The composer Avril Coleridge-Taylor constantly bore the burden of her parent’s reputation. Being the child of the renowned Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, one of the most famous UK musicians of the turn of the 20th century, Avril’s reputation was cloaked in the deep shadows of the past.
Not long ago, I sat with these memories as I got ready to record the world premiere recording of her 1936 piano concerto. Boasting intense musical themes, expressive melodies, and bold rhythms, this piece will offer music lovers fascinating insight into how this artist – a wartime composer born in 1903 – envisioned her existence as a female composer of color.
But here’s the thing about shadows. It can take a while to adjust, to recognize outlines as they really are, to tell reality from misinterpretation, and I felt hesitant to address the composer’s background for some time.
I deeply hoped the composer to be following in her father’s footsteps. To some extent, she was. The pastoral English palettes of parental inspiration can be heard in several pieces, including From the Hills (1934) and Sussex Landscape (1940). However, one need only look at the headings of her family’s music to see how he viewed himself as not only a standard-bearer of British Romantic style as well as a representative of the Black diaspora.
This was where father and daughter seemed to diverge.
The United States assessed the composer by the brilliance of his music as opposed to the his ethnicity.
While he was studying at the prestigious music college, the composer – the offspring of a Sierra Leonean father and a British mother – began embracing his African roots. Once the African American poet the renowned Dunbar came to London in 1897, the aspiring artist eagerly sought him out. He composed the poet’s African Romances to music and the subsequent year used the poet’s words for an opera, Dream Lovers. This was followed by the choral composition that put Samuel on the map: Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast.
Inspired by this American writer’s The Song of Hiawatha, the piece was an global success, particularly among Black Americans who felt shared pride as the majority judged Samuel by the quality of his music instead of the his race.
Fame did not temper Samuel’s politics. During that period, he participated in the First Pan African Conference in England where he encountered the prominent scholar WEB Du Bois and witnessed a range of talks, covering the oppression of the Black community there. He was an activist throughout his life. He maintained ties with trailblazers for equality including Du Bois and this leader, delivered his own speeches on racial equality, and even talked about matters of race with the US President while visiting to the US capital in the early 1900s. Regarding his compositions, the scholar reflected, “he made his mark so high as a creative artist that it cannot soon be forgotten.” He died in that year, aged 37. Yet how might the composer have made of his daughter’s decision to work in South Africa in the 1950s?
“Daughter of Famous Composer expresses approval to apartheid system,” ran a headline in the African American magazine Jet magazine. Apartheid “seems to me the correct approach”, the composer stated Jet. Upon further questioning, she backtracked: she was not in favor with this policy “fundamentally” and it “ought to be permitted to work itself out, guided by well-meaning people of diverse ethnicities”. Had Avril been more aligned to her parent’s beliefs, or from Jim Crow America, she might have thought twice about the policy. Yet her life had shielded her.
“I have a UK passport,” she remarked, “and the government agents failed to question me about my ethnicity.” So, with her “fair” skin (as Jet put it), she floated among the Europeans, buoyed up by their acclaim for her renowned family member. She gave a talk about her father’s music at the educational institution and directed the South African Broadcasting Corporation Orchestra in the city, featuring the inspiring part of her composition, subtitled: “In memory of my Father.” Even though a accomplished player herself, she avoided playing as the soloist in her work. On the contrary, she always led as the maestro; and so the orchestra of the era performed under her direction.
Avril hoped, in her own words, she “might bring a transformation”. But by 1954, circumstances deteriorated. Once officials discovered her mixed background, she was forced to leave the nation. Her citizenship failed to safeguard her, the British high commissioner recommended her departure or risk imprisonment. She went back to the UK, deeply ashamed as the magnitude of her innocence was realized. “The realization was a difficult one,” she stated. Increasing her humiliation was the printing that year of her ill-fated Jet interview, a year after her forced leaving from South Africa.
As I sat with these legacies, I perceived a known narrative. The narrative of being British until it’s challenged – which recalls Black soldiers who defended the UK during the World War II and made it through but were denied their due compensation. Including those from Windrush,
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