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The composer Avril Coleridge-Taylor constantly bore the pressure of her parent’s reputation. As the offspring of the celebrated composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, one of the best-known UK composers of the turn of the 20th century, Avril’s reputation was shrouded in the deep shadows of the past.

An Inaugural Recording

In recent months, I sat with these shadows as I prepared to record the inaugural album of her concerto for piano composed in 1936. With its impassioned harmonies, heartfelt tunes, and valiant rhythms, this piece will provide new listeners deep understanding into how the composer – an artist in conflict originating from the early 1900s – conceived of her world as a female composer of color.

Past and Present

But here’s the thing about shadows. It requires time to acclimate, to perceive forms as they truly exist, to tell reality from misinterpretation, and I had been afraid to address the composer’s background for a while.

I deeply hoped the composer to be a reflection of her father. To some extent, that held. The pastoral English palettes of parental inspiration can be heard in many of her works, such as From the Hills (1934) and Sussex Landscape (1940). However, one need only review the titles of her father’s compositions to understand how he heard himself as both a flag bearer of UK romantic tradition but a voice of the African diaspora.

At this point Samuel and Avril seemed to diverge.

The United States assessed the composer by the mastery of his music instead of the colour of his skin.

Family Background

During his studies at the Royal College of Music, the composer – the offspring of a Sierra Leonean father and a white English mother – began embracing his background. When the poet of color the renowned Dunbar visited the UK in that era, the young musician eagerly sought him out. He set the poet’s African Romances into music and the following year used the poet’s words for an opera, Dream Lovers. Then came the choral piece that put Samuel on the map: Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast.

Drawing from the poet Longfellow’s The Song of Hiawatha, the piece was an worldwide sensation, particularly among Black Americans who felt indirect honor as American society judged Samuel by the brilliance of his music as opposed to the colour of his skin.

Activism and Politics

Success failed to diminish Samuel’s politics. In 1900, he was present at the First Pan African Conference in England where he met the African American intellectual this influential figure and observed a range of talks, such as the subjugation of the Black community there. He was a campaigner to his final days. He kept connections with pioneers of civil rights like Du Bois and the educator Washington, gave addresses on racial equality, and even discussed matters of race with the American leader while visiting to the White House in the early 1900s. As for his music, the scholar reflected, “he established his reputation so notably as a musician that it will endure.” He passed away in that year, in his thirties. But what would the composer have reacted to his offspring’s move to travel to this country in the 1950s?

Issues and Stance

“Daughter of Famous Composer gives OK to S African Bias,” ran a headline in the Black American publication Jet magazine. Apartheid “struck me as the correct approach”, the composer stated Jet. Upon further questioning, she revised her statement: she did not support with the system “in principle” and it “should be allowed to work itself out, directed by benevolent residents of all races”. Were the composer more aligned to her family’s principles, or raised in Jim Crow America, she could have hesitated about the policy. But life had protected her.

Identity and Naivety

“I have a British passport,” she stated, “and the government agents never asked me about my race.” So, with her “fair” complexion (as Jet put it), she traveled within European circles, supported by their acclaim for her late father. She presented about her family’s work at the University of Cape Town and conducted the broadcasting ensemble in Johannesburg, programming the bold final section of her composition, named: “Dedicated to my Father.” While a confident pianist herself, she did not perform as the lead performer in her work. Rather, she consistently conducted as the maestro; and so the orchestra of the era played under her baton.

The composer aspired, as she stated, she “might bring a shift”. Yet in the mid-1950s, circumstances deteriorated. After authorities became aware of her Black ancestry, she could no longer stay the land. Her citizenship failed to safeguard her, the diplomatic official recommended her departure or risk imprisonment. She came home, feeling great shame as the scale of her naivety became clear. “This experience was a hard one,” she lamented. Adding to her disgrace was the printing that year of her unfortunate magazine feature, a year after her forced leaving from South Africa.

A Common Narrative

Upon contemplating with these legacies, I felt a recurring theme. The account of identifying as British until it’s revoked – one that calls to mind African-descended soldiers who fought on behalf of the British during the global conflict and made it through but were denied their due compensation. And the Windrush generation,