Philip Hensher

The wit, wisdom and womanising of Constant Lambert

A review of Constant Lambert: Beyond the Rio Grande, by Stephen Lloyd. Constant by name, but not by nature

Constant Lambert at the piano [Getty Images/Shutterstock/iStock/Alamy] 
issue 24 May 2014

We owe Constant Lambert (1905–1951) a huge amount, and the flashes of brilliance that survive from his short life only suggest the energy with which he established the possibilities for English culture. What we remember about this extraordinary man are some delightful pieces of music, especially The Rio Grande; the funniest and most cultivated book about contemporary music ever written, Music Ho!; and a few surviving recordings of his work as a conductor.

Before his death, aged 46, from chronic alcoholism and undiagnosed diabetes, he had established the Sadler’s Wells Ballet with Ninette de Valois and Frederick Ashton; in the trio, he was not only the conductor and musical expert, but someone who was acutely alive to the possibilities of stage design and drama. He survives as a sort of in-between figure, coming after the English visionary genius of Elgar and Vaughan Williams and before composers with the international stature of Britten and Tippett.

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