Benjamin Frankel is among those 20th-century British composers whose true standing remains to be rediscovered today. This edition offers a comprehensive overview of his oeuvre: it brings together Symphonies Nos. 1-8, major concertos, orchestral works, chamber music, and pivotal film scores, including the complete recording of The Battle of the Bulge. Frankel's music combines structural clarity with expressive power, incisive rhythm, and a distinct sensitivity to tonal colors. Alongside the moving violin concerto In Memory of the Six Million and the five string quartets, his stage and film scores demonstrate the versatility of a composer who developed an unmistakable voice bridging the concert hall and the silver screen. This box set invites listeners to rediscover Benjamin Frankel as a striking voice of musical modernism.

A glance at the catalogue of works by the composer Otto Nicolai quickly reveals that, although he composed an astonishing amount of music during his short, incredibly eventful life of barely 39 years, he paid rather scant attention to the piano-an instrument he played superbly-when it came to his own compositions. Alongside half a dozen operas and two symphonies, as well as a wealth of sacred and secular vocal music, he wrote a handful of piano works that easily fit on a double album. The result is a veritable bonbonniere. Two starkly contrasting sonatas represent the 'serious' Nicolai. The founder of the Vienna Philharmonic and director of the Vienna Court Opera is represented, amongst other things, by theatrical occasional music and a fantasia on Casta Diva. The trend conscious, playful composer of The Merry Wives of Windsor also composed a number of light pieces such as the Moon Waltz, which has nothing to fear from comparison to anyone named Strauss.

Even great luminaries can make mistakes. For example, as late as 1750, the multi-talented Jean-Jacques Rousseau was firmly convinced in the renowned French Encyclopedie that the sonata was "such an unnatural fashion" that it "would not last". And this despite that quite a few of his fellow musicians paid tribute to this Italian genre, producing many fine pieces. An early example appeared in 1713. It was published under the customary royal privilege as Opus 3 by the 33-year-old Parisian organist and harpsichordist Louis-Antoine Dornel. It is a collection of seven trio sonatas for transverse flutes, violins, oboes, etc. Thanks to it's highly variable instrumentation, it allowed for a wide circle of instrumentalists to perform these tasteful, varied and thoughtfully composed pieces. Today, Dornel's Opus 3 is a veritable rarity, and the Orfeo Blaserensemble has again brought it into the limelight. They would have even convinced Rousseau

Not only did Wilhelm Berger, the son of a music storeowner from Bremen, suffer a premature death (he died barely fifty years old in the same year as Gustav Mahler). The student of Ernst Rudorff, Friedrich Kiel and Woldemar Bargiel, who became court conductor in Meiningen, went in a considerably more conservative direction than contemporaries such as Richard Strauss. Soon after his death, he was no longer en vogue and due to their similarity in names, he was for decades obscured by the Swede Wilhelm Peterson-Berger. In terms of their music, they were nothing alike and could not be confused with one another. Whether in his orchestral works, vocal music or chamber music, Berger's style always strikes a familiar tone, yet one that goes beyond his models. Johannes Brahms served as an inspiration in many respects (not least in the instrumentation of the works recorded here); yet neither the youthful, rapturous sonata nor the exceptionally beautiful trio, composed some two decades later, leave the slightest doubt that Wilhelm Berger was able to make the most of his own talents.

It is certainly not just Jacob's Ladder, the burning bush, the fiery Elijah or Ezekiel's chariot that have made the Tanakh, the Old Testament, a treasure trove for creative minds of all persuasions. At every turn in this voluminous book, we learn of dramatic adventures, exciting encounters between earthly and higher beings, passionate battle scenes and inexplicable miracles - which, not least since the 'invention' of the oratorio, have been literally crying out for musical interpretation. Bernardo Pasquini, the highly praised musician in the service of the Borghese family of Rome, dedicated one of his nearly twenty oratorios to an episode from Exodus. During the festival of joy, held to thank the God of Israel for the liberation from Egyptian slavery, the various stages of the journey were being commemorated. Suddenly, the clang of weapons were heard, and the enemy troops of Amalek advanced. Joshua led his people into battle, as Moses tried to influence the outcome of the battle with his prayers. The more fervently he prayed, the more favourable Israel's fortunes. But as soon as he faltered, the page was turned. In the end, however, victory is assured, celebrated by a magnificent, resounding final chorus.

Paul Wranitzky was born on 30 December 1756 in Neureisch in Moravia. He was almost exactly eleven months younger than Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was, who he survived by seventeen years. The obvious comparison between the two contemporaries does, of course, yield some astonishing results. Among other things, this may be because the older of the two was a child prodigy, whereas Wranitzky only became a composer after a circuitous route and had to learn much of what came so naturally to the Mozart. He applied this approach with great ingenuity, however, as his four dozen symphonies alone reveal. Although he had some of them published in volumes in the traditional manner, their style suggests they serve more as a missing link between his teacher, Joseph Haydn, and the 'man of the future' - Ludwig van Beethoven. The three pieces published as Opus 35 in April 1800, though composed in the previous decade, are no exception. Original, full of formal surprises and musically progressive, they evoke a faint suspicion. Josef Martin Kraus, the Swedish court conductor who was in Vienna around 1783, may have imparted to Wranitzky some of his audacity.

The Rheinische Kantorei under their new director Edzard Burchards presents a truly inspired, thoroughly spiritual album to absolve us from the hustle and bustle of our modern life with devotion and love. Using the venerable motet as it's starting point, the ensemble tells the story of the cantors of St. Thomas, Leipzig. Over more than a century and a half, they strove to the best of their ability to fulfil this prestigious and demanding role. The journey begins with Tobias Michael, who took up his post in 1631 in a ravaged land to give due praise to the Lord, right up to Johann Adam Hiller, the classical composer who took over the post in the year of the French Revolution. Alongside them are a number of musicians whose hopes-whether justified or not-were dashed. This includes Johann Ludwig Krebs, a pupil of the pre-eminent Johann Sebastian Bach, who produced the programme's 'Overture': Jauchzet dem Herrn alle Welt, a pastiche in which some of the ideas of his friend Georg Philipp Telemann have been inserted. You wouldn't know it - because Love & Devotion are the common threads that bind this world together in it's very essence.

At a time in which even highly regarded English musicians went hungry because their employers withheld their salaries, John Hingeston was fortunate. The pastor's son from York caught people's attention as a youth with his organ playing and soon was in the service in the Earl of Cumberland. He was sent to London to receive further education and became a loyal servant. When Oliver Cromwell came to power, he made him his master of music. After the restoration of the monarchy, he played viol and was the keeper of wind instruments at the court. The young Henry Purcell was his apprentice and successor. He was a staunch advocate for his less privileged colleagues, enjoyed a distinguished reputation as a teacher, and left behind a considerable body of melodious chamber music for string instruments (and organ). Some of these features highly original instrumentation, reflecting half a century of British musical history - a 'missing link' comes to light between Orlando Gibbons on the one hand, and John Blow and Henry Purcell on the other.

Good things come in fives, said conductor Douglas Bostock as he set out to prepare a truly unrivalled selection of British works for string orchestra for this cpo recording. Over the past few years, he has created a stunning kaleidoscope in which international luminaries (Elgar, Parry, Bantock, Ethel Smyth) and more national figures join together in these recordings in an enlightening and uplifting way. The release of this fifth volume marks not only the conclusion of the series, but also the end of an era. After seven years in the role, Douglas Bostock is stepping down as principal conductor of the Sudwestdeutsches Kammerorchester Pforzheim, an orchestra that has provided him with outstanding support in this homage to his homeland. And once again, the sons and daughters of Albion rise up and soar over their unique musical landscapes - Imogen Holst draws inspiration from an old picaresque novel, Gordon Jacob delivers brilliant variations on a theme by Purcell, the conductor Eugene Goossens demonstrates his creative imagination, and finally, despite his "progressive" tone, the Welshman William Mathias leaves no doubt as to where he was born. A thoroughly successful finale!

The strong visual power of the music is captivating, one commentator reported after he heard the first of two albums devoted to the four surviving symphonies of the "Rhineland music pope" Ferdinand Hiller (1811-1885). With the conclusion of this cycle - small in scale but remarkable in quality - Howard Griffiths and the Brandenburg State Orchestra Frankfurt (Oder) now present us with the earliest and the latest works in the series. Once again, it is not only the enthusiastic reviewer who will find much to enjoy. The Symphony in E minor is the passionately effervescent creation of an artist who has just turned twenty and wants to show the world all he has. The "Final Word", written four and a half decades later, exudes the self-confidence of a man who has long since "made it". He can look back nostalgically on the days of Mendelssohn and Schumann and still allow himself to write harmonic oddities without asking permission. Astonishing!

In 1785, Antonin Reicha went to Bonn with his unchle Joseph to play flute in the court orchestra there. There he met Ludwig van Beethoven, ten months his junior. Soon they started a friendship that survived despite the long distance. Whilst Beethoven established himself in Vienna, Reicha achieved the highest acclaim in Paris as a composer and above all as a teacher. Cesar Franck, Hector Berlioz, Louise Farrenc and Friedrich von Flotow are only a few of his illustrious pupils who learned their trade with the help of Reicha's astute technical prowess. It is not easy to sum up what he achieved. He wrote dozens of wind quintets, string quartets, other works of chamber music, highly original piano works as well as four symphonies and several overtures. His experimentation most likely evoked "Homeric laughter" from his famous Viennese friend. And how could it be otherwise, when pieces such as the overture - which can be heard on the first CD of our complete symphonic recording - throw even modern sensibilities off balance with their constant disruptions of metre without one being able to say why one keeps losing count... Only repeated listening helps!

If it is true that a real master is revealed only through limitation, then Georg Philipp Telemann with his overtures for wind instruments has provided the most compelling proof that he is indeed among them. Carin van Heerden and the L'Orfeo Wind Ensemble have already entertained us twice without showing the slightest sign of fatigue, with a selection of small-scale, heart-warming delights. This third release, too, is captivating from it's very first moments, creating a pull that is almost impossible to resist. Three oboes, two horns, a bassoon, a harpsichord and - in the opening march - a regimental drum treat us to an hour of welcome diversion. It's melodies and sounds are almost exuberant, for which, without wishing to pre-empt the critics' voices, a "clear recommendation to all lovers of quintessential Baroque music" will certainly be issued once again.

Even at a young age, Bernhard Romberg and his cousin Andreas, ten months his senior, caused a sensation - as a violinist and cellist nonpareil respectively. They conquered Paris's Concerts spirituels, performed with Ludwig van Beethoven in the Bonn Court Orchestra starting in 1790 and remained virtually inseparable, though this did not prevent them from pursuing their own separate careers. After holding various posts, Andreas spent the final years of his life (until 1821) as a member of the Gotha court orchestra. His cousin rose to prominence becoming a virtuoso hailed as the Paganini of his instrument. It is only natural that the cello plays a central role in his compositions (he wrote a dozen solo concertos alone), but the instrument is also reflected favourably in his numerous chamber music works. Romberg was certainly not content to restrict himself to providing simple bass accompaniment for a demanding upper voice, but ensured that he and his circle of colleagues were given roles of equal importance. The result is a series of compositions that are as musically beautiful as they are structurally intriguing, some of which have a symphonic character - and which serve as wonderful complementary additions to the work of the "avant-gardist" Beethoven, with whom Romberg shared a long-standing friendship.

On 18 March 1860, Vienna witnessed a genuine political sensation at the second concert of Euterpe, a young orchestra society. The programme began with several pieces by Ernst II, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, which were received with great applause for the composer, who was present. Equally successful was Fantasia symphonica on themes by Ernst II, for which the Kapellmeister of the Theater an der Wien was responsible - none other than Franz von Suppe, who had succeeded in weaving several themes by his blue-blooded "colleague" into a rousing, impressive symphony. Once again, Suppe's classical training had paid off. Although he achieved immortality as the composer of Die schone Galathee and, above all, Boccaccio, he made a significant contribution with a number of serious works (such as the Requiem cpo 777 842-2). The "symphonic fantasy" is paired with Twelve Spanish Dances, a spirited collection of delightful miniatures from which the famous Jota rears it's head time and again

At around the same time as George Frideric Handel, Johann David Heinichen, a pupil at St Thomas's School in Leipzig, set off on a grand tour to Italy in 1710. The trained lawyer could no longer resist his urge for music and was promptly and richly rewarded for his grand tour. He was swept along by the musical trends of the day. The music of Antonio Vivaldi, Alessandro Scarlatti and Francesco Gasparini had an immediate effect on him, whilst the masters of the time, such as Monteverdi and Carissimi, exerted a more indirect influence - and when he returned home in 1716, he was no longer the same man. He soon became Kapellmeister at the Dresden court, to which he made significant contributions until later in life (1729). Among other things, Heinichen left behind some fifty solo cantatas. Five of these enchanting, Italian-inspired opera scenes in pocket-sized form make up the programme of this production, whose soloist has mastered emotions in all of their facets and transformed them into sound.

It 'doesn't take long before one is captivated by Emilie Mayer's spirited and distinctive music. The same applies to the Constanze Quartet's interpretation, which does full justice to the music. We can look forward to [...] Vol. 2,' remarked a well-known blogger after discovering three string quartets by the Mecklenburg composer (CD cpo 555 600-2). This man is in good company, and he will not be the only one to savour the second instalment of the planned complete recordings with great pleasure. Emilie Mayer, celebrated during her lifetime primarily as a symphonist, proves herself a masterful exponent of classical forms, subtle plays of musical lines and delicate harmonies, even in the supreme discipline of chamber music. Many will regret that only seven of her twelve quartets have survived - just enough to fill a third CD in the near future.

After making stops in Stralsund, Danzig and Magdeburg, the European Hanseatic Ensemble, under the baton of it's musical guide Manfred Cordes, now reaches the Hanseatic city of Hamburg, which was already a flourishing centre of music in the 17th century. People could afford music, they indulged in it, and a standard was maintained that radiated everywhere. Given such opulence, the choice must have been a real dilemma for the performers involved in this latest production. The recordings were undoubtedly also a distinct pleasure, for they were made at a memorable location - in the New Church in the orgryte district of Gothenburg, where the world's largest mean-tone-tuned organ has been for a quarter of a century. This marvel, completed in 2000, is the secret star of the Hanseatic programme, from which the names of Praetorius, Weckmann and Selle stand out as particularly prominent masters.

This production is dedicated to two orchestral works that vividly reflect the liberation struggle of Yugoslavia. Before this South Slavic confederation managed to break free from Soviet control, the doctrine of Socialist Realism applied here too. Papandopulo found his way out of the dilemma. His Second Symphony, completed in April 1946, depicts - according to the programme - the artist's path to the light. This established narrative, compliant with the party line, unfolds in five disparate movements. While the first two parts are new original compositions, the rest consists of existing material that the composer has skilfully arranged for orchestra. Thus he could initially adopt a more modern style and subsequently produce a more folk-like ambient to evoke the era before the Stalinist dictatorship. The Vrzino kolo for piano and orchestra was written twelve years later. Here the wind had shifted to the west; the seeds of modernism had blown in and triggered furious developments. Based on an ancient legend, Papandopulo unleashes a wild "witches' round dance" in which a fire-breathing dragon appears, a city in flames shrill, garish sounds that would have earned Papandopulo severe admonishments earlier.

History teaches us that we should be wary of attaching such absolute labels as "inventor of " or "father or mother of ' with the blanks to be filled in with every conceivable phenomenon from the string quartet to film. For time and again, deeper research necessitates revisions - as in the case here, where suddenly two new fathers of Russian music relegate the younger Mikhail Glinka and the mighty handful to the back seats. Bohemian Ernst Wanczura (pronounced Van-CHUR-a), born ten years before Mozart, ended up in St Petersburg and was possibly the first composer to use folk songs in his delightful Symphonies Op. 1 and Op. 2. His colleague Fomin, fifteen years his junior, with the beautiful first name Yevstigney Ipat'yevich, a pupil of the famous Bolognese Padre Martini at the state's expense, was particularly successful with stage works. His melodramas and operas are veritable parabolic mirrors in which Italian, Russian and Western stylistic features coalesce into a distinctive expression that could undoubtedly have become a significant force had Fomin been granted a longer life.

REVIEW:

Within the first few seconds of the first track--the Sonata No. 1 in G major--most listeners will find themselves in surprisingly familiar territory--surprising because this little-known 18th-century composer seems to have written a popular tune long attributed to Pergolesi, a misattribution given additional false credibility by its use in Stravinsky's Pulcinella. In fact Stravinsky used selections from several of Domenico Gallo's trio sonatas in his famous ballet music, thinking them to be works of Pergolesi because they were published under his name in late-19th century English editions.

Ultimately--other than the fact that it's always nice to set the record straight--the author of these expertly written and very appealing works for violins, cello, and harpsichord is not so important as what they offer to listeners and to performers. (For the record, even Gallo's authorship isn't absolutely certain for all 12 sonatas.)

As realized by these four excellent players and their well-matched period instruments, we can count on a steadfastly upbeat, uplifting hour and 10 minutes of first rate chamber music notable for its lovely, lively melodies and skillfully varied textures and harmonic settings. Gallo shows much of his best stuff in his slow movements--and so do the performers, who demonstrate their facility in bringing out the music's emotional core. Good examples are the slow movements of No. 2 in B-flat, No. 3 in C minor, and the very Bach-like No. 6 in D major for which, unfortunately, you'll have to do a little searching because each work is served by only one track number. Throughout, the playing is stylish and full of personality, buoyed by unfaltering technical confidence and assured ensemble interaction. The sound is intimate, warm, and resonant. It's not Bach; it's not even Pergolesi. But it's well worth a place in your CD collection, especially as this set contains pieces you won't find anywhere else. Perhaps Parnassi musici and/or other musicians will be motivated to explore and record the many other works by Gallo that remain unpublished and unperformed.

-- David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

Violinist/composer Karol Lipinski (1790-1861) has been dubbed the "Polish Paganini". Is that nickname a compliment or something of a slight? The two men were contemporaries who at first meeting were mutual admirers and even colleagues in presenting double concerts; later, their partnership soured, and now Lipinski's soubriquet might sound more like second-best than a mark of distinction. And although Lipinski's contemporaries left records of their admiration for his performing skills (among his fans were Berlioz, Schumann, and Wagner), we can only directly judge his merit by his compositions.


Like the Italian violinist, Lipinski focused his energies on writing caprices and concertos for the violin--horrendously difficult works that meander quite a bit, as evidenced on this disc, while providing a compelling platform for a talented technician to let sparks fly. Here, French/German violinist Albrecht Breuninger and conductor Wojciech Rajski reexamine Lipinski in a program that features a complete reading of his second violin concerto as well as the allegro movements from Lipinski's third and fourth concertos. (Lipinski was not a composer of any great brevity; each allegro runs about 15 minutes.) These concertos may have all the heft of a cream puff, but all the tricks of a virtuoso violinist's trade are here: flashy runs, extended trills, dazzling pizzicato passages, the whole spectrum of bowing techniques, outrageous string crossings, and a tonal range that takes the soloist to every left-hand position possible.


And Breuninger soars; his light and unerring touch, such as in the concluding two minutes of the third concerto's Allegro movement, makes these thrilling passages sound like child's play. These showcases are where Lipinski really excels, but don't overlook the sensual lyricism of the one Adagio (from the second concerto), where Breuninger's masterful sense of phrasing brings out all of the piece's shapeliness. The orchestral accompaniment is no less showy: the haughty, pompous opening to the "Concerto Militaire" signals Lipinski's love of grand gestures, and Rajski and his forces dispatch their duty with plenty of zest. The orchestral sound is more two-dimensional than would be ideal; the colors of the brass and winds in particular are quite muted in favor of putting Breuninger upfront. By contrast, the violinist's sound is vibrant and fully realized.
--Anastasia Tsioulcas, ClassicsToday.com

cpo are doing great things for lesser known music, many times undeservedly neglected works. The cycle of Kurt Atterberg’s nine symphonies is one recent project, gloriously realised, Carl Loewe’s songs and ballads is another long-time undertaking; I reviewed volume 20 not long ago, and Franz Lehár’s “other” operettas – apart from that handful that is frequently played – have been given brand new recordings. This is the third within a year. They may not always have picked the best singers in the business and presentation has sometimes been a bit slipshod, but operetta lovers must still feel grateful that the music becomes available.

Eva has never been much of a success and set beside some of his other stage-works the musical – or rather – melodic inspiration seems a bit meagre. The only hit-song is Eva’s Lied early in act I, Wär es auch nichts als ein Augenblick, which also appears a couple of times later on in the operetta as a kind of Leitmotif. There are good enough melodies of typical Lehár Schmalz and a great deal of light-hearted rhythmic dances, but they tend to slip out of one’s memory as soon as they are over. What is obvious though is his masterly handling of the orchestra and more than in any other operetta I know gives grateful and attractive solos to many of the instrumentalists in a transparent orchestral web. I think he is closer to Puccini’s sensuality than Richard Strauss’s overblown bombast, even though in the second act finale there are reminiscences of Der Rosenkavalier, which was premiered almost a year before Eva was first performed, on 24 November 1911 at Theater an der Wien. That was the same theatre that also saw the premiere of Die lustige Witwe, and the first Hanna Glawari and Danilo, Mizzi Günther and Louis Treumann, also sang the leading roles in the new operetta.

The libretto is a variant of the old Cinderella story, where the poor factory girl wins the prince, in this case the owner of the glass factory, situated near Brussels. A kind of social realism, one could think, but in the second act we are back in the normal upper class operetta world, in Octave Flaubert’s villa. The third and last act takes us, not for the first time in a Lehár operetta, to Paris. There are rather few arias, and those few are labelled Lied (song) to make them less pretentious, since they are often very short. Most of the musical numbers are duets, but there are no less than three melodramas that grow into songs or duets. The three finales are quite extended numbers, the one in act II is almost 14 minutes long, and here, just as in the melodrama numbers, Lehár works in freer, partly recitative style, more related to opera. It is also in these more ambitious numbers that his inventive scoring is at its most colourful. This recording is complete with all the spoken dialogue, in some places fairly stilted and unatmospheric but there are several heated scenes where the acting is lively and involved. It is a pity, though, as is unfortunately often the case, that the spoken dialogue is recorded at a seemingly lower level. This means that you have to turn up the volume quite a bit to hear it properly and then turn it down again when the music starts. The melodramas are likewise afflicted and even though Lehár has scored the music lightly, the orchestra still tends to mask some of the spoken words. I also regret that the sung and spoken texts are not printed in the booklet, which would have been a great asset even for fluent German speakers. Apart from the balance problem the recording is good without being very atmospheric. It was recorded in the Festival Hall in Bad Ischl, where every summer there is a Lehár festival. Lehár lived in a beautiful villa in Bad Ischl in Salzkammergut in Austria, from 1910 until his death, but he also had a house in Vienna. This recording was not made during performances but with a cast that had played a number of performances and were settled into their roles. Conducted by Wolfgang Bozic, who is well versed in this genre – I have heard him conduct operetta in Vienna – and he finds that typical Lehárian lilt in the music with tempos that feel absolutely right. The chorus is good. There is even some a cappella singing at the beginning of Act I.

Of the soloists Morenike Fadayomi impresses in the title role with a large vibrant dramatic soprano voice. It comes as no surprise to find that she has been singing both Aida and Salome. Reinhard Alessandri, an experienced operetta singer. I saw his Edwin in Die Csardasfürstin at Volksoper some years ago. He is a good actor while his voice is rather small and he has some trouble with the top notes. But he can sing meltingly beautifully when the tessitura is not too high and in the main he makes a positive impression. Zora Antonic as Pipsi is fully into her role and Thomas Malik is just perfect for the comic part as Dagobert with his expressive and fluent buffo tenor. Stefan Frey contributes one of his well-researched liner notes and also a synopsis that unfortunately isn’t related to the track-list, but rather gives a general overview. On the credit side it is nice to have several photos, both from the original production back in 1911 and from the Bad Ischl event.

A matter of swings and roundabouts but operetta lovers will find much to enjoy here.

Göran Forsling, MusicWeb International

Alas, cpo’s otherwise detailed and informative liner notes on the music itself offer nothing by way of biographical data on its composer other than his birth and death dates. I was, however, able to find a Web site dedicated to Wetz’s life and career (Len@musicweb-international.com). The following biographical sketch is based on the essay by Eric Schissel found there.

Richard Wetz was born in Gleiwitz, Upper Silesia, on February 26, 1875. At first a self taught musician, he ultimately enrolled in the Leipzig Conservatory and, apparently finding it uncongenial, left that august institution after a mere six weeks. From that point, his career was lackluster at best. After seeking private instruction both in Leipzig and Munich, one of his early advocates, Felix Weingartner, secured a conductor’s post for him in Stralsund. He lasted only a few months. He tried another post in Wuppertal with, apparently, similar results. Returning to Leipzig, he steeped himself in the music of Bruckner, Wagner, and Liszt, ultimately writing a book on Liszt in 1925.

In 1906, Wetz received the post of director of the Erfurt Music Society. By that time he had composed two operas to his own librettos, the second of which was a failure. Two years later, his Kleist Overture, op. 16 was premiered in Berlin under Nikisch (not a bad advocate!). Unfortunately, Wetz’s overture was upstaged by its concert mate, Elgar’s Enigma Variations, and garnered only tepid reviews.

Wetz’s career finally took off in 1917 with the premiere of his first symphony. Other works that established him in the German-speaking world include his Gesang des Lebens, op. 29, Hyperion (on texts by Holderlin) for baritone, mixed chorus, and orchestra (op. 32, 1912), and his violin sonata, op. 33.

No date of composition is provided for his Requiem, op. 50. The high opus number, however, indicates that it was produced near the end of his life. He died in Erfurt on January 16, 1935. This release’s liner notes state that the work was last performed in Erfurt on Good Friday, 1943.

By the evidence before me, Wetz is a post-Romantic composer of considerable imagination, skill, and refinement. This requiem is indeed haunted by the ghost of Bruckner, but in its underlying message of consolation for the living, it brings Brahms to mind, and given some of its pastel orchestral shadings and its harmonically chromatic moments, it, especially in its Kyrie, evokes Fauré’s most gentle of requiems. Its Dies Irae gets as close to theatricality as one is to find in this work, but it closes with a sense of resignation, and then consolation. Its final pages are among the finest in this piece. I find it ironic that Lisztian chromaticism, which pops up repeatedly, becomes so similar to that of Fauré, but then, Fauré has often been likened to the French Brahms. Is it a case of cultural diffusion, or merely parallel development?

Without getting into a moment-to-moment analysis of this piece, suffice it to say that throughout this heartfelt work Wetz steers judiciously between the darkness and light inherent in the text. Does this obscure offering by an obscure composer belong in the international standard repertoire? After listening to this fine and illuminating performance, I can answer that question in a single word: absolutely.

FANFARE: William Zagorski

Not too many years ago Max Bruch was close to being a "one-hit wonder" in the classical music lists, that hit being his G minor violin concerto. There were a couple of shorter pieces, notably the Kol Nidrei, but there was little available evidence to judge the opinion of some familiar observers that Bruch was as great a composer as his contemporary Johannes Brahms.


With the CD era came an expansion of recorded repertoire, and now Bruch's three symphonies, more concertos, and several other large-scale works are available. None I've heard shows that he was near Brahms' equal, but they have solid workmanship, good melodies, considerable imagination, and other virtues that result in worthwhile music. However, what likely kept Bruch from the highest compositional magnitude is his music's pervasive comfortable Victorian bourgeois outlook.


A look at Bruch's catalog reveals an emphasis on choral music, including that form so beloved of Victorians, the oratorio. Lay of the Bell (as its title is rendered in the flowery English translation of Edward Bulwer Lytton used in CPO's detailed program book) is not religious, but it is moralistic. Schiller's text was a mainstay of German sentiment during the 19th century. Casting a bell in a foundry is an allegory for raising a child to be a good person, presumed to be the path to ensuring personal prosperity and a well-ordered society. This sentiment foundered on the shoals of World War I and went under entirely during the Nazi era.

So this 100-minute-long choral and orchestral piece comes with a strike against it: It's a bit hard to read the text (particularly in the overheated language of Bulwer Lytton, he most famed for "It was a dark and stormy night...") without sniggering, the while Bruch's music plows on with undiminished earnestness. However, heard without first reading program notes or text, it becomes a very interesting, entertaining work, and it remains so on subsequent listening. There is some stodginess in the music, but it doesn't drag despite the pompous text. The large form is shaped well, so that the unexpected presence of the Christmas tune "Silent Night" at the work's end (unexplained by the notes or the text) evokes a satisfying frisson.

The performers approach the work as worthy of admiration, and they prove that it is. Fine melodies, along with an intriguing harmonic language marrying Brahmsian solidity with Wagnerian love of suspensions and other devices to keep harmonies unpredictable, make the music interesting. The four soloists are a fine group, singing with lyrical tones rather than the barking sound often heard in middle-European oratorio performances. Jac van Steen and his orchestra and chorus work well together, and the live audience is well behaved. The sound is a bit opaque, but not to a troublesome degree.

This is a big piece, obviously intended by the composer to be an Important Work. Ein Deutsches Requiem it ain't, but in this recording it provides a welcome insight into a composer who evidently has a lot of good unknown music still mouldering on library shelves.
--Joseph Stevenson, ClassicsToday.com