Avril Coleridge-Taylor continually experienced the pressure of her family legacy. Being the child of the celebrated composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, one of the most famous British composers of the 1900s, Avril’s identity was cloaked in the lingering obscurity of the past.
Not long ago, I contemplated these shadows as I prepared to make the world premiere recording of her 1936 piano concerto. With its impassioned harmonies, expressive melodies, and confident beats, Avril’s work will offer music lovers deep understanding into how she – a composer during war born in 1903 – conceived of her world as a female composer of color.
However about legacies. One needs patience to acclimate, to see shapes as they truly exist, to tell reality from misinterpretation, and I was reluctant to confront the composer’s background for some time.
I earnestly desired the composer to be her father’s daughter. To some extent, she was. The pastoral English palettes of her father’s impact can be observed in several pieces, such as From the Hills (1934) and Sussex Landscape (1940). But you only have to examine the titles of her family’s music to see how he viewed himself as not only a standard-bearer of British Romantic style and also a advocate of the African diaspora.
This was where parent and child began to differ.
White America judged Samuel by the mastery of his art rather than the his ethnicity.
During his studies at the prestigious music college, her father – the son of a African father and a Caucasian parent – started to lean into his background. At the time the Black American writer the renowned Dunbar visited the UK in 1897, the aspiring artist was keen to meet him. He set the poet’s African Romances to music and the following year incorporated his poetry for an opera, Dream Lovers. This was followed by the choral piece that put Samuel on the map: Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast.
Drawing from this American writer’s The Song of Hiawatha, Samuel’s Hiawatha was an international hit, particularly among African Americans who felt vicarious pride as white America assessed his work by the brilliance of his music rather than the his race.
Recognition did not temper Samuel’s politics. At the turn of the century, he participated in the First Pan African Conference in the UK where he met the prominent scholar WEB Du Bois and observed a series of speeches, such as the mistreatment of the Black community there. He was an activist to his final days. He kept connections with early civil rights leaders like Du Bois and Booker T Washington, delivered his own speeches on racial equality, and even talked about matters of race with President Theodore Roosevelt during an invitation to the US capital in 1904. As for his music, Du Bois recalled, “he made his mark so high as a creative artist that it cannot soon be forgotten.” He died in that year, at 37 years old. However, how would her father have reacted to his daughter’s decision to travel to this country in the that decade?
“Daughter of Famous Composer shows support to South African policy,” ran a headline in the African American magazine Jet magazine. This policy “seems to me the right policy”, Avril told Jet. Upon further questioning, she backtracked: she was not in favor with the system “fundamentally” and it “ought to be permitted to work itself out, directed by benevolent South Africans of every background”. Were the composer more in tune to her parent’s beliefs, or born in the US under segregation, she could have hesitated about this system. Yet her life had shielded her.
“I hold a UK passport,” she said, “and the government agents never asked me about my background.” Thus, with her “fair” appearance (according to the magazine), she traveled alongside white society, supported by their praise for her renowned family member. She delivered a lecture about her father’s music at the Cape Town university and led the broadcasting ensemble in that location, programming the heroic third movement of her concerto, titled: “Dedicated to my Father.” While a skilled pianist herself, she never played as the soloist in her concerto. On the contrary, she consistently conducted as the leader; and so the segregated ensemble followed her lead.
She desired, as she stated, she “may foster a change”. Yet in the mid-1950s, things fell apart. When government agents learned of her mixed background, she could no longer stay the land. Her British passport didn’t protect her, the British high commissioner urged her to go or risk imprisonment. She returned to England, deeply ashamed as the scale of her inexperience became clear. “The lesson was a painful one,” she expressed. Adding to her disgrace was the 1955 publication of her ill-fated Jet interview, a year after her sudden departure from the country.
Upon contemplating with these memories, I felt a recurring theme. The narrative of being British until it’s revoked – that brings to mind troops of color who fought on behalf of the British during the global conflict and survived only to be denied their due compensation. And the Windrush generation,
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