This recording has a lot going for it. Ives' music permits such a wide latitude of interpretive options that it's difficult to criticize any performance on grounds other then technical incompetence, and Steven Mayer not only plays extremely well, he has interesting ideas about how this music should sound. The Concord Sonata receives a magisterial performance, some 10 minutes slower than Marc-André Hamelin's benchmark recording for New World, but the music itself is so dense that it never sounds slow. Quite the contrary. If Mayer sacrifices some typical Ivesian wildness, he compensates by allowing us to hear more of what's going on in even the densest passages. He's particularly adept at pointing up, say, Beethoven's Fifth on its various appearances in "Emerson", and despite his comparative leisure, he highlights the abrupt contrasts of tempo and dynamics in "Hawthorne" as well as anyone.


Mayer's relaxed reading of the "The Alcotts" has special charm and a warmth that's just right for this portrait of two girls practicing the piano at home. "Thoreau" is let down a bit by the recording, which fails to back off far enough to realize a true pianissimo, even though Mayer scales down his dynamic range as Ives requests. Indeed, about the only other quibble I have aside from this one is that Mayer doesn't give us a true "very fast" in the 7/4 section of "Emerson", though of course it's an open question whether or not Ives himself would have cared. In the final analysis, this performance makes an excellent introduction to the work, combining a healthy dose of Romantic expressiveness with great clarity, concentration, and boldness. Even the readings between movements (of bits of Ives' own essays and fragments taken from the eponymous writers, an aspect of the performance I truly dreaded) are sonorously but simply intoned by Kerry Shale, coming off well as a sort of palate-cleansing sorbet between the larger courses.


The three shorter works, all more or less related to the sonata (everything in Ives tends to be related to everything else anyway), make for a very interesting and entirely appropriate bonus. I particularly enjoyed the wacky and truculent Varied Air and Variations, a riotously obnoxious piece that doesn't get as much attention as it should. As noted, the sonics, though generally good, tend to put the microphones a touch too close to the piano, and in consequence somewhat limit the dynamic range while capturing a bit of performance noise besides--but this isn't really troublesome. If you're looking for a satisfying, low-priced way to get to know some truly remarkable piano music through intelligent and sympathetic performances, you can't go wrong here.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Like Mozart's, the two string quintets of Brahms are scored for two violins, two violas and cello. The choice is characteristic. The register of the violas and the richness of texture that such an instrumentation can impart, whether in chamber music or in orchestral writing, was very typical of Brahms, and reflected in his music for the piano. He had first attempted the form in 1862, using two cellos, as Schubert had done, but had destroyed it, replacing it first with an arrangement for two pianos, and later, in a final version, as a piano quintet. Brahms had intended his String Quintet in G major, Op. 111, as his last chamber music composition. He wrote it in the summer of 1890 at Bad Ischl, following his usual custom of composing during summer holidays spent away from the city. It was, in the event, to be followed by four further compositions, the Clarinet Trio, the Clarinet Quintet, and two Clarinet Sonatas, the last also known in an effectively autumnal version for viola, an instrument offered in the other works as an alternative to the clarinet. The G major Quintet was first performed in Vienna on 11th November in the year of it's composition. It starts with a movement derived from sketches for a fifth symphony, allowing the cello an orchestrally conceived first subject. For the second subject Brahms turns to Vienna for inspiration. There is a shift to B flat major in the central development, further modulation leading to the return of the original key and thematic material in recapitulation. The D minor slow movement allows free variations on the opening material, until the theme returns in a simpler form, originally played by the first viola. The third movement opens in a melancholy G minor, the feeling dispelled by a G major trio section, which has the last word, after the re-appearance of the G minor material. The quintet ends with a Vivace ma non troppo presto, a rondo that finds a place for much else that is thoroughly Austrian or Austro-Hungarian in mood, ending in an energetic Hungarian czárdás.

John Corigliano is a man of many talents – composer, teacher, record producer. This enterprising disc showcases both his earlier work (the violin sonata) and a set of variations based on his score for François Girard’s 1997 film The Red Violin. Sensibly, Naxos have paired them with violin vignettes by Virgil Thomson, perhaps best known for his film scores The Plow That Broke the Plains and The River.

The Russian-born violinist Philippe Quint may not be a household name on this side of the Atlantic but he has made quite an impact in his adopted homeland. Apart from winning a slew of prestigious awards he is dedicated to performing American music. He is partnered here by the charismatic pianist William Wolfram, who made an impact of his own with a fine disc of Donizetti opera transcriptions [see review].

Briefly, The Red Violin traces the travels of the eponymous instrument from Italy in the late 1600s to 19th-century England, China during the Cultural Revolution and finally to Canada in the 1990s. The conceit will be familiar to anyone who has read Accordion Crimes by Brokeback author Annie Proulx.

Corigliano won an Academy Award for the original score, which he has reworked as a set of five variations. From the outset it’s clear we are in the presence of a very fine fiddler. Quint produces a lovely warm tone in the elegiac opening to Variation 1, not to mention some scintillating passagework in the ensuing Con bravura. But it’s in the third variation that he really surprises, with an almost throaty sound. He seems perfectly in control at all times, especially in the quick, rhythmically precise writing towards the end of this variation. In Variation 4 he is wonderfully eloquent, too, and the instrument’s upper registers really sing. He also imbues the music with a meditative quality that is most attractive, notably in the final variation. Even in the more agitated passages he bows with great precision and bite, the engineers capturing the weight and character of sound very well indeed.

For anyone looking to sample Corigliano’s work this is an excellent place to start. His music is described as ‘neo-tonal’ but as so often the label doesn’t tell you a great deal about what to expect. Lightweight it may be but this is skilful music adroitly played. Ditto the violin sonata, where Quint is joined by Wolfram, whose first imperious entry is a sign of what’s to follow. Both soloists are warmly recorded, the violin tone nicely balanced by a weighty piano.

Wolfram proves he can play quietly and with feeling in the Andantino, in marked contrast to his jaunty Allegro. They both respond well to this meanderingly beautiful movement. But even here the music has a habit of modulating into something a little wilder before returning to its gentle wanderings. Indeed, there are times when one is reminded of Korngold’s violin concerto. But whatever the echoes it’s delectable stuff and superbly played.

The third movement – Lento – is more austere than anything we’ve heard thus far; Wolfram restrains the violin’s attempts to break free with darker more declamatory music. The tension is never fully resolved – shades of Shostakovich’s piano trios, perhaps – the movement ending in an enigmatic violin fade.

The final Allegro has a rollicking, silent-film quality that conceals writing of some subtlety and skill. Wolfram springs the rhythms with real affection, Quint shooting the musical rapids with ease. It’s a witty and engaging conclusion to a delightful work, helped by playing of rare commitment. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine this performance being easily trumped.

Virgil Thomson, like his contemporary Aaron Copland, belongs to that small group of composers whose work captures the spirit of America, whether in rousing tributes to the Wild West or evocations of its landscapes and rivers. But the works recorded here are altogether more urban – sophisticated, even – dating as they do from Thomson’s years in Paris.

The Three Portraits, arranged for violin and piano by Samuel Dushkin, are charming vignettes. It’s not essential to identify the subjects, who are rendered here with obvious insight. The first is a tipsy barcarolle, the second a haughty tango, both essayed with rhythmic subtlety and an artist’s eye for defining detail. The bird-like third portrait, complete with trills, is for violin alone. Fresh, open, never sly or knowing, these pieces are little gems.

Five Ladies, written in the 1930s but only published in 1983, offers more of the same but this time without the intervention of an arranger. If anything these pieces are more focused, the writing more distinctive than before. They really are the simplest of sketches, a series of telling musical pencil strokes. The soloists echo this disarmingly simple style with playing of lightness and grace.

The Eight Portraits, written between 1928 and 1940, give Quint another chance to demonstrate his skills. At first they can seem a little dry, almost like a set of practice pieces, but Quint individualises each of them with a range of mood and colour that is most impressive. That said, the material is overstretched at times. Minor caveats aside this really is playing of a high order, self-possessed yet never self-regarding.

Such fine performances of rarely heard works are what make the American Classics series indispensable. Indeed, this is one of the most consistently satisfying projects in the entire Naxos catalogue. And while this disc doesn’t qualify as mould-breaking or profound, it’s well worth hearing.

-- Dan Morgan, MusicWeb International

ZAIMONT Piano Sonata. Calendar Collection: Spring, Summer, Autumn. Jupiter’s Moons. Wizards. La Fin de Siècle. A Calendar Set. Cortège for Jack. Jazz Waltz. American City: Portrait of New York. Hitchin’. In My Lunchbox. Hesitation Rag. Reflective Rag. Judy’s Rag. Serenade • Elizabeth Moak (pn) • MSR 1366 (2 CDs: 155: 36)



ZAIMONT Piano Sonata. A Calendar Set. Le Fin de Siècle • Christopher Atzinger (pn) • NAXOS 8.559665 (65:55)


ZAIMONT Piano Sonata. Jupiter’s Moons. La Fin de Siècle. Hesitation Rag • Joanne Polk (pn) • ALBANY 617 (62:56)


Judith Lang Zaimont, now in her late 60s, has been a consistently and productively active presence on the American compositional scene since the 1960s, and I have followed her work—though not exhaustively—from almost as far back. She has won a generous share of awards and enjoyed a series of academic affiliations, notably on the faculties of the Peabody Conservatory, Adelphi University, and the University of Minnesota. She now lives in Arizona, devoting her time largely to composing. Although I have found her work collectively to be of variable interest, it has always impressed me with both excellent craftsmanship and a basic sincerity of expression, devoid of glitz or mere cleverness. Her basic stylistic roots are in a traditional 20th-century language, though updated in some pieces with sounds and techniques that entered the modern vocabulary after midcentury. But nothing I have heard of hers ever violates sound musical judgment or good taste. But what I don’t hear is a personal stamp, a recognizable voice that proclaims her identity, or a sense that she is sharing her deepest personal feelings. However, while such a recognizable identity often enables listeners to feel closer to a composer, it is not a prerequisite of artistic importance.


A pianist herself, Zaimont has composed a good deal of music for the keyboard. Her piano music represents much of her strongest work, and some pieces—such as A Calendar Set —have attained a well-earned popularity. The three releases discussed here comprise the vast majority of her music for piano solo, with some pieces—the Piano Sonata, for example—addressed on each recording, making comparisons inevitable. Although Joanne Polk’s release doesn’t include A Calendar Set , an Arabesque disc, titled Zones (Z6683), features her performance of that work. In addition I have a Leonarda LP that includes Gary Steigerwalt’s rendition of A Calendar Set . I will say at the outset that making these comparisons was the most difficult aspect of this review, as all three pianists are extraordinarily fine, and all three recordings are distinguished by performances that are both sympathetic and brilliantly virtuosic. Though one pianist may seem to grasp some pieces better, another captures some of the others more effectively. Consumers’ decisions will be based on factors other than excellence of execution. Mississippi-born Elizabeth Moak has been performing Zaimont’s music for decades, and built her doctoral work around it; her two-CD set—the culmination of her years of study and performance—is, of course, both the most comprehensive recording and the most expensive one, and includes the vast majority of her music for piano solo. Christopher Atzinger’s on Naxos features the most important pieces, and is budget-priced. Polk’s on Albany also offers a fine selection, and is full-priced.


Zaimont’s most ambitious work for piano solo is the Sonata (1999–2000). This half-hour work in three movements covers a good deal of expressive territory within the generally modern-traditionalist language. In ways that are hard to articulate, the work doesn’t have the feel of a sonata—a sense of businesslike goal-directedness propelled by an individual treatment of familiar formal designs. The first movement begins and ends atmospherically, and might even be described as improvisatory. However, the central portion boasts a strong assertive thrust—propulsive and quite challenging for the pianist. The second movement, which is described as a reflection on the slow movement of Beethoven’s “Pathétique” Sonata, is really much more than that. Again, much of the music is ruminative and improvisatory in character, although scherzoso portions of the movement provide considerable technical challenges for the pianist. The third movement is rapid and toccata-like for the most part, although this is relieved by some slower passages. All in all, the multiple tempos within each movement make following the basic structure only by ear a little difficult. But on the whole, this is a challenging and provocative work, and one that rewards multiple rounds of concentrated listening. As suggested earlier, all three pianists do more than justice to the work. If forced to select a preference, I would probably choose Polk’s as the one with the greatest technical assurance.


The other major work is the cycle A Calendar Set , which occupied the composer on and off throughout the 1970s, and was her first extended work for piano. As its title suggests, these are 12 character pieces, each associated with one of the months of the year. These subjective associations create an attractive, evocative, and convincing conceit. (More on this later.) Two of the pieces—July and December—are quodlibets that ingeniously weave familiar tunes (patriotic for the former, carols for the latter) into a subtle texture. These pieces are more traditional in style than the Sonata, with undisguised roots in the Romantic piano repertoire represented by Chopin, Scriabin, and company. I have been familiar with these pieces since shortly after they were completed, and I must say, they appealed to me upon initial exposure, and continue to do so today. Again the performances are all extremely good, but if forced to select one I would probably go for Moak, although Atzinger is more effective in some of the pieces, Polk in some of the others, and Steigerwalt in still others.


Interestingly, during the period when Zaimont was working on A Calendar Set , one of her publishers suggested that she compose another set based on the same months-of-the-year conceit, but designed to be somewhat easier to play, and with explicit pedagogical intentions. She fulfilled this request with Calendar Collection —12 pieces that are just as appealing to hear as the concert set, and reward serious musical consideration. Moak includes nine of the 12 on her recorded recital. Let me note here that while a good deal of the music included on Moak’s program was composed with pedagogical intentions and limited technical demands in mind, none of this music is any the less interesting for it, nor are the results so elementary as to be identifiable as student fare.


Jupiter’s Moons is a group of six short pieces, composed in 2000. Each of the pieces draws upon both mythological and geophysical associations from which to anchor its character. At this point I must voice a reservation I noted in my last review of music by this composer: Zaimont has a propensity for fanciful titles, presumably to offer gentle suggestions to guide the listeners’ imaginations. However, with some exceptions—most notably A Calendar Set —I find these titles to be more of a bother than they are worth. In most cases I find myself looking in vain for connections between the music and the images suggested. Rather than facilitating a grasp of the expressive intentions of the music, for me they are more of a hindrance.


The six pieces identified as Jupiter’s Moons generally inhabit a stylistic realm that most would term Impressionistic, with some reminiscences of Debussy, although the first one avoids both tonality and meter. Each piece is both evocative and engaging, and as a group they are delightful. But instead of movement titles such as “The Moons Swim in Orbit, “Europa,” “Leda,” “Io,” etc., I would have been content with “Six Preludes,” period. I have no principled objection to fanciful titles in general, but the associations must be universal enough to engender spontaneous confirmation in the listener—otherwise they are distractions. I find that Polk’s presentations of these pieces are somewhat more exciting and dynamic than Moak’s. If I have a criticism of the latter’s generally fine performances, it is that they tend to be a little understated and bland—especially the more difficult pieces. On the other hand, Moak is somewhat more effective in clarifying the textures, while Polk can sometimes be a little murky.


Wizards is a nine-minute piece in a single movement, composed in 2003. It is a fantasy that presumes to delineate the features of three distinct “Magic Masters.” The style is somewhat reminiscent of late Scriabin, although there is some hand-damping of the strings. Aiming to convey a sense of magic and mystery, the music is again quite challenging for the performer.


The nocturne La Fin de Siècle dates from 1979, and is another one of Zaimont’s most popular and frequently performed pieces. It is also another whose title—or in this case, subtitle—is both limiting and misleading, explicitly suggesting a work of retrospection—a venture into the language of a bygone era. But again, this seven-minute piece is much more than that: For one thing, it is no more alien to Zaimont’s natural language than are many of these other works, its agitated central section embracing a harmonic language that evolved decades after the turn of the century; for another, it is a superb and often beautiful work in its own right—not in the least hackneyed or preoccupied with retrospection, but, rather, spontaneous and improvisatory, although the listener who makes too much of the subtitle may readily overlook its breadth and depth of expression. The nocturne is included on all three discs discussed here, as well as on the Leonarda LP, and all four performances are excellent. Here I find it simply impossible to choose one as the best.


The remainder of this review is devoted to shorter, less ambitious pieces, all but one of which is found on only the Moak disc. Zaimont is fond of the ragtime genre, and has written several. Her Hesitation Rag is the most ambitious of those included here. Composed in 1998, the six-minute piece is quite an elaborate concert work, maintaining the essential elements of the genre, while reaching beyond its limited associations. It is included on Polk’s CD as well; she provides a fuller, more sonorous rendition than Moak, who is more delicate. The other two rags— Reflective Rag and Judy’s Rag —date from the 1970s. They are shorter and less ambitious, but no less delightful and engaging—and are worked out with considerable subtlety.


American City: Portrait of New York is a group of six short pieces that purport to evoke various images associated with New York City. What is most striking and remarkable about them is that five of the six were composed in 1957—when Zaimont was 12! If the prospective listener anticipates being called upon to indulge the composer’s shameless vanity, that listener is entirely wrong. These are mature, sophisticated, entertaining, and pianistically challenging vignettes that in no way betray their youthful origins, and won a number of auspicious awards at the time they were composed. Although she added the movement “Scrapers” in 2010, the composer insists that the five early pieces remain essentially untouched (the few subsequent modifications are indicated in the program notes).


Jazz Waltz is a short movement from a 1996 work called Suite Impressions . It is a pleasantly stylish piece, inventive both melodically and harmonically.


In My Lunchbox (2003) is a suite of five short pieces, with individual titles such as “Swimming Tuna,” “Celery Stalks,” “Dessert—Sugar Rush,” and other items typically found in a child’s lunchbox. It is designed for 11-year-olds who have been playing for at least four years. While its pedagogical intentions are explicit, and the pieces are more manageable technically, they are musically interesting enough to engage the attention of young pianists and those for whom they play.


Serenade was composed on a single day in 2006. Zaimont calls it an homage to big-band music and the film scores of the 1940s, but I do not hear these associations at all. What I do hear is an irresistibly lovely six-minute piece of great appeal and some real beauty. It has been approved for performance in a number of different instrumentations.


Hitchin’ is another short pedagogical piece, composed in 2007, and designed to engage the interest of high-school-age piano students. I am sure that it accomplishes its intentions, as it is infectious and lively. But it is not all that easy to play!


The most recent piece here is Cortège for Jack , written just a few days after Zaimont learned of the death of her former composition teacher Jack Beeson in 2010. She notes that she composed the piece on an involuntary and irresistible impulse. Although it is in triple meter, it has the character of a processional, solemn and poignant.


In conclusion, I note that these shorter pieces are played with considerable subtlety, artistry, and attention to detail by Elizabeth Moak, on what is her debut recording.


FANFARE: Walter Simmons

In one way or another all of the works on this disc-spanning thirty-three years from 1972 through 2005-reveal an ongoing aspect of my creative process that looks back in order to move forward. It' about being in the present by unraveling memories.

American composer Haskell Small 'has a rich imagination as a composer and an assured mastery of forms. Highly original without being self-consciously modernistic, this music has a sense of traditional structures and values without losing sight of it's own.

The Piano Quartet No. 2 in A major, Op. 26, written during the same period, had it's first performance in Vienna on 29th November 1862 by the same performers, in a concert in which Brahms played his Handel Variations and keyboard works by Bach and by Schumann. The concert followed shortly after Brahms had received the disappointing news of the appointment of Julius Stockhausen as conductor of the Hamburg Philharmonic, a position for which he had hoped. In a letter home from Vienna, however, he was able to report the sympathetic reception of his new piano quartet and his success with the audience as a pianist. Hanslick, who had followed Brahms's career with close interest, still had reservations, but Clara Schumann preferred the quartet to it's immediate predecessor. In 1870 the publisher Simrock asked Brahms for a four-hand piano arrangement of both quartets. He agreed to supply these, asking that his name as arranger should be included. Simrock did not agree to this last request, and printed the four-hand piano version of the Quartet in G minor without this acknowledgement and with many mistakes, as the proofs had not been sent to the composer for correction. This led Brahms to delay the arrangement of the second quartet until 1872. He had at first asked for a fee of fifteen Friedrichsdor, having received only twelve for each original composition, but was not pleased to receive in 1872 only the earlier agreed fee. His complaint persuaded Simrock to send a further fifteen Friedrichsdor. The work, which is admirably suited to piano duet, is of some length, and makes wide use of sonata form. The opening subject has two elements, a chordal theme and a winding thematic element first heard from the cello. The second subject that follows is replete with the composer's habitual cross-rhythms. The central development unusually includes three variations of the first theme, before it's return in recapitulation. The slow movement, Poco Adagio, and originally scored at first with muted strings, offers a lyrical principal theme, the strings unmuted on it's return, after the contrasting secondary material. The extended Scherzo, unusually in sonata form, has a D minor Trio that uses thematic material from the Scherzo in it's canonic writing. The quartet ends with another sonata-form movement, it's rhythmic first subject with touches of the Hungarian. It makes a splendid and complementary ending to a work that wears the unmistakable stamp of Brahms throughout. Brahms completed his sixteen Waltzes, Op. 39, in 1865, publishing them in a piano duet version in 1866 and a version for solo piano the following year. He dedicated the work to Eduard Hanslick, the genre and dedication both, perhaps, a tribute to Vienna, where he had been welcomed. In 1897 the publisher Rieter- Biedermann issued a two-piano version of five of the waltzes, included in the present recording.