In the second take, the slow introduction has a hushed intensity which was missing before. Paul wonders whether they’re together. Max tells him not to worry. But he wants the horn whoops (like much else in this piece — the linear tension, the trills, snarls and whirling arabesques — these remind me of the second symphony) to be the loudest thing in their section.
Another retake. The allegro, a restlessly contrapuntal scherzo, thins down to dancing solos on tuba and trombone, low, growling A♭ and a high, fading D♭. Jim Gourlay plays «Polly, put the kettle on» and everyone adjourns to the canteen.
The second movement, in double variation form, begins with the same horn melody as the first, growing into a long, murderously exposed solo, decorated with wide-intervalled double appoggiaturas. “A real smash”, Paul calls it in sympathy.
It needs several takes. “Is it just a bit tentative?” asks Max. “Can you push it harder?”
“It’s the chops”, says James Handy, flexing them illustratively.
Gradually they cross the tightrope. There are few signs of nervous tension. James goes for one stamping walk around the studio, but Stephen Plaistow is smilingly unruffled, Max full of ebullient goodwill.
The music is richly expressive in its virtuosity. There are also fine, simple effects: the quiet dotted trumpet pulse of the first variation, which will end the movement dramatically; an irregular rhythmic figure played in harmony by groups of three; a staccato walk for first trumpet over slowly moving lower parts. Max particularly enjoys the very simple bars which begin the coda. “You don’t think you dare write it, but you do and it works.”
He was initially reluctant when the Empire Quintet (members of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, which premiered his second symphony) asked him for a piece. “I didn’t know them as players and I frankly didn’t realise what virtuosity was possible on brass instruments other than the trumpet.” He had in fact been positively prejudiced against the tuba. “But when I heard them I changed my mind.”
Is virtuosity essential?
“Not exactly. But writing for a new medium extends me, and I want to extend the medium and the players as well.”
After lunch the lads rip straight into the last movement, a dancing allegro vivace with a slow, chorale-like section further exploring the opening shapes of the work before a brilliant conclusion.
Everyone is fairly happy, but the players cry “Let’s do it again!” with the eagerness of a Gershwin ingénue. After another take and a patch in the slow movement, they seem to be planning further improvements.
“I don’t think they realise the session’s over”, murmurs Stephen Plaistow. “They’d go on all night if we let them.”
“They haven’t moaned about their lips once”, says Max incredulously. He thanks everyone and leaves.
Over a final coffee, Stephen Plaistow sums up. “I’ve listened to one piece of music all day and I haven’t been bored once.”