Andrew Hill - Compulsion!!!!! Blue Note Tone Poet Edition / Blue Note Tone Poet / One of the boldest statements in Andrew Hill's discography, 1965's Compulsion!!!!! was the pianist's expression of the avant-garde through the prism of jazz's roots in African rhythms. Hill's percussive piano drives an intrepid ensemble featuring Freddie Hubbard, John Gilmore, Cecil McBee & Joe Chambers. This stereo Blue Note Tone Poet Edition was produced by Joe Harley, mastered by Kevin Gray from the original analog master tapes, pressed on 180g vinyl at RTI, and packaged in a deluxe gatefold tip-on jacket.

Alfred Lion considered pianist/composer Andrew Hill as unique as Thelonious Monk and documented Hill's music with a fervor. Recorded in 1964 with a quartet of modern jazz visionaries - Bobby Hutcherson, Richard Davis & Elvin Jones - Judgment! Was the third classic album Hill recorded in a 5-month period that also produced Black Fire and Point of Departure. This Blue Note Classic Vinyl Edition is stereo, all-analog, mastered by Kevin Gray from the original master tapes, and pressed on 180g vinyl at Optimal.

Limited 180gm vinyl LP pressing. Pianist Andrew Hill burst onto the scene in 1963-64 with a torrent of creativity that produced 5 remarkable albums including Andrew!!! featuring saxophonist John Gilmore, vibraphonist Bobby Hutcherson, bassist Richard Davis and drummer Joe Chambers performing 6 of Hill's mercurial inside-out compositions. This stereo Blue Note Tone Poet Edition was produced by Joe Harley, mastered by Kevin Gray from the original analog master tapes, pressed on 180g vinyl at RTI, and packaged in a deluxe gatefold tip-on jacket.

Andrew Hill - "Grass Roots (Blue Note Tone Poet Series)" [180gram HeavyLP]Andrew Hill's 1968 album Grass Roots stands as one of the most immediately accessible albums in the pianist's beguiling Blue Note discography. Featuring Lee Morgan, Booker Ervin, Ron Carter and Freddie Waits, this set of five Hill originals is imbued with a deep sense of feeling, groove, and lyricism. This stereo Blue Note Tone Poet Series edition was produced by Joe Harley, mastered by Kevin Gray from the original analog master tapes, pressed on 180g vinyl at RTI, and packaged in a deluxe gatefold tip-on jacket.

Legendary American piano player/composer Andrew Hill (June 30, 1931 – April 20, 2007) lived an active and fruitful life leaving us a legacy of unique, enigmatic music. Hill, however disappeared from the scene for about a decade in the late 60s. This album and its predecessor SCCD 31026 “Invitation” released in the mid. 70’s paved his way back to the limelight he deserved. Andrew Hill received numerous awards including Lifetime Achievement Award from the Jazz Foundation of America (1997). “... Divine Revelation certainly earns its title, for it reveals to any newcomer to his music… Hill at his most inspired, and most enigmatic ....” (Simon Adams, Jazz Journal International, March 1995) 180g Audiophile Vinyl

I'm a digital nomad, says Arnold Kasar. "I like to sit in the dining car in the morning, when the train is heading south from Berlin, and my eyes can take in a landscape in the morning fog. It doesn't even take five minutes, and I'm in old Europe, in a whole different mindset. With my mobile equipment I can work very well in the dining car, and also in hotels. I have my own sonic vocabulary, which no one else has, and it allows me to be independent. I listened to my album Resonanz entirely during these endless train journeys, editing and honing it gradually." Arnold Kasar has done a lot of commuting over the last few years to record with legendary figures such as Hans-Joachim Roedelius and Friedrich Liechtenstein. On these journeys he captured impressions of the day as sound recordings, his laptop became a sketchbook. In this way, several hours of extremely personal piano improvisations have accumulated, which Arnold Kasar now and then selected an individual take and processes it beyond recognition. Through the act of editing his present album Resonanz is the result. "I have a toolbox of portable synthesizers that are the source of everything. So at any time, I can go from the piano to the electronics and back to the solo piano, or mix them together." Arnold Kasar describes this process as a medial exchange, from the observation to the deconstructed melody, to the dark drone and then back to contemplation.

Though founded only in 2003, the Yale Schola Cantorum harks back to the small university student choirs that, in the early and middle 20th century, did much to introduce the choral music of earlier eras to the American public. Under the auspices of the Yale Institute of Sacred Music, the Schola Cantorum has performed in concerts and church services internationally. Their repertory focuses on historically informed performances of music of the Renaissance and Baroque, and they have collaborated with historical instrument groups from the Yale and Juilliard Schools of Music. They have also, however, performed later music up to that of the present day. The Yale Schola Cantorum was founded in 2003 by it's first conductor, Simon Carrington, who remained in his post until 2009. The group has attracted internationally known music directors; Masaaki Suzuki, director of the renowned Japan Bach Collegium, held the post from 2009 to 2013, and that year he was succeeded by David Hill, chief conductor of the BBC Singers among other top British groups. The Schola Cantorum has also hosted domestic and international guest conductors from the top of the A-list: Dale Warland, James O'Donnell, Helmuth Rilling, Paul Hillier, Stephen Layton, Nicholas McGegan, and Krzysztof Penderecki, among others. The choir maintains a regular concert schedule in New Haven and New York City, and has toured in Britain, China, Estonia, France, Greece, Hungary, India, Italy, Latvia, Russia, Singapore, South Korea, Spain, and Turkey. The Schola Cantorum immediately attracted the attention of recording companies, releasing a live performance of Heinrich Biber's 1693 Vesperae longiores ac breviores with the Yale Collegium Musicum, and then featuring the little-known Missa Resurrectionis of Antonio Bertali (1605-1669) on the Rezound label in 2007. These albums received wide critical acclaim. The choir has also recorded for Naxos, Delos, and, in the late 2010s, Hyperion, issuing a performance of Palestrina's Missa Confitebor tibi Dominum on that label in 2018. The Schola Cantorum is one of the most selective choirs in the international academic world. Membership, by audition, is open to Yale students from any department of the university, although many of it's singers are music students. - James Manheim

Elsewhere in this issue, in choosing the records of the year, I have singled Out the new version of Handel's opera Admeto for its broadly successful attempt at a true Handelian style. Well, those words were no sooner in the post to the Editor than I heard this new set, which considerably surpasses it in almost all regards: indeed this seems to me comfortably the best Handel opera recording I have heard. It is an easier opera to perform than the heroic ones of the 1720s (at least, to perform on records; perhaps it is not so easy on the stage— though I remember with pleasure its only English revival, at Abingdon in 1961). Partenope was written in 1730, for the first season of what was called the 'new Academy', run by Handel himself and his manager, after the collapse and the discrediting of the Royal Academy, of which Handel had been salaried musical director and which had organized opera in London since 1720. Handel now had a new team of singers, and the operas he wrote for them show distinctly the influence of the works he encountered during his talent-spotting trip to Italy. Partenope does so in particular. It is to a libretto by Silvio Stampiglia, markedly influenced by the vein of ironic humour popular in Venetian opera. The plot concerns the founding queen of Naples, Parthenope, and her various suitors, one of whom (Arsaces) deserted his betrothed (Rosmira) to woo her, and is pursued by Rosmira who in male clothes is herself masquerading as an admirer of Parthenope. The musical idiom beautifully catches the vivacity, the ironic wit, the gentle ardour and the charm that distinguish the plot. The musical textures are for the most part light and airy; there is more of rapid music than in most of Handel's operas; the phrase structure is simpler; and the vocal colour is different from usual—dictated, to be sure, by the particular cast Handel had at his disposal, yet characteristically he turned to positive ends the fact that he had only one soprano (Parthenope), one tenor, one baritone and all the rest altos of one kind or another. The orchestral texture, more often than usual, consists of just a violin line and continuo: the occasional more fully-scored aria, like Emilius's in Act I with its rich semi-contrapuntal string writing, or Rosmira's brilliant hunting aria with oboes and horns to end the act, accordingly makes a striking effect—and none more so than Arsaces's G minor lament, with muted violins, moaning flutes, theorbo and pizzicato basses, near the end of the opera. There are several ensemble numbers, including a trio and a quartet, but as the characters rarely sing simultaneously this does not make a geat deal of difference.

In Adnseto I questioned the wisdom of using so small an orchestra. Here the orchestra is much the same size, but it is about right since the music is so much less heroic in temper. It would perhaps be cynical to suggest that Handel, now he had to pay the bills himself, wrote music that worked well with fewer players; but with Partenope it could be not far from the truth. The group here p1a(s superbly: there is a dash and a sparkle to the string playing that makes the rapid passage work a real joy to listen to; the bass is firm and shapely; the wind playing is on the whole very well tuned; and the continuo playing provides sensible and unobtrusive support. Above all, the direction has the kind of rhythmic breadth and sense of purpose that I had despaired of meeting in an 'authentic' performance. Too often Handel's stature is diminished, the grandeur of his designs whittled down, by short-breathed and finicky phrasing. Here, in authentic timbres, Handel emerges as the giant he always did under the Woods and the Sargents, but without any over-inflation. This is greatly to the credit of the musicianship of Sigiswald Kuijken and his players. His orchestra has strings numbering 5.5.2.3.2, with four oboes and two bassoons, and pairs of flutes and horns and a trumpet as needed.

As for the singing, there are two names new to me of which I shall hope to hear very much more. One is the Parthenope, Krisztina Laki, a fluent and agile soprano with a happy glitter to her voice. She copes comfortably with the difficult divisions, and brings a suitably light expressive touch to the slower arias; altogether an accomplished and promising performance and an intelligent interpretation. Even more striking, perhaps, is the Rosmira of Helga Muller Molinari—plumb in her intonation (more so than anyone else in the cast), and capable of infusing her passage work with genuine vigour and passion. The angry C minor aria in the Second Act is magnificent, a real musical explosion of wrath; but the love music too is finely done. The timbre itself is not extraordinary, but the voice is perfectly focused and controlled. With the Arsaces (and this is the biggest part, composed for the famous castrato Bernacchi) I am less happy; as in Admeto, René Jacobs swoops and swoons too much, in a mannered way, and is not dependable over pitch. John York Skinner gives a capable account of the role of Armindus, Parthenope's ultimately successful lover, best in the direct style of his Act III aria than in the more expressive earlier ones. Martyn Hill as Emilius is firm and clear in the tenor arias, and accurate and expressive too; and Stephen Varcoe does his single aria in a pleasantly clean and light manner, without any booming or ranting.

Handelians may object, with some justification, that there is insufficient ornamentation in this set. That is true. Here and there a cadence crying for a trill is . . . well, left crying; and even the da caps sections of the arias are mostly sung without elaboration, which we know is contrary to Handel's expectation. Still, it is far better to do nothing than to do something wrongly or tastelessly, and that is particularly true in recordings, where one does not want to hear the same piece of bad decoration every time. Jacobs decorates a little, and some of the others do, too, very modestly. I wish a little more effort had been made over achieving a performing style a little more accurate and historical in this respect. On the other hand, I have nothing but praise for the execution of the recitatives, which (given in a form more complete than in the Handel-Gesellschaft score) move along quickly and conversationally, with the cadences correctly elided, while losing nothing of their dramatic force or their meaning from these excellent, and obviously well coached, singers. Altogether this set can be warmly recommended to lovers of Handel operas—and indeed to others too, who might find themselves drawn to become lovers of these masterpieces.

-- S.S., Gramophone [12/1979] Reviewing original LP

To witness a performance of Delius’s A Mass of Life, arguably his supreme creative achievement, is to look into the heart of the composer and his Nietzsche-inspired world. Moreover, this ravishing music, written between 1898 and 1905, represents Delius at the height of his powers, when musical ideas seemed to pour out of him at a time when he had finally learned to assimilate, in an entirely individual, not to say maverick manner, a confluence of modernist styles embracing Grieg, Wagner, Strauss, Charpentier and Debussy.

There is no doubt from the vivid opening choruses of Parts 1 and 2 of this recording (and what openings!) that the message of the work is a life-affirming one. There is a dynamic momentum to the tempi which perfectly evokes Zarathustra’s ruling passion, the Will of Man, and there is a richness to the orchestral sound which adds to the sense of muscularity. The chorus negotiate Delius’s often awkward vocal intervals with great skill and the intonation is virtually flawless. Just occasionally the sheer weight of the orchestral sound, which is quite forward on this recording (more so than Hickox), is apt to overwhelm the voices but this is a minor distraction.

Hill brings energy and élan to the third section, ‘In deine Auge’ (for me perhaps the most exhilarating section of Part 1), where the parallel with the end of Act 2 of Die Meistersinger is almost palpable and where the most unusual example of a Delius fugue (!) is given life, vigour and meaning.

Alan Opie, who has the lion’s share of the solo music in the work, is almost Wotan-like in his performances. From his first Nietzschean dance he is majestic and brings out of the score that vibrant, heady, Teutonic contemporaneity with which Delius had clearly become enthralled at this point in his career. Opie’s singing of what is effectively the role of Zarathustra has immense authority and his impressive range (up to high G) is ideal for Delius’s onerous vocal demands.

Andrew Kennedy, Catherine Wyn-Rogers and Janice Watson also offer fine lyrical interpretations of their solo parts and the choral accompaniments are allowed to intermingle subtly as an extension of the orchestra. The BSO are on fine form too, and special mention needs to be made of the haunting horn-playing in the introduction to Part 2 (‘On the Mountains’), a sound which sums up so much of Delius’s nature music.

This is a must for any Delius Liebhaber and, with the added bonus of the late Prelude and Idyll, a marvellous starting point for anyone new to Delius’s unique but compelling art.

-- Jeremy Dibble, Gramophone


DELIUS A Mass of Life. Prelude and Idyll1 • David Hill, Cond; 1Janice Watson (sop); Catherine Wyn-Rogers (mez); Andrew Kennedy (ten); 1Alan Opie (bar); Bach Ch; 1Bournemouth SO • NAXOS 8.572861-62 (2 CDs: 118:19 Text and Translation)

A Mass of Life is quintessential Delius, musically and existentially, composed over 1904–05 in the first great rush of his maturity. From the bounding affirmative choruses to the breathtakingly sustained nature contemplations, from the melancholy to the ecstatic, the Mass of Life traces and forecasts the gamut of Delian affect with a concision, fullness, and abundance he might rival but never achieve so comprehensively again. Unless I’ve missed something, this is but the fourth recording of the work since Beecham’s nonpareil 1952 account. Though its musical demands are daunting—if nowhere near as challenging as those of Mahler’s “Symphony of a Thousand,” with which it invites comparison—the primary bar to frequent performance is its text, drawn by Delius’s friend Ernst Cassirier largely from the Dance Songs of Nietzsche’s Also sprach Zarathustra. For those coming in late, one recalls the oft-quoted passage in Eric Fenby’s Delius as I Knew Him: “When, one wet day … he was looking for something to read in the library of a Norwegian friend … and had taken down a book, Thus Spake Zarathustra—a book for all and none—by one Friedrich Nietzsche, he was ripe for it. The book, he told me, never left his hands until he had devoured it from cover to cover. It was the very book he had been seeking all along, and finding that book he declared to be one of the most important events of his life. Nor did he rest content until he had read every work of Nietzsche that he could lay his hands on”—to which Fenby, a devout Catholic, adds—“and the poison entered his soul.” For listeners and performers today it may still be something of a jolt to find, in place of the supplicating Kyrie that the unfortunate term “Mass” leads one to expect, a glowingly charged hymn to the Will, “dispeller of need, my own necessity,” followed by Zarathustra’s brief praise of laughter (“My own laughter I pronounced holy”), succeeded by Zarathustra’s love duet with Life in a meadow filled with dancing girls, an archetypal encounter transpiring in a mythical dimension “beyond good and evil,” beyond place and time, crowned by the first, murmured, utterance of the Bell Song, the work’s central mystery. A Mass of Life may, of course, be enjoyed for its power and sensuous magic without reference to its text, but only to those nurtured on Nietzsche will it reveal its full import. Shrugging incomprehension of the text renders Benjamin Luxon’s Zarathustra, for Charles Groves (with the London Philharmonic Chorus and Orchestra), merely mellifluous, while Peter Coleman-Wright’s deadpan delivery for the late Richard Hickox—with the Waynflete Singers directed by today’s conductor, David Hill, and the Bournemouth Symphony Chorus and Orchestra—proves anesthetically workmanlike. When it appeared in 1997, I rated that reading, on Chandos, the best since Beecham’s (Fanfare 20:6). That honor goes now to the present offering. While Alan Opie does not efface memories of Bruce Boyce, for Beecham—whose delivery resonated from the nexus of Delius’s realization of Nietzsche—he teases the text gingerly, making a credible Zarathustra. In some numbers, Delius asks the soloists to share parts, with some of Zarathustra’s lines persuasively taken by Andrew Kennedy, and a portion of Life’s happily rendered by Janice Watson, though Catherine Wyn-Rogers’s beguiling, seductive Life recalls Monica Sinclair’s divinatory geste for Beecham. The choral work is beyond praise, though in Hill’s brisk approach the melting lyricism heard chez Beecham tautens and leaps.

Idyll is a late reworking of music from Margot la Rouge, composed in 1902 for the new opera competition offered by the music publisher Sanzogno. Though it failed to score and was not heard in Delius’s lifetime, it comes from the composer’s ripest years and contains gorgeous swaths of his richest utterance, which he salvaged in 1932, recomposing it to words by Whitman and making an extended love duet of it. Idyll has not lacked for vocally lustrous, persuasive performances submerging Whitman’s quaintness (“Behold me when I pass, hear my voice, approach, draw close, but speak not. Be not afraid of me”) in absolute conviction. Of major interest, the lovingly lingering 1981 account led by Eric Fenby—who took down the score from dictation by the blind, paralyzed Delius—features Felicity Lott and Thomas Allen (deleted Unicorn-Kanchana UKCD 2073). Meredith Davies’s still-available 1968 tilt at Idyll, with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra, is made memorable by the divinatory partnership of Heather Harper and John Shirley-Quirk. In keeping with his go at the Mass of Life, Hill pushes the work a bit, spurring the impassioned moments to escalate from the pervasive tone of wistful elegy. Opie, as the anonymous man, is authoritatively resonant, in response to Janice Watson’s brightly edged soprano (touched by a bit of vibrato), with its gloriously amber lower register, buxomly filling the part of the nameless woman.

One caveat: In the headnote the title of the work is given per the album, but you will search the catalog of Delius’s works in vain for an orchestral Prelude. The work so designated is simply the first three minutes—an orchestral prelude, to be sure—of Idyll and has never, until now, been listed separately. The fake title generates a phantom work to bedevil buyers, scholars, and connoisseurs, and detracts from—rather than adding to—the program’s generosity.

Sound packs an immediate wallop making for occasional congestion. In the opening chorus, for instance, the leaping underlining of trombones and tubas becomes indistinct, overwhelmed by choral mass, and while one can pick out the glockenspiel, its function of festive accentuation is lost. In quieter passages, and in the capture of the vocalists, on the other hand, this upfront take is gratifyingly welcome. In German, Zarathustra’s pronouncements recall and parody the Lutheran Bible, in light of which the ostensibly stilted thee-ing and thou-ing of William Wallace’s singing translation—made for Beecham and used by him for all of his public performances (according to notes by Delius aficionado Lyndon Jenkins)—fall into place, if not quite into King James English. Whitman’s text is included.

In sum, a superb production and the grandest addition to the Delius discography in many years. Highest recommendation.

FANFARE: Adrian Corleonis

A controversial (though influential) figure in African American history, Booker T. Washington's image is sanctified here as poet and author, Roy L. Hill, combines forces with Washington's daughter, Portia Washington-Pittman. Pittman reflects on her father's life and attempts to counteract the negative perceptions about her father with her own thoughtful understanding of Washington's disposition. The compilation includes a recording of a speech delivered by Booker T. Washington at the opening of the Atlanta Cotton States in 1895.

VAUGHAN WILLIAMS Dona nobis pacem 1. Sancta Civitas 2 • David Hill, cond; 1 Christina Pier (sop); 2 Andrew Staples (ten); 1,2 Matthew Brook (bar); 2 Winchester Cathedral Choristers; 2 Winchester College Choristers; Bach Choir; Bournemouth SO • NAXOS 8.572424 (64:39 )


This release presents two of the great English composer’s most heartfelt statements of personal conviction: the 1936 Dona Nobis Pacem, his strongest statement on the depravity of war, and the visionary Sancta Civitas (1923–25), his clearest confession of personal faith. ( Pace Bertrand Russell, Vaughan Williams prefaced the score of Sancta Civitas , which drew heavily on Revelations , with Plato’s quote of Socrates from Phaedo , “A man of sense will not insist that things are exactly as I have described them. But I think he will believe that something of the kind is true of the soul and her habitations,” and reportedly considered it his favorite choral work.) It is a combination that seemed odd at first, as others have opted for more stylistically consonant combinations, but as an overview of the soul of the man it is perfect. The horror of war and the destiny of the soul are themes to which Ralph Vaughan Williams returned continually throughout his life and these two works are the purest statements of those preoccupations.


This CD duplicates one of the finest RVW choral discs ever produced, the 1992 Richard Hickox recording of these two works. (And I say that as a great admirer of the late-1960s recordings of these works by Boult and Willcocks, respectively.) The Hickox, which seems to have come and gone quickly in the U.S., is still very much available from English sources, and for little more than the cost of this Naxos disc. So this new release is competing with a legend and without the usual Naxos price advantage.


As it happens, comparison finds this a close thing, as Naxos offers superb performances, matching, in many ways, the strengths of the earlier EMI. As with the Hickox, the central asset is the alert and impassioned conducting of the conductor. In fact, David Hill’s generally quicker tempos reveal an appealing vigor and backbone in the works altogether fitting to the rugged verse of Walt Whitman and the apocalyptic vision of St. John of Patmos. Listen, for instance, to the noble, steady pacing of RVW’s “Dirge for Two Veterans,” or to the ecstatic “Nation Shall Not Lift Up Sword Against Nation.” The Hickox excels in shear orchestral virtuosity, in the rich underpinning of the organ, and in atmosphere and gravitas—I prefer, for instance, Hickox’s unhurried ascent to the majestic final chorus of the Sancta Civitas . Hill’s recording impresses with his thrilling choruses, nuanced and exemplary in diction (though Hickox’s choruses hardly disappoint, either), in the clarity and spaciousness of the recording of the multilayered Sancta Civitas —much like Britten’s later War Requiem in its use and positioning of multiple choruses and ensembles—and in two of his soloists. Yvonne Kenny is brilliant for Hickox, but Christina Pier, a new name to me, provides similar purity of tone and contained power with a pleading quality that is very moving. Philip Langridge is, as always, a superlative artist in the Hickox, but Andrew Staples more easily sings the tenor’s 21 syllables in their uncomfortably high tessitura.


For some collectors, however, the deciding factor may be the bass-baritone soloist. Matthew Brook, who sang a very fine Friar Tuck in the recent Chandos Ivanhoe , is somewhat miscast here. There are several issues: His grainy, rather gruff vocal quality does not lend itself naturally to the nobility of much of the writing; parts of “Reconciliation” lie uncomfortably high and he strains for them, and softer sections of “Oh Man, Greatly Beloved” and “I Was in the Spirit” are almost crooned. Though Brook’s response to text is intelligent throughout, some consonants are oddly elongated for emphasis. And comparison is not kind, as he is up against the nonpareil skills of the young Bryn Terfel in the Hickox. The Welshman’s refulgent tone, shaping of phrases, and projection of the text are simply stunning. (The texts, by the way, are not printed, but may be downloaded from the Naxos Web site.)


Still, as a whole, this new Naxos release has many virtues and no debilitating liabilities, and ought to be acquired by anyone with an interest in this repertoire. It is powerful, lucid, beautifully sung, and vividly recorded. Of course, the Hickox should be in every Vaughan Williams collection. If I had to choose one, therefore, it would be the Hickox, but choosing is not my recommendation.


FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames


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These are beautiful works, and they receive very good performances. David Hill digs into the war music of Dona nobis pacem quite effectively (save for the missing tam-tam at the climax of Beat! beat! drums!), the choirs sing very cleanly, and soprano Christina Pier is the best of the three soloists on this disc. The two men, while not bad, have what you might call "oratorio" voices--good as regards declamation, but not especially attractive as pure singing. Still, they get the job done, and in Sancta Civitas the interplay between the various on-stage and distant choirs is particularly well judged. The latter really is a masterpiece, a gorgeous work that, perhaps because it's not as physical and hard-hitting, gets less play than its disc mate.

Naxos' engineering is very good in terms of balances between chorus and orchestra, but the soloists sometimes sound as if they are operating in a different acoustic, with an odd halo around the voice. On the whole, though, this disc represents good value, and is at least as successful as the competition on EMI (mostly) and a few other labels.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

RÜTTI Requiem • David Hill, cond; Olivia Robinson (sop); Edward Price (bar); Bach Ch; Jane Watts (org); Southern Snf • NAXOS 8.572317 (55:02)


The music of Swiss composer Carl Rütti (b. 1949) is not particularly well known in America. Though many CDs devoted to his music have been released in Europe on small labels, this internationally distributed Naxos release should help to bring his work to wider and extremely well-deserved attention. Rütti’s choral music is the most-performed part of his output, and his pieces have developed a following particularly in England where a number of significant choruses (especially the Cambridge Voices and the Choir of King’s College, Cambridge) have featured his choral music in high profile contexts.


Rütti’s Requiem is an extended work for soprano and baritone soloists, double chorus, strings, harp, and organ. He uses the traditional Latin text and, unlike a number of recent composers, he does not interpolate other texts into the narrative. The work was commissioned in 2005 by the Bach Choir of London, which performs it on this recording under the expert direction of David Hill. Though several of Rütti’s previous pieces (notably a terrific Pavane for violin and organ, which is quoted in the Requiem) had been inspired by death, he was initially somewhat reluctant to write a Requiem. However, after reflecting on personal losses, he decided (like many composers) that such a piece would be a meaningful way to express what he felt. The result is an absolutely magnificent work, and the best new Requiem setting of the many that I have heard in recent years.


Though there is a definite “British choral” influence on Rütti’s style, there are also Eastern European and Baltic characteristics that all combine to produce his personal voice. The resulting blend produces a truly wonderful mix of the practical melodic and modal character of much British music, and the poignant mysticism of many Baltic composers. The work begins and ends evocatively with an unaccompanied soprano solo, which the composer intends to represent the soul “alone before God.” Particular highlights of the work include the transcendently beautiful choral writing in the mostly unaccompanied Introitus that follows the opening soprano solo. The powerful and urgent Kyrie is extremely memorable. The most extended movement is the central Offertorium, which is packed with spine-tingling climaxes and textures. A memorable recurring motive throughout the whole Requiem is a sequence of shifting chords with false relations on the word “Jerusalem”; it is particularly glorious.


The common danger with Requiem settings is that the overall quiet mood of the text causes there to be far too much slow music; and when there is occasionally something fast and powerful (think Dies irae ), it ends up being earth-shattering. Rütti intentionally avoided a Dies irae because it did not fit with his beliefs about God. However, through a remarkable variety of texture and mood, Rütti manages to avoid this fatigue entirely. In the service of musical variety and dramatic shape, he ends up making some choices that other composers rarely do: the Kyrie, for example, is dramatic and powerful. Likewise, the main statement of the concluding “In paradisum” is thrillingly exciting and forms a major final climax to the work. The overall result is a perfectly balanced piece.


Perhaps what is most impressive to me about Rütti’s piece is how much genuine musical interest and variety he creates, despite the small forces. In terms of the creative spirit (though only rarely the actual sound of the music), James MacMillan’s seminal early pieces, such as Seven Last Words , are called to mind. In recent years, MacMillan’s large-scale works tend to use enormous orchestral palates, which are very appealing; however, it’s not nearly as difficult to create a lot of color with so many resources at one’s disposal.


The performance and recorded sound are excellent. Though I was somewhat “jaded” upon receiving the disc to see yet another new Latin Requiem by a contemporary composer, Rütti’s superb piece completely won me over. I cannot say enough in praise of this work, which is one of the finest Requiem settings of our time; I am absolutely convinced it will join the great ones from the past. It is a disc to which I will return frequently, and is Want List material, without doubt.


FANFARE: Carson Cooman

Finzi’s melancholy, rapture and nobility articulated with fidelity.

The lynchpin here is Dies Natalis. It’s the work by which many discovered Finzi in the 1960s and 1970s courtesy of Wilfred Brown’s perfect recording. There the orchestra was the English Chamber Orchestra conducted by the composer’s son Christopher Finzi. You can hear it on EMI Classics (CDM7 63372 and CDM 565588 2) keeping company with Howells’ Hymnus Paradisi.

Dies Natalis is quintessential Finzi, marrying limpid serenity of musical expression with an ecstatic-philosophical text. The theme of the poems spoke directly to Finzi: childhood as a transcendent religious experience. We can trace Wilfred Brown’s stylistic lineage back, by repute, to Eric Greene (are there any recordings?) and forwards to Ian Partridge who never recorded Dies Natalis and onwards now to James Gilchrist. Their ‘DNA’ is identifiable by intelligent and emotional engagement with the words, sharply delineated syllabic enunciation even at volume, wondrous breath control and steady tonal production. Not everyone likes these qualities; some may find the results too white and mannered. If you prefer other approaches there is no shortage of alternatives. For myself the Brown-Partridge school represents the ideal in Finzi. This disc rates very highly indeed although Gilchrist and Hill have not shaken my recommendation of Partridge and Handley (Lyrita) in the Two Sonnets and Farewell to Arms. This gently breathed Dies Natalis lovingly catches the Tallis hush and wonder of the piece. Taking one example: listen to “the corn was orient and immortal wheat” with gentle breath of the fragile violins as backdrop and played close to silence. The buoyancy and bounce of the playing is spot-on in the more exuberant passages and elsewhere the soloistic violin writing provides a silvery tracery.

Similarly compelling although more modest are the purely orchestral pieces from the warm murmur of the Nocturne to the caressingly shaped Prelude and the autumnal shiver of The Fall of the Leaf (what a title!).

I have a great affection for the two tenor and orchestra diptychs. Finding a home for them in concerts is a challenge but they subsist happily and bestow their blessings on record. Gilchrist is extremely good here but does not supplant Partridge who is softer-toned than Gilchrist when singing at pressurised volume. His identification with the words is never in doubt – listen to the way he tremulously shapes the words ‘I fondly ask’ in When I consider (the first Sonnet) but also how he rises to operatic climax at the end of How soon hath time. Also strongly and subtly done are the songs in Farewell to Arms. The words ‘rustic spade’ are fondly sung and a smile of recognition will come when Gilchrist sings ‘the ventriloquous drum’ – surely a Stanford souvenir. The unison string writing in Aria looks back with affection at Dies Natalis. The piercing ecstasy of transience returns to Finzi campground in the words “Oh time too swift / Oh swiftness never ceasing” with which the piece ends.

As for the liner notes we are in the safe and lucid hands of Andrew Burn. The sung words are not in the booklet but are available at a page on the Naxos website.

There is no direct competition for this particular combination of works on CD. You might consider mixing and matching various Lyritas (SRCD237 and SRCD239) but note that Lyrita never recorded Dies Natalis. Do not forget the Wilfred Brown on EMI.

What do I see in the far distance – is that a Finzi boxed set from Naxos?

-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International

Knowing his earlier work, one might expect a certain amount of ironic and subversive wit with any of Mauricio Kagel’s pieces, but this new Naxos issue is full of deadly serious stuff, and all the more welcome for it.

There was always more to Kagel’s art than just jokes, and this set of works show him in the context of broad canvasses, from the Mahlerian orchestral song-cycle form of Duodramen, to the double chorus and full orchestra of Liturgien. Szenario was conceived as a stand-alone concert piece, but has since become associated with the Luis Buñuel/Salvador Dalí silent film Le chien andalou of 1928. The tape part of the score consists of animal noises, with of course a whining, and later a barking dog. These sound samples could have been better, coming over rather distorted and tinny, rather than threatening and aggressive where required. The juxtaposition of sometimes eloquent strings and animal sounds is a little uneasy as well, with the extra noises only cropping up now and again – their relevance not entirely clear without any visual references. Nevertheless, there is an unremitting and pungent weight to the march-like rhythm which is a constant backdrop to some colourful string writing. Kagel can’t resist the occasional Wagner quote, but this work has all of the pregnant atmosphere one should expect from good film music – intentional or not.

Duodramen opens immediately with a post-romantic, operatic sense of drama. Looking at the libretto (available online via a link provided on the CD label) one receives the impression less of a coherent story, more an association of ideas and disparate characters – names such as Casanova, Alma Mahler, Henry Ford and Cosima Wagner inhabiting the score and meeting each other in strange and impossible relationships. The text is in German, but has an English translation on the web-page. There is a great deal of complex detail and dramatic context from beginning to end in this piece, giving it an intensity and resonance which I found quite stimulating. That is not to say that there are no moments of repose, and there are indeed some passages of remarkable orchestral colour – chillingly suggestive or vibrantly picturesque – no doubt helped by the addition of percussion and winds, I found the images conjured in this score in many ways to be far more vivid than the previous Szenario. The brutal intimidation of male over female doesn’t make for easy listening, but then, neither is Wozzeck.

Playing, singing and recordings are all excellent on this disc, and this remains true of the final live performance of Liturgien. Referring once again to the online page, the words are all taken from existing religious texts, the source for each of which also being included in detail. The language used is Latin, which for many will soften the impact of having ‘Alleluia’ standing close to ‘Allah is great!’ There is a ritual nature to the music which suits this intentional levelling of symbolism, and I sense traces of Britten, Martin, Stravinsky, Penderecki, Szymanowski – names whose stamp on religious musical expression, if not necessarily as ambiguous as here, at least invariably bears a strong humanist element.

This piece has an other-worldly, magical quality which is something I have always valued in Kagel, and am delighted to find existing in his larger-scale work. If Duodramen is a drama on a private, intimate scale, Liturgien is very much a public statement. No-one can ignore the significance of religious text, and neither is it possible to ignore the idea of effectively taking religion and mixing its writings in the waste-bin of a shredder. This music has all of the seriousness and weight to carry Kagel’s message of homogeneity. While revelling in this work’s spell it was also nice for me to come across some familiar names to one who works at the Royal Conservatoire in The Hague – I shall never forget Wout Oosterkamp’s warm encouragement as a teacher, or some performances and workshops by Romain Bischoff’s amazing Vocal Laboratory.

Originally recordings by Saarbrücken Radio, Naxos has made a sound move in releasing these recordings – conducted by the composer, and unlikely to be repeated or bettered any time soon. 2006 is Kagel’s 75th jubilee, but no mention of this is made in the booklet, neither is there any suggestion that this is to be part of any series or collection. I would say there is room for such an edition – especially on the strength of this release.

-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

This disc represents an easy first choice in Finzi's Intimations of Immortality, one of the masterpieces of the English choral literature and a surprisingly neglected one too. Its only serious competition comes from Richard Hickox on EMI (if it's still in print) and Matthew Best on Hyperion (a very good version, if not quite as orchestrally polished as this). David Hill has one advantage over everyone: his is simply the most exciting performance available, not just a function of swift tempos, but also in terms of the acuity and enthusiasm of the instrumental response to the music's bold contrasts and driving climaxes.


With James Gilchrist, a very fine tenor soloist, singing with impressive clarity of diction and very little of that traditionally English, pinched tone quality, the overall picture only gets better. It may be that in his own Corydon Singers Best has a finer contingent of massed voices, but the Bournemouth choir certainly does as well as Hickox's Liverpool forces. The coupling is equally impressive: a resounding performance of the ebullient ceremonial ode For St. Cecilia (Hickox offers the Grand Fantasia and Toccata for piano and orchestra, Best the gentle cantata Dies Natalis). At Naxos' budget price, this is an easy call. Buy it! [7/24/2006]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com