Introduction - continued

However, as Purkiss later explains, the fate of the fairies, as reinvented by the Victorians, was to become ‘mortally wounded by the carnage on the Western Front’ [during the First World War] and

when Arthur Conan Doyle authenticated the fairy photographs taken by two adolescent girls in a Yorkshire mining town, he moved fairies from heroines of story to the objects of the voracious lenses of the twentieth century and its mania for the visual. From that moment on, the fairies were as vulnerable to the paparazzi as any other superstar.

Perhaps it was fortunate for Cowen that his career ran in parallel to that of the heyday of the fairy, and that they both fell into decline at a similar time.
Considering that Cowen never had a lesson in orchestration, he developed a remarkable understanding of the art through the practical experiences of music-making. Right from his early days with the Mapleson Opera Company, he absorbed all that he heard as a musician and then conductor, and assimilated a wide orchestral palette into his psyche. It is, therefore, not surprising that his orchestral writing can make what could have been trivial, sound fanciful, and indeed it is his concert overtures that display Cowen at his best.
The palatability to modern ears of Cowen’s texts and the preconceived notions that he wrote nothing better than The Better Land seem to be the main stumbling block to his re-establishment in the repertoire. Indeed, a rendition of Cowen’s The Dream of Endymion at Slough Parish Church on 28 September 2002 generated a highly enthusiastic response from all concerned, despite Joseph Bennett’s flowery language; the music itself won through and showed that there was more to Cowen’s compositions than his present reputation suggests. Some remarks recorded by Havergal Brian in 1935 made by Dr Palmer, organist of Canterbury Cathedral, seem worthy of inclusion at this point – protesting against the severe criticism often levelled against John Stainer, he commented: ‘With the consent of the Precentor, I always have a Stainer service in the Cathedral, not because I like it, but rather as a protest against such criticism’. In response Brian remarks: ‘Well might we say to certain conductors, thinking of their attitude to certain composers [Brian has Cowen in mind], “Go thou and do likewise!”’, a view I whole-heartedly endorse; it is a pity that Brian’s remarks have yet to be heeded nearly 75 years later.

As a conductor Cowen’s reputation stands up to scrutiny better than any other aspect of his career, despite the fact that his significant contribution to this field is much underestimated today. Indeed, even in the 1930s Elgar (in an interview given on 4 November 1931 to Herbert Hughes for the Daily Telegraph the following day) said that Cowen’s contribution as a conductor ‘was greatly undervalued by the present generation’. Cowen was the first British musician of note that could have claimed to have conducted major orchestras on a regular basis throughout the United Kingdom, and was equally in demand for his services as a conductor at the numerous festivals around the country. Indeed, before the First World War, only Beecham and Wood had any great reputation among native composers. The key points in Cowen’s career were: his season at the Covent Garden Promenade Concerts in 1880; his succession to Sullivan at the Philharmonic Society for the 1888 season; his sojourn to Melbourne for the Centennial Exhibition in 1888; his appointment at the Hallé in succession to Hallé himself in 1896; his long spells of service with the Liverpool Philharmonic and Scottish Orchestra; and his second term at the Philharmonic Society beginning in 1900. Like Richter and Beecham, he had a prodigious memory, and preferred not to have the score in front of him. Cowen had many supporters and probably as many detractors, particularly among the younger generation, who saw Henry Wood, Thomas Beecham and Adrian Boult as the prodigies of the future. Yet, at his peak, Cowen was surrounded by, and making music with, many of the finest musicians in the world.

I noted at the beginning of the first chapter that both Cowen and his father’s family seemed to have played down their Jewish roots. Little evidence survives that would confirm whether Cowen was an active practising Jew, but he did spend much of his life around St. John’s Wood, Maida Hill and Paddington, an area at the very centre of London Jewry. Despite this, there are no references to his Jewish background in his autobiography. In fact, he notes a youthful fascination with the lives of the Christian saints. Surveying the subject matter of his works, it is difficult to come to any conclusion other than that he saw his Jewish background and values as a hindrance to his Art. Indeed, a considerable number of his most important works owe their religious inspiration to Christian sources: The Maid of Orleans (Incidental music to a stage play about St. Joan of Arc, 1871) St. Ursula (Sacred Cantata, 1881), St. John’s Eve (Cantata, 1889), Christmas Scenes (Cantata for Female Voices, 1894) and The Transfiguration (Church Cantata, 1895). Moreover, he contributed six hymn tunes to The Westminster Hymn-Book (1897) and many of his 300 songs have references to Christian subjects. One could argue that in a country where the predominant religion was Christianity, Cowen found it expedient to write works that would appeal to the widest audience, and so provide him with a greater income, even though he may not have shared the sentiments of the material. However, it is difficult to see how he could have so passionately conceived a work like The Transfiguration, without having some Christian sympathies. However, the Musical Times, in its comment on the first performance of The Transfiguration at the Gloucester Festival of 1895 (held at the Cathedral), notes that Cowen ‘was of Jewish descent and of the Jewish religion’, and goes on to consider:

It has been urged that as an adherent of the Jewish faith, he was not competent to deal with a Christian subject. Surely that is pushing objection too far. Must a composer be a Mohammedan before he can put music to a Moslem theme? Was Mendelssohn any the less qualified to illustrate ‘Antigone’ because [he was] not a Pagan?...To my mind, Mr Cowen has dealt very finely with his subject.

Perhaps Cowen’s father’s decision to wipe away his family’s Jewish ancestry by the Anglicisation of Cohen to Cowen was a more significant act of purging his family’s past than merely changing their surname. Why would he have changed their family name and then continued to live at the hub of Jewish society in London, if it was for purely religious reasons? Was there something that Frederick Augustus did not wish to be found out about his family’s actions or history in their native Jamaica? Frederick Augustus must have arrived in Britain with a substantial income at his disposal, as he was able to provide his children with a high quality education, and was able to mix freely with the rich and the landed gentry. Cowen himself, of course, was too young when he left Jamaica to have any real recall of his Caribbean origins, but he must have been aware of his family history, through his parents and elder siblings. The fact that he chose not to make references to his background in any of his interviews or writings suggests that there were matters which needed to remain firmly in the closet.

Cowen also went against his religion by marrying Frederica Richardson who was a non-Jew, and hence their marriage was held at a London registry office. However, following his death in 1935, Cowen was buried at Golders Green Jewish Cemetery. It would therefore seem that Cowen was either not overtly an adherent of Judaism, or he was prepared to suppress his beliefs in order to further his musical career.

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