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Avril Coleridge-Taylor always experienced the burden of her family reputation. As the offspring of the renowned Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, among the most famous UK musicians of the early 20th century, her identity was enveloped in the lingering obscurity of the past.

The First Recording

In recent months, I contemplated these memories as I got ready to record the world premiere recording of Avril’s concerto for piano composed in 1936. Featuring impassioned harmonies, soulful lyricism, and valiant rhythms, her composition will grant audiences deep understanding into how she – a wartime composer who entered the world in 1903 – envisioned her reality as a female composer of color.

Past and Present

Yet about shadows. It can take a while to adjust, to perceive forms as they truly exist, to tell reality from misrepresentation, and I was reluctant to confront Avril’s past for a period.

I had so wanted Avril to be following in her father’s footsteps. Partially, she was. The pastoral English palettes of parental inspiration can be detected in many of her works, such as From the Hills (1934) and Sussex Landscape (1940). However, one need only examine the titles of her father’s compositions to understand how he viewed himself as not only a flag bearer of UK romantic tradition but a representative of the African diaspora.

At this point father and daughter seemed to diverge.

American society evaluated Samuel by the excellence of his art rather than the his racial background.

Samuel’s African Roots

During his studies at the renowned institution, Samuel – the son of a African father and a British mother – turned toward his background. Once the African American poet this literary figure arrived in England in that era, the young musician eagerly sought him out. He composed this literary work into music and the subsequent year used the poet’s words for a stage piece, Dream Lovers. Then came the choral composition that established his reputation: Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast.

Based on this American writer’s The Song of Hiawatha, this composition was an global success, especially with the Black community who felt indirect honor as white America assessed his work by the excellence of his music rather than the colour of his skin.

Advocacy and Beliefs

Recognition failed to diminish Samuel’s politics. During that period, he was present at the pioneering African conference in England where he made the acquaintance of the prominent scholar this influential figure and saw a variety of discussions, covering the mistreatment of Black South Africans. He remained an advocate throughout his life. He sustained relationships with trailblazers for equality like the scholar and this leader, gave addresses on equality for all, and even engaged in dialogue on issues of racism with the US President on a trip to the presidential residence in the early 1900s. Regarding his compositions, Du Bois recalled, “he wrote his name so high as a creative artist that it cannot soon be forgotten.” He succumbed in the early 20th century, in his thirties. Yet how might Samuel have thought of his daughter’s decision to be in South Africa in the that decade?

Issues and Stance

“Offspring of Renowned Musician gives OK to apartheid system,” ran a headline in the community journal Jet magazine. This policy “struck me as the right policy”, she informed Jet. Upon further questioning, she backtracked: she did not support with this policy “in principle” and it “should be allowed to run its course, overseen by well-meaning South Africans of diverse ethnicities”. Were the composer more aligned to her parent’s beliefs, or raised in the US under segregation, she might have thought twice about the policy. But life had protected her.

Identity and Naivety

“I hold a English document,” she remarked, “and the authorities never asked me about my background.” Therefore, with her “fair” skin (as described), she floated alongside white society, buoyed up by their admiration for her renowned family member. She presented about her father’s music at the University of Cape Town and directed the South African Broadcasting Corporation Orchestra in Johannesburg, including the inspiring part of her Piano Concerto, named: “In memory of my Father.” Even though a accomplished player herself, she never played as the featured artist in her piece. Instead, she always led as the conductor; and so the apartheid orchestra performed under her direction.

She desired, according to her, she “could introduce a transformation”. But by 1954, the situation collapsed. After authorities became aware of her Black ancestry, she was forced to leave the land. Her British passport didn’t protect her, the UK representative recommended her departure or be jailed. She went back to the UK, deeply ashamed as the scale of her innocence dawned. “This experience was a painful one,” she lamented. Compounding her humiliation was the 1955 publication of her ill-fated Jet interview, a year after her sudden departure from the country.

A Recurring Theme

While I reflected with these legacies, I felt a familiar story. The account of being British until you’re not – one that calls to mind Black soldiers who fought on behalf of the UK throughout the second world war and survived only to be denied their due compensation. Along with the Windrush era,