Very attractive concertos, pleasant chamber music … enjoyable listening.

If the name Giuseppe Ferlendis rings any bells in the mind, it may well be because of the Mozart connection. Having been born in Bergamo, Ferlendis’s success as a soloist in Italy led to his appointment, in 1777, as court oboist in Salzburg. His standing was such that his yearly salary was 540 florins to Mozart’s 500. Mozart wrote a concerto for him - pretty certainly the work we also know in its arrangement as a flute concerto, K314 - which met with considerable success, being later played to some acclaim by the oboist Friedrich Ramm. In a letter of 14 February 1778, Mozart writes from Mannheim to his father, reporting that “Ramm played my oboe Concerto for Ferlendis for the fifth time; it is attracting much attention, and is now Ramm’s cheval de bataille”. Indeed the connection between Ferlendis and Mozart led to what was surely a rather flattering case of misattribution. The great Mozart scholar Georges de Saint-Foix found, in the library of the Milan conservatory, a manuscript oboe concerto attributed to Ferlendis which he judged to be by Mozart, the attribution to Ferlendis merely acknowledging that it was written for him and played by him. Einstein argued convincingly on stylistic grounds that it was a non-Mozartean work – suggesting that in form it was reminiscent of Tartini and in invention was more like Spohr than Mozart. He also found aspects of the scoring unlike Mozart, while acknowledging some general resemblances. This is the concerto which we now know as Ferlendis’s first concerto. He appears to have written three others, preserved in whole or part in Milan and Genoa. Of one only the orchestral parts survive. The other two – both in C major – have here been reconstructed and are recorded for the first time. In some ways they are actually more interesting than the one mistakenly attributed to Mozart.

The concerto in F major is apparently the earliest of the three, and there is a certain slightly inhibited quality to it, compared to its successors. Still, it is full of pleasant music, not least in the rather melancholy adagio and the pleasantly dancing rhythms of the closing rondo. In the two C major concertos there seems to be a greater freedom, perhaps a greater self-confidence, to the writing. In No.2, for example, the sonata form of the opening allegro is handled with flexible assurance and individuality; the brief - only a minute and a half - adagio is a little gem, gorgeously lyrical (and beautifully played by Ciacci). The allegro into which it leads is a delightful and musically witty set of variations on Paisiello’s ‘Nel cor più non mi sento’ - on which both Beethoven and Paganini also wrote sets of variations. In the third Concerto there are some beautiful unaccompanied passages in the initial allegro and in the closing allegro it is not hard to hear some of those echoes of late-baroque practice which Einstein detected in the F major concerto. All in all these are fine pieces which should surely find their way into the repertoire of other oboists. The playing of Diego Dini Ciacci is exemplary, his tone consistently apt and eloquent. He directs the Haydn Orchestra – the orchestral parts are not perhaps especially demanding, but they are handled with attractive competence.

The Six Sonatas - no date of composition or publication is given - are relatively slight, all in two movements and only one of them running over five minutes in these performances. These have the air of pieces written for domestic performance and make fewer technical demands than the concertos. Flautist Francesco Dainese and bassoonist Flavio Baruzzi make assured partners for Ciacci here, and the use of bassoon makes for some interesting textures. This is elegant, shapely music which makes no very great demands on performers or listeners. Pleasant as it is, it is the concertos which make this a desirable CD.

Glyn Pursglove, MusicWeb International

Classical Music

Classical Music

Listeners of this new release will be shocked to learn that Diepenbrock was never trained professionally as a musician. He was a philologist and teacher. While this may make him seem like an amateur, he held his own among the best Dutch composers of his day. Diepenbrock was also interested in theater, particularly the great tragedies. This is where his philologist training and his compositional skill merged. He composed five incidental works during the last years of his life, including “Marsyas,” “Gijsbrecht van Aemstel,” “The Birds,” “Faust,” and “Elektra.” In these stage works he combined music with the theatrical elements of recitation and dance. Critics agree that this music was far beyond its time and that his music far outweighed the appeal of the dramas for which he wrote.

The German-Dutch composer Johann Wilhelm Wilms lived during the interesting transitional period between Classicism and Romanticism and therefore numbers among the composers who built on Haydn and Mozart and formed the bridge to Mendelssohn, Schumann, and Chopin. His two Piano Quartets op. 22 and op. 30 were published in 1808 and 1812 but must have been composed a few years earlier. Although they continue to adhere completely to the spirit of the eighteenth century, above all in formal matters, they make use of all the advances in intensified virtuosity and harmonic freedom, so that they operate on the same high level as the masterpieces composed during the same period by Franz Danzi, Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, and Carl Maria von Weber. Wilms was not only a flutist and a pianist but also a master of instrumentation and more successfully than other composers of his times maintained the difficult balance between the concertizing piano, which mostly brilliantly and triumphantly shines, and the strings, which skillfully accompany it while also enjoying their share of the spotlight as soloists.

It was in 1905, an entire decade prior to Wilhelm Stenhammar's second symphony, that Hugo Alfv�n completed his third symphony. In this work Alfv�n, like many other Scandinavian composers, found the typical Nordic tone of his music in the sunny south. Like Sibelius' second symphony and Stenhammar's Serenade for Orchestra, this symphony is Swedish through and through. In addition, it is pervaded by the longing for home repeatedly felt by Alfv�n during his years of wandering. He composed his Uppsala Rhapsody in 1907 for the commemoration of the two hundredth anniversary of the birth of the great botanist Carl von Linn� (Linnaeus) held at the University of Uppsala in May 1907. Like it's counterpart by Johannes Brahms, this work turned out to be an �Academic Festival Overture� including some student songs. The Concert Suite from Alfv�n's ballet The Mountain King offers a masterful wealth of color. His excellent knowledge of the art of instrumentation was the product of his earlier activity as a violinist in the Royal Court Orchestra, which also served as the Opera Orchestra.

Throughout the centuries, from it's first pictorial representation in a Bohemian devotional book in 1494 until the present day, the synagogue organ has been regarded as an unusual phenomenon. Although the use of keyboard instruments for the accompaniment of the Jewish liturgy in Europe can be traced back to the beginnings of the Early Modern period, a more distinctive solo repertoire for them did not come about until they more frequently began to appear in synagogues during the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, in conjunction with contemporary religious, cultural, and musical developments within the Jewish Diaspora in Central Europe. The works selected for this album reflect the history of this organ repertoire from Central Europe, parts of Eastern Europe, and the United States, where many composers sought refuge in order to escape persecution from the National Socialists. On our recording the works are presented in chronological order and offer insights into the most important stylistic developments in this organ repertoire. Stephan Lutermann interprets these works by composers of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries on the organ in the Verden Cathedral. Assaf Levitin, who was trained as an opera singer and currently serves as the cantor of the Liberal Jewish Community in Hanover, interprets the Jewish songs belonging to the particular organ works.

In 2019 the music world commemorated the 350th anniversary of the death of Marc’Antonio Cesti, the greatest composer of opera comedies and the most gifted melodist of the seventeenth century. Since Cesti lived and worked in Innsbruck for many years, La Dori, his brilliant comedy of disguises and hidden identities, was the perfect choice for posthumous honors “on location.” Ottavio Dantone, who is active from the Milan Scala to the Salzburg Festival with his specialist’s support in the field of Baroque and Classical opera, conducted his exquisite original sound ensemble, the Accademia Bizantina on the Innsbruck opera stage and set in motion the Dori renaissance. This comedy of love’s errors set by the banks of the Euphrates and at the court of Babylon is now available for audio enjoyment on CPO.

Orchestral works by August Klughardt "represents an impressive case on behalf of a composer to whom one simply cannot listen without becoming personally involved." - Klassik.com Vol. 1, Germany, [Nov. 9, 2013]

Klughardt’s symphonies were frequently performed during his lifetime, and his fifth such work displays a special compositional history. He composed it in 1892, the year during which he celebrated his twenty-fifth anniversary as a conductor in Dessau. In this early form, however, the work was not yet a Symphony in C minor but a String Sextet in C sharp minor, which unfortunately has not come down to us, so that we can no longer compare it to the later symphony. The frequent employment of a solo violin in almost all the movements nevertheless must surely be an inheritance from the original string sextet version. This highly animated, vital, and sonorous music and two overtures by this Dessau master are interpreted by the »home team,« the Anhalt Philharmonic, this time under the conductor Antony Hermus. - CPO, (Translated from German text.)

DURANTE Pastorale Cito Pastores. Laudate pueri “breve detto il Grottesco.” Litani à due voci con violini in e. Mass in F “In afflictionis tempore” • Michael Alexander Willens, cond; Monica Piccinini (sop); Christina Kühne (sop); Ursula Eittinger (alt); Alberto ter Doest (ten); Thilo Dahlmann (bs); Kölner Akademie (period instruments) • CPO 777 734 (70:27 Text and Translation)

Last year at this time (received just before Christmas but not to appear until several months into the year), I reviewed the first disc of Neapolitan Christmas music by Francesco Durante recorded by the Kölner Akademie under Michael Willens. My recommendation at that time was that this sort of music, commonplace in Naples during the 18th century, ought to be made more available. After another season of the usual Messiah overload and unending Archangelo Corelli Christmas Concerto performances on the radio (along with the other usual popular and traditional seasonal detritus), it was good to obtain this sequel, one sure to provide a measure of novelty as well as a proper complement to the holidays.

Durante, one of the major figures of galant Naples and a teacher to many a great Classical era Italian composer (Pergolesi, Piccinni, among others), was himself thoroughly immersed in the vibrant Neapolitan musical scene, of which the Christmas season was particularly favored for a wide variety of works. Here, conductor Willens continues his quest to revive Durante’s contributions through four sacred works, including a traditional pastorale, a sort of short cantata consisting of an introductory chorus, a pair of recitatives, an aria, and a final duet. The “brief” Laudate pueri , a single movement setting of Psalm 113, was entitled “il Grottesco” by Abbate Fortunato Santini in the 19th century, and although the name has stuck, there is certainly nothing “grotesque” about the lyrical piece, so one doesn’t really know what Santini was thinking. The Mass is typical of the period in Naples, with a setting of only the Kyrie and Gloria, although each is subdivided into individual movements. Here, Durante expands his spare string orchestra to include pairs of horns (in the two “Kyrie eleison” movements and the final “Cum sancto spiritu” fugue), oboes, and trumpets (in, you guessed it, the Gloria movement, though Durante uses both horns and trumpets in the Quoniam), offering a rich texture that foreshadows that of the Classical period.

The pastoral Cito Pastores is mainly homophonic, with the gently susurrating rhythms of a compound meter Siciliano. The opening aria is in a lengthy, strophic form that stays mainly in the principal key, clearly meant for meditative thought. The soprano aria that follows (after a short recitative) has light coloratura for the voice, nothing especially daunting, but rather nicely flowing. The final duet has the soprano and alto beginning in a soft minor key, but rapidly changing to Vivaldian parallel thirds with the final text “Gloria sit in caelo.” The Laudate pueri begins with a rather stark unison scalar descent which goes beyond the octave to the third below, a neat and rather distinctive harmonic twist, and while the bulk of the work is a series of nicely homophonic lines, the “Sicut erat” begins contrapuntally but devolves quickly into a series of neat suspensions with antiphonal effects. The Litany is highly reminiscent of Vivaldi in its parallel thirds and suspensions above an insistent ostinato that changes the harmony constantly. Here the purity of the vocal line, now with the soprano and alto echoing each other, now in tandem, overshadows the lighter string accompaniment to give a more ethereal sound. Finally, the Mass is a kaleidoscope of various early styles, with the syncopated violins above the chordal sound of the horns and voices in the Kyrie contrasting with the very severe fugue of the Christe. The Gloria, with its melismatic opening in the voices and echoes from the oboes, strings, and trumpets, sounds again very Vivaldian, but the suspensive “Et in terra pax hominibus” is a solemn and darker interlude. In many of the movements, such as the “Domine deus” and “Que sedes,” one hears echoes of Giovanni Pergolesi’s famed Stabat Mater , in one instance I seemed to hear a direct quote (but who is quoting from whom is another issue entirely, of course). The interplay between the horns, trumpets, and oboes in the “Quoniam” could have been written by Handel, although the insistent trills that conclude the introduction in both brass instruments add an element of novelty.

The Kölner Akademie has reduced its forces for this disc down to a bare minimum. For the orchestra, only pairs of violins and one on a part for the lower strings, while the soloists also double as the chorus. This lends the music a rather more transparent sound. Although there is plenty of opportunity for mistepping, the clarity and careful attention to intonation lend these pieces a perfect balance. Willens, who edited the Mass and Litany, keeps his tempos moving but at a sedate pace that is rather closely aligned to the precise phrasing of the music. Both tenor Alberto ter Doest and bass Thilo Dahlmann have relatively little to do, since female voices predominate. Monica Piccinini has a clear and accurate voice which blends nicely both with her equally adept partner, alto/mezzo-soprano Ursula Eittinger, and the reduced ensemble. This gives the recording a well-integrated quality that lets Durante’s creativity speak for itself. Even if this were not Christmas music, this disc would come highly recommended as a part of any early Classical period collection. It is a must for a truly memorable musical experience.

FANFARE: Bertil van Boer

G. SCHUMANN Symphony in b. Serenade for Large Orchestra, Op. 34 • Christoph Gedschold, cond; Munich RO • CPO 777464 (73:32)


Having struck pay dirt with another of its exhumations, Georg Schumann—see review of his piano trios in 35: 5—CPO, label of the Long Lost Composers Society—here resurrects Schumann’s Symphony in B Minor and his Serenade, op. 34. Georg Alfred Schumann (1866–1952) is yet another composer that can be added to the list of blue-ribbon winners produced under Carl Reinecke’s tutelage at the Leipzig Conservatory, and the term “blue-ribbon” is not used metaphorically. In 1886, still a student at the conservatory, Schumann composed this B-Minor Symphony, and when he entered it in an orchestral composition competition two years later it took first prize out of 57 entries. It’s doubtful that the award so swelled his head that he actually appended the subtitle, “Prize-winning Symphony” to his score, but CPO does, treating it as if it were a cognomen like “Pathétique” or “The Inextinguishable.” “Oh, have you heard my Symphony in B Minor, the ‘Prize-winning?’”


Schumann’s symphony lends itself to easy description; it’s the Sixth Symphony Mendelssohn might have written had he lived. No disparagement is meant by that. Mendelssohn is the score’s model and its main influence; as much is admitted by the liner note. Even though Mendelssohn was long dead by the time Georg Schumann came to compose his symphony, it’s no surprise that the young composer would pay tribute to the deceased master. It’s both a reflection of Schumann’s youth and the conservative musical training and values fostered by Reinecke and the Leipzig Conservatory, not to mention the reverence accorded Mendelssohn in the very halls of the conservatory he had founded.


While there’s little originality in its pages, Schumann’s symphony is a beautifully written score; its four conventionally laid out movements are filled with tuneful melodies and a mastery of harmony, counterpoint, and orchestration that confirm it as a composition of consummate craft, if not necessarily one of great art. Certainly it can give pleasure and be appreciated by anyone who enjoys mid-19-century Romantic period orchestral works.


The Serenade for Large Orchestra, written around the turn of the century—it was premiered in 1902—is, unsurprisingly, more venturesome in style and musical vocabulary. It’s also unusual in that while more or less adhering to the formal layout of a serenade, the piece is actually a tone poem in five movements, each movement depicting a tableau in the tale of a rejected lover. But if this leads you to expect music of a forlorn, downcast mien, you’re in for a surprise. Schumann’s model now seems to be Richard Strauss’s tone poems. The score is filled with what Schumann describes as “opponents” and “ridiculers” who chirp and chatter away apparently scolding and mocking the lover for whatever he did that got him booted out of the boudoir. The musical effect is not dissimilar to, though nowhere near as barbed as the carping critics in, Strauss’s Ein Heldenleben . Schumann was probably familiar with Strauss’s tone poems, but neither his talent nor his ambition rose to Strauss’s levels of orchestral extravagance and exhibitionism.


Christoph Gedschold leads the Munich Radio Orchestra in convincing performances. I wouldn’t call either the symphony or the serenade a deathless masterpiece, but if you’ve grown a bit jaded listening to the same Romantic period symphonies and tone poems over and over again, here are two new additions to the recorded repertoire that will temporarily relieve your boredom. Recommended.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

E. T. A. HOFFMANN Mass in d, AV 18. Miserere in b?, AV 42 • Rupert Huber, cond; Sibylla Rubens, Jutta Böhnert (sop); Rebecca Martin (mez); Thomas Cooley (ten); York Felix Speer (bs); WDR Radio Ch; WDR SO • CPO 777832 (62:01 Text and Translation)

Butcher, baker, candlestick maker? Well, not exactly, but it wouldn’t be off the mark to call E. T. A. Hoffmann (1776–1822) a polymath, for he was one of Germany’s greatest early Romantic writers of fantasy fiction and horror tales, a lawyer and a jurist, a draftsman and a caricaturist, and a music critic and serious writer on the art of music and its aesthetics. And, oh yes, by the way, did I mention that in his spare time he was a composer? His output includes a symphony, several stage works, a handful of piano sonatas, a piano trio, a harp quintet, and of course, the concerted choral-orchestral Mass and Miserere on this disc.

Hoffmann’s literary works are commonly cited as the inspiration for Schumann’s Kreisleriana and Offenbach’s The Tales of Hoffmann, but less often noted is that Hoffmann’s novella The Nutcracker and the Mouse King was the basis for Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker, and that Léo Delibes’s ballet Coppélia is also based on stories by Hoffmann.

Hoffmann’s literary works had more of an influence on 19th-century composers and the Romantic movement than his musical compositions did, for his abilities as a composer were judged to be more modest than his talent for the written word. Add to that his relatively small output, and it’s hardly surprising that there’s not a lot of E. T. A. Hoffmann’s music on disc. In light of this, what’s perhaps surprising is that this is at least the third recording of the Miserere I’m aware of. A performance on Koch-Schwann/Music Sacra with a different conductor and cast of vocal soloists, but the same chorus and, I believe, the same orchestra was reviewed by David Johnson in 12:4. And yet another recording, also on Koch Schwann, but this time with an entirely different cast of singers, players, and conductor—Rolf Beck, leading the Southwest German Vocal Ensemble and the Concerto Bamberg—was released in 1997, 10 years later.

Johnson was mightily impressed by the Miserere, calling it “a work of genuine, even astonishing power and beauty,” an assessment with which I wholly concur. The piece wasn’t published in Hoffmann’s lifetime, and the exact date of composition isn’t given. It can be deduced, however, that Hoffmann had to have completed it towards the end of 1806 or the beginning of 1807, for the work was to have been performed at the ceremonies earlier in 1806 when Archduke Ferdinand of Austria became the Grand Duke of Würzburg, but the score wasn’t ready in time. It didn’t receive its first performance until Good Friday, 1809.

It’s important to keep in mind when listening to this masterful piece of choral/orchestral writing that its date of composition coincides with that of Beethoven’s C-Major Mass, op. 86. Yet if I had to make a comparison to Hoffmann’s Miserere, it wouldn’t be to Beethoven’s chronologically contemporary Mass, but to a work of 17 or so years earlier, Mozart’s Requiem. Whether Hoffmann was consciously imitating the musical style of that work or not, it’s impossible to say, but the similarities are striking.

Listen to the sighs in the strings just seconds into the opening movement, and tell me you don’t expect to hear the mournful entry of the basset horns. Or tell me there isn’t a resemblance between the Miserere’s “Ecce enim in veritatem” and the Offertorium of the Requiem in the Süssmayer completion.

Understand that in no way am I diminishing Hoffmann’s effort. His Miserere is a gorgeous work, and there’s much in it that postdates Mozart stylistically, specifically the vocal solos, which tend to be more ornate and less liturgical sounding than what Mozart would have considered proper for a sacred setting of such a solemn text, and also in the more symphonic scoring and treatment of the orchestral parts. But as noted by Johnson, Hoffmann additionally takes great pains to fully demonstrate his contrapuntal skills, composing “grand choral double fugues that Bach, himself, could have found no fault with.”

However you hear Hoffmann’s Miserere—whether as an echo of Mozart, a sympathetic vibration with Beethoven, or a precursor to Verdi—it doesn’t matter, as long as you hear it, because it’s a stunning work, which really ought to spark a reassessment of E. T. A. Hoffmann’s output in general.

The Mass in D Minor is a little earlier than the Miserere, dating from between 1803 and 1805, but it’s composed on an equally grand scale. The solemn introductory measures followed by a running fugue is reminiscent of the type of Baroque overture one hears at the beginning of Handel’s Messiah, and simultaneously anticipatory of the overture to Mendelssohn’s Elijah.

As in the Miserere, Mozart looms large over major portions of the Mass. Listen, for example, to the Kyrie, which once again reverberates with recollections of Mozart’s Requiem. But now Haydn takes a bow in the joyful Gloria. Yet through it all, a new Romantic spirit infuses Hoffmann’s work. It’s not as daring as Beethoven’s adventures of the same timeframe, but then whose were?

One thing that deserves some criticism, in my opinion, is Hoffmann’s over-reliance on fugue. At first, one marvels at his aptitude for counterpoint, but when a fugue appears in practically every movement, not only does one begin to wonder if Hoffmann isn’t short on arrows in his quiver, but the recurring fugal textures begin to become a bit tiresome. Remember Saint-Saëns’s dictum: “A fugue is a piece where the voices come in and the audience goes out one at a time.”

Koch-Schwann seems to have taken more than a passing interest in E. T. A. Hoffmann back in the 1990s, for in addition to the above-cited recordings of the Miserere, the label also released a recording of this Mass in 1999, featuring the chorus and orchestra of the Capella Cracoviensis, led by Roland Bader. Unfortunately, I haven’t heard that one either, so I have no basis for comparing different versions of the works on this disc. CPO, however, rarely disappoints in its releases, and the soloists, chorus, and orchestra heard in these performances sound secure in execution and thoroughly engaged in the moment of the music. The recording, too, is excellent—open, spacious, bright, and detailed, without any reverb to muddy the singers’ diction. Very strongly recommended.

FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

TELEMANN Violin Concertos: in G, TWV 51:G5; in Bb TWV 51:B2; in F, TWV 51:F3; in A, TWV 51:A3; in f#, TWV 51:fis1. Double Violin Concerto in e, TWV 52:e4. Concerto in A for 4 Violins, TWV 54:A1 • Elizabeth Wallfisch (vn, cond); The Wallfisch Band • CPO 777 550 (58:24)


The notes to Volume 5 of violinist and conductor Elizabeth Wallfisch’s collection of “Complete Violin Concertos” by Georg Philipp Telemann explain that all these works come from an early period in the composer’s production, in which he tried to break free from the Italian influence (thus, perhaps, the unvarying four-movement pattern of these works). Still, Vivaldi’s energy, channeled by typical Italian violin figuration, reappears in the Molto allegro of the Concerto in G Major, TWV 51:G5. Arcangelo Corelli’s sequences appear in the finale of that concerto, but the passages bounce with a helium-like buoyancy worlds removed from Corelli’s more stately elegance. The Concerto in Bb-Major, TWV 51:B2, begins with a slow movement that integrates the solo into the ensemble in a way that’s more Corellian than Vivaldian—but seems essentially Telemann’s own invention. The Concerto in F Major, TWV 51:F3, drapes a flowing violin solo over a bustling near-ostinato motive that maintains a lively demeanor throughout the movement. As the ensuing Allegro shows, Telemann’s idea of a concerto soloist, especially in the fast movements (and even in the slow ones) differs markedly from that of Vivaldi and Bach, allowing the solos to emerge from the texture as Corelli did in his Concerti grossi, op. 6, or Giuseppe Torelli did even in his solo concertos. That’s not to say that the works seem soporific from the violinistic point of view: The concerto’s finale, with its brusque, ruddy energy, never allows a listener’s attention to wander, even if the violinist isn’t spinning technical fantasies in the manner of Pietro Locatelli or Jean-Marie Leclair. In the Concerto in A Major, TWV 51: A3, Wallfisch and her ensemble effectively employ dynamic contrasts to create a bracing atmosphere. Here, as elsewhere, Wallfisch rises to a high soloistic profile when the music demands it—it’s clear from passages like these that she sinks the individual, when she does, for musical reasons rather than for any natural reticence or idea of soloistic integration. She and the ensemble play the chords in the brief, almost purely transitional, Adagio with attention-garnering freshness. In the finale, she once again strikes a more virtuosic attitude. The Concerto in F# Minor may be cast in an unusual key, but it’s hardly crabbed; and Wallfisch makes the double-stops of its slow movement sound at once mellifluous and commanding. Still, she’s able to lower her profile in the contrapuntal finale.


The collection includes two concertos for multiple soloists. The first of these, the Concerto in E Minor for Two Violins, TWV 52:E4, blends the soloists seamlessly in the first movement. In this work, violinist Evan Few joins Wallfisch. They don’t engage in the second movement in simple parallel motion, as Torelli might lead them in a similarly crafted work; but they do alternate passages in which they answer each other with others in which they run side-by-side. In the Concerto for Four Violins in A Major, TWV 54:A1, violinists Gabrielle Wunsch and Susan Carpenter Jacobs join Wallfisch. If, as Wolfgang Hirschmann’s notes point out, the textures hardly suggest a concerto for four soloists (with two of them melded into the orchestral texture), the resulting sonorities still seem rich and thick in this performance.


If every one of these concertos might strike listeners as a candidate for the standard repertoire, not one of them has yet entered it. Perhaps this release may start the process of admission. Like the earlier volumes in the series, this fifth volume deserves a heartfelt commendation.


FANFARE: Robert Maxham

It was a waltz that led to the success of Die Dollarprinzessin, not only in America (where the action is set) but also around the globe. Nevertheless, during it's Broadway debut the usual inserts by American composers were an absolute must, including the hornpipe quintet "A Boat Sails on Wednesday" by Jerome Kern, who until then was largely unknown. Although the New York Times found "this burlesque Apache dance" to be "very amusing," it nevertheless emphasized that "Dr. Fall's music nonetheless is situated high above such trivialities." The libretto was written by the authorial team formed by Alfred Maria Willner and Fritz Gr�nbaum. The main subject of the action: the refusal of an impoverished but proud man to let himself be bought by a woman who is just as proud but rich. The premiere on 2 November 1907 at the Theater an der Wien was loudly applauded, but the Berlin performance on 6 June 1908 became a triumph. When the five hundredth performance then was celebrated in 1909, Die Dollarprinzessin had already conquered London and New York. The 428 London performances paved the way for The Dollar Princess throughout all the colonies of the British Empire and opened the door taking it to the countries of the Romance languages, especially in South America, where La Princesa de los D�lares continues to belong to the repertoire even today!

“In any event, a more convincing case for Krommer, who is also largely forgotten as a symphonist, than the case made with this performance culture could hardly be made.” This is what Pizzicato wrote about the release of Vol. 2 of Krommer’s symphonies. Vol. 3 of this recording series completes the picture of this composer’s quest for harmonic innovations. Compared with his fifth symphony, Krommer’s sixth such work, composed two years later, has a musical language reflecting a process of radicalization. In formal and cyclical respects, however, he continues to adhere to the conventions of symphonic music of the early nineteenth century; not a single one of the four movements creates a revolutionary stir. Be this as it may, Krommer’s musical language ventures onto more rugged terrain; form and function are subject to a gradual process of dissociation. Krommer concluded the score of his ninth symphony on 17 September 1830, two months before his seventy-first birthday and only about four months prior to his death, which means that we may presume that it was one of his last compositions. After his death, however, his works no longer received attention; it is doubtful that this work was ever performed at all prior to its recording for the present release. As in the sixth symphony before it, Krommer follows convention in his ninth symphony in formal matters while offering a whole arsenal of innovative ideas by fully exploiting tonal ambivalences, pursuing new compositional paths, and separating the architectonic and functional aspects of musical form. In addition, his use of a motif of fanfare character in the first and last movements heralds the development of a motivic-cyclical design transcending movement boundaries.