The Washington National Cathedral Choir (comprised of the Choir of Men and Boys, and the Choir of Men and Girls) is one of the few cathedral choirs in the United States with an affiliated school in the English Tradition—and this is their first recording on Gothic with their new director, Michael McCarthy. Appointed in 2003, McCarthy was the founding director of the London Oratory School Schola. The Schola recorded for the film scores of both The Lord of the Rings film trilogy and the Harry Potter film series. McCarthy brings a fresh approach to Benjamin Britten's Ceremony of Carols, and delightful readings of many other Christmas carols. One of America's finest Anglican choirs! - Gothic Records

Benjamin Britten: A Ceremony of Carols, Op. 28
Britten: A Hymn to the Virgin
Richard Rodney Bennett: Suanni
arr. Robert Lucas de Pearsall: In dulci jubilo
arr. John Stainer: What child is this
Kenneth Leighton: Lully lulla
arr. Sandys, Bramley & Stainer: I saw three ships
Morten Lauridsen: O magnum mysterium
John Rutter: There is a flower
Peter Warlock: Bethlehem Down
Peter Wishart: Alleluya! A new work is come on hand

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A strikingly alert, fresh-faced reading of the Young Person's Guide, but the major attraction is the Sinfonia da Requiem, which immediately impresses with the focus and sheen of the orchestral playing.

I haven't enjoyed Britten's endlessly resourceful Young Person's Guide so much in ages... [A] strikingly alert, fresh-faced reading... When it comes to the Grimes Interludes, [Slatkin] concentrates on meticulous refinement, with radiantly airy textures throughout: the results are more coolly detached than we are used to hearing and often strikingly beautiful... [W]hat's more, [he] offers a notable bonus in the shape of a lucid and (once again) strikingly refined account of the ''Passacaglia'' from the same opera.

So what is left on the RCA collection? Well, there's a most eloquent, beautifully poised rendering of the Purcell Chaconne—Britten's loving realization can rarely have sounded more beguiling. But the major attraction here is the Sinfonia da Requiem. This could hardly start more promisingly, with fearsome ff timpani blows and balefully growling tuba. Again, what immediately impresses is the focus and sheen of the orchestral playing, but there's a price to pay, perhaps, in the shape of some lack of emotional thrust. It's the Dies irae centrepiece which bears this observation out most clearly: the demons certainly don't scamper quite as malevolently as they do on the composer's own 1964 Decca recording (which still, by the way, sounds absolutely stunning three decades on!)... Of course, this movement's shattering disintegration is as hair-raising as ever, and in the concluding ''Requiem aeternam'' Slatkin transmits a soothing, consolatory glow that many will find deeply moving.

In sum, [a] superior, finely engineered [addition] to the Britten discography; indeed, I can't imagine the majority of collectors will find much to disappoint them here.

-- Andrew Achenbach, Gramophone [3/1994]

Peter Pears gives the words their full due and sings with sensitive mastery, while Julian Bream plays with unfailing affection. The enthralling music and superb performances makes this out-of-the-way record a joy.

To a very considerable extent this record is a tribute to Julian Bream's playing; had he not been around, the two song cycles and the Britten folk-song arrangements (and for all I know, other items too) would never have been written. And very enjoyable it all is. The two song-cycles are, I think, near each other in quality, but some way apart in effect, for the Britten is obviously written to suit Peter Pears and Julian Bream, whereas the Walton seems at times to be written, as it were, against them. Thus the second song needs to be sung (I apologize for the word) saucily, the fifth with a degree of inebriations, and they are not really within Pears's emotional range. You might think the last one beyond the powers of most singers, so difficult is it, but in fact Pears makes a very good shot at it, and it is surprisingly effective. But Lady, when I behold the roses seems better suited to the performers' style and, a lovely song, it comes off without any sense of strain. The words of these songs ("chosen by Christopher Hassall"—why didn't Walton choose them?) all date from the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries, and their charm is among the cycle's chief attractions.

The Britten Songs from the Chinese date from 1958, two years before the Walton, and they are settings of some of Arthur Waley's exquisite translations. Peter Pears gives the words their full due, and sings with sensitive mastery, while Julian Bream plays the marvellous guitar part with unfailing affection. I'm told that Britten himself did a good deal of guitar practice when writing these songs, and it would be interesting to hear him attempt them. His recent folk-song arrangements are delightful, and at least one of them has a guitar part of formidable difficulty. The Seiber arrangements of French folk-songs are simpler in style, but lovely to hear, and the Fricker setting of 0 Mistress mine, is delightful... [T]he enthralling music and superb performances and splendid quality makes this out-of-the-way record a joy.

-- R.F., Gramophone [7/1965, reviewing the original LP release]

This Chandos production must now be first choice for this work.

Welcome to John Gay’s and Benjamin Britten’s romp through some seamy but also colourful and vibrant elements of 18 ^th century London. This work established the ballad opera in which spoken dialogue alternated with musical items. Gay’s satirical words were set to well-known traditional and popular tunes. Two hundred and twenty years later Britten added 20 ^th century accompaniments.

What’s entirely Britten here is the fresh caterwauling Overture (tr. 2) in which the various characters are given brief sound-portraits. There’s an oboe of sinuous sweetness for Polly (0:40), a cavorting clarinet for Macheath (1:29), suave strings and a jocular bassoon for the highwaymen (2:35) and a bantering circus-like master of ceremonies style for Mr Peachum (3:25). It’s all terrifically realized by the City of London Sinfonia who play marvellously throughout.

But what of the songs? Filch’s ‘’Tis woman that seduces all Mankind’ (tr. 5) is a good example of Britten allowing an original tune free rein while giving it modern dress with balmy woodwind and harp. The heroine Polly comes in (tr.12) to strains of her first song over which there are snatches of dialogue. This, like the melodrama which shortly follows (tr. 20), is Britten’s neat way of subverting the claim in the opening dialogue that this opera will have no “unnatural” recitative. Polly’s first song, ‘Virgins are like the fair flower in its lustre’ has as its tune Purcell’s ‘What shall I do to show how much I love him?’ from Dioclesian. Like its original, it is shown by Leah-Marian Jones to be at once wistful and coy. Her duet with Susan Bickley’s Mrs Peachum, ’O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed’ (tr. 15) catches well a cosy lullaby make-believe, aided by the gently rocking strings’ accompaniment. It’s lovely but only fleeting. Another notable accompaniment is the flutter-tonguing flute illustrating Polly’s ‘The Turtle thus with plaintive crying’ (tr. 19).

The highwayman hero Macheath enters and Tom Randle proves courteous enough to Jones’ simpering. The duet between Macheath and Polly, ’Were I laid on Greenland’s coast’ (tr. 22) is sweetly done but I felt the singers were over-conscious of the need to match the flowing orchestration and then the addition of chorus and drum. Some of the natural freshness is lost that’s present in the 1963 Aldeburgh Festival staging on DVD (Decca 074 3329). In this Chandos CD ‘The Miser thus a shilling sees’ (tr. 24) responds better to the typical careful attention of conductor Christian Curnyn’s approach. The disciplined emphasis of rhythm in its thorny progression matches the text’s poetic expression of loss. A pity, however, the second appearance of “Till home and friends are lost at last” (1:54) isn’t, as marked in the score ‘(in the distance)’ as the lovers go their separate ways. It’s an effect achieved in the BBC broadcast recording of the original 1948 production conducted by Britten (Pearl GEM 0225).

The highwaymen’s ’Fill ev’ry glass’ (tr. 26) is a drinking song of the sturdy, resolute variety in 2009 where a lustier abandon was shown in 1948. ‘Let us take the road’ (tr. 28) is infused with eagerness because of the excitement Britten and Curnyn convey in sketching the approach of the coach. Tom Randle’s Macheath has a too cultivated spoken voice but his singing is virile enough. You can hear this in ‘If the heart of a man is depressed with cares’ (tr. 29), marked as a caressing Andante backed by sweetly musing violin solo and rocking clarinet. Again I felt the line was held back a little in deference to the detail of the accompaniment. At this point Macheath is visited by a parade of prostitutes and what’s entertaining in the Decca DVD is rather curious here. With no sounds incorporated of women moving around, squealing and the like , you might think Macheath is imagining it all. I guess this is so as not to detract from Britten’s own variety parade of instruments, a kind of ‘Young Person’s Guide to Women’. There’s a superb tambourine to enliven the headiness of ‘Youth’s the season made for joys’. Randle sings with sunny freedom the ad libitum ‘Ah’s above the chorus repeat, though the top C final phrase is left to a soprano. Now betrayed by the women, his ‘At the Tree I shall suffer with pleasure’ has a disciplined testiness but less venom than Decca’s Kenneth McKellar.

Again more telling in this Chandos production is the more meditative material. The opening song of Act 2, ‘Man may escape from rope and gun’ (CD2, tr. 2), where Randle shows how transfixed Macheath is in his repetition of ‘woman’, savours past joys even while aware they’re the cause of present pain. Sarah Fox, as Lucy Lockit, is scarily efficient in her spite in ‘Thus when a good Housewife sees a rat’ (tr. 3). Polly’s response is the more sensitively elegiac ‘Thus when the Swallow seeking prey’ (tr. 10) and here Leah-Marian Jones is rich, smooth and eloquent. For me, however, Macheath’s ‘How happy could I be with either’ (tr. 11) is taken so fast it becomes too much a tongue-twister virtuoso piece losing some of its whimsy. In 1948 Peter Pears’ lighter touch was more effective. Polly has the easier task of rising above all this with ‘Cease your funning’ (tr.12), whose merging into the chorus and distancing of perspective are successfully achieved before we’re brought back to earth with a vengeance by Lucy’s crisp, snappy ‘Why how now, Madam Flirt!’ (tr. 13). The finale begins with Lucy and Polly showing great resolve. ‘No power on earth can e’er divide’ (tr. 14) is well progressed by Curnyn to an exciting ‘Horay’ trio response from Macheath, Lockit and Peachum. The there’s then increasing speed with a backing chorus in Sullivanesque abandon.

The opening song of Act 3, Lucy’s ‘When young at the bar’ (tr. 16) should be familiar as the tune is Purcell’s ‘If love’s a sweet passion’ from The Fairy Queen. Fox invests it with its original sad yearning while Curnyn points the claustrophobic cloying nature of Britten’s rich scoring of the wry accompaniment. Of a different order and part of the score’s kaleidoscopic variety is the relished archness of Frances McCafferty as Mrs Trapes delivering ‘In the days of my youth I could bill like a dove’ (tr. 21) with relished archness. To this is added the raucous carousing of Lockit and Peachum. Shortly there’s also the poignancy of Lucy and Polly’s ‘A curse attends a woman’s love’ (tr. 25). The paradox that these two candidates for Macheath’s affection can at one moment be united in their shared sense of rejection and understanding of the impossibility of their situation and at the next daggers drawn as rivals and eager still to court Macheath with warm affection at ‘Hither, dear husband, turn your eyes’ (tr. 28) is exploited dramatically. Fox’s pleading for Macheath’s life with ‘When he holds up his hand’ (tr. 31) ought to be the more persuasive, aided by Britten’s obbligato oboe accompaniment. ‘The Charge is prepared’ is a stock, formal chorus considerably pepped up by Mrs Peachum’s triumphant ‘Ah’s and glissando shrieks over its orchestral postlude.

Britten creates a closing scena (tr. 34) with Macheath in the condemned cell at first extolling the virtues of drink when about to die, then recalling pretty women. This gives way to the questioning protest ‘must I die?’. This is well sung by Randle but doesn’t quite have Pears’ grasp of the torment of ever-fluctuating contrasts of mood. Polly and Lucy offer a moving show of support, ‘Would I might be hanged’ to the heavily insistent backdrop of the funeral knell. In 1948 Britten’s knell is less weighty but more searing. Macheath realistically confesses ‘my courage is out’. The spoken dialogue wipes this all away. The highwaymen begin an address directly to the audience to demand the playwright provides a reprieve and all the players join in so the work can end with a dance. This bit of trickery and the rejection of the moral that vice must be punished works better in sound alone than the quicker and tamer removal of justice in the DVD. So you finish the Chandos sound recording remembering the company’s lusty tra-las and Fox’s top C.

This Chandos is the fullest version of the three currently available in the UK, playing at 117:52 in comparison with Decca’s 93:50 and Pearl’s 79:03. The differences are largely down to the Chandos including more of Gay’s spoken dialogue with alterations and additions by Tyrone Guthrie though even here I’d guess about a quarter of the dialogue published in the full and vocal scores has been cut. I don’t think this is a disadvantage because there’s a good deal of repetition in the text anyway. However, some musical numbers are also cut in the other recordings: Mrs Peachum’s ‘If Love the Virgin’s Heart invade’ (CD1 tr. 9) can only be heard here. To see the piece staged is a benefit. On the DVD the dialogue generally has a touch more pace and life, being less self-conscious in delivery. In the same vein the switch from dialogue to music flows more seamlessly and the folksong origins of many of the tunes are delivered with a more disarmingly innocent directness. The feeling between the characters is clearer in the ensemble numbers. The 1948 recording is striking for the verve of Britten’s direction, the charm of Pears’ light heroic manner and the lovely unforced upper register of Nancy Evans as Polly. Listen to her in ‘The Miser thus a shilling sees’. On the other hand it also at times adopts an over-romantic style, as in ‘O Polly, you might have toyed and kissed’ or is too patrician as in ‘Virgins are like the fair flower’.

To conclude, then, although sometimes more studied and deliberate than it might be, including careful points of emphasis within the dialogue, this Chandos production must now be first choice for this work. It also offers you in most luxuriant detail the colour and density of Britten’s orchestration.

-- Michael Greenhalgh, MusicWeb International

These are outstanding performances, as good or better than the composer's own. Edward Gardner tears into the Four Sea Interludes with uninhibited excitement. It's great to hear the high violins and flutes in "Dawn" swooping and soaring like the gulls that they're supposed to be evoking. "Sunday Morning" has an infectious bounce, while "Moonlight" casts a rapt stillness abruptly shattered by perhaps the most vicious storm on disc. It's one of those versions you will listen to and say, "Finally, that's the way it should go!"

The suite from Gloriana is still a comparative rarity, which is a pity, as the music really is first-rate Britten. But then, so is the opera; why anyone cares that it flopped at its premiere is beyond me (the Queen allegedly was not amused, as if her opinion matters). The Lute Song is very nicely sung by Robert Murray, but the version for oboe rather than voice strikes me as more appropriate within the context of the symphonic suite as a whole. Granted, Britten used Peter Pears, but that was an opportunity for him to give his partner something to do while on tour.

Finally, there's the Cello Symphony: a tough, somewhat gnarly work that receives a performance every bit as fine as Britten/Rostropovich, which still remains the benchmark version. Paul Watkins and Gardner somehow make music out of the low, grotty opening, pacing the movement as unerringly as did Britten himself. The finale works its way up to a wonderfully life-affirming conclusion, and Watkins does a wonderful job with the lengthy preceding cadenza. In short, this release is a major entry in the Britten discography, and the sonics are every bit the equal of the interpretations.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

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"One of the most unlikely of mystics, Benjamin Britten penned his Hymn to the Virgin when he was just sweet 17. In its antiphonal responses between eight-part choir hymning the Virgin’s virtues in English and four-strong semi-chorus echoing their phrases back at them in Latin, it’s a gift to the Choir of Westminster Abbey, singing on its home ground, under Martin Neary. This all-Britten collection surrounds the familiar Ceremony of Carols – surely the most affecting anthology of its kind ever composed – with less familiar items like the Wedding Anthem for Lord Harewood and Marion Stein (now Thorpe) and the Christopher Smart setting Rejoice in the Lamb, plus a guest performance, as it were, of Canticle II: Abraham and Isaac with its other-worldly opening for unison alto and tenor (Michael Chance and Ian Bostridge) as the Voice of God – worth a million dollars, as BB himself confided to Tippett...This disc is one of the best things [Neary and the Westminster Choir] have done."

-- BBC Music Magazine

(Previously available on CHAN8983/4, now discontinued) Recorded in: St Jude on the Hill, Hampstead, London 24-28 February 1991 Producer(s) Brian Couzens Sound Engineer(s) Ralph Couzens Ben Connellan (Assistant

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Chandos features a varied selection of orchestral works by Benjamin Britten, performed by the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra under Richard Hickox, to mark the great composer's centenary year on this re-release. Included works are the Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra, Suite on English Folk Tunes, the Suite from Johnson over Jordan, and Four Sea Interludes.

BRITTEN Solo Cello Suites: Nos. 1–3 • Daniel Müller-Schott (vc) • ORFEO C 835 111 A (70:33)

Next to Bach’s six, there are probably no greater challenges to the art of the cello than the three suites for solo cello of Benjamin Britten, even considering those by Hindemith and Reger. Britten had wanted to compose six but died before he could write more than three. No matter; these are major pieces, and it is good to see them coming more into their own with a number of recent recordings of all or some of them.

We are told that it was hearing Rostropovich play the first Shostakovich cello concerto in 1960 that impelled Britten to write a sonata for him, which they performed the following year, and to write the Cello Symphony in 1963. The three suites followed in 1964, 1967, and 1971. It is customary to grant Rostropovich authority in the performance of the first two suites (he never recorded the third), though he himself had some later reservations about his recording of the first, because he thought he played it so much better later. But these suites have now become the province of young cellists and that’s a good thing.

Daniel Müller-Schott has all the technical skills necessary (a phenomenal pp , for instance). He takes a forthright approach to the first suite. The opening Canto is firmly stated and adumbrates what follows. His performance sounds to me more a matter of statements about than a lyrical exploration of Britten’s voice. On the whole, he seems much more comfortable in the second suite, though the concluding Ciaccona occasionally loses its sense of line. The third suite, however, starts off with a wonderfully caressing Lento, and Müller-Schott is completely engaged with what follows. No recording of Bach’s or Britten’s suites, however good, and this is certainly a good one, can take the place of hearing them live.

This recording is certainly to be recommended and it gets better as it goes on. Müller-Schott has a slightly grainy sound and this fits his approach. He has clearly taken to heart Leonard Bernstein’s view of Britten’s music that “if you really hear it, not just listen to it superficially, you become aware of something very dark.” These are dark recordings, indeed. This is not the only view possible of these suites, however, and I am also much taken with the more lyrical one by Tim Hugh (Naxos), a recording that seems to have slipped past us, and Peter Wispelwey has a recent (2010) live recording of the first suite that is wonderful to hear (Onyx). These are good times for Britten’s response to Bach.

FANFARE: Alan Swanson

To mark Britten's 100th birthday, Mariss Janson's conducted the composer's best-known and most moving work, War Requiem, in March 2013. In addition to the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra and Chorus, the Tolz Boys' Choir can also be heard. An outstanding ensemble of soloists rounds off this remarkable recording.

*** This title is a reissue of a Japanese release with liner notes in Japanese. ***

Okay, you're not going to find the insane intensity of Rostropovich/Vishnevskaya/Reshetin in Ormandy's Fourteenth symphony, but as you might expect, this Western premiere recording is really well played, and surprisingly well sung. Simon Estes has a rich, dark bass sound, and Phyllis Curtin is, in her own way, practically as intense as Vishnevskaya. Ormandy's conducting could be more volatile, particularly in the quicker songs, but he was always an excellent interpreter of this composer, and it's good to see this disc reappearing in Japanese RCA's Ormandy edition. The Britten pieces are also surprisingly effective given their late date in Ormandy's career. Again, the "Storm" could be a bit wilder, but the Passacaglia is terrific. Sonically this really is pretty good for its 1970s RCA vintage. Available from Arkivmusic.com, on-demand.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

The Grace Cathedral Choir of Men and Boys, San Francisco, under the direction of conductor Benjamin Bachmann, present a program spotlighting 20th century composers and choral arrangers in the Anglican choral tradition. The voice of a cathedral choir soaring upward like the great building it fills is a thrill and an inspiration to even the most unmusical listener. Grace Cathedral has had a men’s choir since its founding in 1906, but it was not until 1913 that boy’s voices were added. The centuries-old Anglican tradition of a men and boys choir has since blossomed here, as one of a handful of such choirs in the US. The Cathedral music staff oversees an extensive program of choir rehearsals (including mixed-voice volunteer choirs), music classroom work with the choristers, education for the cathedral congregation, concerts, choir tours, and a wide variety of other musical activities in the life of this cathedral and beyond. The choir tradition continues to flourish into Grace Cathedral’s second hundred years, inspiring those who are privileged to hear it, and bringing back fond memories to old choristers.

800 liters of water, two sails, thirty pulleys, sixty hammocks : for the Bicentenary of the Teatro Real of Madrid, Deborah Warner coined a colossal production of Benjamin Britten's Billy Budd. "Oh, what have I done?" Captain Edward Fairfax Vere, former commander of the H.M.S. Indomitable asks himself with horror at the beginning of the opera, before recounting the tragic events that took place aboard his ship in 1797. The story revolves around a young model sailor, Billy Budd, and John Claggart, the unscrupulous master-at-arms obsessed and crazed by Billy's angelic beauty; and follows the characters in their fall down to the most infernal depths of perversion and psychosis, exploring the themes of innocence, culpability, individual responsibility and justice. In this ambiguous and symbolic tale, drawn from Herman Melville's last masterpiece, the composer Benjamin Britten, who returns for the occasion to symphonic opera and it's infinite possibilities, unsettles and disturbs us by revealing the complexity and universality of human experience. Far from writing the characters as allegories of Good and Evil, the opera shows us instead the remorseless logic followed by the surge of one's darkest desires. But in this opera dominated by masculinity, Deborah Warner goes beyond the story of violence, jealousy and hatred and chooses to focus instead on the collateral beauty produced by comradeship, friendship and forgiveness. Tenor Jacques Imbrailo, who knows the title role perfectly, delivers a stunning rendition of the young sailor's part, while British singers Toby Spence and Brindley Sherratt provide solid interpretations of Captain "Starry" Vere and of John Claggart. In the pit, Ivor Bolton masterfully deploys, along with the Orchestra of the Teatro Real, all the energy and power of Britten's fifth opera.

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A most beguiling release crowning the Britten centenary. Les Illuminations and the Serenade for tenor, horns and strings are two of Britten's most enduringly popular works. Tenor Peter Schrier, heard here at the height of his powers, with Herbert Kegel conducting the Leipzig Radio Symphony Orchestra. Reissue of performances dating from 1967 recordings done in the then DDR (German Democratic Republic). Booklet includes both liner notes and the sung texts.

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Staged by Luc Bondy.

Sound: PCM Stereo, Dolby Digital 5.1, DTS 5.1
Subtitles: English, French, German, Spanish

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BRITTEN War Requiem • Paul McCreesh, cond; Susan Gritton (sop); John Mark Ainsley (ten); Christopher Maltman (bar); Gabrieli Young Singers’ Scheme; Trebles of the Ch of New College Oxford; Wroclaw P Ch; Gabrieli Consort & Players • SIGNUM 340 (2 CDs: 84: 05)


Time was when Paul McCreesh was considered a specialist—and a brilliant one—in the Baroque and Classical periods, primarily in operas and liturgical choral works. In the last two years, however, he has released four extraordinary recordings, three of which might seem, at least to the record collector, to be outside his domain: the Berlioz Grande Messe des Morts , Mendelssohn’s Elijah , and a collection of British choral works on loss and consolation, A Song of Farewell , featuring the Herbert Howells Requiem. (The only exception is a newly refined conjectural reconstruction of the 1595 coronation service for Doge Marino Grimani in Venice.) Now, for the Benjamin Britten centennial, he has produced a new studio recording of the incomparable War Requiem . Each of these large scale undertaking is an outgrowth of McCreesh’s association with the International Festival of Oratorio and Cantata Music in Wroclaw, Poland (Wratislavia Cantans) and each employs not only a much augmented Gabrieli Consort and Players, but also the very fine Wroclaw Philharmonic Choir. Those familiar with McCreesh’s earlier masterful shaping of the large musical canvasses of Berlioz and Mendelssohn with his hundreds of performers will know exactly what to expect here.


And in fact, from the hushed suspense of the opening of the Requiem aeternam , to the more gentle than usual beginning to an extraordinarily powerful Dies irae , on to a more accurate than typical Sed signifier sanctus Michael , and an explosive Hosanna in excelsis , McCreesh and his 175-voice adult choir combine huge dynamic range with precision and flawless balance, perfect intonation, and great depth and variety of tone. The equally fine youth choir is made up of trebles from the Choir of New College Oxford, as well as choirs from McCreesh’s educational project, the Gabrieli Young Singers’ Scheme: Chethams Chamber Choir, North East Youth Chorale, Taplow Youth Choir, and Ulster Youth Chamber Choir. From its first appearance in a perfectly judged halo of resonance, the distanced body of treble voices is touchingly angelic.


The full orchestral forces make an awesome commotion in all the right places, the brass especially impressive in the various apocalypses and dramatic explosions; the one with organ near the end of the Libera me gave me chills. However, the chamber music, with an ensemble of superb soloists, lingers just as long in memory, aided as they are by McCreesh’s willingness to suspend forward momentum, to focus more than customary attention on details in the settings of Owen’s poems. I do not know a recording that gives greater support to the soloists than this.


These soloists know how to use the opportunities afforded them. McCreesh opts for an all-British trio, rather than continuing the symbolic use of English, German, and Russian soloists. More than many tenor soloists, John Mark Ainsley manages to break the hold of the Peter Pears tradition in the solos, while still being true to the substance of the work. He sings “One ever hangs” with breathtaking beauty of tone, and finds great poignancy and palpable fury in “Move him into the sun.” Baritone Christopher Maltman does the same in “Bugles sang,” sounding little like Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau but matching him in text pointing and intelligence of phrasing, here and in a chillingly scornful “Be slowly lifted up.” Together, they are arresting in “So Abram rose,” aided by McCreesh’s perceptive pacing, as they had been in the earlier sardonic “Out there, we’ve walked.” Susan Gritton is not as piercingly imperious as Galina Vishnevskaya in the Sanctus or Libera me , but the beauty of her voice in the Benedictus and the concluding In paradisum is more than ample compensation. The two male soloists outdo themselves in the concluding scena, “It seemed that out of battle I escaped,” and if “Let us sleep now” does not reduce you to tears, nothing in music can.


My two small complaints seem almost churlish in the face of such perfection: first, the books in which this and all of McCreesh’s Signum/Winged Lion releases are issued are quite beautifully done—texts, intelligent notes, and striking illustrations—but the endsheet sleeves invite scratches and, as in my case, surface scuffs. There must certainly be a better way. The second is the decision to provide only six tracks for the entire work, one at each of the major divisions of the Mass. Maybe only critics making comparisons care, but it would have been simple to add more.


But enough, the essential question is, does this new recording supplant Britten’s own with the soloists for whom he wrote the work? Britten was a master conductor of his own music, so almost inevitably the answer is, well … no. And yet, so powerful is McCreesh’s performance, so insightful the interpretive choices, so fine the soloists, and so clear and dynamic the recording, it would be hard indeed to have to choose between this and the original. Adding to the dilemma, Decca has just remastered the 1963 Britten recording from the master tapes—described as increasingly fragile—for its comprehensive anniversary issue and has made yet another incremental improvement in the transfer of the always fine Culshaw production. I recommend having both in the collection—this is, after all, no different than having multiple Beethoven symphony sets—and for the truly devoted, add Noseda’s hyper-dramatic performance on LSO Live and Rilling’s on Hänssler. There are other fine performances of this masterpiece, but these four—and definitely this new one—now define summa cum laude.

FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames

'A disc of exceptional quality, reinforcing The Sixteen's reputation as one of the finest choirs of our day.' Gramophone "The Sixteen perform Britten's virtuosic masterpiece with fearsome accuracy and a luxurious sound." Classic FM Magazine "Britten's mastery for writing for unaccompanied chorus is here demonstrated in fine performances..." BBC Music Magazine This superb collection, released in celebration of the 100th anniversary of Britten's birth, features all three of The Sixteen's celebrated Britten recordings. Arguably the most famous British composer of the 20th century, Benjamin Britten possessed a formidable talent and distinctive style. His remarkable career spanned over 40 years and this collection of choral works features a fascinating selection of music from throughout his life. Works include Hymn to the Virgin, a piece originally conceived during his school days; A Boy was Born which first brought him to the public's attention; the much-loved A Ceremony of Carols - a masterpiece composed on board ship as Britten returned to England from the USA in 1942; and the Choral Dances from 'Gloriana' with tenor soloist Ian Partridge. A Ceremony of Carols won a coveted Deutsche Schallplattenkritik when first released.

Britten's 'A Ceremony of Carols' is a masterpiece composed on board ship as Britten returned to England from the U.S.A. in 1948, a touching evocation of boyhood lost but never forgotten. 'A Boy was Born' is a work that first made Britten famous, based on a theme and variations of astonishing ingenuity. The 'Missa Brevis', written for the boys of Westminster Cathedral, is a gem that is some ways looks forward to the 'War Requiem' which came two years later.

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Praise for Chloë Hanslip's confident excursion into unfamiliar territory

-- Gramophone [4/2008]

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Benjamin Louis Paul Godard, the son of a businessman, was born in Paris on 18th August, 1849. A child prodigy on the violin, Godard studied with Richard Hammer and later Henri Vieuxtemps. At the age of fourteen (some sources say when he was ten) Godard was admitted to the Paris Conservatoire and studied composition under Henri Reber. His first published work was a violin sonata written when he was sixteen. In the mid-1860s he twice competed unsuccessfully for the Prix de Rome. From this time forward Godard dedicated himself to composition, first writing chamber music (he played viola in several chamber music societies), and numerous piano pieces. He was especially inspired by the music of Robert Schumann, and orchestrated Schumann’s Kinderscenen in 1876. In 1878 his Le Tasse was a joint winner of the prize for musical composition given by the city of Paris. Le Tasse is a three-part dramatic symphony with soli and chorus based on a poem of Charles Grandmougins, which was in turn based on The Damnation of Faust. In succeeding years Godard composed an enormous amount of music, including three programme symphonies (Symphonie Gothique, Symphonie Orientale, and Symphonie Légendaire), three string quartets, four violin sonatas, a cello sonata, two piano trios, numerous piano pieces, violin and piano concertos, various orchestral works, and over a hundred songs. Godard is chiefly remembered for his operas. His first opera, Les bijoux de Jeanette, was produced in 1878; Pedro de Zalamea followed in 1884. His next opera, Jocelyn, based on a poem of Lamartine, appeared in 1888. Its fame rests mainly on the well-known Berceuse, which has been arranged for numerous combinations of instruments and/or voices and remains Godard’s most familiar work. It has been performed by Jussi Björling, John McCormack (in English translation as “Angels Guard Thee” and with the violin accompaniment of Fritz Kreisler), Alma Gluck, Pablo Casals, the Eroica Trio, and many others. Godard’s operatic output also included Dante et Béatrice (1890), Jeanne d’Arc (1891), and La Vivandière (1895; unfinished at his death and completed by Paul Vidal). The conductor Jules Étienne Pasdeloup admired Godard’s music and allowed Godard to conduct many of his own premières. After Pasdeloup’s retirement, Godard created theConcerts Modernes in an attempt to continue Pasdeloup’s Concerts Populaires , but this lasted only one season (October 1885 – April 1886). In 1887 he was appointed a professor at the Paris Conservatoire, and in 1889 was made a Chevalier of the Légion d’honneur. Godard died of tuberculosis at Cannes on 10th January, 1895.

Godard’s was unquestionably a romantic temperament, though more closely aligned with the romanticism of the mid-nineteenth century than with Wagner and Tchaikovsky; his talent has been compared with the facility and manner of Saint-Saëns. His respect and admiration for Robert Schumann has already been noted, as has his tutelage under Henri Vieuxtemps, one of the great romantic violinist-composers of the nineteenth century. Godard’s music has sometimes been criticized for superficiality and “over-hastiness”, and truly he composed at a prodigious pace, reaching Opus 100 in 1886 while still in his thirties. In romantic fashion his symphonies are “named”, and his operas contain the soaring melody and romantic sensibility expected of romantic opera, though his stage works quickly fell out of favour. Among his operas, the unfinished opéra comique La Vivandière had the greatest success. Godard’s music follows the traditions of Mendelssohn and Schumann, and he had little sympathy for the overblown rhetoric of Wagner, especially since, being of Jewish extraction, he disliked Wagner’s anti- Semitism. Like the early romantics Godard excelled in small forms. The nineteenth-century scholar Hervey wrote that “Godard is perhaps greater in small things than he is in large. There is an exquisite charm in some of his songs … whilst many of his piano pieces have a savour all their own.” A new appreciation for Godard’s achievement in small pieces, once dismissed as salon music, has grown in recent years. Godard’s achievement is best summed up as “traditional romantic”.

While focusing much of his compositional career on other forms and instruments such as opera, songs, and piano pieces, Godard did not neglect the instrument on which he had excelled as a youth. His violin concertos are among his very best works and display both inventiveness and élan. The Violin Concerto No. 2, Op. 131, is in the traditional three movements. The opening Allegro moderato features alternating chords by soloist and orchestra from the first measure; this gesture is fleshed out with scale runs by the soloist and snatches of a motif consisting of a half note and triplets. The main lyric theme enters after a ritardando; this is worked to a climax and repeated forte. After a brief orchestral statement, the soloist launches into a cadenza featuring double, triple, and quadruple stops as well as a glissando run. The thematic materials are reworked and the movement ends with the usual flourish. The following Adagio quasi andante features a steady triplet orchestral accompaniment underneath the main lyric melody, at first alluded to by solo horn, and then taken up fully by solo violinist. The contrasting midsection, in 6/8 time rather than the 4/4 of the movement’s beginning, contains double-stopping and short runs, then slowly returns to the 4/4 main lyric material and the steady triplet accompaniment, which accompaniment is finally discarded in the coda. The final Allegro non troppo is a bouncy movement in 2/4 time, a delightful rondo romp from beginning to end.

The Concerto Romantique, Op. 35, is a much earlier work and in some ways more experimental. Hervey wrote that in the Concerto Romantique Godard’s talent found “its true expression. The composer of these works is in the full force of his powers, and it is not too much to state the belief that he has yet much to say”. Unfortunately Hervey’s book was published in 1894, just months before Godard’s untimely death. The first unorthodox feature of this concerto is that it has four movements instead of the usual three. The first movement, marked Allegro moderato, while of a more dramatic character than the other movements, is relatively brief for an opening movement, which tend to be the “heaviest” and longest movement. After a sixteen-measure orchestral introduction, the soloist enters fortissimo with a highly accented martial theme in double stops. After an orchestral interlude, the violin sings a lyric theme; these materials eventually lead to a section marked Recitativo, which is in the nature of an accompanied cadenza. A coda brings the movement to a close. The graceful Adagio non troppo is connected to the following Canzonetta, marked Allegro moderato, by a short improvisatory section. This is Godard’s most famous concerto movement, and until the mid-twentieth-century was often published by itself or in collections in violin and piano arrangement. It is a delicate and highly accented song, only briefly discarding its gossamer character for more sustained lyricism. The final Allegro molto opens with a dramatic statement in the orchestra; the soloist enters with a theme marked Agitato ed appassionato molto. This theme is interspersed with passage-work, some of scherzo-like character. The soloist’s final peroration features double-stops and the movement ends with appropriate high spirits.

The atmospheric Scènes Poétiques for Orchestra, Op. 46, contains four short bucolic pieces depicting various outdoor scenes: Dans les bois (In the woods), Dans les champs (In the fields), Sur la montagne (On the mountain), and the bustling Au village (In the village).

Bruce R. Schueneman

I sat down to type up this review late on the evening of Tuesday 1 June 2010. Halfway through doing so, wanting to check a date, I went to the website devoted to Benjamin Lees, where I was faced with the following announcement: “IT IS WITH PROFOUND SADNESS THAT THE FAMILY ANNOUNCES THE PASSING OF COMPOSER BENJAMIN LEES ON MAY 31, 2010”. This review - written on the day after the composer’s death - necessarily becomes more of a memorial than I intended it to be when I sat down to put it together.
 
Lees was born in China, brought up and educated in California. From 1949 to 1954 he studied with George Antheil who acted as a largely unpaid tutor out of respect for Lees’ abilities. From the mid-1950s onwards his works began to be performed quite widely and by distinguished performers, without his ever perhaps becoming a ‘major’ figure in American music. A Guggenheim fellowship enabled him to spend much of his time in Europe in the second half of the 1950s. Never a composer who aspired to be thought of as especially ‘American’, these European years were important for Lees, years when he could evolve his own voice without direct involvement in the style wars of American music. Prokofiev, Bartók and Shostakovich became important exemplars for Lees.
 
In a 1987 interview with Bruce Duffie, when the interviewer enquired “in a great number of your own works, you have used the traditional approach - Slonimsky calls it accessibility - which makes your music attractive to conductors and soloists.  Is this something you have consciously built in to your pieces, or is this an outgrowth of what you wanted to write innately?”, Lees answered as follows: “The accessibility, I suppose, comes from something that George Antheil told me when I was studying with him.  He put it very succinctly, and it was one of those catch words which stuck in the memory.  He said, “Music must have a face.  A theme must have a face, something which is really recognizable, both to you and to the listener.”  And again, it matters not what style a person writes in, but it cannot simply be amorphous.  It cannot be really formless and it cannot be merely notes spinning”. Certainly Lees’ music never seeks to exclude listeners, or to make their life needlessly difficult by the flaunting of the composer’s ‘cleverness’. Nor, on the other hand, does he write down, or write to please some lowest common denominator of taste and demand. Like any substantial composer, Lees seems always to have been true to himself, to have been serenely unworried, so far as one can judge, by matters of mere fashion or popularity. Honesty, indeed, has always struck me as one of the hallmarks of his work, a directness of communication. It seems appropriate that he should once have said that “there are two kinds of composers. One is the intellectual and the other is visceral. I fall into the latter category. If my stomach doesn’t tighten at an idea, then it’s not the right idea.”
 
Most attention - and perhaps rightly so - has been paid to Lees’ orchestral works, not least his five symphonies. But, as this disc demonstrates well and clearly, he also had plenty to say in that other ‘classical’ form - the string quartet, of which he wrote six. This rewarding Naxos disc contains three of them in fine performances by the Cypress Quartet, for whom the fifth and the sixth were written.
 
The Cypress Quartet begin their programme with Lees’ first quartet, written in 1952, and premiered the following year in Los Angles - and in 1954 played in New York by the Budapest Quartet. In three movements (moderato-adagietto-allegro vivo) it has an appealing grace, at its most obvious in the adagietto, a lovely moment that exudes a simplicity - created by considerable art - and only slightly troubled lyricism that has a more or less pastoral quality. In the movement that precedes it some crisp and dynamic writing alternates with more reflective passages. In the last movement - essentially a rondo - the writing is engagingly animated, seeming to speak out of a mind full of ideas and eagerness. A quartet well worth hearing - especially when so well performed - but not yet fully embodying the composer’s mature voice.
 
The two ‘late’ quartets give us that voice in abundance. The four movements of the fifth quartet (measured - arioso - quick, quiet - explosive) form a musical argument of considerable density, marked both by striking moments and a sense of larger design. The writing for cello at the opening of the first movement, and the ensuing dialogue with the other instruments is one of those striking moments. Another comes in the second movement when an aggressive intervention by the cello disrupts the meditative conversation of the two violins. The more one listens, the more such moments one discovers. The third movement is a miniature delight (it lasts less than two minutes), music of evanescent beauty. The contrast with the fourth movement could hardly be more marked - full as it is of musical contention and turbulence, of assertion and annoyed counter-assertion, a conflict not so much resolved as serving to fuel a still angry ending.
 
Where the sixth quartet is concerned the composer’s markings for its four movements say most of what the mere reviewer might want to say about the work: “measured, dolorous - calm, steady - quiet, eerie - unhurried”. And they are! The use pizzicato passages is a particular feature of this quartet - notably at moments in the first and third movements. Without any wilful oddity or eccentricity, Lees creates some fresh and interesting effects at more than one point in this quartet. To say that one can ‘hear’ his respect for Bartók and Shostakovich is not, repeat not, to belittle his work as derivative. It is merely to recognise that, like 99% (or more!) of all artists, Lees was not a toweringly inventive figure. He was a highly accomplished craftsman who had listened to, and learned from, the music of the past and the present; a composer who refused to be merely modish or to chase the fashionable at the cost of fidelity to what he felt to be right for him.
 
It is, I hope, timely to celebrate Lees’ achievement, immediately after his death. Not a composer of spectacular fame, he worked with a seriousness and truth that some more famous fall short of.
 
-- Glyn Pursglove, MusicWeb International