The composer Avril Coleridge-Taylor always felt the weight of her father’s heritage. As the offspring of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, a leading the best-known British musicians of the turn of the 20th century, the composer’s identity was cloaked in the lingering obscurity of history.
Not long ago, I reflected on these memories as I prepared to make the inaugural album of her concerto for piano composed in 1936. Boasting emotional harmonies, soulful lyricism, and confident beats, this piece will grant new listeners valuable perspective into how this artist – an artist in conflict originating from the early 1900s – imagined her world as a artist with mixed heritage.
Yet about legacies. One needs patience to acclimate, to recognize outlines as they actually appear, to distinguish truth from misrepresentation, and I was reluctant to address Avril’s past for some time.
I earnestly desired the composer to be her father’s daughter. Partially, this was true. The idyllic English tones of parental inspiration can be heard in numerous compositions, for example From the Hills (1934) and Sussex Landscape (1940). But you only have to review the titles of her father’s compositions to see how he heard himself as both a champion of UK romantic tradition as well as a representative of the Black diaspora.
This was where father and daughter appeared to part ways.
American society assessed the composer by the excellence of his compositions rather than the his ethnicity.
During his studies at the Royal College of Music, her father – the son of a African father and a white English mother – turned toward his African roots. When the poet of color this literary figure visited the UK in 1897, the aspiring artist actively pursued him. He set Dunbar’s African Romances as a composition and the next year incorporated his poetry for a stage piece, Dream Lovers. Then came the choral work that established his reputation: Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast.
Drawing from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s The Song of Hiawatha, the piece was an international hit, especially with African Americans who felt indirect honor as white America evaluated the composer by the excellence of his compositions as opposed to the colour of his skin.
Success did not temper his beliefs. At the turn of the century, he attended the pioneering African conference in the UK where he met the African American intellectual WEB Du Bois and observed a series of speeches, including on the mistreatment of African people in South Africa. He was an activist throughout his life. He maintained ties with pioneers of civil rights including the scholar and the educator Washington, delivered his own speeches on ending discrimination, and even discussed issues of racism with President Theodore Roosevelt on a trip to the presidential residence in that year. Regarding his compositions, Du Bois recalled, “he established his reputation so prominently as a creative artist that it will long be remembered.” He died in the early 20th century, aged 37. Yet how might her father have made of his offspring’s move to work in this country in the mid-20th century?
“Offspring of Renowned Musician expresses approval to S African Bias,” appeared as a heading in the Black American publication Jet magazine. The system “seems to me the right policy”, she informed Jet. When asked to explain, she revised her statement: she did not support with apartheid “fundamentally” and it “ought to be permitted to work itself out, directed by good-intentioned people of diverse ethnicities”. If Avril had been more attuned to her father’s politics, or raised in Jim Crow America, she might have thought twice about this system. Yet her life had sheltered her.
“I have a English document,” she stated, “and the authorities did not inquire me about my ethnicity.” Therefore, with her “light” complexion (as described), she traveled among the Europeans, supported by their praise for her late father. She gave a talk about her family’s work at the University of Cape Town and conducted the broadcasting ensemble in Johannesburg, including the bold final section of her concerto, named: “In remembrance of my Father.” Although a skilled pianist personally, she did not perform as the featured artist in her concerto. On the contrary, she consistently conducted as the conductor; and so the segregated ensemble performed under her direction.
The composer aspired, as she stated, she “might bring a transformation”. However, by that year, things fell apart. After authorities became aware of her Black ancestry, she had to depart the nation. Her citizenship offered no defense, the diplomatic official advised her to leave or risk imprisonment. She returned to England, deeply ashamed as the magnitude of her innocence became clear. “This experience was a painful one,” she lamented. Compounding her disgrace was the printing that year of her ill-fated Jet interview, a year after her sudden departure from South Africa.
While I reflected with these legacies, I sensed a familiar story. The story of holding UK citizenship until it’s revoked – one that calls to mind African-descended soldiers who fought on behalf of the British in the global conflict and made it through but were not given their earned rewards. Along with the Windrush era,
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