Most of the chamber music of Robert Simpson (1921-97) was recorded by Hyperion in the 1980s and '90s, but there remained some gaps in that discography. The Robert Simpson Society has sponsored two albums to plug them, this first one including an early string quartet and two songs that came to light only after the composer's death. In later life Simpson used to say that poems good enough to set to music didn't need it - but these two youthful essays prove that he was already a master. Simpson wrote the D major string quartet as a student at Durham; an examiner described it as 'fearless'. The two mature works - vintage Simpson - bring his sense of symphonic momentum into the clarinet repertoire.

In 1919, the cellist Marix Loevensohn commissioned a duo sonata from Henriette Bosmans for one of his recitals. Bosmans delivered-and in doing so, opened the "cello-focused" chapter of her early oeuvre, soon followed by two concertos, a Poème with orchestra (555 694-2), and several works with piano accompaniment. Inspired partly by Loevensohn and partly by her friend Frieda Belifante, what emerged was a collection that testifies to a talent as self-assured as it is sensitive: The sonata's imposing outer movements frame tender lyricism in the spirit of Brahms and Debussy-like splashes of color; the three Impressions flirt with various eras and landscapes; the Nocturne for cello and harp luxuriates in dreamy excess-and the sensitive spirit melts away in blissful surrender

Henriette Bosmans' mother was a pianist and her father played principal cello in Amsterdam's Concertgebouw Orchestra, so it is no wonder that both of these instruments were lasting influences on her musical thinking and sensibilities. Her friendship with cellists Marix Loevensohn and Frieda Belinfante did the rest to guide this Dutch composer's imagination towards the expressive possibilities of the "little violone". In addition to various pieces of chamber music, the somewhat Iberian-spiced Poeme as well as two concertos were written in the early 1920s. Despite their relative proximity in time, Henriette Bosmans succeeded in not repeating herself. The works are marked by imaginative forms, wildly varied tasks demanded of the soloist and a sophisticated treatment of the orchestra. Despite these works' success, they had disappeared into the annals of history for far too long.

On Trio Op. 97 'Archduke' - These musicians have been playing together for a while now, since they met at the Pablo Casals Prades Festival in 2009. In the 'Archduke' Trio there is well-padded playing, lush, warm-toned and full of delicacy: some of the interplay between the strings in the first movement is delightfully light and playful, particularly in the pizzicato passage. The opening of the scherzo has a similar dry delicacy and humour. The worming chromatic passage slithers inexorably into the joyful piano outburst. The opening of the Andante cantabile is a study in note placing, with the slightest touches of rubato and emphases: the two-note string lead into their first melody is itself a small joy. The movement floats along, light, airy and sublime. The finale is earthy, dramatic and elegant. Tim Homfray, The Strad

The idea of writing a cello concerto for Raphael Wallfisch was first mooted more than ten years ago at the Banff Arts Centre, Canada, where Jonathan Dove was composer-in-residence. The two men spoke of Dove’s interest in writing a piece for cello and orchestra, and after further meetings in London, the work began to take shape. Given the composer’s extensive experience of writing for the voice, it was decided that the score would be written for baritone singer and solo cello with orchestra with texts taken from poems by various writers. The subject matter was suggested by the Wallfisch family history. Raphael’s father fled, together with his mother and brother, to Palestine from Breslau in 1937, and his mother, Anita Lasker-Wallfisch, is a concentration camp survivor. She has written of the persecution of her Jewish family during the Second World War and her own incarceration in Auschwitz and Belsen, where her skill as a cellist saved her life.2 Knowing of these events, Jonathan Dove was inspired to base the work’s theme on the universal experience of refugees being exiled from their homeland.

Jonathan Dove writes of the piece, ‘In Exile moves through a day in the life of an involuntary exile: waking alone in a foreign land; remembering the moment of banishment, the moment of departure, the voyage; remembering the homeland. The Exile feels the pain of being so far away in his country’s time of need, unable to help his own people. He remembers all the names he has been called in this strange land. He thinks of all he has lost, and longs for home. In Raphael Wallfisch’s words: ‘the cello represents the soul and spirit of the Exile, the baritone is that person and sings the dramatic and often challenging texts. Jonathan’s lyrical style lends itself so naturally to the cello. He exploits every register from the lowest to the highest notes. The cello comments on the sung texts”. [Paul Conway] Night Song, a short piece for cello and piano is derived from the final section of ‘In Exile’. In the calm closing moments of the work the baritone sings of his loss in the words of the poet Douglas Hyde : My grief on the sea, / How the waves of it roll - / For they heave between me / And the love of my soul. Night Song was written partly at the request of the Rachel Baker Memorial Charity – who commissioned the orchestral work – and partly in response to the strong reaction of the first audiences who connected with this uncomplicated musical expression.

This album brings together three major orchestral works by John McCabe, composed between 1970 and 2007, and reflecting key strands of his musical thought. Symphony No. 2 unfolds as a tightly integrated single span, notable for it's rhythmic energy, luminous orchestration, and structural clarity. Symphony No. 3, Hommages, acknowledges McCabe's lifelong engagement with the music of Haydn and Nielsen, blending quotation and allusion within a vibrant, tonal framework. The Cello Concerto Songline traces a continuous musical journey, combining virtuosity with introspective lyricism and a finely balanced orchestral palette.

BLOCH Voice in the Wilderness. Schelomo. CAPLET Épiphanie. RAVEL 2 Mélodies hébraïques: Kaddisch (arr. Ravel) • Raphael Wallfisch (vc); Benjamin Wallfisch, cond; BBC Natl O of Wales • NIMBUS 5913 (75:13)


This album holds deep personal significance for the performers. In a video interview released in promotion of it, Raphael Wallfisch discusses his conception of the program as a memorial to his family, particularly his four grandparents, who perished in the Holocaust. Having engaged his son, Benjamin, to conduct the recording, Wallfisch views it as both a musical and a familial statement. Additionally, Wallfisch emphasizes the vivid “cinematic” drama of the Bloch pieces, for which he considered his son’s close involvement with film music to be a natural fit.


Given these factors, it is not surprising that the Wallfisches’ performances on this disc are rhapsodic and dramatic. And that is what this music demands. The two Bloch pieces, when played well, can be shattering experiences for the listener: unremittingly grim, with the cello as tormented protagonist. The Ravel Kaddisch , based on a traditional cantorial melody, captures the outermost depths of reverence and mourning. And Caplet’s rarely-performed Épiphanie is an ecstatic portrayal of an Ethiopian telling of the Adoration of the Magi. There is no moderation of emotion in these works; this is music to captivate, move, and overwhelm the listener.


Bloch’s Voices in the Wilderness was written in 1936, a period during which he produced some of his most substantial works. (The Sacred Service was composed in 1933 and the piano sonata in 1935.) It was originally conceived for cello and piano, and was reworked for piano solo as Visions and Prophecies , which presents the orchestral expositions to the first five pieces. Familiarity with both versions provides an intriguing contrast; the role of the cello in Voices in the Wilderness is one of commentator on the orchestral material presented in the first half of each movement. As evidenced by Visions and Prophecies , this material can succeed on its own; it is not simply introductory but traces a complete musical arc. Is the cello response therefore redundant? Some movements work better than others. The second, for example, is atmospheric and pensive in the orchestral section. It ends with an upward, questioning melodic gesture. Left here in the Visions and Prophecies , the question lingers enigmatically. In Voices in the Wilderness , the cello begins its response with outraged scales. The orchestral accompaniment thickens and becomes more dissonant. In this movement, the second half constitutes a reassessment of the ideas presented in the first half rather than simply an elaboration of them. The third movement’s exposition, majestic with vivid coloration unavailable to a solo piano, feels like a public statement of triumph and benefits from the individual perspective offered by the cello response; moreover, it is brief enough that its restatement is not unwelcome. But the foreboding first movement achieves its full emotional impact and reaches a convincing full stop before the cello entrance, as does the idyllic fourth movement. Finally, the coda to the fifth movement ends in such eloquent silence as to render the boisterous sixth movement almost disruptive. Qualms about the composition’s structure aside, Wallfisch’s playing exhibits an impressive range of emotion, texture, and color. His cadenza in the fifth movement is especially effective in its bold, emphatic statements and its relentless build.


Ravel’s Kaddisch was composed in 1914 for piano and voice as one of the 2 Mélodies hébraïques . Ravel orchestrated both songs in 1919–20. Wallfisch’s approach to the melody is appropriately improvisatory in its fluctuations of tempo and sudden shifts of dynamics. He even produces some strikingly vocal portamentos. But without the words, much of the emotional impact of the piece is lost. This is not simply because of the profundity of the text; rather, the articulation of specific consonants and vowels has a timbral effect that cannot be replicated instrumentally. Additionally, the orchestration obscures the insistent treble octaves that provide the focal point of the original piano accompaniment. Ravel was a masterful orchestrator, and this version of the Kaddisch is musically pleasing, but it does not have the impact of the original.


André Caplet’s Épiphanie has been recorded only a handful of times—inexplicably for such an accessible and attractive work, and one that offers the soloist a true virtuoso spectacle. The piece is in two large movements connected by an extended solo cadenza. Though subtitled “Musical Fresco after an Ethiopian Legend,” the first movement is solidly in the sound world of Impressionism—perhaps closer to Roussel than to Debussy in its harmonic palette. The feeling is sunny and ingratiating throughout. The cello part features extended pizzicato passages and frequent harmonics. The cadenza is accompanied by a pedal tone in the double basses and by a quiet, steady drumbeat, which the program notes identify as “a characteristically Ethiopian element.” The cadenza itself sounds fairly European, despite some pentatonic material and occasional uses of the Semitic scale. This is not a complaint; the music is impassioned and colorful, and Wallfisch’s playing is commanding. The second movement, the “Danse des Petits Negrès,” takes a more exotic tone with a rapid, heavily-accented 5/4 meter and a repeated whirling motif in the cello. Brief musical phrases, repeated in groups of two, create a “primitive” effect. The constant repetition becomes predictable, and the Orientalist subtext is highly dated. But the movement is generally exciting, especially in its final pages.


Bloch’s Schelomo is the most widely-performed work on the disc. It is here that the Wallfisches are most open to comparison. Were I not familiar with the Rostropovich/Bernstein recording of the piece, I would be unreserved in my praise of the current performance. And indeed, it is a very fine performance: imposing, brooding, and highly effective. But where Wallfisch rages, Rostropovich thunders. Where Wallfisch sobs, Rostropovich wails. The same can be said of the conducting: Wallfisch’s Schelomo is dramatic but does not quite achieve the gripping immediacy of Bernstein’s. It is nonetheless a vivid and moving rendition of the piece, and the disc as a whole makes for very rewarding listening. Excellent, vivid sound engineering is a welcome bonus.


FANFARE: Myron Silberstein

For the last ten years or so, there has been a gratifying renewal of interest in the eminent Russian composer Nikolai Myaskovsky, whose career spanned the late Romantic to early Modern periods. His creative legacy deserves far greater attention than is currently paid to him: Myaskovsky's music demonstrates the highest level of craftsmanship and explores a very unique realm of emotional and soulful experience. His Cello Concerto, Op. 66, was composed in the last three months of 1944. What prompted Myaskovsky to compose this work is not known, since the work was neither commissioned by a performer nor written for a specific artist. It was probably intended to contribute to the growing repertoire of instrumental concertos being created for the rising generation of young Soviet virtuosos.

The two-movement concerto opens with a contemplative Lento ma non troppo in a modified sonata form, with a brief solo cadenza taking the place of the development. The prevailing autumnal melancholy mood is balanced by a passionate second theme in major. The ensuing Allegro vivace is shaped as a rondo, with two slow episodes complementing the energetic main theme with its lively triplets. After a brilliant cadenza, the movement reaches its climax when the material of the opening movement is resumed, then leads into a meditative coda. In addition, two virtuoso cello sonatas by Myaskovsky can be heard. The remaining pieces on this CD are by Myaskovsky's teachers at the St. Petersburg Conservatory - Nikolai Rimsky-Korssakoff, who taught him the art of orchestration, and Anatoly Lyadoff, with whom he studied harmony, counterpoint, and free composition.