Oxford University Press is proud to publish musical works by some of the most significant composers of the 20th and 21st centuries, with a catalogue that includes a broad range of choral, orchestral and chamber music.
for 6 sopranos, 6 altos, 6 tenors and 6 basses.
A choral celebration of London, written for The BBC Singers, Choral Symphony explores all sides of this city, from the grandiose architecture and the bustling life of Fleet Street, to the darker aspects of today's poorer neighbourhoods. Jackson takes his texts from a wide range of poets, from Oscar Wilde to contemporary street rapper, George the Poet.
One, And then another,
One, And then another, Between them I hear the shuffling of feet. Tramps doze on the window‐ledges, Night‐walkers pass along the sidewalks. The city is squalid and sinister, With the silver‐barred street in the midst, Slow‐moving, A river leading nowhere. Opposite my window, The moon cuts, Clear and round, Through the plum‐coloured night. She cannot light the city: It is too bright. It has white lamps, And glitters coldly. for online perusal only I stand in the window and watch the moon. She is thin and lustreless, But I love her. I know the moon, And this is an alien city. Amy Lowell (1874–1925) The lights of London The evenfall, so slow on hills, hath shot Far down into the valley’s cold extreme, Untimely midnight; spire and roof and stream Like fleeing specters, shudder and are not. The Hampstead hollies, from their sylvan plot Yet cloudless, lean to watch as in a dream, From chaos climb with many a sudden gleam, London, one moment fallen and forgot. Her booths begin to flare; and gases bright Prick door and window; all her streets obscure Sparkle and swarm with nothing true nor sure, Full as a marsh of mist and winking light; Heaven thickens over, Heaven that cannot cure Her tear by day, her fevered smile by night. Louise Imogen Guiney (1861–1920)
III My city My City has a lot of faces. Some can be found in forgotten places. Comfortably sound with a lot of graces. The Sun could be down on his hungry town but in London he found him a shot at greatness, my City has a lot of faces. Some can tell you what a ʺloss of faithʺ is. Be‐ Fore we hated people we were all created equal then we Learned to despise the strife and forgot that va‐ Rietyʹs the spice of life— look around you. Constantly standing on the brink of history watching Newsreaders linking mysteries, even though a Few reporters taught us to be cautious ‘cause they Stink of this disease called inconsistency, see my for online perusal only City has a lot of faces. Four of them belonging to Big Ben, the rest of them Hidden behind big business and Big Brother Ensures all of them are monitored with them. Under Social tensions you can see London languishes: 30% minorities, 300 languages. Differences— race and class, itʹs all enormous but the Common ground we found surpasses all the borders. If you meet a rich man, ass‐kiss all his daughters... Or his sons. We all live once, and Who among us wouldnʹt want all of his funds? Thatʹs rhe‐ Torical but I donʹt need call and response to know Thatʹs how Londoners are from time to time: only Got the time to grind and whine. Technically Iʹm from an elegant city but Iʹm Not the kind to wine and dine, I grew up around Lots of crime, the violent kind, you might have heard about the Rocks, the grime, the hype and shine. It’s not just Cockney rhyming slang, we’ve got block‐beef, violent gangs Awkward interactions which most don’t force Children navigating through postcode wars in e‐ States with the least funding, look at the state of East London, that’s a Paradox: witness economy blooming for the Hav‐a‐lots: business is gonna be booming but there’s a Difference between having a front row seat and watching from the sidelines.
