A stinging critique of capitalist society, 'he Seven Deadly Sins brings into sharp focus the perpetual battle between money and morals. Created by the trail-blazing duo of the Weimer Republic, Kurt Weill and Bertold Brecht, the satirical ballet-chante The Seven Deadly Sins was to be the pair's final collaboration. Hitler had come to power, and the Jewish Weill and Marxist Brecht had both left Germany in haste. Weill was to come to terms with capitalist America more readily than Brecht, writing a series of popular musicals for Broadway with other collaborators. But, in The Seven Deadly Sins, Brecht's pen is still dripping with venom as he excoriates the continent's sleazy, materialistic values, the biblical septet of vices here given a contemporary twist. The story tells of daughter Anna (Magdalena Kozena), who is sent away from her family, tasked with bringing back enough money to build a house on the Mississippi River. Through seven years and seven cities-from Memphis and Los Angeles to Philadelphia and San Francisco-Anna encounters the seven deadly sins, and is forced to make her choice between what is profitable and what is right. Sir Simon Rattle, the London Symphony Orchestra and a star-studded line-up of soloists bring this shamelessly entertaining work to life alongside a collection of Weill's other most memorable works, including Death in the Forest and Little Threepenny Music.

LSO Live presents the fourth album in the Panufnik Legacies series. Composer Jack Sheen steps onto the podium to lead the London Symphony Orchestra in new music by some of the most exciting early-career composers of today. The works on this recording are all written by alumni of the LSO Helen Hamlyn Panufnik Composers' Scheme, which offers six composers each year the opportunity to write for a world-class symphony orchestra, guided by renowned composer Colin Matthews with support from composer Christian Mason. The Panufnik Legacies IV contains world premiere recordings of compositions by Jack Sheen, Dan Stern, Ryan Latimer, Benjamin Graves, Daniel Fardon, Amy Bryce, Daniel Kidane, James Albany Hoyle, Grace-Evangeline Mason, Cassie Kinoshi, Joel Jarventausta, George Stevenson, James Chan and Joe Bates.

Leif Ove Andsnes is a leading pianist of his time, known for his exceptional musicianship and subtil touch, his considerable technical flair being unfailingly put at the service of his interpretations. He was a pioneer for being the first home-trained superstar pianist to have emerged from Norway. This box is the story of a 20-year partnership that has yielded a rich seam of recorded treasures, first for Virgin and then for EMI. Running through this cornucopia of 34 albums (36 CDs), we find recurring themes: Grieg (Andsnes even recorded some Lyric Pieces on the composer's own piano at Troldhaugen), Nordic music in general, Schumann, Rachmaninov, Schubert.

As sparkling and invigorating a Swan Lake as anyone could wish, with the LSO in top form throughout and clearly enjoying themselves.

...The new recording from Michael Tilson Thomas doesn't include the added Prince Siegfried/Odile pas de deux..., but it has everything else in its favour and is fitted comfortably on to a pair of CDs. The break, however, comes in the middle of the "Danses des cygnes" divertissement, about seven minutes before the end of Act 2. The recording, made in Watford Town Hall, is first class in every way; full and vivid, nicely balanced with a fine concert-hall effect, and certainly spectacular in the climactic moments, which Tilson Thomas clearly relishes (and so do the brass and percussion, which are placed in convincing perspective). Without losing the rhythmic ballet feel, Tilson Thomas treats the score slightly more freely than the other conductors..., the ebb and flow of phrasing and tempo less determined by the demands of the theatre, more by the way he feels the music's natural flux. This is immediately demonstrated in the Introduction to Act I, with its opening languor, followed by a fairly swift accelerando to the climax and enormous energy from the strings in the Allegro giusto which opens the act. Indeed, the lively numbers (the motto vivace coda of the Act 1 pas de deux, for instance) are as sparkling and invigorating as anyone could wish.

The LSO are on top form throughout and clearly enjoying themselves. The string phrasing is warm and polished and the two string soloists, Alexander Barantschik (violin) and Douglas Cummings (cello) are splendid... [T]the LSO wind soloists offer much to seduce the ear and continually demonstrate the composer's wonderfully imaginative orchestral palette. -- Gramophone [4/1992]

It may surprise some, but this particular coupling is actually quite rare. The two pieces make interesting partners, the bite and drama of the Symphony contrasting well with the mellow warmth of the Serenade. There are literally dozens of versions of both pieces in the catalogue, many of them in modern digital sound. This Sony disc sounds its age in places, particularly the New World, which has a rather hard edge and glare in the upper registers (showing its CBS origins), but it is always worth hearing great conductors in familiar music.

Ormandy certainly coaxes playing of great character and spontaneity out of the 60s vintage LSO. The strings throughout have marvellous bite and cohesion. Sample the soaring violins at 3.32 in the first movement, or the rich cellos and basses later in the same movement. Ormandy seems fairly content to play things ‘straight’, which suits me to a degree, though some conductors, most notably Kubelik (DG) and Kondrashin (Decca), are willing to take a few more risks to bring out the life and drama beneath the notes. Nevertheless, Ormandy makes sure that precision and adherence to the score is paramount, and this brings many rewards. The great Largo is never sentimentalised, and the Scherzo has real flair and panache, with the LSO wind particularly fine. The Finale has a sense of grandeur and breadth that is very satisfying, and while there may be more individual accounts in the catalogue, this performance has a lot going for it.

Kempe’s unforced, eloquent reading of the wonderful Serenade also has its own special magic. He takes a relaxed view of the opening, shaping the lyrical first theme in a slow, affectionate way that then contrasts with the slightly sharper rhythmic point for the second subject. There is real concentration in every bar, and though the Munich strings may not be world class, they respond enthusiastically to their great conductor. The Valse movement has a lovely lilt, as well as dramatic impulse, and the engaging Scherzo is matched by the warmth of the Larghetto. I’ve heard the Finale played with a touch more Slavonic bite and precision, but Kempe keeps a firm grip on proceedings and achieves a genuinely exciting climax. The recording is also warmer and slightly more focused than the older Ormandy.

This disc enters a very crowded field but has its rewards. I found myself hearing details in both performances that marked them out, and anyone who is more interested in genuine music-making rather than state-of–the-art sound will not be disappointed.

-- Tony Haywood, MusicWeb International

It's refreshing and invigorating to have a taut unyielding view of a fine score. This recording should win converts among those who still regard Puccini as merely soft and sentimental.

Rather as I expected, the reissue of Lorin Maazel's three recent recordings of Puccini's one-acters as a co-ordinated box of the Trittico sharply brings out the conductor's distinctive approach. It is an approach which is typified by the very start of Gianni Schicchi, where there is an almost Stravinskian sharpness in the ostinato rhythms. Generally Maazel's concessions to romantic expressiveness are calculated rather than obviously warm. This degree of severity has the merit of underlining the musical cogency of all three pieces, splendid examples of Puccini's mastery at his high maturity, and Suor Angelica—wrongly regarded for far too long as a limp piece of sentimentality —benefits just as much as either of the others with the succeeding climaxes spaced in carefully balanced relationship.

The snag is that particularly with CBS's somewhat close recording balance, the atmospheric qualities of each opera—which some Puccinians would regard as among their highest merits—are underplayed. When I first reviewed Il tabarro, this absence of essential atmosphere made me give a less charitable review than I would now. Hearing it in context with the other performances, it is refreshing and invigorating to have a taut and relatively unyielding view of a fine score, even while one misses the dark evocations of the scene under a bridge of the Seine in Paris, which other versions so vividly capture.

The other gain from hearing the performances together is to have the dominance of Renata Scotto reinforced in both It tabarro and Suor Angelica. In Il tabarro neither Placido Domingo as Luigi (not quite in his warmest voice) nor Ingvar Wixell as the bargemaster Michele (rather too gritty-toned as recorded) is exactly a cipher, but Renata Scotto consistently focuses the centre of involvement with her dramatic and finely detailed singing.

In Gianni Schicchi the central pivot is provided of course by the contribution of the veteran Tito Gobbi, and though there may be some signs of the voice not being as young as it was, it is a deeply satisfying performance, as fine in its way as the classic one he recorded for HMV 20 years earlier. That HMV version is included in the boxed reissue set of Il trittico which appeared two years ago (SLS5066, 10/76), with all three operas given marvellous performances but with very dated recording and only Schicchi in stereo. The Decca set under Gardelli (SET 236-8, 12/62) is more idiomatic in performance than this Maazel CBS issue, and the sixties recording is amazingly bright and full for its age. But the new issue, controversial as it may be in some ways, is certainly refreshing, and should in particular win converts among those who still regard Puccini as merely soft and sentimental.

-- Gramophone [8/1978, reviewing the LP release of Il Trittico]

When American composers began writing symphonies around the mid-1800s, their works were very much in the European tradition. During the first half of the 20th century, the great innovator Charles Ives injected a recognizably American sound into the genre, however, and since then the American symphonic legacy has been both wide and varied. With the present release, conductor Lance Friedel strikes a blow for three fellow American composers, with the help of the eminent London Symphony Orchestra. The album opens with Walter Piston’s Symphony No. 6. It was completed in 1955, by which time many regarded Piston (1894–1976) as clinging to tradition in the face of modernism. When Samuel Jones (b.1935) presented his Third Symphony ‘Palo Duro Canyon’ in 1992, the pendulum was swinging back, however, and traditional music built of melody, harmony and rhythm was no longer considered hopelessly outdated. The work nevertheless begins in a rather non-traditional fashion with the recorded sound of the wind of the Texas plains, where the Palo Duro Canyon is situated. Jones’s slightly younger colleague Stephen Albert (1941–92) was just completing his Second Symphony when he was killed in a car accident. The work had been commissioned by the New York Philharmonic, and the orchestration of it was completed by Albert’s colleague and friend Sebastian Currier.

REVIEW:

Maine-born Walter Piston’s Symphony No. 6 was written for Charles Munch and the Boston Symphony, who premièred it in 1955. The somewhat mournful start to the first movement, marked Fluendo espressivo, soon gives way to a lighter tread. One senses a degree of formal rigour in the writing, but it’s all clad in colorful raiment. The LSO play with their usual skill, the jaunty, ear-catching scherzo so nimbly done. The deeply reflective adagio is well shaped and projected, the quietest moments—and that gorgeous harp—unerringly caught. It’s capped by a fresh, freewheeling finale, witty and warm. One to add to my roster of recent ‘finds’.

Mississippian Samuel Jones seems to have a three-pronged career, as a composer, conductor and pedagogue. His small discography includes a Schwarz/Seattle recording of the Third Symphony and Tuba Concerto, which Bob Briggs and Rob Barnett both reviewed in 2009. As the title implies, the symphony is inspired by Palo Duro Canyon, near Amarillo, Texas. In six continuous movements—helpfully cued in this release—it begins with highly atmospheric wind sounds that morph into music of uncommon thrust and thrill. Yes, the work’s traditional in the sense that it’s straightforwardly programmatic, but there’s a strength and consistency of imagination here that makes for a gripping listen.

Like an Ansel Adams landscape, Jones’s striking piece presents nature in all its raw inspiring beauty. Pursuing the photographic connection, Friedel displays a keen eye for outlines and contrast, the resulting ‘image’ intuitively—and dramatically—framed. The playing is rich and full bodied, especially in those broad, craggy perorations; it helps that engineer Fabian Frank gives the orchestra all the space they need. What a pleasure it is to hear the LSO out in the open as it were, and not constrained by the acoustic limitations of their usual venue. I simply can’t imagine the symphony’s splendid tuttis expanding in that hall with anything like the ease or tactility that they do in this one. All of which makes this another ‘find’.

New Yorker Stephen Albert’s Symphony No. 2 was unfinished at the time of his death in 1992. Orchestrated by the composer and pedagogue Sebastian Currier, the work has a brooding, rather Sibelian first movement. And while the writing isn’t as explicit or as extrovert as that of the other pieces here—textures are denser, colors more subtle—it’s not without spikes of excitement. The expansive climax at the end of the first movement is particularly impressive. The middle movement is both animated and colorful, its internal conversations and asides a delight. The finale, more equivocal, reveals a fine orchestral blend, beautifully caught by this very truthful and transparent recording. So yes, another ‘find’. (Good notes by Friedel, too.)

-- MusicWeb International

Time flies in the supposedly timeless world of classical music. It's easy to forget superb performances of even the greatest masterpieces when confronted with dozens, indeed hundreds, of recordings that differ from one another audibly, but often not all that significantly. So it is with this Mahler First, certainly one of the freshest and most vibrant performances, but one that also tends to get lost in the shuffle. The playing of the LSO is terrific: the scherzo bids fair to be the best on disc, but then Levine seems unusually energized and spontaneous throughout. Only the opening of the finale fails to erupt with the kind of violence that others (Bernstein especially) bring to it. Levine seems a mite hasty here, not giving the brass enough time to really bite as they should. But this also is the result of sonics that are dry in the bass and not all that wide-ranging compared with today's digital norm. Still, despite this minor caveat, this is an outstanding performance in all other respects, and moreover one that will sound well on iPods, in cars, and in all of those places where soft passages tend to vanish annoyingly in a welter of ambient noise. It certainly deserves to remain available, and thanks to Arkivmusic.com "on demand", it will be.

--David Hurwitz,ClassicsToday.com

The great inner strength and glories of this music are revealed here by fabulously eloquent playing. This performance of the Fifth Symphony is the pinnacle of Previn’s Vaughan Williams cycle - a major achievement.

The major offering is the seraphic Fifth Symphony. This is a supreme work, packed with thematic references to RVW’s opera (or ‘Morality’ as he called it), Pilgrim’s Progress, which at the time the symphony was written was still very much work in progress.

The long lines of the first movement are most lovingly shaped by Previn. The strings sing and soar marvellously and the horns contribute burnished tone. It seems to me that everything about the account of this movement, pacing, dynamic control and contrast, and sympathetic playing is just ‘right’. Later, when the tempo picks up the strings are dexterous and light and the interjections of the wind and brass introduce a suitable note of foreboding, which will be familiar to anyone who knows Pilgrim. The brief climax is convincingly built before the return of the luminous material with which the movement began (Track 1, 7’58")

The scherzo is brilliantly poised and gossamer light. This music always seems to me to be suggestive of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. That’s certainly the case here. Then comes the glorious Romanza. A featherbed of hushed strings is the foundation for the beautiful melody, heard first on the cor anglais. In Pilgrim’s Progress (Act 1, scene 2) this theme movingly sets the words "He hath given me rest by His sorrow, and life by His death", sung by Pilgrim himself. This movement is, surely, one of the most moving creations in English music and Previn and the LSO do it full justice. The music, though beautiful, also has great inner strength and its glories are revealed here by some fabulously eloquent playing. If the performance of this symphony is a highlight of Previn’s cycle (which I believe it is) then the performance of this slow movement must be counted the pinnacle of the entire set. Here is just over twelve minutes of balm for the soul. Then the quietly radiant finale is a delight. This is RVW at his most outgoing and beneficent. The whole performance is a major achievement.

The Three Portraits from "The England of Elizabeth" consist of music extracted by Muir Matheson from a score that RVW had been invited to compose in 1955 by British Transport Films. The company had produced a short documentary about [16th century] Elizabethan England in order to promote tourism in Shakespeare country. Matheson’s three movement suite doesn’t contain vintage Vaughan Williams but it’s enjoyable and so far as I know there is no other recording.

The Tuba Concerto is a delightful piece, even if it too is not top-drawer RVW. As the notes point out the composer took a good deal of trouble to learn the capabilities of the tuba which he then exploited to the full. John Fletcher is a splendid soloist. He’s athletic in the outer movements and in the central Romanza he displays a poetic vein to the tuba which may surprise some listeners.

-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International

Maybe reviewers fuss too much about couplings, but in this case, with the Prelude a l'apresmidi dun faune these days extending the timings of virtually every Debussy issue, and with nearly two decades separating it from the later Jeux and La boite a joujoux, as well as it not being a ballet—oh, all right: it may have been conceived for the stage, and was choreographed (and vulgarized) by Nijinsky in 1912—surely a more enterprising choice in keeping with the theme would have been the contemporary and unjustly neglected ballet Khamma. With the standard of performance on offer here, that would indeed have formed a cherishable disc. As it happens, Tilson Thomas's Prelude is very fine: richly drawn and, compared to the recent versions from Boulez (DG) and Solti (Decca), traditionally drawn out, long-breathed and languorous. Overloud horns in the fourth bar would seem to forecast fog, not heat-haze; in other respects the balance (from EMI's Abbey Road Studio No. 1) is good, with integrated but focused solo strings, harps and antique cymbals.

"Toy-boxes are really towns in which the toys live like people" wrote Andre Helle who, in 1913, devised the scenario for La boite a joujoux (adding "or perhaps towns are just boxes in which people live like toys"). But Debussy made no attempt at meaningful symbolism; "something to amuse the children—nothing more" he said. In giving life to the wooden figures, and with its prominent role for piano, inevitably one's thoughts turn to Petrushka, far more dramatically effective, but hardly a children's story—well, not a child of 1913 anyway. Tilson Thomas is more artful than Torteher on Chandos: in the first tableau his doll dances her waltz with more look-at-me' allure and grace—Tortelier's rubato is comparatively (perhaps aptly) mechanical—and, after Punch has biffed the little soldier on the nose, an angrier captain pops his head out of the box. On the debit side, a wooden doll surely wouldn't pray as quietly as does the LSO clarinet in the following tableau after the battle (track 4, 4'45": the marking is only piano); the distant shepherd's piping in the third tableau is not really distant at all, and the flutes are too loud at the moment of embrace between the soldier and the doll at the end of the scene. Whilst I'm grumbling, Sony's notes don't include a synopsis—as entertainment, this music, unlike Jeux, is dependent on knowledge of the stage action (Chandos supply a detailed scenario). If forced to make a choice between the two, it would be Tilson Thomas; his is the more polished, confident and stylish account.

Perhaps Debussy was attracted to the idea of a children's ballet in 1913 to cleanse himself from the sins of Nijinsky's staging of his Prelude and Jeux (May 1912 and 1913 respectively). While enthusiastically welcoming Simon Rattle's Jeux (EMI), CH noted that the music's free-born invention was "sacrificed a little in favour of a richer romanticism". It could be argued, too, that Haitink (Philips) achieves his unrivalled clarity and delicacy at the expense of a degree of passion. I happen to feel that both, more successfully than Tilson Thomas, and in their quite different ways, achieve a special fantasy, and that contrejour lighting which Debussy was aiming at in his orchestration to oversimplify, it's a question of ensuring equal prominence for the woodwind. The LSO strings are unsteady in their opening four-bar chord (unusually played here as two plus two), but there's a line of accumulating energy from the main theme at fig. 51 (12'29") through to the climax at fig. 71 (16'23") which is less easy to feel in Rattle's and Haitink's accounts. With a slightly faster basic tempo this Jeux bears out Tilson Thomas's judgement, as he himself put it in GRAMOPHONE in February 1991, in knowing "what to hold on to and what to throw away".

-- Gramophone [11/1992]

Richard Hickox brought these two neglected works into the record catalogue to criticla acclaim. In an Editor's Choice review in 1996 - the year of its release - Gramophone stated: ''Elgar completed The Black Knight in 1893 and it provided him with his first big success. The text tells of a sinister, unnamed ''Prince of mighty sway'', whose appearance at the King's court during the feast of Pentecost has disastrous consequences. Elgar's score boasts much attractive invention, some of it strikingly eloquent and prescient of greater offerings to come. The choral writing is always effective, the orchestration already vivid and assured. Richard Hickox's performance has great bloom and spaciousness. Similarly, in the tuneful, vernally fresh Scenes from the Bavarian Highlands, Hickox and his colleagues respond with comendable spirit and pleasing polish. Typical of Chandos, the recording is bright and clear, tonally beyond reproach and with just the right balance between choir and orchestra.''

"Hickox's superior Elgarian credentials are immediately established in the glorious orchestral "Meditation", where his conducting demonstrates a noble flexibility, sensitivity to dynamic nuance and feeling for climax that are wholly beguiling. Equally, the Chandos production team see to it that the familiar Elgarian 'glow'-.-a component largely missing from Sir Charles Groves's rival Liverpool recording—is in generous supply; indeed, the engineering, sumptuous yet nicely detailed, comes close to the ideal. The LSO respond for their Associate Conductor with playing that is both warm-hearted and alert; as ever, the London Symphony Chorus contribute to proceedings in exemplary, splendidly disciplined fashion..."

- Gramophone, (From the original 1993 release.)

This re-release of The Light of Life by Sir Edward Elgar forms part of the new Hickox Legacy commemorative series on Chandos Records, leading up to (and continuing beyond) the fifth anniversary, in Nov 2013, of the conductor’s untimely death.

The Light of Life, an oratorio for soprano, contralto, tenor, and baritone soloists, full choir and orchestra, is a lesser-known but imposing work by the composer who brought us the mighty Dream of Gerontius. The story concerns the blind beggar whose sight Christ restored. The words are taken from the Gospel of St John, with additions by the Reverend Edward Capel Cure.

Elgar proposed to call this his first oratorio Lux Christi, but his publishers persuaded him to provide an English title: as the work was written with the 1896 Three Choirs Festival at Worchester in mind, the concern was that an Anglican cathedral festival might detect a Roman Catholic bias… Elgar complied, and the work was given the more suitable title by which we know it today.

Hickox and the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus were joined on this recording by the soloists Judith Howarth, Linda Finnie, Arthur Davies, and John Shirley-Quirk.

- Chandos

Almost forty years after his first recording on Chandos, this unique limited-edition release gathers some of the best and most-awarded recordings on the label by one of the most prolific conductors of all time: Neeme Järvi. It highlights a 200+ discography that explores an astonishingly wide repertoire, with selections from the legendary complete series of Prokofiev’s symphonies and Tchaikovsky’s ballets to the groundbreaking discoveries of composers such as Atterberg or Suchon. It features nearly a dozen of the numerous orchestras with which he has collaborated, including the RSNO, Chicago Symphony, Orchestre de la Suisse Romande, and Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra, all here celebrated at their best. Offered at a very special price and retaining the original covers, this product also includes very special notes by James Jolly, Editor in Chief of Gramophone, as well as exclusive photos and interviews with figures central to Järvi’s extraordinary musical life.

Past praise of previously released material included in this set:

Prokofiev: Symphony No 6, Waltzes Suite / Järvi, SNO

As in all of his Prokofiev symphony recordings–this was the first, by the way–Järvi really digs into the music. The engineering is as big and bold as the performances. This recording deserves classic status.

– ClassicsToday

Smetana: Má Vlast / Järvi, Detroit Symphony

Järvi and the Detroit Symphony Orchestra deliver an expansive reading of the complete work, and their feeling for the music's vivid imagery and richly Romantic expression is spot on.

– All Music Guide

It was during the summer of 1911 that George Butterworth (a victim of The Great War, and whose enchanting 1913 idyll, The Banks of Green Willow, comprises the achingly poignant curtain-raiser here) first suggested to Vaughan Williams that he should write a purely orchestral symphony. VW dug out some sketches he had made for a symphonic poem about London, whilst at the same time deriving fruitful inspiration from HG Wells’s 1908 novel, Tono-Bungay (and its visionary final chapter in particular). Geoffrey Toye gave the successful Queen’s Hall premiere in March 1914, and VW subsequently dedicated the score to Butterworth’s memory. Over the next two decades or so, the work underwent three revisions (including much judicious pruning) and was published twice (in 1920 and 1936). In his compelling 1941 recording with the Cincinnati SO, Eugene Goossens employed the 1920 version, which adds about three minutes of music to that definitive 1936 ‘revised edition’. Now Richard Hickox at long last gives us the chance to hear VW’s original, hour-long canvas – and riveting listening it makes too!

Whereas the opening movement is as we know it today, the ensuing, expanded Lento acquires an intriguingly mournful, even world-weary demeanour. Unnervingly, the ecstatic full flowering of that glorious E major Largamente idea, first heard at fig F in the final revision, never materialises, and the skies glower menacingly thereafter. Towards the end of the Scherzo (at 5'44) comes a haunting episode that Arnold Bax was particularly sad to see cut (‘a mysterious passage of strange and fascinating cacophony’ was how he described it in his autobiography, Farewell, My Youth [Scholar Press; 1992]). The finale, too, contains a wealth of additional material, most strikingly a liturgical theme of wondrous lyrical beauty (try from 6'42) and, in the epilogue, a gripping paragraph (beginning at 15'47) which both looks back to the work’s introduction as well as forward to the first movement of A Pastoral Symphony. Sprawling it may be, but VW’s epic conception evinces a prodigal inventiveness, poetry, mystery and vitality that do not pall with repeated hearings, and, time and again, I find myself marvelling at just how hugely influential its intoxicatingly colourful orchestral palette must have been on Holst’s The Planets and even Bax’s wartime tone-poems.

Hickox and the LSO respond with an unquenchable spirit, generous flexibility and tender affection that suit VW’s admirably ambitious inspiration to a T, and Chandos’s sound is big and bold to match. Quite simply, an essential purchase for anyone remotely interested in British music.

-- Gramophone [7/2001]