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Avril Coleridge-Taylor always bore the pressure of her father’s heritage. As the daughter of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, a leading the most famous UK musicians of the early 20th century, the composer’s reputation was enveloped in the long shadows of the past.

An Inaugural Recording

In recent months, I contemplated these shadows as I got ready to produce the world premiere recording of the composer’s concerto for piano composed in 1936. Featuring intense musical themes, soulful lyricism, and bold rhythms, this piece will offer audiences fascinating insight into how this artist – a wartime composer who entered the world in 1903 – conceived of her existence as a female composer of color.

Past and Present

But here’s the thing about shadows. It can take a while to acclimate, to recognize outlines as they actually appear, to distinguish truth from misrepresentation, and I had been afraid to face her history for a while.

I deeply hoped the composer to be following in her father’s footsteps. To some extent, that held. The idyllic English tones of Samuel’s influence can be detected in several pieces, including From the Hills (1934) and Sussex Landscape (1940). However, one need only examine the titles of her parent’s works to see how he viewed himself as not just a standard-bearer of UK romantic tradition as well as a voice of the African diaspora.

It was here that father and daughter began to differ.

The United States judged Samuel by the excellence of his art rather than the colour of his skin.

Family Background

As a student at the renowned institution, her father – the son of a parent from Sierra Leone and a Caucasian parent – started to lean into his African roots. Once the African American poet the renowned Dunbar came to London in that era, the aspiring artist was keen to meet him. He set Dunbar’s African Romances to music and the next year incorporated his poetry for an opera, Dream Lovers. Subsequently arrived the choral piece that put Samuel on the map: Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast.

Inspired by this American writer’s The Song of Hiawatha, this composition was an worldwide sensation, particularly among the Black community who felt indirect honor as American society evaluated the composer by the quality of his compositions as opposed to the his race.

Activism and Politics

Fame failed to diminish Samuel’s politics. In 1900, he was present at the First Pan African Conference in London where he made the acquaintance of the Black American thinker WEB Du Bois and observed a variety of discussions, including on the mistreatment of the Black community there. He was an activist until the end. He maintained ties with trailblazers for equality including this intellectual and the educator Washington, spoke publicly on equality for all, and even talked about matters of race with the American leader during an invitation to the US capital in 1904. Regarding his compositions, reminisced Du Bois, “he wrote his name so notably as a composer that it cannot soon be forgotten.” He died in that year, in his thirties. But what would the composer have made of his child’s choice to be in the African nation in the 1950s?

Conflict and Policy

“Daughter of Famous Composer gives OK to South African policy,” appeared as a heading in the community journal Jet magazine. Apartheid “seems to me the right policy”, Avril told Jet. When asked to explain, she revised her statement: she did not support with apartheid “in principle” and it “should be allowed to resolve itself, guided by well-meaning South Africans of every background”. Were the composer more aligned to her parent’s beliefs, or raised in Jim Crow America, she might have thought twice about this system. But life had shielded her.

Heritage and Innocence

“I possess a British passport,” she stated, “and the authorities failed to question me about my background.” So, with her “light” complexion (according to the magazine), she floated within European circles, supported by their praise for her renowned family member. She presented about her parent’s compositions at the educational institution and directed the national orchestra in that location, programming the bold final section of her composition, named: “In memory of my Father.” Although a skilled pianist on her own, she avoided playing as the lead performer in her work. Rather, she invariably directed as the maestro; and so the apartheid orchestra followed her lead.

The composer aspired, in her own words, she “could introduce a change”. But by 1954, things fell apart. Once officials learned of her mixed background, she had to depart the land. Her UK document failed to safeguard her, the UK representative urged her to go or be jailed. She went back to the UK, embarrassed as the magnitude of her innocence dawned. “This experience was a painful one,” she stated. Adding to her embarrassment was the printing that year of her unfortunate magazine feature, a year after her unceremonious exit from the country.

A Familiar Story

Upon contemplating with these legacies, I perceived a recurring theme. The account of identifying as British until you’re not – one that calls to mind Black soldiers who served for the English throughout the World War II and lived only to be not given their earned rewards. And the Windrush generation,