The name Graun is not as well known in musical circles as it should be, nor even as it once was. It was the surname of three talented brothers, all born in Wahrenbrück in east-central Germany and all flourishing in the period between Bach and Beethoven. A church fire destroyed all record of their birth, hence the imprecise dates. The oldest, August Friedrich (1698/9 – 1765) achieved only local distinction, rising to the position of Kantor and organist at the cathedral school of nearby Merseberg, a position he held for the last 36 years of his life.

His two younger brothers, represented on this disc, achieved much broader fame. Johann Gottlieb, a year or so older than his brother, was engaged in 1726-27 to teach J.S. Bach’s oldest son Wilhelm Friedemann to play the violin. In 1732 he earned a position in the orchestra of the then Prussian Crown Prince Frederick, and rose to the position of director after the prince was crowned King Frederick II in 1740.

Frederick the Great built the strongest musical centre in all Europe, and the Graun brothers helped him do it. The youngest, Carl Heinrich, a professional singer in the town choir at age 10, was soon writing operas and sacred music. He studied at the University of Leipzig and became a good cellist without ever studying the instrument. But it was as a singer and opera composer that he too caught the ear of Frederick the Great. Graun wrote, and starred in, operas, sometimes to librettos written by the King.

History has not been kind to the Grauns, as most of their music seems to have been destroyed. Even what’s left is contentious: The manuscript for the third piece on this disc has only the attribution “di Grau..” leading scholars to think it more likely that Christoph Graupner (1683–1770) wrote it. All the works on this disc represent some of the best of the orchestral High Baroque, but that is not what Carl Heinrich Graun was best known for. Besides his operas, he wrote sacred music, notably Der Tod Jesu, a passion oratorio that received annual performances in Germany for 75 years until Mendelssohn conducted Bach’s St. Matthew Passion in 1829. C. H. Graun’s best known composition was supplanted forever.

I like the variety of selections on this disc. It begins with a Symphony, as tuneful and brief as the symphonies of English contemporary William Boyce. Then follow four concertos for different combinations of instruments all reminiscent of contemporary Telemann. All five pieces have a fast-slow-fast pattern, all feature the gritty sound of baroque strings, and one can hear in each of the slow movements the background of a basso continuo (mislabelled in the notes as a ‘bassoon continuo’).

The five pieces here are as close as one is likely to get to what was heard at the court of Frederick the Great. The performers are all from the leading Baroque orchestras in and around Germany, notably the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra, Camerata Köln, and Concentus Musicus Wien, and they all teach at the Institute of Historical Interpretation Practice at the College of Music and the Performing Arts in Frankfurt am Main. The work of Karl Kaiser on transverse flute is especially outstanding. The 17 musicians came together in 2006 and have made three recordings. I hope they introduce us to more of the Grauns’ music.

-- Paul Kennedy, MusicWeb International

Classical Music

“He ... wrote much chamber work and six symphonies. All these works, however, are dead. Beethoven once said of his compositions, ‘he imitates me too much.’ He caught the style and the phrases, but he could not catch the immortality of his master’s work. One work of his will live – the admirable Biographical Notices of Ludwig van Beethoven, which he published in conjunction with Dr. Wegeler (Coblenz, 1838)”. So writes A.W. Thayer in the 1940 edition of Grove.

“Beethoven is reported to have made the most damaging remark about him (‘he imitates me too much’), which, though probably apocryphal, is only partly fair”. So writes Cecil Hill in the New Grove of 1980.

Hill – somewhat grudgingly and partially – acquits Ries of the charge of being merely a slavishly derivative imitator of Beethoven or, in the terms in which Thayer puts it, of being little more than a plagiarist. The more I hear of the music of Ries, the more I feel that it deserves better even than Hill’s half-hearted acceptance. Yes, of course, his work registers the influence of Beethoven but that is hardly surprising, given that he had studied and worked with him. Indeed only a genius as towering as Beethoven himself could have been left unmarked by such an experience. Beethoven’s own statement – if indeed he ever made of it - needn’t be taken as some kind of gospel truth or even as an objective judgement, for all kinds of reasons to do with his temperament and his attitude towards other musicians, the state of his relationship with Ries at the time of the remark, etc. Ries is not a profound original - like most composers. He writes in one or more of the prevailing idioms of his day - like most composers. The relevant question is how well he writes in that idiom.

The answer is that, very often, he writes strikingly well. These three chamber works for clarinet, for example, are substantial, searching pieces, often subtle in their use of classical forms, endowed with attractive melodies and emotionally expressive. The earliest work, the trio, uses the instrumental combination of clarinet, piano and cello, which Beethoven had used in his Op. 11 trio of 1798, rather than the combination of clarinet, piano and viola which Mozart employed in the so-called Kegelstatt Trio K.498 of 1786. But where Beethoven’s Op. 11 is in three movements (allegro con brio – adagio – allegretto), Ries’s Op. 28 is in four (allegro – scherzo, allegro vivace – adagio – rondo, allegro ma non troppo). There is a loose affinity in the way both composers create surprising harmonic changes in their respective first movements but, to my ears, there is actually very little real indebtedness to Beethoven in the larger handling of Ries’s fine trio. The rhythmic inventiveness of the second movement is striking, the adagio - which also serves as an introduction to the last movement - has a distinctive ornamented melody played first on piano and then on cello, before some lyrical writing for the clarinet. The final movement has something of the rural dance about it. A rewarding piece which deserves to be taken on its own terms and judged – surely pretty favourably? – on its own terms.

The Clarinet Sonata, Op. 29 comes early in the history of compositions for clarinet and piano. There is pleasing formal wit in the three movements of this sonata, harmonically quite sophisticated in the opening movement, with delightfully contrasted moods in the adagio. The latter includes one passage where the clarinet part lies below that of the piano which allows for two improvised cadenzas on the clarinet. The finale contains some demanding and striking writing for the piano.

Ries’s second sonata for clarinet was written some five years later, probably during the composer’s honeymoon in the Rhineland; he had married in London in July 1814. Fittingly, the sonata breathes an air of happiness and contentment, its often extended melodies marked by their elegance and charm. The adagio is a beautiful dialogue between the instruments, the piano - as at almost every point in these sonatas - being far more than a mere accompanist. The final movement returns to material from its two predecessors, handling them in quite complex and technically demanding ways, before the sonata ends in an affirmation of untroubled joy.

All three of these pieces deserve wider circulation than they have yet had. Pace Dr. Thayer, these works are most definitely alive. All three are persuasively performed on this CD, which can be recommended unreservedly. Klöcker, Fromm and Duis are all highly accomplished; the interplay between them is a delight. This is a CD to which I shall return many times.

-- Glyn Pursglove, MusicWeb International

This selection is available for a limited time as a special import.

TELEMANN Overture Concertos: in D, TWV 55: D14; in A, TWV 55: A7. Double Violin Concerto in G, TWV 52: G1 1 • Elizabeth Wallfisch (vn, cond); 1 Susan Carpenter-Jacobs (vn); Wallfisch Band (period instruments) • CPO 777 473-2 (60:42)


I recommended an earlier collection of Telemann’s violin concertos by Elizabeth Wallfisch and the Orfeo Baroque Orchestra on cpo 999 900-2 in Fanfare 28:1. The new one includes two overture concertos as well as a double concerto. Christian Moritz-Bauer’s booklet notes explain that the overture concertos feature solo instruments that occasionally emerge from the texture. The two works in this form included in Wallfisch’s program last each more than 20 minutes and consist of multiple suite-like movements (seven in the Concerto in D Major and in the Concerto in A Major). After an Ouverture, the Concerto in D Major sets out on a series of movements with French titles, including a piquant Badinage (with a virtuosic violin solo), a Rondeau that features a violin solo that rises from the orchestra, a Menuet (I and II), a Sarabande, a heady Caprice, and a Gigue. The solo parts sometimes swirl, in their technically most challenging moments, in patterns familiar from the works of Leclair or, transposed to higher registers, those of Locatelli—though perhaps tamer in these overtures in their technical demands. Sometimes, too, they sound more like the solos that sometimes crop up in Corelli’s concerti grossi. Wallfisch and her ensemble produce a crisp sound that the engineers have faithfully conveyed, and the timbre serves as a medium for the transmission of musical ideas that they present with a gusto enhanced by rhythmic nuances that make the music seem perpetually fresh and inventive rather than rigidly patterned or mechanical.


The second concerto on the program consists of movements that, after the first (Ouverture), all go under the name “Invention,” and each of these bears a further French tempo (or stylistic) designation. In the first section of the Ouverture, Wallfisch’s ensemble (the solo violin is absent, except for its role in the orchestra, in this section, although it appears modestly in the fast one) executes roulades with breathtaking precision. That overture lasts more than eight minutes (as did that of the Concerto in D Major—almost a third of the entire work). The First Invention ( Modéré ) features short, cocky violin solos, which Wallfisch sharply characterizes. Similar solos appear in Invention II ( Légèrement ), in Invention IV ( Avec doceur ), in Invention V ( Vivement ), and in Invention VI; Invention II consists of a number of contrasting musical ideas strung together, including almost plaintive violin solos in the lyrical sections, which Wallfisch plays most expressively.


The last concerto on the program, one for two violins, returns to the four-movement form that the notes relate to Corelli’s four-movement patterns in the sonatas da chiesa . The first movement, Grave, features interplay between the two soloists (Susan Carpenter-Jacobs joins Wallfisch in this work), with the harmonies in a stately procession and dissonances as logically regulated as those in Corelli’s opening movements. The two violins, well matched in these performances both in tone and in technique, participate almost as part of the orchestra in the fugue-like second movement rather than as soloists in a Mozart sinfonia or even in one of Vivaldi’s concertos for two violins.


The recorded sound places Wallfisch just a bit forward in front of the orchestral sound, which placement may be particularly appropriate in these concertos, with textures featuring the sudden appearance of a solo that blends after a time back into the orchestral sound. Only newcomers to Telemann’s violin concertos who expect something like Vivaldi’s virtuosic concertos could be disappointed. Recommended for their lively and at times dashing performances.


FANFARE: Robert Maxham

•During the Italian verismo Francesco Cilea was the master of subtle portraits of the human soul. Leopoldo Marenco's libretto was based on Alphonse Daudet's drama L'Arlesienne. For its concert performance of L'Arlesiana, the Freiburg Philharmonic Orchestra engaged a singer on his way to international renown: Giuseppe Filianoti, who not only has scored a brilliant success in this role in Carnegie Hall but also on the stages of the New York Metropolitan Opera and the Milan Scala.

BECK 6 Symphonies, op. 3. Symphony in D, op. 4/1. Symphony in B?, op. 4/2. Symphony in F, op. 4/3. La mort d’Orphée: Overture. L’isle déserte: Overture • Michael Schneider, cond; La Stagione Frankfurt • CPO 777 880–2 (3 CDs: 172:54)

CPO has decided to release as one set its three albums of Franz Ignaz Beck’s symphonies, recorded by Michael Schneider and La Stagione Frankfurt. It’s a long-running interest of Schneider, with the first album consisting of half his opus 3 works (CPO 999 390–2) reviewed in these pages in 1996, and the second half (CPO 777 034–2) in 2004. Our box adds the first half of his op. 4 (CPO 777 032–2), released in 2006, but never reviewed in Fanfare. Presumably it’s meant to whet interest for a future disc containing the rest of op. 4.

Several musicologists in the early 20th century saw Beck as a forgotten giant. He was lauded for originality, theatrical intensity, imaginative chromatic harmonic progressions, increasingly independent part-writing and thematic development, dual thematic (as opposed to monothematic) opening movements, and the use of wind instruments in his symphonies. Some of this is reflected by David Kirk in his review of CPO’s second release (Fanfare 28:3), where he states Beck’s symphonies were “moving in the direction Beethoven later developed,” while Michael Carter (Fanfare 28:2) quoted an unattributed statement of a musicologist that Beck was “a Romantic born a generation too early.”

On the other hand, Daniel Heartz, in his Music in European Capitals: The Galant Style, 1720-1780, merely compares Beck to Simon Leduc to show how much more modern the latter was in using chromaticism structurally. David Johnson (Fanfare 20:1) liked the theatricality of the two minor-key works on the first release, then wrote, “I hear the bold harmonic progressions … but the rhythms strike me as rigid and there is no duality of themes at all….” Jerry Dubins, reviewing Mallon/Toronto CO in several of the op. 3 symphonies (Fanfare 34:2; Naxos 8.570799), in turn writes, “Beck wears thin after a while….The works are well crafted and clever in invention, but they strike me as short on imagination and originality.” He then rightly points out that the so-called wind innovations attributed to Beck’s op. 3 were far exceeded in variety of instrumentation and timbre in the same year of their publication by Haydn.

My own estimation is closer to Johnson and Dubins, if less dismissive. Beck strikes me as a talented Mannheimer who retained some conservative Baroque features (such as independent part-writing and idiosyncratic harmonic progressions) from his older colleagues there, notably Franz Xaver Richter. These were subsequently viewed in the 20th century as innovative rather than what they were: part of a tradition Beck had learned in his youth that was gradually coming back into style. Opening movements with heavily contrasted pairs of themes were again pursued by Mannheimers before Beck used them in his 1762 op. 3 works: Johann Stamitz favored them in his last, highly regarded set of published symphonies, written in the early 1750s, as did Ignaz Holzbauer, later in that decade. Settling in Bordeaux brought Beck into contact with a set of Gallic influences, among them Mondonville and Gossec, the former notable for the length and intricacy of development in his works, and the latter for the irregular phrasing, harmonic piquancy, and imaginative use of instrumental color in his own symphonies. Put in perspective among his contemporaries, I think Beck is not the proto-Beethoven that Schneider extols to the skies in his liner notes, but a sophisticated and entertaining composer of the 1760s, mixing older and newer, Austrian and French influences; and that is enough.

Beck’s op. 4 collection of symphonies was published in Paris in 1766. No others were published by him after that point, though it is possible more existed, as much of Beck’s later music is thought lost. The Sturm und Drang that briefly interested symphonists in the 1760s, including Beck in his previous symphonic set, is completely missing from these pieces. Again, the influences are from all over the place, but I was particularly struck by his use of paired oboes in thirds as a galant 6/8 interruption (literally—it wrenches the movement out of any relevant harmonic progression) in the first movement of the D-Major Symphony, and again in the central section of the F-Major Symphony’s Minuet, that most strikingly recall the opéra-ballets of Rameau and Campra. Beck has a sense of humor, like his almost exact contemporary Haydn, and enjoys tossing the occasional stylistic surprise at his listeners. His French audiences, with their long cultural memories, would have caught on at once.

Schneider leads disciplined, spirited readings of all this music. The 16 string players of La Stagione Frankfurt perform without vibrato, but achieve a tone that is silky, if not varied in color, and less raw than in their release of Gaspard Fritz’s symphonies (CPO 777 696–2). He phrases carefully, and builds these works up from their strongly defined rhythms, which helps buoy his soloists along—oddly enough, reminding me in this respect of Pierre Monteux. In short, both for the complete op. 3 and first half of op. 4, recommended.

FANFARE: Barry Brenesal

Searle straddles the divide between a conservative English modernism—Havergal Brian, Edmund Rubbra, Walton, and Tippett—and a more radical or avant-garde modernism—as exemplified, among others, by Peter Maxwell Davies and Harrison Birtwistle. What the latter shared was a dual interest in Schoenbergian 12-tone technique on the one hand, and in the spectral luminosity, if not necessarily the religious mysticism, of Messiaen’s sound world on the other. Humphrey Searle, who is most often identified as a serialist, does not, however, fit comfortably into the Davies/Birtwistle mold. A closer musical kinship may be to Bernard Stevens and German transplant to England, Alexander Goehr.

Though Searle studied briefly with Webern, (pun not intended), he did not emulate his teacher’s deconstructionist reductionism, nor did he till in Schoenberg’s and Berg’s garden of hyper-Romantic expressionism. He carved out his own niche, which tended to blend 12-tone technique with a classically oriented bent towards clarity of form and transparency of texture. A Romantic at heart, Searle spent many years meticulously cataloging the works of Franz Liszt, a lifelong interest that surfaced periodically in his own music. His 1951 Piano Sonata, a 12-tone work, follows closely the structural design of Liszt’s famous B-Minor Sonata.

Noteworthy, too, was Searle’s impish humor and musical hijinks. His fascination with felines manifested itself in a number of his works—The Owl and the Pussycat, Two Practical Cats, and a setting of T. S. Eliot’s Macavity: The Mystery Cat. But the apex of his absurdist streak came with the invention of Dr. Bruno Heinz Jaja, imaginary eminent musicologist, who contributed to the (in)famous Hoffnung Festivals such hilarities as Punkt Kontrapunkt in which two learned professors produce a lengthy and hopelessly complicated analysis of a piece, following which the work itself is played, lasting only 30 seconds. No less memorable are Searle’s musical scores to a number of eminently unmemorable B movies of the horror genre—The Abominable Snowman and The Haunting.

Searle’s serious side found expression in a respectable body of opera, vocal, and orchestral works, of which the five symphonies and two incidental pieces on these discs are a part. I cannot help but wonder, though, if even in these purely symphonic works, the composer is sometimes not hard-pressed to take himself seriously. Though committed to 12-tone technique, the music, more often than not, has an amusing, even comical, side to it. One need only listen to the concluding movement of the Fourth Symphony, a piece that reminded me of Gunther Schuller’s Seven Studies on Themes of Paul Klee. Squeaks and squawks, as from a cranky machine in need of oil, are emitted from the orchestra. But it’s not of an aleatoric, a-musical nature. Rather, it’s of a funny character, and all in good fun. Likewise Night Music, dedicated to Webern on his 60th birthday, (1943) contains some of the creepiest horror-movie music you’ve ever heard.

The proximity of opus numbers between the five symphonies belies the fact that they were written over a period of 12 years, from 1952 to 1964. It can be argued, as it is quite persuasively by note-writer David Sutton-Anderson, that over this time, Searle’s style underwent significant changes, and that at the very least certain programmatic or pictorial elements in each of the works serve as distinguishing features. What falls on the ear, however, is not quite so distinguishable. The opening Andante of the 1964 Fifth Symphony, for example, is uncannily similar to the opening of the 1943 Night Music. Others may disagree, but I think that inherent to 12-tone composition is a uniformity or consistency of aural fabric that is either a weakness or a strength of the technique, depending on your point of view. This is my diplomatic way of saying that even though I find these works quite listenable and attractive, a certain sameness does become evident after essaying two or three of them in a row, an argument that favors sampling in smaller portions.

Nevertheless, I can say to those for whom mere mention of 12-tone music is anathema that Searle may be just the composer to overcome your aversion. Start with the Symphony No. 2 (1956–58) on disc 2. This is Searle at his most lyrical and Romantic. Yes, it is a 12-tone composition, but its row, like that of Berg’s Violin Concerto, is triadic in derivation and strongly suggestive of a tonal center. This is a quite beautiful work.

Alun Francis and cpo have done much to advance the cause of 20th-century composers, including an ongoing project to record the symphonies of Allan Pettersson. As mentioned above, the Searle symphonies are a repackaging of two CDs that have been available as separates for nigh onto a decade. If you don’t already have them, I would strongly urge you to consider acquiring this set. They are beautifully recorded, the performances are persuasive, and the music is likely to grow on you.

Jerry Dubins, FANFARE

TELEMANN Passion Cantatas • Klaus Mertens (bbar); Shalev Ad-El, cond; Accademia Daniel (period instruments) • cpo 777 299 (69:53 Text and Translation)


Ach Herr! Lehr uns Bedenken wohl. Der am Ölberg zagende Jesus. Ich will den Kreuzweg gerne gehen. Jesus liegt in letzten Zügen. Was gibst du denn, o meine Seele


The five cantatas presented on this disc share several elements. They are all for solo bass and orchestra, and they all deal in some way with the events of Christ’s passion, either directly or as a reflection on it. Erdmann Neumeister, who composed over 400 cantata texts for Telemann and other composers, wrote that a cantata “looks like nothing so much as a piece out of an opera,” and this element may have been what attracted Telemann to the form. More than 1,400 of Telemann’s cantatas survive.


Der am Ölberg zagende Jesus deals with Christ’s agonies in the garden of Gethsemane, with three recitatives setting the scene surrounding two arias for Jesus, ending with an aria by the narrator inviting all to contemplate Christ’s sacrifice. Jesus liegt in letzten Zügen is a meditation on the moment of Christ’s death. Ich will den Kreuzweg gerne gehen expresses the narrator’s desire to follow the way of the cross in Christ’s footsteps. The other two cantatas are more tangentially connected to the events of the passion, although they mention the passion as motivation for the sinner to prepare for eventual union with his Savior. All of these works demonstrate Telemann’s inventiveness and unfailing gift of melody. Where appropriate, Telemann adds illustrative touches such as at the text “when a harsh wind blows” (tr. 25). The orchestration is basically strings and oboes, with bassoon and keyboard added to the basso continuo , and occasional coloring from flute or recorder. All appear to be recording premieres.


The performances are very good. Klaus Mertens is well known in the early-music field and has contributed to many recordings of Baroque music. His work here is up to his own high standards. I was not previously acquainted with the work of Israeli conductor and keyboardist Shalev Ad-El. His work here is good; the performances are reasonably paced, and everything flows smoothly. The conductor is the music director of the Israeli period-instrument group Accademia Daniel, which plays these works one player to a part.


These artists have combined twice before on programs of Telemann cantatas, one for Hessian Radio and one for cpo. J. F. Weber praised the latter recording (31:5), concluding his review, “Add this disc to your collection, and watch for more.” I agree wholeheartedly.


FANFARE: Ron Salemi

HINDEMITH Tuttifänchen • Johannes Zurl, cond; Herman Wallén (Meister Tuttifant puppet maker); Nora Lentner (Trudel his daughter); Bele Kumberger (Tuttifänchen his puppet); Sebastian Bluth (Punoni director of the puppet theater); Annika Schlicht (Mutter Berthe); various actors; Berlin R Children’s Ch; Deutsches SO Berlin • CPO 777 802-2 (72:20 Text and Translation)


Tuttifänchen is a children’s Christmas play with music, originally inspired by a tale for and about a puppet theater. Hindemith wrote the music in 1922, shortly after he had come to public attention with his three avant-garde operas ( Mörder, Hoffnung der Frauen; Das Nusch-Nuschi; Sancta Susanna ) and his op. 16 String Quartet. The tale—a distant cousin of Pinocchio —concerns a puppet who comes to life and causes everyone a lot of trouble. The music is simple and direct—when the puppets in the story dance a ballet, they do so to a sprightly, elegant foxtrot based on a Gottschalk Cakewalk —with no hint of the avant-garde. The chamber orchestra has single winds; Hindemith’s orchestration is light and nearly as colorful as that of his friend Franz Schreker. The vocal parts “can be sung by good actors,” but they are taken here by professional singers, all of whom are delightful. There is a good deal of conversation, argument, laughing, crying, and screaming (on 19 tracks) during these 72 minutes, connecting 23 tracks of songs, duets, melodramas (by the puppet), intermezzos, marches, a lullaby, and ensembles. It is all in German, which I cannot follow in real time, but the action is lively and the actors—children as well as adults—spirited. A side-by-side German/English libretto gives us only the 23 musical numbers; unfortunately, it also ignores a march (track 29) that includes an aria.


Hindemith’s reputation today is that of a serious composer of serious music; he looks the part in photos, but he was a light-hearted fellow with a lively sense of humor, a cartoonist who drew his own whimsical Christmas cards each year. This charming children’s play is in tune with the inner Hindemith, and its consistent quality reflects his always solid craftsmanship. The work begins to turn serious near the end: A final melodrama, in which the puppet decides to return to the fir tree from whence he came, has some of the most serene music you will ever hear; it could be a Bach chorale drawn through Brahms. The following lullaby is also gorgeous, and the play closes with a rousing Christmas carol, solemn yet joyful. Bits and pieces of this music have appeared before, some in piano reductions, but I believe this is its first complete recording. You don’t need to be either German or a child to enjoy Tuttifänchen . It is a minor masterpiece of its kind, and this production does it full justice.


FANFARE: James H. North

SELLE Historia der Auferstehung. A Domino factum est illud. Christ lag in Todesbanden. Surrexit Christus spes mea. Christ ist erstanden. Jesus Christus unser Heiland der von uns. Erstanden ist der Herre Christ. Ich weiss dass mein Erlöser lebt • Manfred Cordes, dir; Weser-Renaissance Bremen • cpo 777396 (72:14 Text and Translation)


Thomas Selle (1599–1663) is not unknown on recordings, though I had never even heard of him. His name can be found on recordings as far back as 1968, and five CDs are currently available in Germany, requiring in the headnote the expansion of the title Jesus Christus unser Heiland to distinguish it from a slightly different incipit ( Jesus Christus unser Heiland der den Tod ), both of which can be found on an earlier disc from the same label (32:5). That original 1968 recording, in fact, has been reissued in a 60-year retrospective of the Windsbacher Knabenchor. Our recent exposure to the Passions of Telemann (23: 4) and C. P. E. Bach (31:3 twice) have clarified the end of a long line of Hamburg music directors who had charge of the four main churches, but they did not tell us that the scheme began with the arrival of Selle in 1641. His life before that is not well documented, but enough is known to indicate that he was born in Saxony, grew up in the Thomanerchor in Leipzig, and worked for 17 years in Schleswig-Holstein-Gottorf, not so far from Hamburg. His complete works, numbering 280, exist in 16 partbooks and three tablatures in the Hamburg library. They were compiled by the composer and his pupils and left to the library.


The Resurrection Story occupies half of this disc and is drawn from all four gospel accounts. It is based on the same harmony, or continuous gospel narrative, on which Schütz based his version. The other seven works, continuing the theme of Easter, include two Latin texts, one from Psalm 117 (118), the other drawn from the Easter sequence, “Victimae paschali,” while the five German settings include two strophic works that are incomplete due to time constraints on the disc. This survey of Selle’s music shows that Selle was a competent composer who captured the style of his time and realized it in a variety of ways. Some of these works date from before his arrival in Hamburg, such as Erstanden ist der Herre Christ and Surrexit Christus spes mea , both composed in the second of his three positions in Schleswig-Holstein-Gottorf. A Domino factum est illud comes from his final position in the province. All of these works were published in Hamburg before he received his appointment there, undoubtedly accounting for the fame that preceded him.


Cordes, who has produced so much unfamiliar music of this period, gives Selle his due in every respect. Soloists and ensembles are consistently effective, as fine as the composer could hope for. Not least beneficial is the assembling of a group of works around a single theme. This fine disc should not get lost amid the endless list of unfamiliar composers that have found their way to disc. Give it a hearing.


FANFARE: J. F. Weber

Recording information: Konzerthalle Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach, Frankfurt/Oder (08/25/2008-08/29/2008).

J. C. F. FISCHER Le journal du printemps • Michi Gaigg, cond; L’Orfeo Baroque O • cpo 777 150-2 (77:39)


To live and work artistically in most German states during the period when Louis XIV reigned in France meant being at least knowledgeable about all matters French. Many German courts assiduously copied the Sun King’s sense of style; and a visit to many Baroque museums throughout modern Germany is a small education in French culture of the period. So it’s not that surprising that Johann Caspar Ferdinand Fischer (1656–1746) chose to publish a series of eight orchestral suites in the French manner, while working as Hopfkapellmeister to Margrave Ludwig Wilhelm of Baden-Baden. The Margrave’s court was artistically cosmopolitan and sophisticated, and the Margrave himself was a Francophile, despite spending much of his distinguished soldiering career ironically serving against France.


Fischer’s Le journal du printemps is not a programmatic work. Its title might be taken to refer to music written during the composer’s youth, for he was 38 when it appeared, and nothing of his had been previously published. The music reveals him as a Lullist of no mean stature, sustaining a four- and five-part homophonic string texture with admirable textural diversity, thematic distinction, and rhythmic vivacity. He covers the field of French dances well, offering among others a bransle (here termed a brandlay), sarabande, rigaudon, a majestic chaconne, a profoundly touching passacaille, several gavottes of contrasting character (flirtatious in the Third Suite, grave in the Sixth), mercurial canaries, and a brace of graceful minuets. His overtures are relatively short affairs, their quick sections more contrapuntally imitative than fugal, no doubt fitting the needs for contemporary elegant court entertainment.


The performances of the L’Orfeo Baroque Orchestra are incisive yet well blended, with several oboes, and a pair each of recorders and trumpets to vary the sound. I felt that on a few occasions Gaigg selected hectic tempos that worked against the effect of the music, most evidently in the passacaille from the Suite No. 4 in D Minor. But by and large his tempos were judiciously chosen, and his phrasing anything but metronomic. The reverberant recording environment had a hand in making the ensemble sound larger than they are—they number only 26—but there is no loss of precision. Miking is forward, with excellent stereo placement.


Highly recommended to Baroque enthusiasts, especially those who have been wishing for more overtures and suites just as tuneful as anything composed by Handel or Telemann.


FANFARE: Barry Brenesal

“In 1912, when my second quartet was performed in Berlin, a tumult arose in the audience that was not far from a tussle. On the one side, shouts of amazement; on the other side, expressions of displeasure and boos. Even Schönberg, who attaches special value to flops, was envious of me because of this flop.” “…our generation too has fought for its ideals and had to wait long and often still is waiting to receive honest and full recognition of its efforts to produce a new musical language, which very often again became the basis for the new aspirations of the younger generation.” These words were not written by an anarchistic innovator but by the euphonious late romanticist Josef Suk. His second string quartet, however, is surely the most ambitious and ‘most modern’ work he penned. In the field of chamber music it also ranks as his most important. For cpo the Minguet Quartet has recorded Suk’s complete œuvre for string quartet – with Matthias Kirschnereit joining them for the early piano quintet.

Concerto Copenhagen’s performances ooze abundantly with charm, wisdom and warmth. Passages for recorders, oboes and bassoon during the Largo of Concerto No 1 in B flat are played exquisitely. Courtly rhythms spring disarmingly in the Vivace of Concerto No 2 in B flat…Lars Ulrik Mortensen’s harpsichord continuo is imaginative in its support for the intimate dialogue between two cellos and Frank de Bruine’s beautifully judged oboe solo. The Minuet that concludes Concerto No 4 in F major is correctly an elegant dance…Mortensen’s fluent playing of the tricky quick organ solos in the concluding Allegro are articulated flawlessly. Such classy moments make this one of the most endearing artistic interpretations of Op 3 in recent years...

-- David Vickers, Gramophone [6/2012]

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Handel’s op. 3 concerti grossi have long been viewed unfavorably in some critical circles thanks to the reflection cast by the composer’s superior op. 6 collection. Yet the earlier works are thematically attractive, rhythmically varied, and expertly sequenced, despite being constructed piecemeal out of music composed over a long period of time. They’ve proven popular as well with modern listeners as a whole, and there’s no danger of their falling out of circulation—not with more than 15 recordings available in the current catalog.


Lars Ulrik Mortensen’s approach is straightforward, and inclining a bit to the decorous side. He phrases elastically in the adagio of the Third Concerto (the alternative solo flute version, rather than the usual oboe), but not as freely as Egarr/Academy of Ancient Music (Harmonia Mundi 2908292). Again, the opening vivace of the Sixth Concerto moves along with stately pride, but it misses the snap of Egarr’s trills that give it a swaggering air, or the delicacy and fleet pacing of Creswick/Northern Sinfonia (Naxos 8.553457). Next to these two versions, there’s a slight facelessness to this album, despite the virtuosic performances of Concerto Copenhagen.


Which isn’t to discount it; those listeners who find the likes of Egarr or Creswick too characterful will probably prefer these readings. There’s a fine sense of energy, movement and balance to timbres from Mortensen in the Fourth Concerto’s Ouverture, and as in the fugal allegro of the Fifth Concerto, all lines are clearly exposed, easy to follow. Then, too, if he doesn’t accent as sharply as several others, Mortensen does use longer-held notes as one among several methods of accenting—a period-accurate point, and providing a subtle variation to the standard phrasing heard on most other discs.


My own preferences still lie with Egarr in a period-instrument mood, and with Iona Brown/Academy of St. Martin (Hänssler 98.918) when not: unsentimental, brightly articulated, dance-like where required, but capable of great flexibility. But there’s much to be said in favor of this expertly performed recording.


FANFARE: Barry Brenesal