At their most fanatical, the radicalized Reformists of England’s Church sought to purify the Church of everything worldly—and for our purposes, that included music set to Latin texts or requiring professional performance. It didn’t need a mass uprising to achieve this cleansing, this destruction. Merely a few small gangs of determined individuals in a time and place when the rule of law was in abeyance was probably sufficient, though the appointment of several influential Puritans to high office certainly didn’t help matters. Much music is known to have been lost, though a justified level of fear encouraged forethought in a few instances. It wasn’t until 1926 that a servant at Peterhouse revealed a hidden cupboard behind the Perne library’s paneling, for instance, where three Caroline partbooks were hidden.

Still, some of the partbooks have gone missing over time; and given that a set, one voice to a part, is required for performance, any loss has proven sufficient to silence so much fine Tudor polyphony. The Henrician Peterhouse group—Peterhouse MSS 40, 41, 31 and 32, a total of 72 works, 39 of which are unica—furnish a sad example of this. Of its five partbooks, the tenor is missing, as well as several leaves removed at some point from the treble. Various scholars long asserted that the kind of florid style frequently found in these books was no longer being composed in the later years of Henry’s rule, and paid no attention to the partbooks because they were little known and their contents unperformable. It is thanks to musicologist Nick Sandon, who has supplied the tenor part (and when necessary, the treble), that we have a working edition of those compositions that can’t be found elsewhere.

This fourth volume of the series once again features a work by Nicholas Ludford (c. 1490–1557). He is easily the best-known composer on the disc, which, given that he was almost entirely unknown until the last half century, says much about England’s musical discontinuity. (As well as the importance of Peterhouse’s Henrician partbooks; for a fair amount of what they include isn’t unica by well-known composers, but by those who lived, worked, died, and were completely forgotten.) Though his Ave cujus conceptio is not the centerpiece of the album as the Missa Regnum mundi (Blue Heron 1003) and Missa Inclina cor meum (Blue Heron 1004) were of theirs, it is a brightly buoyant work without shadows, launching lengthy melismatic phrases like so many streamers.

The central work on the program is the Missa Spes nostra of Robert Jones (fl. 1520–1535). His is a cantus firmus Mass, and as was the custom in England at the time, there is no pre-composed, polyphonic Kyrie. (Blue Heron supplies a plainchant one from the Sarum use sung, as was this Mass, on Trinity Sunday.) Metcalfe points out in his excellent liner notes that Jones “plays with the idea of alternation between major and minor harmonizations of the third scale degree” throughout the Mass. This, along with some simpler homophonic statements among the wealth of imitation, gives it at times an almost folk-like quality, though upon other occasions Jones relishes the passing dissonances his juxtapositions invite. Sandon notes in his doctoral dissertation that Jones can be unpredictable, and that he “sometimes writes very neat motivically generated counterpoint, but at other times he can be quirky and wayward.” This Mass is a highly individualized work, and amply repays repeated listening.

The final composer on the program, Robert Hunt, is so obscure that he hasn’t even been further identified yet. Only two pieces of his survive, both in the Peterhouse partbooks: an Ave Maria mater dei, and the Stabat mater dolorosa heard here. It is the only work on the disc missing both its tenor and treble parts, which Sandon has supplied. In a manner that recalls the spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola, it invites the listener to partake in the successive emotions experienced at the foot of the Cross by Mary, and manages this brilliantly in a very free, intensely emotive fashion. It should be required listening of anyone who feels that imitative counterpoint can’t be expressive.

It is also a superb example of what Scott Metcalfe has achieved with Blue Heron: an ensemble that yields to none for intonation, blend, and clarity, yet also utilizes both overall and part-related dynamics as an expressive device in a way most other professional choirs of its quality do not. Metcalfe is alive to the lyricism that was a remarked-upon feature of 15th-century English music, and the beauty of Blue Heron’s phrasing displays this everywhere on this disc. That the choir isn’t better known is no doubt a result in part of its rarified repertoire, but also Metcalfe’s desire to retain control over all aspects of his recordings. So you won’t find Blue Heron on such labels as Hyperion or Harmonia Mundi, but you will find that the excellent engineering on this album provides a close, rich sound with just enough reverberation to give body to the voices.

Complete texts and translations are included. Really, the entire series to date is worth the purchase. And if you want to sample some of Blue Heron’s recordings, as well as buy them, the place to go is blueheronchoir.org. Strongly recommended.

Just listen to the variations in tempi and dynamic of Luci serene e chiare. It’s the first track of this fourth volume in the excellent series of Gesualdo's madrigals from Delitiæ Musicæ under Marco Longhini on Naxos. To hear this is to appreciate how effective care and attention to every nuance should be when singing what is often seen as a dark corner of the Renaissance vocal repertoire.

It goes on that way: the six singers and keyboard player (Carmen Leoni) treat every piece by the usually only anthologised Gesualdo as its own gem. They approach each madrigal almost as if it were Gesualdo's only one. This could, admittedly, lead to a laboured and self-conscious style. It doesn't. The Italian group's familiarity with and obvious love of Gesualdo's world sees to that.

Instead, our response is anticipation for each next madrigal while thoroughly savouring the particularities of the one we're listening to. In a way this helps to create an understanding of the corpus of this aspect of Gesualdo's output … two more CDs from Naxos - to whom Delitiæ Musicæ is under exclusive contract - and the cycle will be complete.

The composer's Fourth Book of madrigals was published in Ferrara in 1596 and quickly achieved several further printings - including one in 1613 in Genova in partitura - a rare occurrence enabling singers to experience the music 'horizontally', line by musical line.

This Fourth Book was intended as a kind of atonement for the composer's (conviction for the) murder of his first wife, Donna Maria d'Avalos in 1590. In the Kingdom of Naples a husband had such a legal right in the case of infidelity. But, although Gesualdo faced no punishment from the legal system, he was ostracised and marginalised by his own community. What Longhini - who also produced the 'Urtext Edition' for these recordings - and his singers have achieved so well is a convincing set of performances. This graciously and genuinely blurs any distinction that we might make four hundred years later between heartfelt remorse on Gesualdo's part and what the Renaissance poet, playwright and composer was able to make using events from life as material for art.

In a way the tone, the weeping, the dourness, the (self-)deploring, above all the self-doubt must be taken as starting points for this beautiful and affecting music - not as something to be expressed in and by it. The creativity, the tight and effective matching of texts (mostly anonymous and by Guarini) to tonality and texture are what matter. They stand on their own. That's the approach which these performers so successfully take.

At the heart of the set is what at first sight appears a misfit: Sparge la morte al mio Signor [tr.12], the longest piece here at almost seven and a half minutes. In fact to transfer the remorse to images of the unjustly (with ambivalences) murdered Christ illuminates the complexity of Gesualdo's thinking in these works. The suggestion is clear … alongside remorse and torment should come forgiveness and some sort of 'settlement'. Indeed by the time we get to Arde il mio cor [tr.19], the darkness has lifted somewhat, though Delitiæ Musicæ's tempi are still slow, if a little less deliberate. Although those resounding bass notes of Walter Testolin are held for just as long and are as chilling, there is a sense of hope. Certainly the remaining three pieces look upward and let light in.

Nevertheless, overall we're not allowed to forget the trauma, the potential for trauma, the torment represented by (secular) love, and the totality of a soul so affected when subjected to such searing and unrelenting self-examination. Not once do the singers lay the mud or paste on too thickly. Nor do they overlook the innovative nature of the sonic impact of the poetry … dissonance, distortion, a little interruption of the metrical line and much expressive, more easily-flowing consonance between text, harpsichord and song. You can hear this in the fittingly final Il sol qual or piu splende [tr.22]. While the phrase 'tour de force' would be wrong because it would suggest the need for a more mighty and strenuous push than is necessary here, the achievement of Longhini with Delitiæ Musicæ is a considerable one.

Their tone is just right from first to last, their articulation, emphases and sense of seriousness yet neither drab nor spuriously sparkling are indeed delightful. There is, to be sure, little of the lighthearted and springing qualities which we often associate with some madrigals. The purpose and drive behind these interpretations makes them hugely successful.

The booklet that comes with the CD has useful background - particularly to the killing and its subsequent effect on Gesualdo. It contains all the texts in Italian with English translation. The acoustic is clear and not too resonant, though full of intensity in atmosphere. If you've already been attracted to this excellent series, don't hesitate to add this to the collection. It's also a convincing and sensitive enough set of performances to encourage you to start and explore the lot. The Fifth Book is eagerly awaited.

– Mark Sealey, MusicWeb International

It is only in the last few years, largely as a result of the pioneering performances of the Simon Mayr Chorus and Ensemble conducted by Franz Hauk, that Mayr has come to be valued as one of the most significant composers of operatic and sacred music of his time. Il sagrifizio di Jefte (The Sacrifice of Jephtha), first performed in 1795, is a dramatic oratorio with a wealth of variety in both the vocal and instrumental writing, which foreshadows the operas to come.

A disc to savour for its serenely grave beauty and profound musicality.

One of the more foolish items in the British music press of the last year was a league table presuming to list in order of merit the world’s twenty finest choirs. Aside from any minor concerns about relevant criteria - only choirs whose performance material centred on what could be termed western ‘classical’ seem to have been judged - the utter impossibility of making absolute judgements about the merits of wildly diverse groups seems to have not concerned the compilers of such a list a jot. Good I guess for your group’s publicity machine if you made the list but wildly infuriating for the many who do not seem to have even been considered. More to do with weight of catalogue presence and therefore familiarity I wager than pure ability. Don’t get me wrong, the final twenty comprised superb choirs but the absence of any from Eastern Europe, or gospel groups or rock choirs or ensembles singing what might be collectively called folk or ethnic material fatally flawed the process. At the time the fact that no American choir either was featured caused as much of a stir as anything in the realm of classical music ever does. Listening to this superb disc from the ever-impressive Kansas City Chorale and you can understand why there was this annoyance. The Chorale under their long-serving music director Charles Bruffy recorded a series of discs for Nimbus back in the mid-nineties and it was through those that I first encountered them. Their Christmas recital Nativitas remains one of my all-time favourite discs for those seeking something away from the traditional Carols arr. Willcocks fare. The Chorale is a professional chamber choir with six voices allocated to each of the usual S.A.T.B. Their sound is characterised by a remarkably refined and balanced tone with the voices blending across all parts as well as I have ever heard. Attack and intonation are also exemplary and they have that superb ability of bending the sound they make to suit the style and period of the music they are singing. I like also the fact that their sound is not overly ‘young’. There seems to be such a predilection for choirs making an ever more pure or blanched sound that I find it something of a relief to here an out-and-out adult group. Not for a second does that imply anything matronly or lacking in focus; far from it. No surprise then that in this disc of warmly romantic music by Brahms they projected a rounded, warm and gorgeously mellifluous sound.
 
Before listening to this disc with the exception of the Liebeslieder I was rather ignorant of Brahms’ music for chamber choir - as these works might be termed. In his informative liner-note David Andrew Threasher valuably reminds us that Brahms took inspiration and influence from earlier Germanic composers such as Bach, Handel and Mozart. Certainly, one is aware throughout of a master-craftsman at work although apparently Brahms himself had doubts about their enduring worth asking his friend the violinist and composer Joseph Joachim; “apart from the ingenuity, is it good music?” The overall character of this CD is gently benevolent but within that Brahms experimented with various textural combinations of voices. There are straight 4-parts songs with piano accompaniment – Four Quartets Op.92 and Six Quartets Op.112; in the latter group only Nos.1 and 2 are recorded here. Superficially these were written for amateurs to sing at home gathered around a piano but the sophistication of writing would take it out of the range of such a group. Then there are five and six part works – the Five Songs Op.104 have setting for both groups while the Three Songs Op.42 are also for six whilst the Two Motets Op.29 are five part. This listing immediately tells you two things; that Brahms returned to this musical form throughout his life and that he wrestled with the tonal and textural implications of the form as well. Much as he – and other composers at the same time – found that adding an extra viola and cello to a string quartet allowed far greater richness in his String Sextets Opp.18 and 36 so here the line-up becomes SAATBB. Across the voices this adds greatly to the richness of the sound but it also allows, within the male/female split, that each group can cover the notes contained in the triads of basic chords. The Kansas singers are superb at achieving this blend – there is a quiet rapture to their performances of this music that I absolutely adore. In the earlier Op.29 motets only the bass line is split. This is logical since their model is Bachian and the second bass line is able to provide a musical foundation on which the other parts above build. As with the other Nimbus discs recorded in Kansas the production team have favoured a church location with the choir set slightly back into the acoustic. This gives a mellow warmth to the sound which I find ideal matching both the music itself and the performance style.
 
The highlight for me on this disc was the very opening sequence – Four songs for Women’s Chorus, 2 Horns and Harp Op.17. Even more than the famous excerpt from the Liebeslieder Waltzes that closes the disc this is the most truly Romantic (with a capital R) music on the disc. Opening with the quintessentially romantic instrument – the huntsman’s horn – this is simply glorious. I cannot think of any other examples in the repertoire for this unusual accompanying ensemble which no doubt accounts for its neglect either on disc or in the concert hall. One doesn’t associate Brahms with virtuoso harp writing but that is what we have here. Again the Nimbus engineers have placed the instrumentalists slightly back into the body of the church which allows them to play at a proper dynamic without swamping the often ethereal vocal writing. There is a rather serendipitous effect right at the start too –and one I was aware of only when I listened on headphones. The very opening song “Heart notes ring out, increasing love and longing..” is accompanied by bird-song sounding as if it comes from high in the roof of the church – given that the atmosphere of the whole set is powerfully nature-imbued this is disarmingly beautiful. Beauty is indeed the word I take from the entire disc. My only caveat is that the piano used to accompany the choir – although extremely well played by accompanist Cynthia Siebert – does not sound in the first flush of youth. The booklet as usual favours Nimbus’s preferred style of good-sized text printed in English only. Full texts in original languages (all German here) with English translation only are provided. Because this is not a mixed recital perhaps this disc does not show off the remarkable range of the wonderful Kansas City Chorale as impressively as some others I have heard. However, as a coherent well planned and superbly executed programme of rare Brahms this would be hard to beat even if there were multiple versions to choose; a quick scan of the catalogue would imply that there are not. A disc to savour for its serenely grave beauty and profound musicality.
 
-- Nick Barnard, MusicWeb International

A memento of what must have been a very moving occasion.

As far as I know, this is Sir Colin Davis’s second recording of Tippett’s oratorio; his first, made for Philips in 1975 and featuring such luminaries as Jessye Norman, Janet Baker and John Shirley-Quirk, has always been one of the top choices. There are also valuable performances from Pritchard (1957, the pioneering recording), Rozhdestvensky (a live BBC relay on Carlton Classics) and, not least, the composer himself (a technically fallible but nevertheless overwhelming performance with the CBSO on Naxos). Davis also performed A Child of our Time at the Barbican last December and this was recorded for LSO Live.

Sir Colin has performed a number of works by British composers during his appearances in Dresden. His acclaimed reading of Elgar’s First Symphony has already appeared in this edition and he also performed Britten’s War Requiem in 2000 in commemoration of the destruction of Dresden. Performances of A Child of our Time in Germany carry a particular charge, bringing as they do associations of atonement and reparation. This is further confirmed by the lavishly illustrated CD booklet, which provides a detailed background to the events in Europe that inspired Tippett’s oratorio. There is also some fascinating information on Dresden’s synagogue, designed, like its famous opera house, by Gottfried Semper and destroyed during the Kristallnacht of 1938. No texts are provided.

Davis, aided by the spacious acoustic of the Semper Opera House, sets a steady pace for the most part, emphasising the dramatic weight and power of his conception. The chorus is backwardly placed but such is the excellence of their diction that this is not a problem. The oratorio is paced unerringly, the chorus providing rich tone in “Steal Away” vivid characterisation of persecutors and persecuted in “Burn down their houses” followed by a sombre reading of “Go Down Moses”. The sequence of Handel-inspired recitatives and arias in the central part of the oratorio move from fear, terror, anger and, finally, acceptance. At the end Davis draws the threads together with complete mastery for the final “Deep River”.

The soloists all characterise their roles extremely vividly, and although occasionally some idiosyncratic pronunciation can make for disconcerting listening this is a relatively small blemish when we are faced with such obvious involvement. Ute Selbig possesses a bright, full soprano - she sang Sibelius’s Luonnotar in the first half of the concert at which this recording was made - and soars effortlessly over the other forces in the spirituals and elsewhere. The late Jerry Hadley sings with passionate although somewhat plaintive tone, and Robert Holl is a tower of strength in the important bass part.

Sir Colin’s reading is undoubtedly authoritative and moving, with a powerful and responsive chorus and a team of soloists who are extremely involved dramatically, although vocally more fallible than some of their counterparts on disc. I wouldn’t say this new disc superseded any of the versions listed above, but it does provide a memento of what must have been a very moving occasion in the Semperoper, and occasionally surpasses its predecessors in terms of sheer emotional commitment.

-- Ewan McCormick, MusicWeb International