A thoughtful and attractive rendering of The Play of Daniel, with Douglas Nasrawi as a wonderfully expressive Daniel, accompanied by a superbly skilled instrumental ensemble.

Andrew Lawrence-King has assembled a thoughtful and attractive rendering of The Play of Daniel. The rhythmic interpretation of the unmeasured pitches is sensitively varied. A single pitch-standard is retained throughout — which seems to me the best approach, though there are plenty of good reasons for thinking otherwise. And, most important of all, the drama works well because careful and original thought has been given to the meaning of the words: as one example among many, Daniel's final speech is prefaced with a grand organ introduction that actively frames it as a prophecy well apart from the story. In fact the entire flow of the closing scenes is particularly effectively caught.

Douglas Nasrawi is an excellent Daniel, managing to encompass the wide range of musical styles in the role without losing the strong character; and he gives a wonderfully expressive reading of the great lament as Daniel enters the lions' den. Ian Honeyman may well be the first Darius on record to portray him fully as a thoroughly nice but weak man: somehow the music invites a bolder approach at the moment when Darius usurps Belshazzar, but plainly the present interpretation works better. Harry van der Kamp is a splendidly strong Belshazzar; and all the smaller roles are well characterized.

Alongside this is a superbly skilled instrumental ensemble. There is a reasonable case for thinking instruments are unnecessary in Daniel and impede the musical flow; but here their performances are so good and so well judged that most listeners will welcome their contribution. There are many different ways of doing The Play of Daniel, but this one is thoroughly viable throughout and is a welcome addition to the catalogue.

-- Gramophone [12/1998]

Barbara Thornton and Benjamin Bagby here reaffirm their position as two of the most lucid and imaginative singers of medieval music that we have.

Quite suddenly it seems to be the turn of the Notre-Dame era to get first-rate, concentrated and intelligent attention from performing groups. Here to join the Gothic Voices record of "Music For The Lion-Hearted King" (Hyperion 0 CDA66336, 10/89) and the Hilliard Ensemble's collection of music by Perotinus (ECM/New Note 0 837 751-2, 2/90), we have a record devoted to the leading poet of the Notre-Dame movement, Philippe the Chancellor.

Nobody's work could be more welcome at the moment. One of the many astonishing and brilliant passages in Craig Wright's magisterial new book on Music and Ceremony at Notre Dame of Paris (Cambridge University Press: 1989) shows almost conclusively that Philippe and Perotinus were extremely close colleagues; they probably sat in opposite seats in the church daily for some 20 years before Philippe's death in 1236; they were joint signatories of several documents; and not only did Perotinus demonstrably set at least one text by Philippe but Philippe wrote several poems to existing music by Perotinus.

Further to that, the extremely informative note that Peter Dronke contributes to this new record mentions his own new (apparently still unpublished) reconsideration of Philippe's work, bringing its total to almost 90 songs. How much of this music for them is by Philippe himself, it is too soon to say; but he must in any case now take his place as one of the most important figures in thirteenth-century music. And a signal benefit of this record is not only that the texts are newly reedited and translated by Dronke but that they are given the literary explanation that seems indispensable for music of this kind.

In comparison with the two discs already mentioned, the ensemble singing of Sequentia may occasionally seem a little rough in intonation, blend and balance; but it is nevertheless very fine, distinguished by a forthright declamatory manner that is well suited to the mood of these heavily political and polemical poems. There might also be some room for suggesting that the emphasis on very slow declamation in the solo songs rather fights against the inbuilt momentum and mordant wit of the poems; Si vis vera takes 13 minutes when about three should have been plenty; though in the same breath one must add that Barbara Thornton and Benjamin Bagby here reaffirm their position as two of the most lucid and imaginative singers of medieval music that we have. Whatever my slight reservations in the light of other recent records, then, this is an important and highly impressive record.

-- Gramophone [11/1990]

LOCATELLI: INTRODUTTIONI TEATR

In No. 104 . . . [Kuijken] leaves you in no doubt that the central minore section (from 3'33'') is the most awesome, physically powerful music in any eighteenth-century symphonic slow movement. . . . I like, too, Kuijken’s grave, steady tread in the C minor-major theme and variations of No. 103 . . . the swaggering grandeur he brings to the final C major variation (8'21'') and the tenderness with which he shapes the quiet string phrases that usher in the coda – a sudden and magical change of atmosphere (9'20''). . . . Kuijken’s interpretations, vividly realized by his 35-strong orchestra (particularly delectable work from first flute and first oboe), can be recommended to anyone seeking these symphonies in period performances that do ample justice to the music’s boldness and imaginative reach. -- Richard Wigmore, Gramophone

These two symphonies were composed for Haydn's second visit to London, during the winter months of 1794-95. He knew the musicians for whom he was writing, and they were a virtuoso ensemble. Therefore these are among the largest scaled, most technically demanding among all his symphonies.

Kuijken's performances are very direct and fresh. His ensemble sounds on the small side for the music, which means that there are fewer strings than there might be. How this would affect a live performance would of course depend upon the size of the chosen venue. In a recording, one can only judge on the end result, and while the sound has good perspective and balance, the strings in both symphonies do sound somewhat 'under nourished'. This may be the recording, may be the playing, may be the lack of sufficient numbers to make an ample sound in tuttis. On the other hand, it may well be intended.

Kuijken's band is full of splendid musicians, and they play on original instruments. The strings use gut rather than wire, and there is little bloom and less vibrato in their sound. Too little of each for my taste, in fact, and in these symphonies this seems less appropriate than it did in the companion performances of the earlier Paris symphonies, composed during the previous decade.

Kuijken's tempi and phrasing are eminently sane and deliver some exciting rhythmic purpose to proceedings. The fast sections develop tellingly out of the slow introductions, and the overall balancing of the movements is highly effective. In fact the music sounds best in the two finales, which reveal the composer's uniquely bubbling wit.

Although the slow movements are expertly paced, in No. 102 especially the lack of bloom in the string sound denies the music some of its intensity and line. For this Adagio movement can stand a slower, more eloquent expression than this. At face value what Kuijken chooses is perfectly fine, but try alternatives such as Sir Colin Davis and the Concertgebouw (Philips) or Eugen Jochum and the London Philharmonic, and the extra richness pays dividends.

These performances have undoubted merits, and are recommended particularly to enthusiasts devoted to the 'original instrument' sound. For the more indulgent listener, it is probably best to try elsewhere. In an ideal world, these do make excellent alternatives to the larger collection, opening up fresh vistas on two great symphonies.

-- Terry Barfoot, MusicWeb International Reviewing DHM 77859

‘Rule, Britannia’ is known to everybody, but almost nobody knows its original context. It was composed as a ‘Grand Ode’ to serve as finale to Thomas Arne’s Alfred. This masque – sometimes described as a serenata, an opera or (absurdly) an oratorio – was designed as a theatre entertainment but was first performed for the Prince of Wales at Cliveden in 1740. It had a long and varied history: it was revived several times in the London theatres, not always exclusively with Arne’s music (one revival was mainly to music by Charles Burney, more talented as historian than composer). The revivals took many different forms and Arne may have written something like 70 numbers for it, but only the 22 recorded here and another eight survive (they are all printed in the 1981 Musica Britannica volume). It is a patriotic tale, thinly based on history: King Alfred (of culinary notoriety) turns up in the countryside, apparently after defeat by the Danes, is reunited with his family, and plans and executes victory over the enemy. The original spoken dialogue, not included here, is by James Thomson and David Mallett.

` This recording offers the overture – a spirited three-movement piece with a slow section in Arne’s typical plaintive vein – and 18 songs, plus a couple of ensembles. Arne was a gifted theatre composer and many of the songs happily catch the mood and situation, the sad ones in particular – there is Queen Eltruda’s mournful little opening air, with its pathetic flute echoes; Prince Edward’s touching ‘Why beats my heart’, with its graceful lines and hints of the minor key, when he is reunited with his father; there is Edith’s lament for her ‘youth adorn’d with ev’ry art’, with its switch from E major to E minor as she relates her beloved’s death’ and later there are extraordinary airs for the Spirits, both in D minor – one a solemn prayer, the other using oboes to imitate weeping. Some of the quicker numbers are more ordinary, but most are inventive as well as ingeniously and often evocatively written.

Nicholas McGegan is adept at capturing the character of these pieces; his tempos are well chosen and he brings out the distinctive orchestration in those items that use wind instruments (chiefly oboes and horns, but of course trumpets on occasion). David Daniels sings Edward’s music – originally for a castrato, the famous Guadagni – in his pleasantly even and fluid countertenor, and Jamie MacDougall, an admirable stylist, phrases gracefully and projects the words clearly as Alfred – and his pianissimo singing is finely controlled in Alfred’s big central number, ‘From the dawn’. Of the two sopranos, Christine Brandes is bright and direct in manner in the music for the shepherdess Emma and in the first of the Spirit airs; Jennifer Smith’s Eltruda is done with finesse and warmth. Oh, I nearly forgot to mention ‘Rule Britannia’: it is shared between MacDougall and Smith, as King Alfred and Queen Eltruda, with trumpets and horns, and you may find the tune, as Arne wrote it – not to say the harmony and the orchestration – slightly different from what you are used to. And better, actually. Altogether a disc I very much enjoyed.'

-- Stanley Sadie, Gramophone [9/1999]