Ferdinand [1974]

words by Munro Leaf

Alan Ridout’sFerdinand is one of the very few narrations with music that have retained a regular place in the repertoire. Its success is all the more remarkable in that - in contrast to, say, Peter and the Wolf - it renounces the abundant resources of the orchestra and tells its story by linking the text with nothing more colourful than a solitary violin. In fact, it is a virtuoso piece that draws most imaginatively on a long tradition of music for solo strings. That much is clear from the instrumental introduction which, though obviously no ordinary prelude, is distinguished by several time-honoured technical devices even if, like the bullish multi-stopped chords at the end, they are put to illustrative use.

Ferdinand himself is not a virtuoso by nature. His music is an easy-going pastorale in langourous double-dotted rhythms and, unlike that of his head-butting companions and that of his mooing mother, avoids both quick tempi and double-stops - until, that is, he is literally stung into action. There is perhaps also just a hint of vanity in him when in the bull ring in Madrid, after the brilliantly articulated march of the matador and his retinue, he adds fragrant harmonies and choice colours to his looping pastorale line. The matador is chromatically distressed by the pacifist consequences of his bull’s inactivity. Ferdinand himself is most diatonically not.

Gerald Larner©