The "Stabat mater" by the Bohemian composer Antonin Dvorák, well-known in it's later orchestral version, was initially composed with piano accompaniment. This rarely-heard original version has now been recorded for BR-KLASSIK, featuring the excellent Bavarian Radio Chorus under the direction of Howard Arman, and accompanied by Julius Drake on the piano. The young Dvorák was a well-studied and experienced church musician. Having graduated from the organ school in Prague, he spent three pious years as an organist in the city's St. Adalbert's Church. The search for a "truly sacred music" preoccupied him from the very start. The contemporary Caecilian Movement for church music reform led him, like many of his colleagues, to re-examine the Palestrina style, which represented a return to the more modest, less ostentatious and yet at the same time contrapuntally ingenious church music of a previous epoch. He duly composed a "Stabat mater" without orchestral splendour and with a simple piano accompaniment. Shortly before Dvorák wrote down this first version of his "Stabat mater" between February 19 and May 7, 1876, a heavy blow had struck the young family. On December 19, 1875, his daughter Josefa died two days after she was born. Dvorák did not set all the verses of the hymn to music, and chose an ensemble of four soloists, a choir and a piano. This original version from the spring of 1876, with it's seven-movement structure, is not a fragment, draft or piano reduction but an independent and self-contained work in it's own right. In the autumn of 1877, when he composed the missing four verses and scored his "Stabat mater" for a large orchestra, he effectively created a new and different work.

An attractive assemblage of powerfully emotive music.

This is the second CD to be inspired by Armonico Consort’s ‘Naked Byrd’ concert programme, which, to quote the Signum publicity material, ‘features music by Tavener, Purcell, Barber and Byrd, composers who wore their hearts on their sleeves, and whose art saw their emotions laid bare, in an atmospheric concert where magical musical moments are intertwined with sublime passages of plainchant and violin improvisation’ It’s similar in manner to Volume 1 which I reviewed in May 2010.

Let me say at once that, having cut though the publicity hype, I found the whole of this programme as beautiful and as excellently sung as the first. It also introduces the listener to some unfamiliar music, but let me also get two small complaints out of the way. The first is that 53 minutes is rather short value for a full-price CD, however good.

Secondly, as was the case with Volume 1, someone picking up the CD in a browser might buy it on impulse under the impression that the music is all or mostly by Byrd, when, in fact, there is only one 4-minute item by him. I’m afraid that the titles of Naked Byrd 1 and 2 do rather beg the question.

What we do have more than compensates – a very wide-ranging and eclectic programme of some of the most beautiful music ever composed, from the opening Salve Regina, attributed to the 11 ^th-century composer Hermannus Contractus, via the two works by the wonderful Abbess Hildegard, to whose music I could listen all night, through the renaissance and baroque, Samuel Barber’s own arrangement of his Adagio and two by-now familiar John Tavener works, to three new compositions here receiving their first outings.

One of these new works is a re-working of an old one by the Consort’s artistic director Christopher Monks, revisiting the same piece from Thomas Tallis’s English settings in Archbishop Parker’s Psalter which Vaughan Williams employed for his Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis. The result is not quite as magical as that VW composition, partly because Monks stays closer to the original – Tallis was stuck with setting some fairly banal English words and had to set them in a fairly limited manner, unable to make settings of English his own in quite the same way that his younger contemporary Byrd was able to do. Nevertheless, the Phrygian mode of the original is haunting and Monks’ reworking is impressive. I don’t always react favourably to this kind of reinterpretation of earlier music – Jan Garbarek’s realisations on ECM, Officum Novum* and its predecessors, leave me feeling profoundly depressed – but I found Kelly McCusker’s violin weaving around Anna Sanderson’s voice here very moving. As with most of the music here, both ancient and modern, from the soaring opening Salve Regina onwards, the epithet ‘ethereal’ is highly appropriate.

Even if you have the complete Byrd four-part Mass from which the Agnus Dei (tr.12) is excerpted or the complete Victoria Requiem whence Versa est (tr.10) is derived, you shouldn’t feel short-changed. You may, however, note that, as on Volume 1, slower tempi than usual are adopted for these and for most of the medieval and renaissance pieces, even by comparison with the Tallis Scholars, themselves no speed merchants.

The performance of Versa est takes 4:56 against the Scholars’ 4:37 – recently reissued in a wonderful budget-price 3-CD box to celebrate Victoria’s quatercentenary (GIMBX304) – and the Consort’s Agnus Dei weighs in at 4:05 against 3:20 ( The Tallis Scholars sing William Byrd, 2 CDs for the price of one, CDGIM208). The contrast with The Sixteen in Victoria is even more extreme – they take just 4:05 for Versa est. (Coro CORSACD16033 or on a recent 4-CD set COR16089.)** For all that the Consort milk some of the music in this way, the effect is highly attractive. The singing is excellent and the recording does it full justice.

If Naked Byrd and Naked Byrd 2 lead you to explore some of the composers further, so much the better. There’s nowhere better to start than with Hildegard’s music A Feather on the Breath of God – Hyperion CDA30009, the first of my top 30 choices from Hyperion – see review – now at mid price and no overlap with the works on Naked Byrd 2.

The booklet contains the texts and translations, though some of these are a little rough. Spiritus Sanctus (track 6) is especially inaccurate, with est (it is) mistaken throughout for es (you are). Substitute the following translation: ‘The Holy Spirit is the life which gives life;/moving all things, its root is found in all creation,/and it washes everything from impurity, wiping sins clean, it anoints wounds./Thus it is a shining and praiseworthy life,/awakening and re-awakening everything’. The text of Lotti’s Crucifixus etiam pro nobis (tr.8) is translated as ‘he was crucified even for us’ when etiam here means ‘also’, not ‘even’. This passage is especially familiar, since it is taken from the Nicene Creed, so the mistranslation is all the more inexplicable. At least the texts are there this time, when they were conspicuous by their absence from Volume 1.

Minor grumbles about the lack of Byrd in the programme and about the quality of the translations apart, this second volume may be confidently recommended. As with Volume 1, the works from widely different periods sit much better together than I might have predicted. If in any doubt, subscribers to the Naxos Music Library can try it first and read the booklet there.

-- Brian Wilson, MusicWeb International

When Henry Madin’s Te Deum for the victories of Louis XV was performed in the Chapelle Royale at Versailles in 2015, it was the first time it had been performed since its premiere in the eighteenth century. Reviving this work for the modern day is Stradivaria, the Baroque ensemble of Nantes, and Les Cris de Paris, the latter two conducted by Daniel Cuiller and Geoffroy Jourdain, respectively. Along with Te Deum, this album also features Madin’s Diligam te, Domine, a grand motet for large chorus.

MENDELSSOHN Elijah • Paul McCreesh, cond; Rosemary Joshua (sop); Sarah Connolly (mez); Robert Murray (ten); Simon Keenlyside (bar); Jonty Ward (tr); Gabrieli Consort; Gabrieli Players; Wroc?aw P Ch; Chetham’s C Ch; North East Youth Ch; Taplow Youth Ch; Ulster Youth C Ch; William Whitehead (org) • SIGNUM SIGCD 300 (2 CDs: 135:58)


Period-performance practice is often loosely associated with smallish forces—but it doesn’t need to be; and although McCreesh happily claims responsibility for the first recording of St. Matthew Passion using a one-to-a-part vocal contingent, he’s also been interested in reproducing the blockbusters of the late 18th and early 19th centuries as they were first heard, with big choruses and surprisingly large period-instrument orchestras. He’s already given us The Creation and the Berlioz Requiem in recordings that approximate the forces of their premieres; now we get a period Elijah that’s modeled on the Birmingham first performance of 1846. What precisely does this mean? For the solo numbers, we have a hefty, but hardly unusual orchestral group. But to accompany the nearly 300-voice chorus, the strings are pumped up by half; woodwinds, trumpets, and drums are doubled; the ophicleide is tripled; and three serpents are thrown into the mix. The result is an orchestra of well more than a hundred. There are other big Elijah s out there, of course, but I suspect that there are none on quite this scale. I’ve heard the Mahler Eighth performed by a smaller crowd.


What’s the benefit, besides increased volume in the climaxes? Well, increased volume is not to be sneered at, but there’s a lot more. The alterations in orchestral size provide additional tonal and emotional variety; the period instruments (which include slide trumpets) provide unusual bursts of color (listen, for example to the tangy sting of the horn stabs in “Though thousands languish” or the gleam of the brass tone in “Baal, we cry to thee”). Most important, though, there’s an audible and striking shift in tonal balance. People often think of Mendelssohn’s music as light, with a treble tilt—and that’s true, say, of the Fourth Symphony or A Midsummer Night’s Dream . But it’s certainly not the case with this Elijah : McCreesh’s performance gives prominence to the bass lines—in part by the use of serpents to double the choral basses, in part by the presence of the extra ophicleides (one of which is a contrabass ophicleide, apparently the only one that still exists), in part by the use of the Birmingham organ (unfortunately dubbed in, but at least very effectively done) with its floor rattling “Grand Ophicleide” stop, in part by the use of so-called “Tower drums” (huge instruments that are in some cases tuned an octave lower). I suspect you’ve never heard the pedal point under the first choral entry so clearly; I suspect you’ve never heard “Thanks be to God!” played with such inevitable and overpowering accumulation of orchestral weight, and never heard it conclude with such depth of sound; I suspect you’ve never heard Elijah’s ascent into heaven or the final fugue thrown forth with such solidity. You might expect the weight to drag the music down; but despite the size and disposition of his forces, McCreesh manages to duplicate the energy and rhythmic vitality of the best small-group performances. If you think of Elijah as “Victorian”—in the loose sense of stodgy or sanctimonious—you’ll be disabused.


Not surprisingly, McCreesh offers an interpretation that stresses the dramatic. Tempos are generally mainstream, although he does resist the temptation to slow down in such moments as “He watching over Israel,” which can easily turn saccharine. I don’t mean to suggest that it’s unsubtle, much less that it lacks passages of exquisite beauty—listen to the glow in the second half of “Yet doth the Lord see it not” or the magic of the double quartet in “For He shall give His Angels charge” or the sweetness of “Blessed are the men who fear Him.” Still, you’re liable to remember this most for its unparalleled outbursts of power—for the huge sound of pleading on the first choral entry, for the overwhelming impact of the silences after “Hear and answer!,” for the shocking arrival of the fire from heaven (“Oh thou who makest”), for the sense of vastness of “Go, return upon thy way.”


As for the title role: If you’re looking for tender authority as Elijah cures the widow’s son, Keenlyside is your man; if, on the other hand, you’re looking for sheer venom as Elijah calls for the murder of the prophets of Baal, then Keenlyside is also your man. This is, simply put, a superbly rich characterization, one that captures, in glorious voice, all the expressive swings of the part. For a quick tour, try the handling of the tricky emotional terrain in “It is enough.”


The other soloists are all excellent: I especially appreciated Rosemary Joshua’s fiery purpose in “What have I to do with thee?” The chorus, which combines singers from Wroc?aw and from Britain, has a lot of younger voices: They sing with freshness, enthusiasm, and no sign of inexperience. The eight who have been picked out for the double quartet—and who are also called forth, in various combinations, for “Cast thy burden,” “Lift thine eyes,” and “Holy, holy, holy”—blend exquisitely. The orchestra is magnificent, too, and balances between soloists, orchestra, and chorus are consistently well judged.


Although I wish (as I did with their Berlioz Requiem) that we had been given a surround-sound version of this performance, the stereo engineering is first class. When you go to your shelf for a recording to demonstrate your new subwoofer, you’re not usually apt to pass by Mahler to reach for Mendelssohn; but this is surely an ideal release for that purpose. As with the Berlioz, it comes in a hard-cover book (fortunately, CD-sized, so it fits on your shelves) with detailed notes, full text, and plenty of photographs. One textual point: Mendelssohn revised the work significantly for the second performance, and McCreesh gives us the final version (with a bit of light editing to the words). This is clearly the right choice, and clearly the Elijah of choice. Want List material.


FANFARE: Peter J. Rabinowitz

“I regard The Veil of the Temple as the supreme achievement of my life and the most important work that I have ever composed.” -- Sir John Tavener

Signum Records re-releases the landmark recording of Sir John Tavener’s The Veil of the Temple. This 2-CD set captures the concert version of this 8-hour work, composed to last through the night until dawn in the manner of the grand vigils of the Orthodox Church. Combining the psalms of a number of different religious traditions, Tavener skillfully blends together a work that is truly all-encompassing in its scale and spiritual fervor. Originally released on RCA, 2003.