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Leeds Intelligencer. 1858/09/18. Saturday Morning, Sept. 11. The Messiah. Leeds. Get it:
.“What lungs they have got,” says a metropolitan critic by our side, as the “Hallelujah” peals forth; “Now in London that band would be balanced rather above than under the chorus, and we have more voices at Exeter Hall than you have here, but then they are not such voices. One would think smoke a capital thing for the lungs, to hear them. There, listen to that!” Our metropolitan friend was right; they have not such voices in town. As to the smoke question we do not pretend to judge, but they have a trifle of that commodity in the adjoining county, and a critic from Manchester makes the candid confession, “We can do nothing like this in Lancashire.” Here our metropolitan friend chimes in again: “I have heard all the great choirs of the continent, as well as in England, but I never heard anything like this – there is nothing like it in Europe.” We suggest “Birmingham?” “Files and tin cans,” says he. We venture further – “Norwich?” “Cockneys,” he exclaims doggedly, as if to demolish every claim of the good people of Norfolk. We say “um,” and try to look modest, and as if we were not intensely gratified.
Comparison with the piece from The Spectator on the same day suggests to me that their critic is referred to above:
The Leeds Musical Festival terminated with The Messiah on the morning of Saturday last. In the performance of the solo parts there was nothing remarkable, the principal singers being the usual metropolitan celebrities, Madame Clara Novello, Miss Dolby, Mr. Sims Reeves, and Mr. Weiss; but the choruses were sung in a manner which the metropolis certainly has never been able to equal. We have already had occasion to notice the superiority of the choristers of Birmingham to those of Exeter Hall, notwithstanding their inferiority in numerical strength: at Leeds the same observation held good in a still more remarkable degree. At Exeter Hall the choral and instrumental band numbers above 700; at Birmingham it numbered about 500; at Leeds under 350: while the real power of these tuneful hosts was in the inverse ratio of their numbers. The Birmingham 500 excelled the London 700, while the Leeds 350 excelled both the one and the other. The Yorkshire choristers are the best in England, if not the best in the world; and all the Leeds choristers were Yorkshire people belonging to the working classes, drawn from the towns and villages of that musical land. Among them there was not one useless individual: they all had sound, mellow, English voices; they all thoroughly knew their parts, and consequently sang without hesitation or wavering, and their united voices formed a volume of pure musical sound which we have never heard equalled elsewhere by twice their number. Of all the districts of England the great county of York is the best able to furnish the materials for a great music-meeting; and in former times it was in the city of York that the greatest of the English Festivals was held, though it has been long since crushed by the interference of clerical bigotry. We are glad that a new Yorkshire Festival has been established. Like that of Birmingham, it is independent of the abused power of ecclesiastical dignitaries: and as the people of Leeds have emulated those of Birmingham in spirit and energy, their Festival has a fair prospect of rivalling the other in durability and magnitude. And this prospect is all the greater for the design, (which we understand, is contemplated) of rendering the Leeds Festival, like that of Birmingham, a permanent establishment, with triennial meetings for one charitable object, the benefit of the General Infirmary, a charity of great and extensive usefulness.
The financial result of this first Music Meeting at Leeds has been highly favorable. The audiences at the seven morning and evening performances amounted on an average to 2000 persons at each; the whole amount received has been about 75001, while the expenditure is estimated at 6000l: so that the charity will be benefited to the extent of about 1500l.
The appointment of Professor Sterndale Bennett (who, in addition to his high talents and reputation, is a Yorkshireman born) to the office of conductor, gave general satisfaction from the outset, and the vigour and ability with which he performed his duties, enhanced greatly the excellence of the performances and the success of the Festival.
(Spectator 1858/09/18)
George Bernard Shaw, however:
Down to 1877 the majority of the committee never got beyond the primitive notion that a great musical event was one at which Tietjens sang and Costa conducted. It was not until she died and he repudiated the committee that Leeds at last found out that familiarity with The Messiah, Elijah and the overture to William Tell, was not the climax of nineteenth-century musical culture.
Can someone point me to something about the York festival?
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It has long been said that the Messiah is the national oratorio, and such is the case; but more than this, it is peculiarly the oratorio of the West Riding of Yorkshire. It is the music text-book of the Riding. There is not a country choir that has not given the grand choruses over and over again; there is not a village church where some aspiring soprano has not essayed “I know that my Redeemer liveth,” and some ambitious tenor tried his powers with “Comfort ye my people.” It would be surprising then if we had to complain of the execution of the Messiah in the West Riding, at a great festival; nay more, it would be surprising if that execution were not such as to astonish the ears of strangers, unaccustomed to the fresh hearty voices of our smoky vales chanting with fervid feeling the divine strains of the great composer. Upon this occasion we have no cause for surprise. The astonishment is all on the other side. The visitors gaze in silent wonder as the tremendous basses pour out their mighty voice, as the trebles ring clearly a prolonged note so high that it seems to the unsophisticated impossible to be reached, as the sweet altos and pure tenors send forth their beautiful melodies with a fullness and richness of tone that perfectly enchant the admiring listener. “What lungs they have got,” says a metropolitan critic by our side, as the “Hallelujah” peals forth; “Now in London that band would be balanced rather above than under the chorus, and we have more voices at Exeter Hall than you have here, but then they are not such voices. One would think smoke a capital thing for the lungs, to hear them. There, listen to that!” Our metropolitan friend was right; they have not such voices in town. As to the smoke question we do not pretend to judge, but they have a trifle of that commodity in the adjoining county, and a critic from Manchester makes the candid confession, “We can do nothing like this in Lancashire.” Here our metropolitan friend chimes in again: “I have heard all the great choirs of the continent, as well as in England, but I never heard anything like this – there is nothing like it in Europe.” We suggest “Birmingham?” “Files and tin cans,” says he. We venture further – “Norwich?” “Cockneys,” he exclaims doggedly, as if to demolish every claim of the good people of Norfolk. We say “um,” and try to look modest, and as if we were not intensely gratified; and so the conversation is carried on throughout the performance, every new telling point, and they quickly succeed each other, renewing our friend’s excitement.
456 words.
The Headingley Gallimaufrians: a choir of the weird and wonderful.
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