Considering he had not performed regularly in public for more than twenty years, the heart-felt tributes paid to the late Cornish baritone Benjamin Luxon (24 March 1937 - 25 July 2024) offer a clear indication that his singing remained much admired and meant a considerable amount, particularly emotionally, to a great number of people. This is probably due, at least in part, to Luxon's extensive recorded legacy. I don't have exact figures but it is my impression that he recorded more song recitals than either John Shirley-Quirk or Thomas Allen (two singers he deserves to be compared with) although Bryn Terfel and the ubiquitous Roderick Williams probably nudge ahead of him in that regard.
Luxon had a fine operatic and oratorio career and his recordings of Tarquinius in Britten's 'The Rape of Lucretia', 'Elijah', 'Messiah' and 'The Creation' for example, certainly have much to recommend them. He also left recordings of the great Schubert cycles, Wolf's Morike Lieder, and Mussorgsky, but I am going to focus on his recordings of Twentieth Century English Art Song. This archive is extensive: with his regular pianist David Willison he recorded songs by Stanford, Quilter, Butterworth, Vaughan Williams, Finzi, Gurney, Geoffrey Bush and Britten, while with other pianists he sang works by John Ireland and Herbert Howells.
Luxon's voice in its prime was a strong, resonant instrument and absolutely unmistakable for anyone at all familiar with this artist. If any voice could be said to sound 'Cornish' then it was his; for him, singing was very much an extension of speech and Luxon had a strong Cornish 'twang'. At times, usually in more extrovert music, his timbre developed an unfortunate, rather metallic edge,which was less obtrusive when hearing him sing live but which can be an issue on some recordings. There was also sometimes a sense of lack of lack of control at the very top of his voice where the sound could be rather uncovered and raw. He was not a classic high baritone and was not a natural pick for Verdi roles (for example) although he did perform Falstaff, and Posa in 'Don Carlos' This lack of ease was compensated for to an extent, by unusually resonant (for a baritone) lower notes.
He was an extrovert character and performer, so it is ironic that he is often most successful singing more restrained, inward looking songs. In Butterworth's 'Six Songs From A Shropshire Lad' for example he begins 'Loveliest of Trees' with a beautiful mezza voce, but as the emotional temperature rises, his tone becomes rather unfocussed and unsteady. The same goes for 'Think No More Lad' and 'The Lads In Their Hundreds', where the former is rather hectoring and the latter over-interpreted: Luxon tries too hard and worries at the text,when it should be left to speak for itself. 'When I Was One And Twenty' is given a very curious knowing, almost arch interpretation, as if the problems of 'two and twenty' are not to be taken seriously, which I think Butterworth and Housman certainly intend they should be. Set against this, his performance of 'Is My Team Ploughing?' is superb, with the 'living' voice becoming uneasy at the chilling interrogation of the 'ghostly' voice earlier in the song than in any other recording I've heard; a small detail but a most telling one. Butterworth's second set of Housman settings 'Bredon Hill' can be recommended more confidently: 'In Summertime on Bredon' being particularly fine, with a superbly ringing climactic top 'G'.
For whatever reason, songs by Ivor Gurney find Luxon on absolutely top form. The delightful miniature, 'The Apple Orchard' is beautifully done, as are 'The Fields Are Full', 'Severn Meadows', 'Sleep', 'The Folly of Being Comforted' and the almost unbearably poignant 'In Flanders', where, against the horror of trench warfare in WWI Flanders, Gurney cries: 'I'm home sick for my hills again/Cotswold or Malvern sun or rain'. These recordings (on Chandos as is the case with all the songs discussed here) can be recommended without reservation.
Luxon's disc of Peter Warlock songs is less successful, although having such a comprehensive survey of this repertoire is welcome. The vibrato is wider than usual and the singer seems to find some of the tessitura rather high, but a more general problem lies with the songs themselves: Warlock in jolly, beer-swilling, hey nonny mode can be difficult to take and nowadays a song like 'Mr Belloc's Fancy' seems nothing more than a mediocre setting of a nasty poem by a nasty individual:
A taste in beer I've certainly got:
Hey diddle, ho diddle do.
A very fine taste that the Jews have not
Hey diddle, ho diddle do,
And though I travel on the hills of Spain
And Val-Pont-Côte and Belle Fontaine,
With lusty lungs I shall still maintain:
Hey diddle, ho diddle ho do do da
Hey diddle, ho diddle do!
Luxon's false sounding attempt at bonhomie does nothing to improve the situation. Having said this the performances of 'Three Belloc Poems' are very beautiful and on their own would justify investing in this recording, as does Luxon and Willison's version of 'The Fox': one of the greatest of all twentieth century English songs.
Ultimately though, any British baritone will be judged on his performance of Vaughan Williams' 'Songs of Travel', a cycle that has been recorded, or at least performed, by most of the notable English speaking baritones of the twentieth and twenty first centuries, so our Cornishman is up against stiff competition. It has to be said that the first half of the cycle leaves a mixed impression: 'The Vagabond' finds Luxon curiously detatched, and while in other songs he tries to do too much with the text, here he does nothing like enough. The poem, by Robert Louis Stevenson is very fine (the celebrated author of 'Treasure Island', 'Kidnapped' and 'Dr Jekel and Mr Hyde' is under-appreciated as a poet, but his work in this area is distinguished); lines like 'White as meal the frosty field/Warm the fireside haven' would appear to be an open goal as far as word-painting is concerned but Luxon, ironically for an ex-PE teacher, fails to connect with the verbal ball. A sense of missed opportunity also haunts his interpretation of the next four songs, and one begins to feel a sense of disappointment, but then, with 'The Infinite Shining Heavens' something clicks into place and Luxon produces singing and interpretation of the highest class. Comments on his obituaries suggest that his performance of 'Whither Must I Wander', the next song in the cycle, is one that touched listeners deeply and it touched me too. The beautiful melodic line, as inevitable as the finest folk song, is allowed to flow with minimum interference and Luxon is able to fit some delicate word painting into his golden stream of legato, to magical effect. 'Bright Is The Ring Of Words' continues this excellent work and the brief Epilogue serves as a fitting epitaph for this fine singer. I might have at times appeared rather severe is my estimation of Benjamin Luxon, but he was a sterling artist who deserves to be judged by the very highest standards. In the final analysis he might not have been able to match Sir Thomas Allen's seamless legato and beauty of tone, John Shirley-Quirk's matchless articulation of text, or Sir Bryn Terfel's charismatic vocal presence, but all the recordings I have mentioned and many others besides will reveal copious riches and will ensure Luxon's considerably voice and artistry lives on, as will David Willison's exemplary accompaniments. Serious hearing issues cut Luxon's career cruelly short, which is why I said earlier that the final words of 'Songs of Travel' are appropriate to mark his passing:
I have trod the upward and the downward slope;
I have endured and done in days before;
I have longed for all, and bid farewell to hope;
And I have lived and loved, and closed the door.
Benjamin Luxon and David Willison
Comments