Philip Clark

The London ear

It’s easy to tag the terrain of the capital city by writer. But what might a map of its music look like?, wonders Philip Clark

issue 18 July 2015

The opening bars of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s A London Symphony (1914) are scooped out from the gloopy bedrock of the city. Vaughan Williams was dredging through the same mud, silt, slime and ooze as those scene-setting paragraphs of Our Mutual Friend (1865), where Charles Dickens shows that the real glue binding his book together will be the River Thames.

Dickens’s famed ‘boat of dirty and disreputable appearance’ berths Our Mutual Friend in the earth and experience of London. Similarly, Vaughan Williams’s cellos and double basses, which launch his symphony, plod out from the sludge of the river. But, by the time his bucolic Scherzo waddles into view, you could be forgiven for assuming that RVW has taken a genteel amble around the countryside. Little about his sepia mood-music suggests a city on the cusp of the modern age.

Dickens becomes the seedbed of a whole tradition of London literature, from Arthur Conan Doyle to Will Self, Patrick Hamilton to Martin Amis.

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