Sir Edward Elgar and Sir Hubert Parry. These composers began to break the cycle of imitation, creating works that finally felt redolent of the country from which they emanated. The narrative concludes with a hopeful, if cautious, assessment: the "penumbra" is vanishing. Despite the stubborn, engrained belief in the necessity of foreign masters, the evidence of a homegrown, vital tradition is mounting. The author argues that the talent has always been there, hidden in the choirs of cathedral cities or sidelined by the glare of the metropolis, waiting for the nation to recognize its own capacity for musical greatness.

How It Unfolds

The foundation of bias The book establishes how early itinerant musicians were viewed with contempt, a prejudice deepened by the religious fervor of the Reformation. This period set a lasting tone that separated the "rogue" performer from the serious composer.

The masque and royal taste The development of the masque is charted as a spectacular blend of music, drama, and dance. The author notes how these performances mirrored the shifting intellectual quality of the monarchy, peaking under James I.

The shadow of the foreigner The argument progresses through the arrival of continental masters whose sheer genius overwhelmed local talent. This created a national insecurity, where the public came to believe that only foreign-trained musicians could produce "serious" work.

The cathedral town refuge The text identifies the cathedral system as the primary nursery for native talent. Away from the cosmopolitan pressures of London, these institutions allowed composers to maintain a sense of English musical character.

The dawn of a new school The final section highlights the emergence of composers who owed nothing to foreign training. By contrasting the failures of the past with the vitality of the present, the author posits that a truly independent English musical voice has finally arrived.

The People

Thomas Tallis stands at the beginning of the record as a figure of unique importance, maintaining his integrity and favor with Queen Elizabeth despite the dangerous necessity of adapting his contrapuntal skills to a reformed liturgy. His legacy is one of resilience and profound nobility.

Handel appears as the central catalyst for the shift in English musical consciousness. His colossal genius brought sacred music to thousands, but his success unintentionally fostered the enduring national delusion that only foreign composers were capable of serious, high-art creation.

August Manns and Sir Charles Hallé represent the "pioneer" figures. Both were German-born champions who tirelessly built the orchestras and choirs of the North and South. While they provided the structure for England’s musical life, their rigid devotion to classical, often exclusively German, repertoires left little room for the native composer to breathe.

Sir Arthur Sullivan is presented as a figure of divided legacy. While he achieved immense wealth in the theater, his true ambition lay in the concert room and the oratorio. His life reflects the tension of the period, as he navigated the public’s desire for familiar forms and the critics' shifting expectations of what constituted "serious" music.

In Its Own Voice

"Can we not picture the puzzled state of these poor composers, never knowing whether, by setting their music to the new English words, they would be burned alive, or, by using the old Latin ones, they would be hanged!"

The author uses this quote to illustrate the impossible, high-stakes environment in which early English composers were forced to create their works.

"The day should be past when every alien musician endowed with long hair and a pallid complexion is to be accepted by the British public as the highest type of musical genius."

This line captures the author’s sharp critique of the British public's susceptibility to performance artifice and their lingering bias against local talent.

What It's Really About

The central theme is the search for a national identity in a culture that has been conditioned to undervalue its own output. The book argues that English music has suffered not from a lack of genius, but from a persistent, colonial-like mindset that equates "serious" music exclusively with foreign origins. It explores the tension between imitation and originality, suggesting that the "dreadful lifelessness" of much nineteenth-century British music was the direct result of composers trying to mimic a German ideal that was fundamentally alien to their own spirit. The underlying question is whether a nation can truly recognize its own artistic voice once the habits of inferiority have become "engrained in the blood."

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of ideas—and specifically the sociology of art—will find this a fascinating study of how cultural insecurity can hold back a nation’s creative output. It reads like a spirited, opinionated lecture from a man deeply invested in his country's musical potential. The prose is warm and conversational, yet the author is refreshingly blunt, showing no patience for the "solemn farce" of certain educational systems or the vanity of foreign performers.

It is helpful to approach the book with the understanding that it is a product of 1912. The author’s perspectives on "foreign" versus "native" talent reflect the intense nationalism of his era, and his tone occasionally leans toward the parochial. You may find his reliance on "cathedral cities" as the sole cradle of English genius to be a narrow view, yet it provides a clear window into how the musical elite of his time thought about training and heritage. What stays with you is the author's defiant optimism; despite centuries of setbacks and systemic neglect, he insists that the "penumbra is vanishing." It is a poignant, insightful read for anyone who enjoys seeing a critic passionately root for the underdog in the history of Western art.