PENDERECKI Piano Concerto, “Resurrection.” Flute Concerto • Barry Douglas (pn); ?ukasz D?ugosz (fl); Antoni Wit, cond; Warsaw PO • NAXOS 8.572696 (60:30)

It is fascinating to trace the development of Penderecki’s compositional style, as he seems to become more conservative the older he gets. The Piano Concerto, composed in 2001/02 and revised in 2007, is a work that the Penderecki of the 1960s and the Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima probably never dreamed of writing. In fact, nothing in Penderecki’s canon, not even his recent works, prepared me for this concerto. After several auditions, I’m not sure it’s even a successful work (I’ve seen the adjective “kitschy” applied to it), but if it’s not, it is, in today’s popular terminology, a hot mess, and a fascinating one at that.

In this work, Penderecki has channeled the romantic piano concerto. In the words of annotator Richard Whitehouse, it renews “Penderecki’s direct involvement with the ‘grand’ concerto tradition—notably of the Russian lineage that had its culmination in Rachmaninov and Prokofiev.” Granted, the work is not as lyrical as, for example, Rachmaninoff’s Second Piano Concerto, or even Prokofiev’s Third, but there’s no missing the size and the strength of the emotional gestures, and the respect for virtuosic display. For the first time ever (in my experience, anyway), Penderecki has even included passages that a reasonable person might describe as “pretty”—for example, at 2:30 into the second section, and that passage returns near the end. (The work is in 10 continuous sections, and Naxos has tracked them separately.) Granted, the concerto’s overall mood is more tense than pretty, and there are violent climaxes. I have to say, though, that the music that kept coming to mind as I heard this concerto was Bernard Herrmann’s Concerto Macabre, a work that he composed for the 1954 film noir Hangover Square—and I intend that as a compliment. “Resurrection,” the concerto’s subtitle might be understood as a Christian reference, but apparently it is not meant to be taken too literally. Whitehouse indicates, however, that a “plainsong-like idea (which was conceived in the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attack) . . . only gradually makes its way into the foreground before emerging at full strength during the climactic stages.” Barry Douglas, whose name now comes up less often than it did at the start of the CD era, plays the heck out of this 37-minute concerto, and does not stint on its steel, drama, and emotional power. The engineering, by the way, is outstanding—this is a sonic showpiece. I’d be interested to hear an earlier recording (on Dux), conducted by the composer, with pianist Beata Bili?ska.

The Flute Concerto dates from 1992, and is more in line with what we have come to expect from latter-day Penderecki. It is, in other words, an anticlimax to the piano concerto, but worthwhile nevertheless. Like the piano concerto, it is a single-movement work, but that single movement contains several clearly contrasted sections. If the piano concerto is unexpectedly emotional, the flute concerto is in keeping with the composer’s familiar style, which I would describe as intellectual and objective, gaining its interest from the way in which Penderecki develops his material, and creates interesting instrumental timbres. The word “eclectic” keeps coming up, which I suppose is another way of saying that the music is modern, but not too modern. It was composed for Jean-Pierre Rampal, who did record it, with the composer, for Sony, but I have not heard that version. There’s also another Dux disc, with the composer conducting, and flutist David Aguilar, but the version I know, also on Naxos, is with flutist Petri Alanko and the Tapiola Sinfonietta, conducted by Okko Kamu. Alanko and Kamu pare more than three minutes from the score’s total length. Their reading is more dramatic than the new one, and Alanko emphasizes the lyrical aspects of the music more than Dlugosz does, wherever he can. Compared to Wit, Kamu is more precise, and creates more focused sonorities with his ensemble, but I do like the lush sound that comes out of the Warsaw Philharmonic, and I feel that Wit is a superior story-teller to Kamu.

Although neither of these works is new to CD, the combination is unique, and the performances are very strong. I see no reason not to be enthusiastic about this release, and the piano concerto is growing on me. Let’s see if this makes it onto my Want List in the next issue!

FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle

BEETHOVEN Piano Trios: No. 1 in E?; No. 2 in G; Allegretto in B? • Xyrion Tr • NAXOS 8.557724 (64:26)


Pianist Nina Tichman, violinist Ida Bieler, and cellist Maria Kliegel joined forces in 2001 to form the Xyrion Trio. This release, their second in their complete Beethoven piano trio series for Naxos, presents the first two of the three op. 1 trios, along with the much later B? Allegretto. Judging both from their individual talents and the cohesive ensemble of their partnership, Xyrion is equal to the stiff competition in this already widely recorded repertoire. Their readings have great energy and polish, a sure sense of style and, most compelling, refreshing spontaneity and unmistakable ardor.


The shapeliness and contour of the opening thematic material of the E? Trio immediately signals these musicians’ capacities for vivid dynamic contrasts and boldly articulated rhetoric, characteristics beloved by Beethoven. When Tichman spins out the second movement’s delicious cantabile, Bieler and Kliegel answer her with solicitude and sympathy, creating the impression of a most civilized, heart-felt conversation among the best of friends. Their rustic treatment of the Scherzo, cited by Czerny as “the first scherzo in very quick time, a species of music of which Beethoven was the original inventor,” with its evocations of folk bagpipes, is simply irresistible.


The aura of animated dialogue is maintained throughout the G-Major Trio. Savor for instance the grumpy interjections of the piano’s left hand in the development of the Allegro vivace. The finale of this trio, like its predecessor’s, is a fleet presto, here tossed off with a Mendelssohnian sprightliness.


Whereas Beethoven’s op. 1 was published in 1795, the B? Allegretto, dating from 1812, did not appear in print until three years after the composer’s death. It was written for Maximiliane Brentano, the 10-year-old daughter of Antonie and Franz Brentano. Maynard Solomon has plausibly suggested that the mother, Antonie, could have been the intended recipient of Beethoven’s famous letter addressed to the “Immortal Beloved.” This charming piece is perfectly suited for a child, though clearly one who must have been an extremely talented young pianist. Xyrion’s performance is appropriately straightforward and playful.


My sole reservation, and a minor one, is that the quality of the recording makes the musicians sound a little distant. Fortunately they don’t sound muffled, and the abundance of nuance with which these sparkling performances fairly burst is not sacrificead. Even if you already own one or more recordings of these trios—and the Beaux Arts (Philips 468411) immediately comes to mind as one of the best—I think you’ll find a great deal that is interesting and fresh in this Xyrion disc. If you don’t, I can’t think of a better introduction to these charming works with which the young Beethoven made his public debut. Heartily recommended.


FANFARE: Patrick Rucker

Gorgeous and poignant music, performed with wholehearted fervor by an excellent choir.

This will turn out to be, I am sure, one of my favorite recordings of 2012. I first came upon Jonathan Dove’s music on a Hyperion recording of his sacred music, featuring the Wells Cathedral Choir, conducted by Matthew Owens (2010). Over the last year I have occasionally returned to that CD, each time coming away more impressed by Dove’s writing. This new CD has only confirmed and strengthened that impression.

The recording opens with The Passing of the Year, a song-cycle written for double chorus and piano, dedicated in memory of Dove’s mother. The work, which is made up of seven movements divided into three main sections, takes the listener literally and metaphorically through changing seasons. Thankfully, Naxos does not follow its increasingly common practice of making the listener go to its website to search out the texts though they can be found here. Listening with the poetry at hand only increased my admiration for Dove’s sensitive text setting.

The work opens with Invocation, the voices repeatedly singing “O Earth, return!” with an ever increasing intensity. This leads into an extended setting of William Blake’s The narrow bud opens her beauties to the sun, that features contrasting textures of soloist versus choir and high versus low voice to convey the idea of “Summer breaking forth.” The third movement sets Emily Dickinson’s Answer July as a call and response between female and male voices that perfectly captures the playfulness of the text. Movement 4 begins the second section begins with Hot Sun, cool fire, a setting of words by George Peele that uses slowly shifting dissonant chords to evoke how difficult it can be to breathe, let alone move, on a brutally hot summer day. The cycle’s emotional climax is found in Movement 6, a setting of Thomas Nashe’s Adieu! Farewell earth’s bliss. Over an ostinato that bares a passing resemblance to the final minutes of Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms, one of the choirs intones “Lord, have mercy on us,” as the other choir sings, in achingly beautiful harmonies, about the inevitability of death.

Three times these competing choral textures break off so that all voices can join together in singing “I am sick, I must die”. Even after listening several times, Dove’s setting leaves me shaken. The sadness of that movement is effectively dispelled by the final Ring out, wild bells, a passage from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s In Memoriam that speaks of the promises found in the beginning of a New Year.

The rest of the program is just as impressive as the Song Cycle, and displays a greater variety of musical styles, including a solo for mezzo-soprano (My love is mine), three songs for upper voice/women’s choir (It sounded as if the streets were running). The CD is rounded out with Advent and Christmas music, including The Three Kings, written for Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at King’s College, Cambridge.

Dove’s music is impressive, with attractive melodies and tonal harmonic writing. Nevertheless, he is not afraid to use dissonance when it more strongly projects and expresses the text, and his writing displays a particularly strong skill in creating onomatopoeic effects. When I began my listening, I thought it would be helpful to note where Dove’s writing seemed reminiscent of other composers’ work. Sometimes the piano writing, which often uses ostinato figures, reminds me of the minimalists Steven Reich and John Adams. A few of Dove’s melodies soar in a way that recalls Samuel Barber. Answer July brings thoughts of Benjamin Britten’s “Ballad of the Green Broom” from Five Flower Songs. I share these comments not to suggest that Dove is in any way a derivative composer, but rather to express how highly I rate his work. Dove is very much his own man, with masterly word setting that reminds me most strongly of Benjamin Britten and, on this side of the Atlantic, Libby Larsen.

Dove receives the strongest advocacy from his performers. The Convivium Singers, under the assured direction of Neil Ferris, display admirable control of the long line and excellent intonation. I find the balance to be a bit dominated by the women’s voices, and would not have minded a few more men in each section. But the balance never detracted from my immense enjoyment of this recording. Accompanist Christopher Cromar’s playing is splendid, self-effacing virtuosity that serves the choir and the music.

I urge you to purchase this CD as quickly as possible. It is gorgeous and poignant music, performed with wholehearted fervor by an excellent choir, all at budget price.

– David A. McConnell, MusicWeb International

This volume completes Naxos’ very enjoyable four-disc set of the complete Rossini overtures. Think about it: that’s a lot of orchestral music from a composer known almost exclusively for his vocal works–three or four Bruckner symphonies’ worth, and what would you rather listen to? This last installment includes two really popular overtures: The Barber of Seville and Il Turco in Italia, but much of the musical interest lies in the less familiar pieces.

Ricciardo e Zoraide, for example, has an unconventional form, ending quietly with a lengthy aria for solo flute, preceded by a romantic horn solo. Torvaldo e Dorliska reveals that Rossini was always ready with a new and interesting take on his signature “crescendo.” This one ends, not with the conventional climactic tutti, but with a series of more lyrical phrases for the violins. Armida’s opening march leads to another insanely difficult horn solo (the MET’s player blew it horribly at the performance of the opera that I saw). Rossini must have worked with some astoundingly fine individual players.

The performances, as with the other volumes in this series, are crisp, fleet, and shapely, with excellent solo winds nicely balanced against well-coordinated strings. Conductor Christian Benda also takes care to handle the percussion with good taste and common sense. For example, he reserves the cymbals for the very end of The Barber of Seville, an effective decision.

If you’re looking for the complete Rossini overtures, the only other option you have is Marriner’s set on Philips. These performances, on the whole, have just that much more more character and sparkle. They deserve your consideration.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

SAINT-SAËNS Violin Sonata in d. Berceuse, Op. 38. Elégies: No. 1 in D, Op. 143; No. 2 in F, Op. 160. Sarabande et Rigaudon, Op. 93. Romance in D?, Op. 37. L’air de la pendule triptyque, Op. 136 • Fanny Clamagirand (vn); Vanya Cohen (pn) • NAXOS 8.572750 (68:01)


This CD turned out to be more than a pleasant surprise; it turned out to be a sheer delight. I wasn’t sure what to expect from two relatively young and relatively unknown (on record, at least) artists in Saint-Saëns’s frequently essayed Violin Sonata in D Minor, but the performance by Fanny Clamagirand and Vanya Cohen proved positively persuasive and more than competitive with some of the very best, among which I would count my first recording of the piece with Heifetz and Emanuel Bay on a 1950 RCA LP, along with more recent versions by Gil Shaham and Gerhard Oppitz on Deutsche Grammophon, and the very impressive young violinist Jack Liebeck with Katya Apekisheva on Quartz.


Clamagirand (b. 1984), a past graduate student of Jean-Jacques Kantorow at the Paris Conservatory, sports a robust tone that projects with a good deal of authority, yet is of an alluring sweetness. Saint-Saëns’s D-Minor Sonata, the first and by far more popular of two he wrote, can invite some coarseness in tone in a number of its rough-and-tumble passages, but Clamagirand will have none of it. She cuts through the slashing first-movement chords without slashing them, and she springs sprightly through the ricochet-like spiccato bowing in the Allegretto moderato . Vanya Cohen, born in 1980 in Monaco of Russian parents, leaves no doubt in her confident delivery of the piano part that Saint-Saëns’s swirling and whirling score is as much piano sonata as it is violin sonata. This is as brilliant and thoroughly convincing a performance of the piece as I know.


The most enchanting aspect of this album, however, is the short, salon-like pieces that fill out the disc to a generous 68 minutes. All in all, not counting the two sonatas, Saint-Saëns composed no more than six opus numbers originally scored for violin and piano, and on the present disc we have all but one of them, the Caprice brilliant in B Minor of 1859. In its place, Clamagirande and Cohen give us the Romance, op. 37, originally for flute and piano, but published with an alternate version for violin. And for extra measure, they also give us the Sarabande et Rigaudon , op. 93, originally a work for orchestra.


It would be inaccurate to say that these pieces are entirely absent from the catalog, but according to current listings, they’ve received scant attention on disc; and that’s really a shame, for there’s not one of them that’s not a real charmer. This is a most enjoyable program, and it’s one performed to the highest standards by two exceptionally talented artists. Very strongly recommended.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Four British composers give the tuba a good workout, beginning with Ralph Vaughan Williams. His concerto from 1954 displays all the hallmarks of the composer: tunefulness of the English pastoral variety, expert scoring, and a thorough knowledge of the instrument’s capabilities, notably its mellifluous upper register. The first movement gallumphs along in 6/8 time, the thematic material recalling the finale of the Fourth Symphony, then a typically mellow slow movement follows. The Sixth Symphony is recalled in the dramatic finale. The venerable master broke no new ground in this piece (as he did in some of his later works); still it is swift, enjoyable, and well crafted.


That description applies to the other concertos as well, all of which were composed in the late 1970s or early 1980s. Edward Gregson has written a lot of music for brass—the Philip Jones Brass Ensemble recorded his brass quintet years ago for Argo—and he is comfortable with concerto form, as witness the fine Chandos CD of his clarinet and violin concertos. His tuba concerto is memorably melodic and heavily (but expertly) scored à la Hollywood wide-screen. The first movement’s thematic material makes attractive use of the Lydian mode. I am not acquainted with the work of Roger Steptoe (b. 1953) or John Golland (1946–1993) but their concertos are similarly from the sophisticated end of the British light-music genre. Harmonies are spiced with dissonance, but overall the appropriate adjective is jolly. I particularly liked Golland’s concerto, which boasts a moody and reflective slow movement.


The performances are just right. James Gourlay is both mellow and nimble, while Gavin Sutherland and his band are completely at home in this kind of music. Recording is fine. When I played the CD on a small portable system, the speakers buzzed merrily in sympathetic vibration: that is the nature of the tuba’s full timbre, but it’s not a problem on a regular system. An enjoyable disc, with more variety in it than you might suppose.


FANFARE: Phillip Scott

The four English composers represented on this disc were all born within a generation, and were inspired by the pioneering violist Lionel Tertis. Bainton's 1922 Viola Sonata veers restlessly between autumnal song and militaristic intensity, possibly influenced by his wartime experiences. Theodore Holland's Suite in D is a theatrical, wide-ranging work full of ingenious themes, whilst York Bowen's Piece for Viola is brief but ardent. Bantock's Viola Sonata, by contrast, is a large-scale, powerful and rhapsodic statement full of profuse lyricism and romantic feeling. Since making her concerto debut with the Philharmonia in 1992, and as a recitalist at the Wigmore Hall in 1997, Sarah-Jane Bradley has established a distinguished international reputation as a soloist and chamber musician. She is a pioneer of new works and has given the premieres and recorded a number of new concertos for solo viola.

Gubaidulina emerged onto the international stage as Perestroika gradually liberated artists and ideas.

Born in the Tatar Republic she studied with Grigory Kogan in the Kazan Conservatory. Later she worked with composition professors Nikolai Peiko and the much older Vissarion Shebalin. For many years now she has been a cosmopolitan voice celebrated on disc, at music festivals, quickly published and multiply commissioned. Her keynote works, at least in terms of exposure, are the Violin Concerto Offertorium and the Symphony Stimmen.

The music is much taken with exotic mysteries, ideas and texts - somewhat in the manner of Tavener though her music differs. The two pieces recorded here are part of a not large but noteworthy stream of modern works written for the bayan - the folk derived accordion. Fachwerk is dedicated to the player featured here who also premiered it in Amsterdam in 2009. The single movement 37 minute span suggests a mercurial and lapidary fairy tale. The music is accessible enough with rumbling, cajoling, howling, ululating and balladeering from both bayan and orchestra. It's a virtuoso display in the manner of The Firebird - the latest manifestation of the Russian folktale. The music glitters and rings. Then comes the five movement Silenzio. This is more internalised and reflective, severe and less endearing.

Draugsvoll - a pupil of Mogens Ellegaard - proves himself a most subtly facetted artist whose collaborations with composers of the stature of Gubaidulina have yielded rewards for both himself and the composers.

Draugsvoll and Gubaidulina are by no means alone in the field of concert music for bayan. Another bayan player, Friedrich Lips has been active with symphonic works by Solotarjov, Podgaits, Bronner and Berinsky.

Gubaidulina's two works for bayan prove much more than curiosities.

-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International