Ageing hippies will recall John Tavener's The Whale with fond affection. I never owned the 1970 LP myself, but knew it well from the worn-out copy in the local library—potholed by the styli of countless gramophones that otherwise played nothing but pop, rock and jazz. The Whale owed its success to many factors, but certainly it was given a generous boost by appearing on the cult Apple label, bearing the imprimatur of The Beatles, no less. Now EMI have revived it, Apple and all.
If I sound jaded about this reissue, maybe it's because the novelty has long since worn off. Somehow The Whale seems far less sensational and outrageous today than it did 20 years ago—itself a bit of a beached whale, its anarchy and eclecticism distinctly out of tune with the sober tastes of the 1990s. Tavener too has moved on; listeners who admire The Protecting Veil might well wonder whether such brash music as The Whale could possibly come from the hand of the same composer.
For all that, the piece has many enduring strengths. No one will deny that it is highly original, full of vitality, an extraordinary achievement for a young composer fresh out of college, a landmark of British music. Tavener's heroes were noble ones, and the score doesn't suffer from being indebted to Birtwistle (for good dramatic sense), Kagel (absurdity), late Stravinsky (clarity of line), 1960s Messiaen (harmony), Penderecki (noise elements), Maxwell Davies (sensationalism), even Boulez (surely Le marteau sans maitre lurks beneath Taverner's storm sequence?). All these, and yet the work has integrity, unity and definite thrust. I doubt whether the story of Jonah and the whale has ever been told more vividly than it is here.
One piece of bad news: although it lasts a mere 32 minutes, The Whale has been reissued as a full-price CD. Cult appeal notwithstanding, this surely isn't value for money.'