First Movement

"A Song for All Seas, All Ships" is its title - and it can be divided into five sections, commencing "Behold the Sea!" This dramatic opening evokes the wonder and the impact that the sea can make when you encounter it. It reminds me of the thrill of seeing it as a child, and the sense of wonder and awe I felt at its size - something mysterious and wonderful, beyond normal horizons. There is also reference to its "limitless heaving breast" and the impression that we are sustained by something greater than ourselves, something in flow and in sway. This opening section ends with the melodic and peaceful, tending towards the eternal.

The 2nd section introduces humanity onto the face of the waters - the community of ocean-goers, and it starts in bustling tone, with variety. As a seafaring nation, this subject matter could be seen as a kind of patriotic identification, part of a love of country, on the part of the composer. But gradually Vaughan Williams again reaches beyond, and we sense a people (a race?) who share their lives with the sea, and there seems to be a kind of merging. There is a putting into context… a sense that we do not choose the sea, but the sea chooses us, if our hearts are open. The sea - part of a nature that can unite nations, embracing humanity in a greater, a mysterious flow.

In the 3rd section, one is aware of the weaving of nations, the intertwining of humanity - and the choral tone is spiritual, like some kind of oratorio or non-dogmatic religious work - with some very Delius-like tones in this passage. Fourthly, the music turns to those who went down doing their duty… a further sense of twining together, with the sea, and the mood becomes quieter… we sense the gentle preciousness of life… some soft weaving harp creeps in, and the music gets very deep-flowing and resonant, with hints of the mantra-like flow which is so evident in later Vaughan Williams. Then the music rises again, to a dignity, a kind of splendour… and he uses the choral to capture the flood, surge and sway of the seas.

Fifthly, and bringing this first movement to a close, we have music of grandeur, very reminiscent of Delius - a sense of the splendour of life, and then a recurring phrase from the opening section, before a quiet return of the resonance and deep flow again … and the words once more : "Behold the Sea!" … and again … a rhythm… before swelling softly to a concluding frequency, a wavelength, and the beckoning eternal once more.

Second Movement

"On the Beach at Night, Alone" is the setting, and it is a nocturne. The music has shifted to the individual and towards a stillness: it has moved from proclamation to quiet listening. Deep strings evoke a sense of deeper flow, almost reminiscent of similar later moods created with strings by Shostakovich. And there is rhythm, not only in the music but through the universe : the Sea is like an old mother, swaying a child (which picks up on the earlier image of the "limitless heaving breast") and the sense of being "held"… and we are encountering something ancient and mysterious, inciting deep thought about the universe and time. The tone is very much of listening - a sense of something greater to be heard, of which we can comprehend perhaps emanations, a kind of universal resonance… and here, on the beach, the individual is listening, trying to be open to it.

The second section of this movement does not quite satisfy me. It opens with a passage which I feel jars a little - something a bit too formal and set-piece. It is more of a declaration, a somewhat self-conscious performance, not quite fitting in with the reflective tone of the nocturne. Then the music finally swells up with the help of the orchestra, before the original low throb and pulse of the nocturne is (thankfully) restored - "On the Beach At Night, Alone" the baritone sings once more. And the quiet returns, a little prosaically compared to later Vaughan Williams, retreating finally to a quiet murmur.

Third Movement

"The Waves" : this is an early 'tour-de-force' capturing the majesty and splendour of the sea. The music is in movement, embroiled in action and a multiplicity of shimmering surfaces. There are "a myriad waves"… and "ceaseless flow"… and we are drawn into the excitement, almost like a perturbation, but also reminded of the constant deeper flow. Then the imagery switches to the dignity and majesty of a ship on its surface - in an affirmation of humanity, evoking perhaps proud British naval tradition (although Whitman's words were obviously not British in origin and the theme is universal). There is a sense of participating in splendour, and something affirmative, not fearful. Then Vaughan Williams returns to the wind-whipping ocean and the myriad waves, merging this time with the ship theme, and creating a sense of shared dignity of the sea and those sea-farers who co-exist with it. There is flow, procession, movement, splendour! This is a really invigorating passage of music, stirring and gleaming, shifting and sparkling, and grand.

Fourth Movement

"The Explorers" - this is the concluding theme, evoking a voyage into eternity across the face of the waters which sustain us… dramatising what we're all embarked upon. This sense of being "held" by the eternal, embraced by it, recurs in later works by Vaughan Williams and is a deep part of his mysticism : the image of the sea is particularly appropriate, conveying a similar sense of being held and embraced (and ultimately, perhaps, enfolded). The movement opens with the idea of our planet, our lives, as things of grace and beauty. There is an almost hushed awe and wonder at our condition - verging on the rapturous - the presence of stirring surface emotions and a more deeply-felt passion which breaks out later in the movement.

The section "Down from the Gardens of Asia" commences with a similar tone of (almost melancholy) wonder - but then develops more extrovertly, with the portrayal of a race on its path or journey of exploration and self-discovery. There is some nice switching from major / minor / major / minor chords, creating a rhythm, or reflection of that universal resonance. At the same time, there is the awareness of restlessness and unresolved questions in the soul. The hushed 'almost-stillness' of the sopranos singing : "Wherefore unsatisfied soul? Whither O mocking life?"

Then comes the pivotal passage. When the Son of God comes - "singing his songs" - we shall take to ship. We shall "let go" of the fevered questions, we shall "let go", we shall know release, we will "let go" and be "carried" across deep waters. These are important mystical concepts for Vaughan Williams - resonant of baptism images such as Noah, developed in various traditions to interpret this experience. This dramatic point of the Symphony is interesting in its merging of the Christian concept (among others) of the Son of God with the composer's own mysticism : and he seems to see the Son of God as a catalyst, a singer of true songs and thus a revelation, who comes at the moment of decision, at the moment of letting go. To choose to follow is to find release, is to embrace beauty, is to encounter the truth about yourself. Of course, this letting go, release and encounter may be not just a once in life event, but a multiplicity of similar experiences, a repetition of repetitions, a way of life, a response to a frequency and beauty.

Following the example of the true singer of songs, "joyous we too launch out on trackless seas" - and from this moment of decision and resolve, the music embraces an initial simplicity, and then it seems to carry the singers and they are "carolling free". At this point they are truly on their journey. Almost surprisingly - but in line with some mystical experiences - the tone becomes not de-humanised but soft and loving - with the soloists in a kind of duet, singing tenderly together - about silent thoughts "like water flowing"… there is a sense that release brings an awakening to loveliness and also an intimacy. The tone is tender and intimate. Together they beseech : "Bathe me, O God, in thee!" They have let go and committed.

Now follows a majestic passage as the focus turns more directly to the holy One : "O thou transcendent!" It is a passage of grandeur, wonder and glory - with some shimmering minor / major / minor / major chords, and the sense of the holy, so that the baritone sings that he is able to 'smile content at death' in a kind of surrender and reconciliation. The symphony swings towards its close with a final crescendo before the otherworldly ending. "Away O Soul!" and the music is very reminiscent of the almost bombastic jubilation of some later Vaughan Williams… and then free-flowing release and the flood of the deep waters… the release, the letting go, has brought energy and life and creativity… and then the music hushes.

The finish is a very low throb of deep resonance. At first there is the quietness of the personal, gentle soul… and then the wider rhythm of the seas… "farther sail… farther sail…" like a mantra now, hushed, repeated, carried, held… on the great waters … in the embrace of God. The ending is so deep-flowing, almost Tibetan, as it shudders with resonance and some eternal rhythm, which seems to exist before and after all, familiar, repeated.

Comments by Susannah Clark