Estonian composer Eino Tamberg (b. 1930) is the real deal--a composer with a fresh take on traditional tonal music who knows how to write tunes and score them with unfailing color and point. His Concerto Grosso--for flute, trumpet, clarinet, alto saxophone, bassoon, piano, harp, strings, and percussion--is a masterpiece of 20th century neo-classicism and it deserves to be a repertory item. It dates from 1956 and at only Op. 5 it announces a major talent. The Symphonic Dances arrived a year later and fall within similar stylistic parameters, from the opening tune that has a Poulenc-like wit, to the three saxophones that give Tamberg's scoring a truly modern feel.

If you had the chance to hear Tamberg's 1976 opera Cyrano de Bergerac (and if you didn't, get it--it's on CPO), then you already know that he has a wonderful feeling for the theater, and for writing dramatic music. The ballet Joanna Tentata is based on the same source that gave us Penderecki's opera The Devils of Loudon. Now let's face it, stories about demonic possession in a convent have lots of juicy potential, as well as a long history on the stage, going back through Prokofiev's The Fiery Angel to Meyerbeer's Robert le Diable. Tamberg's ballet suite instantly establishes the story's haunted setting (church bells leading to a big, dissonant instrumental pileup), but the music at the same time celebrates and positively reeks of the dance. And once again we can only applaud Tamberg's willingness (and ability) to write a good tune.

Believe it or not, some of this music has been recorded previously. The Concerto Grosso appeared on a difficult-to-source Antes CD in a very fine performance by Estonian forces. This new version is wonderful too, even more naturally recorded, and Neeme Järvi is just the conductor for this colorful, exciting, and strongly gestural music. The musicians of the Residentie Orkest also clearly relish Tamberg's ebullient musical personality and the opportunities he gives them to shine. We can only hope that BIS will delve more deeply into Tamberg's output and help to bring him some of the international attention he surely deserves.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Includes recercada(s) by Diego Ortiz. Ensemble: Atrium Musicae. Conductor: Gregorio Paniagua.

José Serebrier's Carmen Symphony consists of 12 movements and contains all of the music in the two suites plus some nifty additional music, such as the "The Wedding" from the opening of Act 4 and the sinister little Fugato from the end of Act 1. The music is much as Bizet left it, save that Serebrier has reallocated some of the voice parts to instruments closer in range to the characters that sing each respective number in the opera. For example, Carmen's Habañera goes to the alto saxophone, and Escamillo's big Toreador number features solo trombone. Both work quite well and would work even better were the soloists of the Spanish orchestra a bit higher-caliber. I do wish that Serebrier had cut down the annoying little march that, without the accompanying children's chorus, repeats itself endlessly; but the decision to end with the Gypsy Dance is a wise one, and it gets a brilliant performance here.


The two L'arlésienne suites also have plenty of color and swagger, not to mention precision, in these renditions. Serebrier finds great character in the first suite's opening variations, and the Carillon really does evoke the peal of bells even if the violins could use a touch more richness of tone in their big tune. The second suite's opening Pastorale is sensitively done, both Menuets reek of the ballroom, and the closing Farandole benefits both from excellent orchestral balances when the two main tunes appear combined, as well as from a healthy accelerando into the final bars. Vivid and natural recorded sound with excellent bass and a bright, open top complete a very attractive package indeed, one that certainly justifies yet another version of this oft-recorded music. [3/11/2004]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

Gramophone (2/97, p.p 68-9) - "...[The Yggdrasil Quartet's] readings are thoughtful, with well-judged tempos; they are musically phrased, full of rhythmic life, and distinguished by a refined tonal blend....a strong and enthusiastic recommendation."

Being a composer and a sub-contrabass flute player, I do know a little about extreme instruments and the problems and challenges which exist in writing for them. I believe the gauntlet is still waiting to be picked up when it comes to a concerto for my instrument, but tuba concertos have been increasingly a part of concert programmes since Ralph Vaughan Williams’ pioneering work in the genre from 1954. There have been a few good examples since, including some recorded by two of my former teachers Edward Gregson and Roger Steptoe. Given the opportunity and the technical challenge, players will rise to the demands of such works, and the standards expected of new generations of professionals increase as a result.

One aspect of the tuba concerto is, in general, a tendency to brevity when it comes to their composition. This may have something to do with sympathy for the soloist, who might be expected to stagger from the stage, barely having survived such a heavy blow – another reason being the difficulty in creating a sustained serious work for something which is often perceived as a ‘comedy’ instrument. Kalevi Aho’s approach involved close collaboration with a seasoned professional, and the work actually begins and ends on notes chosen by Harri Lidsle, tuba player with the Lahti Symphony Orchestra. In his own notes, Aho reminds us that “by nature, the tuba is a very songful instrument”, and indeed there are many highly lyrical lines, themes and passages which explore the expressive upper ranges of the instrument. The instrument’s surprising agility is also given free rein, and sensitive orchestration means that the low tessitura and resulting limitations of the instrument’s projection through heavy textures are avoided. This is not to say that the orchestra is in any way restricted either. The tidal waves of sound in the final movement, with brass, strings and a battery of percussion in full flow are truly symphonic in character, fulfilling the promise of a grand scale which can be assumed from the half-hour timing of this work.

Most of the writing for the soloist is conventional, but as the third and final movement draws to a close, the player sings at the same time as playing, as well as grunting and snorting like some kind of strange animal – combining with the orchestra to magical effect. With the lyrical writing of the second movement’s cadenza the tuba actually sounds like a smaller instrument on occasion, but far from being the slower middle movement one might expect, the second begins with high, almost cinematic drama. Øystein Baadsvik’s playing is truly excellent, employing subtle vibrato here and there, tonsil rattling low notes and stunning technique when it comes to articulation. The combination of powerful orchestral writing and genuine musicianship from all concerned is an unbeatable one, and this work deserves to be taken up globally.

The contrabassoon is an altogether different, and to my ears more uncontrollable beast than the tuba. Lewis Lipnick writes his own note for the piece, having commissioned it, and subsequently confronted with “the most challenging work ever written for the contrabassoon.” Aho’s concerto in fact took the instrument a whole octave above its recognised range, and it was the designs and construction of an acoustically superior instrument “by luck or fate” in the U.S. which ultimately made the work playable. The recording here is made up from two live performances with the Bergen Phil. conducted by Andrew Litton, and the performance certainly has plenty of concert-hall vibrancy although I detected no audience noise at all.

The composer’s notes tell us that the first ever contrabassoon concerto was also written for Lewis Lipnick in 1978, the composer in this case being Gunther Schuller. Other examples are virtually non-existent however, and Aho again consulted extensively with specialists before writing this incredible work. Like the tuba, and in fact many other ostensibly subterranean instruments, the contrabassoon can have a very cantabile character, and while the whole range of the instrument is explored, its lyrical nature comes through remarkably well. Again, imaginative orchestration is very much part of Aho’s successful negotiation with his unusual solo instrument, and trios with the contrabassoon, heckelphone and alto saxophone provide some of the more intriguing moments.

The Contrabassoon Concerto is, in the composer’s own words, “the most monumental of my instrumental concertos – in essence [ ] almost a symphony for contrabassoon and orchestra.” I do note however, that one of the aspects both of these works share is that neither out-stays their welcome, and neither really gives the impression of being ‘long’. Both kept me on the edge of my seat, and Lipnick’s playing is an inspiration. Aho’s musical voice is highly individual, but if you want some references, then one or two woodwind passages reminded me of a wild kind of Nielsen, you might get a whiff of Shostakovich here and there, the occasional Sibelian inflection in the richness of the orchestration. Aho’s symphonic work is recognised as having a kind of Mahlerian power, and on the strength of the Contrabassoon Concerto I can well believe it: the opening six minutes or so of the work is like entering some kind of breathtaking temple or vast undiscovered inner space, and the climax of the final movement from about 5:00, even including the dropping of heavy chains; is something which may do damage to your dentures, such is the jaw-clenching tension which develops.

The recordings are superb, and well up to BIS’s own high standards. Collectors of this label’s ongoing range of releases by this composer will already have this disc on their wish-list, and will most certainly not be disappointed. Former non-initiates like me will have had an entirely new world opened for them, which, for the price of a CD, has to be something of a bargain.

-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Since its creation in 1791, Mozart’s Requiem has become one of the truly iconic works in the history of music. A prime reason for this is of course its musical qualities: as early as 1814 E.T.A. Hoffmann described the Requiem as ‘the most sublime achievement that the modern period has contributed to the church’. But even before that legends had begun to form around the work; that it was written to fulfil an anonymous commission – received through ‘an unknown, grey stranger’ – is the stuff of mystery novels, while the fact that Mozart fell ill and died while composing it has been exploited to great melodramatic effect. Among the numerous myths, one thing that we know for certain is that its first performance took place only a few days after Mozart’s death, at a memorial service for the composer. The performers used the composer’s incomplete autograph, but very soon attempts to complete the work were set in motion by Mozart’s widow. She first engaged Joseph Eybler and later Franz Xaver Süßmayr for the task, and in 1800 the Requiem appeared in print, in Süßmayr’s completion. This is still by far the most widely performed version, but it has also been severely criticized over the years, and many have tried to improve on it, or make their own versions based on the autograph. For this recording of the work, Masaaki Suzuki and the Bach Collegium Japan commissioned a new performing edition. Masato Suzuki, himself a member of the BCJ and the son of Masaaki, has based his completion on Eybler’s and Süßmayr’s work, explaining his procedure in the liner notes to the disc. The recording was made at the Shoin Chapel in Kobe, where the team has previously recorded their complete cycle of Bach’s church cantatas. A stellar cast of soloists is headed by soprano Carolyn Sampson, who also shines in the famous soprano aria Laudate Dominum – one of the highlights of Vesperae solennes de confessore which conclude the disc.

This CD is the continuation of viola d’amore specialist Thomas Georgi’s The Stockholm Sonatas I (BIS-CD-1535), resurrecting the neglected music of Attilio Ariosti. The first volume consisted of the music published by Ariosti in London as a set of ‘Lessons for the Viola d’Amour’. The works were preserved in Stockholm in a manuscript entitled ‘Receuil de Pièces’ and copied by the Swedish composer Johan Helmich Roman in the late 1710s during his studies in London. Based on the Stockholm manuscript, Georgi has made his own edition of the works. This recording comprises the first 7 of the 15 ‘sonatas’ contained in the Receuil, leaving the remainder for a final, third volume in the series.

Highly regarded by his contemporaries as a singer, organist, cellist and dramatist, Ariosti has been more or less forgotten for more than two centuries. In his liner notes Georgi underlines Ariosti’s “remarkable twists of harmony, his witty way with silence as well as with notes, his preference for juxtaposition of contrasting material over development of a single idea”; wondering if these qualities would have found him “as wide an audience as Corelli’s”, had the viola d’amore remained popular as an instrument. As on the first disc, Georgi is joined by lutenist Lucas Harris, and this time by different cellist, Mime Yamahiro Brinkmann, another product of that excellent Early Music Department at my place of work, the Royal Conservatoire in The Hague.

Thomas Georgi has used the title ‘Sonata’ for these works even though the word is never used in the manuscript source. “They sound like sonatas to me” is his almost belligerent declaration, and I admire his pioneering spirit in cutting through a potential quagmire of nomenclatural red tape. His expertise and scholarly research mean that his treatment of embellishments in this music is based on the historical examples of contemporary performers. Citing Corelli as a model, the scores are taken as a framework from which a player of the time would have used partially as a springboard on which their own technical and expressive abilities would have had a significant effect with regard to the final result. In his review of the fist disc of this series, Gary Higginson describes these works as ‘second-rate music’ – in which I would agree that they don’t really plumb great emotional depths to our modern ears. For the purpose that they were no doubt intended they are however ‘first-rate’, as your gigging reviewer can confirm. A composer writing to satisfy players and a mixed audience walks a narrow line between being over-demanding and dull. Ariosti is neither of these things, providing plenty of interesting music for all of the musicians involved, enough wow factor and variety to keep the elderly aunts and uncles awake in the front row, and keeping enough in reserve not to annoy the wealthy patrons at the back who are having a boozy chat through the whole thing. The handkerchief waving bewigged gentry of the time swooned hopelessly at anything too dissonant in any case, so Ariosti knew exactly what he was doing with these works.

Thomas Georgi’s Viola d’amore has an ‘alto’ pitch range, but while the general tessitura is lower than a violin, the colour is in fact quite bright. The strings have a thicker, more throaty texture in tone, but the overall effect is highly attractive, and the balance between violoncello and lute, the glue which links the two, is nicely struck. I note that these have been recorded in a different acoustic to volume one, but Bis’s reliably wonderful recording techniques have created another winning balance between close detail and spaciousness. It may well be that the CDs from this series end up being used as background music to chic dinners, but now all those embarrassing pauses can be filled with at least one sensible question: “…mmm, I like this music, what is it?”

-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.

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This CD recommends itself. Cellist Steven Isserlis has recorded Martin?’s three excellent sonatas. His accompanist is composer Olli Mustonen, a master of the idiom who also contributes his own recent sonata to the program. There’s another substantial bonus in Malinconia, a powerfully dark cello piece by Jean Sibelius. It’s all recorded in a hybrid SACD by the BIS engineers.

Those facts alone make it an important release. I feel like my job is simply to let you know that the album exists, so you can look for it. In case you need to read anything else, Isserlis delivers the goods in his usual highly impassioned, expressive style; consider the Sibelius piece, which dates from 1900 but foreshadows the grim, violent power of the Fourth Symphony. It was written after the death of the composer’s daughter, and makes the listener share his grief.

Isserlis writes useful, detailed notes on the fifteen-minute sonata Olli Mustonen composed, which fits into the program well. That is to say, it shares with Martin? a focus on emotional ambivalence and internal conflict, plus excellent craftsmanship. The second movement is a sort of scherzo-in-reverse, slower material bookending an incredibly virtuosic, spinning cello part. We then get the real scherzo, and a finale that at last offers us a long, breathtaking melody teased upward into the highest notes Isserlis can play.

The three Martin? cello sonatas are from late in his career, the first two dating from 1939 and 1941. The first sonata cycles through many moods, with a haunting slow movement that the booklet rightly calls “funereal.” It was premiered by a dream team: Pierre Fournier and Rudolf Firkusný. The second sonata has a lot in common with his symphonies: the opening piano statement sounds reduced from an orchestral original, and the main melodies could have been deployed in the Third or Fourth symphonies. There’s masterful drama in the dialogue and conflict between these instruments; it’s a troubled, brilliant piece that alternates between easy lyricism and abrupt outpourings, with a hint of triumph in the finale.

The third sonata is the most lyrical, and the happiest, with the shadows of wartime years into the past. The finale in particular is a joy, with an unexpected baroque-style piano cadenza. It provides an affirming conclusion to the recital. BIS’s sound is as excellent as ever, and Mustonen and Isserlis have an easy chemistry. Isserlis reports in his liner notes that they’ve been friends since they pulled pranks on one another in school days, and I wonder if the cover photo is another prank. Either way, I hope it’s not the last of this partnership on record. This disc is outstanding, just as you’d expect.

– Brian Reinhart, MusicWeb International

Turning 90 in December 2013, Menahem Pressler was the pianist of the legendary Beaux Arts Trio for almost 55 years, and continues to enjoy a blossoming career as soloist and recitalist, while remaining as committed to teaching as ever. For the greater part of his life, Pressler has lived with the two great sonatas recorded here, and has recounted how he studied Beethoven's Sonata in A flat major, Op.110 as a young man after having fled Nazi Germany for Israel in 1939: 'I didn't really understand many of the things that I understand now. I only understood the enormous emotional... tearing, tearing on my insides... I felt the beauty of that slow movement, so overwhelming.' In another context he has discussed the piece in the context of Schubert's final work for the piano, the Sonata in B flat major: 'Beethoven's Sonata Op. 110 illustrates idealism in the first movement, hedonism in the second and regret and pain in the last movement from which two fugues emerge triumphantly, as if saying, "Yes, life is worth living" - and this is what I feel. This is to be considered alongside Schubert's last sonata D.960, which explores the emotions of a man who knows he has a limited time to live, and in which the slow movement resonates like a funeral march whilst also showing happiness and peace of mind.' As an epilogue to these two pillars of the piano literature, Menahem Pressler has chosen to play a particular favourite of his, a work that he often performs at the end of his recitals: Chopin's brief but exquisite Nocturne in C sharp minor, Op. posth., composed in 1830 - only two years after Schubert's Sonata - with a dedication to the composer's sister.

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.

The style in which the Finnish composer Sebastian Fagerlund composes might be described as ‘magic realism’, combining elements of surrealism with factual narrative. Drawing upon the symphony orchestra’s full spectrum of colours, the music reflects not only the traditions of impressionism, modernism and post-minimalism but also reveals the composer’s acute ear for other genres, from cool jazz to ambient music. An earlier recording of orchestral works by Fagerlund was described by the enthusiastic reveiwer in BBC Music Magazine as displaying 'boundless technical resource at the service of a considerable imagination'. These qualities, and his receptivity towards different musical traditions Fagerlund shares with Pekka Kuusisto, to whom the violin concerto Darkness in Light is dedicated. The title of the work is a subtle reference to a quote from author Haruki Murakami’s novella Firefly: ‘Death is not the opposite of life, but a part of it’, and illustrates how the music transcends distinctions: darkness and light, tonality and atonality, orchestra and soloist, destruction and renewal – there cannot be one without the other. The disc closes with the orchestral work Ignite, composed for the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra which performs it here, under its chief conductor Hannu Lintu. The work takes its name from the constant collision of ideas that ‘ignites’ new energy, but in terms of form the inspiration has been the spiral, a shape found in DNA and mussel shells as well as in whirlwinds and the structure of galaxies. With a duration of 30 minutes, the work is organized in four movements separated by brief interludes – all of which are played without interruption.

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.


Beethoven’s three Op. 9 string trios are early masterpieces, every bit as fine as the later Op. 18 quartets. These performances are wonderful: there is nothing to criticize. The quality of ensemble is outstanding, perfectly balanced, always in tune, warmly sonorous, and stylish. The presto finale of the G major trio is impeccably light and fleet, all three slow movements beautifully singing and sustained. In the dramatic C minor trio these players (Frank Peter Zimmermann, Antoine Tamestit, and Christian Poltéra) offer a clinic on how to turn phrasing and accent to ear-catching account without a trace of ugliness or mannerism. The SACD sonics are every bit as fine. Don’t let this one slip by.

– David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

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These three early trios by Beethoven are given brisk, lively, and well-detailed readings by the Zimmermann Trio, which was formed in 2007. Like so much of Beethoven’s music from the 1796–98 period, these pieces lie between the style of Haydn or Mozart and his own more imaginative manner, which was coming forward in those years. The addition of a fourth voice, in his early op. 18 string quartets, was obviously an extra inspiration for the composer, yet it was this set of trios on which he built those excellent structures.


If you are a fan of these string trios, this is certainly an outstanding recording to own of them. There is, really, nothing one can fault in the trio’s technical execution or musical style. Everything is there: the rhythmic spring, the little felicitous touches on the turns, the clarity in the interplay of voices. In addition, BIS’s hybrid SACD sound is simply splendid, sharp and clearly textured as a good recording of a small string ensemble should be.


FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley