The art of the occasional overture, commissioned for a specific celebration, has given rise to some remarkably fluent and even inspired exercises in the genre in the nineteenth century. Tchaikovsky and Glazunov both composed curtain-raisers for important public events which have survived in the repertoire; a later generation of Russian composers found itself under more compulsion to serve the state, but Prokofiev and Shostakovich both obliged in a far from perfunctory fashion-while at around the same time the young Britten wrote several occasional overtures which help to extend our appreciation of his purely orchestral output.

Of all these glittering survivors, Sir Peter Maxwell Davies's Time and the Raven comes closest-albeit unintentionally-to Prokofiev's Russian Overture of 1936, a highly sophisticated collage and combination of folk-tunes, dazzlingly orchestrated and paraded before us with breathtaking sleight of hand. The difference is that Max's material is mostly his own; having listened to a vast cross-section of national anthems, he plumped instead for a treated version of an Australian aboriginal song, launched by alto flute and first violins, which is then developed, treated, and in the composer's words, 'interrupted by "National Anthems" which are not "real" either-again, so as not to give offence, one way or the other-rather, they are outcrops, growing directly from the internal thematic process'. You will hear the contrasts clearly delineated by shifts in orchestration and tempo (one notable intruder is a slow march theme, adagio). Finally, as in the Prokofiev overture, the 'Anthems' meet in a majestic apotheosis, rounded off by a boisterous coda which threatens to end in a jubilant fortissimo but in fact fades away to nothing on a long double-bass harmonic-the players instructed to 'stop playing one by one' until only the section leader is left.

This subtle truce is in tune with the meaning of the title, borrowed from a painting by Scottish artist John Bellamy. In it, the composer remarks, 'the Raven becomes a symbol of warning-in my work, dark music hints at what could be, were attitudes to nationalism not to modify'. Hence the non-triumphant ending, hinting at the manner in which the anthems 'can get along together, and accommodate each other. This is, perhaps, the most "real" for which we can hope'. Despite the note of caution, the orchestration is of suitably celebratory proportions, with triple woodwind, a sizeable (though by no means overblown) brass ensemble and a percussion department which includes an impressive array of drums and a very brief flourish from the flamboyant flexatone, a favorite Maxwell Davies purveyor of the bizarre. The work was commissioned by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra for the 50th anniversary of the founding of the United Nations, and served as a showpiece on the orchestra's UN tour.

Writer: David Nice