Portuguese sacred music of this period inhabits a distinctive sound world that can be seen as a continuation and development of the Spanish style of composers such as Morales and Guerrero, but it is often allied to a tantalizing harmonic richness and colour that is found nowhere else. Its individuality parallels the new and astonishing Manueline architecture in which much of it would have been performed.

Nigel Short and his choir of professional singers, Tenebrae, made their debut on disc with a CD of music for Advent and Christmas, released in 2002, entitled The Dream of Herod (SIGCD046). They return to seasonal music with this CD, most of which is brand new, though a few tracks were recorded a while ago.

The programme is divided, broadly, into three categories. Quite a number of items are modern arrangements of old favourites. Nigel Short himself contributes very pleasing arrangements of Quem Pastores? and Away in a Manger. Both of these are not only effective but seem also to evidence affection for the original carols. Though some may feel the performance of Away in a Manger is rather on the slow side there’s no denying the chaste purity of the setting and the unnamed solo soprano who sings verse one does so exquisitely. Jonathan Rathbone’s arrangement of Silent Night is also very welcome, encasing the familiar tune in slow-moving close harmonies. While enjoying these and other new arrangements of old standards, however, it’s good to find that, just like his descants for popular congregational carols, the arrangements by Sir David Willcocks of Quelle est cette odeur agreeable? and Tomorrow Shall be my Dancing Day more than stand the test of time.

Mention of Sir David in a Christmas context inevitably leads one to the name of John Rutter. In fact I believe that Sir David was instrumental in starting Rutter off on his immensely successful career by championing Nativity Carol, one of his very earliest Christmas pieces, which he wrote while still a Cambridge undergraduate. Here it is once more, beautifully sung by Tenebrae. Incidentally, though one very often hears it accompanied by orchestra I prefer it with a gentle organ accompaniment - as here - since that reinforces the intimacy of this lovely little carol. Nigel Short has chosen two more Rutter carols, both of which I think are among Rutter’s finest. He and his expert choir give exquisite, controlled performances of What Sweeter Music? and There is a Flower, though I have to say that the former is taken a bit slowly for my taste - I seem to recall that Rutter himself, in his own recording, was just a touch swifter, to the music’s advantage. There is a Flower opens and closes with a solo voice. Previously, in my experience, this has been a treble or soprano but here the solo is allotted to a baritone. Though the singer does well I don’t think the choice quite works; when sung by a male voice the melody - and the words - rather loses the pure innocence that a high voice can bring.

The Rutter items fall into the second category of offerings in this programme: original compositions. We also find Tavener’s The Lamb and Howells’s A Spotless Rose. Both are beautifully done but, though I greatly admire both settings, I do feel that their near-ubiquity in programmes such as this is in danger of devaluing them and making them seem routine. I acknowledge that both are popular items - deservedly so - and that popularity sells discs but it would be nice if choirs remembered that Howells in particular wrote several other fine Christmas settings. By comparison, Adrian Peacock’s Veni, veni is scarcely well known but I hope its exposure here will encourage other choirs to investigate it for it is a good piece that grows in excitement from almost nothing until it reaches an abrupt end.

But if I had to single out one piece deserving of wide currency then I’d unhesitatingly nominate Jonathan Rathbone’s The Oxen. In the booklet Nigel Short describes this as a “ravishing setting” and he’s spot on in that judgement. Rathbone takes Thomas Hardy’s poem and clothes it in wonderful, luminous close harmonies that move gently and slowly. This hushed setting for unaccompanied voices struck me as a superb response to the poem and when I played the disc for the first time I replayed this item immediately on hearing it. I just regret that it’s followed immediately on the disc by the necessarily boisterous Gaudete, which rather breaks the spell that Rathbone has cast.

The third category of music in the programme accommodates the lighter, secular pieces. Jingle Bells is presented in a clever, jazzy arrangement and Nigel Short’s version of We Wish You a Merry Christmas is also effective. Best of the three items in this category, I think, is Andrew Carter’s The Twelve Days of Christmas. This is ingenious and entertaining, though I’ll reserve judgement on the farmyard noises that the singers contribute, presumably at Carter’s behest.

Tenebrae perform these three secular items with evident relish and, indeed, the technical accomplishment that’s in evidence throughout this recital is of the highest order. They bring an effortless excellence to all their singing and deliver the entire programme with supreme professionalism and a good deal of commitment. I can see this disc giving a lot of pleasure this Christmas; I shall certainly be listening to it with great enjoyment during the Festive Season.

-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International

Volume 25 of Masaaki Suzuki's Bach cantata series arrived on my desk out of sequence, providing further proof of that old adage, "Better late than never"? The disc comes in a slipcase marked Jubilee Edition, along with a separate booklet containing a celebratory essay (in four languages), a slew of encomiums (none, unfortunately, from me), and, best of all, an index of the cantatas in the first 25 volumes, arranged in BWV order. One hopes that it will be updated periodically. Three superb cantatas, dating from September and October 1724, make this one of the most attractive volumes in the series. All three are cast in the chorale-cantata format with splendid opening choruses that further illustrate Bach?s endless ingenuity. Cantata 78 opens with an intensely expressive chaconne over a lamento bass that is sounded 27 times. (For numerology buffs, 27=3 x 3 x 3 or 3 3 is a representation of the Trinity.) BWV 99 has a more joyful feel, with chorus and orchestra alternating in concertante style. No. 114 projects an aura of strength and confidence, its choral statements punctuated by an energetic ritornello. All three cantatas also feature memorable arias for tenor with an obbligato traverse flute. Many observers have pointed out that Bach had a virtuoso flutist at his disposal at the time, but Klaus Hofmann?s notes suggest that a superior tenor soloist may have been available then as well. BWV 78, Jesu der du meine Seele , one of the most popular of all the cantatas, contains a duet for soprano and alto that qualifies as a ?Bach moment???a movement you might profitably play for an uninitiated listener who wants to know what the fuss over JSB is all about. Did I sense a hint of impatience in Suzuki?s pacing for No. 78? If so, it would be a rare blip in an epic venture that to date has maintained a remarkably and consistently high standard. Most highly recommended, nonetheless.


FANFARE: George Chien

Every Friday for two years between 1942 and 1944, a group of teenage boy prisoners in the Terezin concentration camp shared their poems, stories and artwork in a secret magazine they called Vedem. Most of those boys perished in the Holocaust.

Paul Schoenfield (b. 1947) writes music that is easily grasped but not easily forgotten. A quote from the booklet note states that his works “do for Hassidic music what Astor Piazzolla did for the Argentine tango.” If what is meant by this is that Schoenfield’s music is animated by a strong rhythmic component informed by certain Klezmer-like dance elements, I guess I would go along with the characterization. But there is nothing dance-like about the extraordinarily sorrowful and moving “Soliloquy” of the Viola Concerto. Here is a major new concerted work for viola and orchestra (and how many of them are there?) that is sure to be snapped up by every viola player of note. The piece was written in 1997–98 expressly for Robert Vernon, concertmaster of the Cleveland Orchestra, who gave its premiere performance in 1998, and who plays it here on this CD. Clearly, the work has it origins in Israeli and Eastern European folk song and dance, as well as Hassidic liturgical sources. This is especially evident in the last movement, titled “King David Dancing before the Ark,” a kind of Jewish saltarello, but the overall impression of this concerto is not of a lightweight, pops-concert piece. I believe it is an important new contribution to the viola literature. Vernon is in top form.

The Four Motets, each indicated only by a tempo marking, are settings of four of the seven verses from Psalm 86: “Incline Your ear, O Lord, answer me, for I am poor and needy.” These may be the most beautiful pieces William Byrd ever wrote. I jest of course, but the writing bears a strong resemblance to the Church style of Byrd and Tallis, with just enough 20th-century “irregularities” in voice leading and harmonic progression thrown in to assure you that you haven’t entered a time-warp. Benjamin Britten was quite masterful at writing this type of choral music too.

Schoenfield’s opera, The Merchant and the Pauper, is based on a tale by the great 18th-century Hassidic Rabbi, Reb Nahman. As usual, Neil Levin, author of the encyclopedic notes, and artistic director behind the Milken Archive of American Jewish Music project, goes on for pages of microscopic-print about who Reb Nahman was and the role he played in the evolving Jewish mythology and mysticism that are central to the Hassidic movement. Suffice it here to say that he was a highly controversial figure, as were many of his tales that—through allegory, riddles, and symbolism—drew many fervent believers. The plot of the Merchant and the Pauper presents an original twist on a familiar theme. The Pauper’s wife is kidnapped, but safely returned by the Merchant. The wives of both Pauper and Merchant give birth, the former to a daughter, the latter to a son. In gratitude to the Merchant for the rescue of his wife, the Pauper promises his newborn daughter’s hand in marriage to the Merchant’s son. Meanwhile, as the daughter blossoms into womanhood, her beauty increases, as do the Pauper’s wealth and fortunes. Soon, power and greed corrupt the Pauper, who now no longer wishes his daughter to marry the Merchant’s son. To prevent the marriage, he goes to great lengths to ruin the Merchant, and eventually to have the Merchant’s son abducted, put into a sack, and thrown into the sea (shades of Rigoletto). But this story has a happy ending for all except the Pauper. The son escapes, to be reunited with the Merchant’s daughter in “everlasting joy” (right!), and through the magic of fantasy the Pauper is once again returned to “pauperdom” and the Merchant to “merchanthood.” The story is no sillier than many an opera libretto. What matters is the music. On that score, I can say that even in these relatively short chunks excerpted from act II Schoenfield demonstrates a real flair for the stage and dramatic writing. There is some gorgeous music here, and all of the participants are excellent.

Another winner from this tremendously important project. I recommend it enthusiastically.
Jerry Dubins, FANFARE

The Mass in C minor reflects Mozart's current preoccupation with the music of Handel and Johann Sebastian Bach, explored with the encouragement of Baron van Swieten, an important patron. The work is scored for pairs of oboes, bassoons, horns, trumpets and timpani, with three trombones, strings and organ continuo. After a brief orchestral introduction, the four vocal sections enter in contrapuntal imitation and the movement continues in the monumental and generally conservative style that the Salzburg Archbishop would certainly have discouraged. The soprano soloist introduces the florid Italianate Christe eleison and the contrapuntal choral texture is resumed with the return of the Kyrie. The Gloria opens in affirmative C major, leading almost at once to energetic fugal writing, relaxing momentarily at the words pax hominibus bonae voluntatis (peace to men of good will). Laudamus te is in F major, marked Allegro aperto. It is scored for solo soprano, oboes, horns and strings and is in operatic style. Trombones and bassoons return for the A minor Adagio of Gratias agimus tibi, now with a five-part choir. To this the D minor Domine Deus, Rex caelestis, scored for strings and two soprano soloists, offers an immediate contrast. In Salzburg the second soprano would presumably have been sung by one of the castrati employed by the court musical establishment. There is a return to a more traditional Baroque style in the solid dotted rhythms of the G minor Qui tollis peccata mundi, for two four-part choirs with the full orchestra. The two soprano soloists are joined by a solo tenor for the E minor setting of Quoniam tu solus Dominus, scored without trombones or horns. The solo voices enter in energetic contrapuntal imitation, over which the spirit of Handel seems to loom, seen through a Mozartian prism. There is a brief C major choral Adagio for the words Jesu Christe, before the splendid formal Baroque fugal setting of Cum Sancto Spiritu, in the same key. The unfinished Credo starts with a movement for five-part choir, scored without trombones.

Josquin, Brumel and Lassus were truly European composers, leaving their origins to work in the top establishments of Aix-en-Provence, Ferrara, Rome and Munich. Their music has a unique sonority which will astound you all - from the depth of expression and fascinating texts of Josquin (prepare yourselves for the surreal nature of Praeter rerum seriem) to the overtly decorative mass movements of Brumel’s Missa Et ecce terraemotus where the 12 parts interweave in extensive imitation and thrilling tracery, culminating in the extraordinary harmonic stillness of Lassus’s Timor et tremor and his gorgeously evocative 10-part setting of Aurora lucis rutilat.

Without doubt, Monteverdi was the greatest of the early baroque European composers. He revolutionized the music of the theatre and the church with his dramatic, imaginative use of voices and instruments, and with his daring harmonies and rhythms. Next to his Vespers of 1610, the Selva morale e spirituale of 1641 is his most significant and virtuosic collection of sacred music. Over the next few years, The Sixteen will record the complete publication with a variety of forces for CORO.

“The Sixteen under Harry Christophers respond with breathtaking assurance.” — Gramophone

O GUIDING NIGHT • Harry Christophers, cond; The Sixteen • CORO COR 16090 (65:06 Text and Translation)


O’REGAN Fleeting, God. O vera digna hostia. Beloved, All Things Cease. BYRCHMORE The Dark Night. Prayer of St. Teresa of Avila. A Birthday. WILLIAMS O Guiding Night. Let Nothing Trouble You. O Adonai

Harry Christophers has recorded a great deal of music from Spain’s Siglo de Oro. This program marks a new view of the same period, one that starts with the two Carmelite mystics of the time, St. John of the Cross and St. Teresa of Avila. They were not only mystics in the spiritual life but reformers of the Carmelite religious orders. Among the nine works on this program are six new works commissioned by the Genesis Foundation, each of the three composers setting the prayer of St. Teresa of Avila, “Let Nothing Trouble You,” and a poem of St. John of the Cross, “The Dark Night.” An additional recent composition by each of the three fills out the program. This follows an earlier Christophers disc ( Fanfare 33:1) for which the same foundation commissioned settings of Padre Pio’s prayer by three other British composers. St. Teresa’s prayer is shorter than the six strophes of St. John’s poem.

Tarik O’Regan is the youngest but the most familiar of these three composers, for earlier he had a disc to himself (30: 1) and has received similar commissions to this one. O’Regan and Roderick Williams, the oldest of the three, both set the prayer unaccompanied and the poem with piano. Ruth Byrchmore also sets the prayer unaccompanied but the poem with organ, the magnificent instrument at St. Giles, Cripplegate, where this program was recorded. (Robert Quinney plays both organ and piano.) I hear more similarity than difference in these works, but that suggests that the mystical texts inspired all three composers alike. The three settings of the prayer run five to six minutes, the three of the poem just over 10 minutes each.

The brief added works are varied. O’Regan sets a 10th-century text of St. Wulfstan in Latin, commissioned by Winchester Cathedral. Byrchmore sets a poem by Christina Rossetti commissioned for a St. Cecilia’s Day celebration. Williams sets the Advent antiphon O Adonai in Latin, commissioned by Ex Cathedra ensemble. All are unaccompanied. Christophers brings the excellent performances to life in his accustomed manner. This is a fine program of new music.

FANFARE: J. F. Weber

‘Our main purpose for this recording,’ writes Masaaki Suzuki, ‘was to perform all the music contained in the collection that Monteverdi published in 1610.’ So he begins with the Missa In illo tempore, a superb example of old-style, elaborate polyphony; moves through the Vespers themselves, following the original order of the pieces and interpolating nothing; then, after the lavish Magnificat a 7, he ends with the more modest Magnificat a 6, which Monteverdi appended as an alternative.

This straightforward approach seems almost radical given the current glut of more fanciful versions, in which conductors reshuffle the Vespers, pepper them with antiphons and works by other composers and variously ‘adapt’ them to fit specific liturgical occasions. Such diverse interpretations make the choice of a benchmark recording highly subjective. Gardiner (dramatic, on Archiv) and Parrott (intimate and liturgically correct, on Virgin Veritas) offer fine, contrasting views, and several other versions (Christie, Garrido, Junghänel, Pickett) are well worth exploring.

This new set is consistently engaging. Unlike his rivals, Suzuki uses a high pitch of A=465Hz (common in Monteverdi’s Italy), but follows current thinking in transposing certain pieces down a fourth (the Missa, the Magnificats, ‘Lauda Jerusalem’). Performances throughout are expressive, sharply focused, intensely committed. Though he dispenses with liturgical trappings, Suzuki, aided by a spacious ‘churchy’ acoustic, certainly brings out the ritualistic and devotional character of the music, from the ornate orchestral splendour of the ‘Sonata sopra Sancta Maria’ to the tender vocal passions of ‘Pulchra es’ and ‘Duo Seraphim’. Excellent.

-- Graham Lock, BBC Music Magazine

BRITTEN War Requiem • Paul McCreesh, cond; Susan Gritton (sop); John Mark Ainsley (ten); Christopher Maltman (bar); Gabrieli Young Singers’ Scheme; Trebles of the Ch of New College Oxford; Wroclaw P Ch; Gabrieli Consort & Players • SIGNUM 340 (2 CDs: 84: 05)


Time was when Paul McCreesh was considered a specialist—and a brilliant one—in the Baroque and Classical periods, primarily in operas and liturgical choral works. In the last two years, however, he has released four extraordinary recordings, three of which might seem, at least to the record collector, to be outside his domain: the Berlioz Grande Messe des Morts , Mendelssohn’s Elijah , and a collection of British choral works on loss and consolation, A Song of Farewell , featuring the Herbert Howells Requiem. (The only exception is a newly refined conjectural reconstruction of the 1595 coronation service for Doge Marino Grimani in Venice.) Now, for the Benjamin Britten centennial, he has produced a new studio recording of the incomparable War Requiem . Each of these large scale undertaking is an outgrowth of McCreesh’s association with the International Festival of Oratorio and Cantata Music in Wroclaw, Poland (Wratislavia Cantans) and each employs not only a much augmented Gabrieli Consort and Players, but also the very fine Wroclaw Philharmonic Choir. Those familiar with McCreesh’s earlier masterful shaping of the large musical canvasses of Berlioz and Mendelssohn with his hundreds of performers will know exactly what to expect here.


And in fact, from the hushed suspense of the opening of the Requiem aeternam , to the more gentle than usual beginning to an extraordinarily powerful Dies irae , on to a more accurate than typical Sed signifier sanctus Michael , and an explosive Hosanna in excelsis , McCreesh and his 175-voice adult choir combine huge dynamic range with precision and flawless balance, perfect intonation, and great depth and variety of tone. The equally fine youth choir is made up of trebles from the Choir of New College Oxford, as well as choirs from McCreesh’s educational project, the Gabrieli Young Singers’ Scheme: Chethams Chamber Choir, North East Youth Chorale, Taplow Youth Choir, and Ulster Youth Chamber Choir. From its first appearance in a perfectly judged halo of resonance, the distanced body of treble voices is touchingly angelic.


The full orchestral forces make an awesome commotion in all the right places, the brass especially impressive in the various apocalypses and dramatic explosions; the one with organ near the end of the Libera me gave me chills. However, the chamber music, with an ensemble of superb soloists, lingers just as long in memory, aided as they are by McCreesh’s willingness to suspend forward momentum, to focus more than customary attention on details in the settings of Owen’s poems. I do not know a recording that gives greater support to the soloists than this.


These soloists know how to use the opportunities afforded them. McCreesh opts for an all-British trio, rather than continuing the symbolic use of English, German, and Russian soloists. More than many tenor soloists, John Mark Ainsley manages to break the hold of the Peter Pears tradition in the solos, while still being true to the substance of the work. He sings “One ever hangs” with breathtaking beauty of tone, and finds great poignancy and palpable fury in “Move him into the sun.” Baritone Christopher Maltman does the same in “Bugles sang,” sounding little like Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau but matching him in text pointing and intelligence of phrasing, here and in a chillingly scornful “Be slowly lifted up.” Together, they are arresting in “So Abram rose,” aided by McCreesh’s perceptive pacing, as they had been in the earlier sardonic “Out there, we’ve walked.” Susan Gritton is not as piercingly imperious as Galina Vishnevskaya in the Sanctus or Libera me , but the beauty of her voice in the Benedictus and the concluding In paradisum is more than ample compensation. The two male soloists outdo themselves in the concluding scena, “It seemed that out of battle I escaped,” and if “Let us sleep now” does not reduce you to tears, nothing in music can.


My two small complaints seem almost churlish in the face of such perfection: first, the books in which this and all of McCreesh’s Signum/Winged Lion releases are issued are quite beautifully done—texts, intelligent notes, and striking illustrations—but the endsheet sleeves invite scratches and, as in my case, surface scuffs. There must certainly be a better way. The second is the decision to provide only six tracks for the entire work, one at each of the major divisions of the Mass. Maybe only critics making comparisons care, but it would have been simple to add more.


But enough, the essential question is, does this new recording supplant Britten’s own with the soloists for whom he wrote the work? Britten was a master conductor of his own music, so almost inevitably the answer is, well … no. And yet, so powerful is McCreesh’s performance, so insightful the interpretive choices, so fine the soloists, and so clear and dynamic the recording, it would be hard indeed to have to choose between this and the original. Adding to the dilemma, Decca has just remastered the 1963 Britten recording from the master tapes—described as increasingly fragile—for its comprehensive anniversary issue and has made yet another incremental improvement in the transfer of the always fine Culshaw production. I recommend having both in the collection—this is, after all, no different than having multiple Beethoven symphony sets—and for the truly devoted, add Noseda’s hyper-dramatic performance on LSO Live and Rilling’s on Hänssler. There are other fine performances of this masterpiece, but these four—and definitely this new one—now define summa cum laude.

FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames