It was during the post-Christmas slump that I got an email from the managing director of one of London’s orchestras asking whether I might be able to provide some music “for a special event this year”. I didn’t twig what this could be; maybe a big birthday gala, I thought. I was gobsmacked to be told the special occasion was the coronation, but before I could run up and down the street with a megaphone, I had to take a vow of silence until the news of the commissions was revealed several weeks later by the palace.
I was one of 12 British composers asked to write for the event. The king had appointed a special team to organise the day’s musical content. There were, however, no summons to Buckingham Palace or be-wigged courtiers bearing gold-embossed letters. Our communications were in mundane modern forms of email, phone and Zoom.
My task for 6 May was twofold: to compose an organ work based on melodies from the Commonwealth, and to arrange a number of the day’s existing orchestral works for the small coronation orchestra (seated in Westminster Abbey’s organ loft and conducted by Sir Antonio Pappano, it was made up of only 35 players – all that could fit in there).
I was taking on Holst’s Jupiter and Elgar’s Nimrod and Pomp and Circumstance March No 4 – the other arrangements were made by my friend and colleague John Rutter. When reworking a piece, the trick is to make it sound as close to the original’s texture, detail and richness of sound as possible. We were greatly assisted in this by the acoustics of the abbey – and by outstanding performances by world-class musicians and one of today’s greatest conductors.
All the coronation composers were given a brief for their piece – its character and purpose, where it would be played in the service and the all-important time limit. My organ composition – like most of the newly commissioned music – was to be played before the service, as guests arrived. I was asked to draw on melodies from a number of different Commonwealth countries, and encouraged to write something joyful and lively using non-classical genres. These could include traditional melodies that might be recognised in various countries, I was told.
And so my first step was to collect melodies that would work well, but with 56 countries in the Commonwealth the amount of potential material was mind-bogglingly vast. My work could only provide a tiny snapshot of the different musical cultures. An around-the-world musicological expedition was sadly out of the question, so the wide expanse of libraries online would be my best guide. I asked friends from Commonwealth countries about their favourite traditional songs, and spent a month researching the most familiar folk and popular songs from a wide variety of areas.
It was important to use songs that had sprung from ordinary communities and local folklore. I didn’t want to use anything that had political origins, and was mindful that there are many songs that were once seen as charming and nationally significant but could now be deemed derogatory or jingoistic. With only five to six minutes for my piece, the melodies had to be relatively short, immediately distinctive and to fit together convincingly in a clear structure. It was like doing a musical jigsaw.
Gradually, they fell into place and I had tunes from 10 different countries (Nigeria, Zambia, Ghana, South Africa, India, Pakistan, Canada, Jamaica, Australia and the UK), that I connected with a jazzy main theme of my own. I kept each melody separate and clear, resisting the temptation to combine them in counterpoint. The resulting piece is full of spicy harmony, flamboyant virtuosity, toe-tapping rhythms and a sense of fun, perhaps reflecting the numerous parties that took place over the weekend. My title, Voices of the World, seemed to capture its spirit.
The deadline was set for early April to give the organist time to learn it. A few days after that, on an evening visit to Westminster Abbey, I played it in a dark and empty building to Andrew Nethsingha (organist and master of the choristers) and Matthew Jorysz, the assistant organist, who would perform it on the day. We worked out how to make it colourful and kaleidoscopic, orchestrating it from the 94 stops available on the grand abbey organ (installed for the coronation of King George VI in 1937). Once the piece was signed off by the music team, it was back to other projects until the rehearsals before the big day.
It’s been a strange coincidence that these past few months have been full of music for two coronations. Alongside this, I’ve been working on a new musical for Buxton festival, The Land of Might-Have-Been. It’s based on Vera Brittain’s autobiography Testament of Youth, with songs by Ivor Novello and myself. One of Novello’s most popular musicals was King’s Rhapsody (1949), about a king who is forced to abdicate in favour of his son. Novello’s musical ends with a coronation scene, although his is filled with wistful nostalgia and sadness. We’re using some of the songs from that show, as well as many of Novello’s other greatest hits. In some respects, what I’ve been doing has not been all that far away from my work for the 2023 coronation – taking music and rearranging it for a different context. Novello’s songs can sound overly saccharine and dated, but I think of them as miniature masterpieces. Even so, I’ve brought down the sugar levels and the swooning to make them fresh for modern ears.
But I had to banish Novello from my mind once rehearsals began at the abbey at the beginning of May. It was great to get to know my brilliant and supportive fellow composers and on the day we were all sat together in some of the best seats in the abbey, next to the choir stalls. I wasn’t even expecting an invitation, let alone such a fantastic view. The music began two hours before the service (you can listen to it all on BBC Sounds), we clapped and cheered the performers and gave each other plenty of thumbs-ups. We were sat between current members of the government, who all had to be there from the beginning. It was disappointing to see how many of them engaged in loud conversation throughout the pre-service music and were frequently checking their phones. They were, however, silenced by the beautiful singing of Pretty Yende, perhaps proving that a great opera voice can soften even the hardest of hearts. My own piece was superbly played by Matthew Jorysz, and was swiftly followed by a procession of former UK prime ministers into their seats, a veritable rogues gallery, a reminder that while the abbey was full of the great and the very good, there was also a small space for the bad, the ugly and the downright awful. I wondered whether the politicians there looked in envy at Andrew Nethsingha, who conducted with masterly calm and precision a large number of musicians in perfect harmony?
The music in the service itself was spectacularly performed, full of emotion, tenderness and beauty. As is music making every day in the UK – a fact we cannot take for granted. I was particularly moved to see the mixed girls and boys choristers in the choir, something which was unheard of in 1953.
While sport frequently provides us with moments of national focus, it is rare that choral and orchestral music is given such a major profile. Royal events are often the best chance for classical music to shine, and the king, a long-standing supporter of the arts, was keen to have a large quantity of music old and new that proudly displays the world-class quality of music making here in the UK. And yet this comes at a critical moment for the arts, with recent proposed cuts by Arts Council England and the BBC causing huge instability, along with the devastating potential closure of established performing groups. The cultural sector needs all the support it can get. I hope the coronation can inspire young musicians and remind us all of the joy, splendour and beauty that music brings to so many lives.
