The veteran British piano duo of Anthony Goldstone and Caroline Clemmow present two major world premieres: the first recording of the piano duet transcription by lieder-writer Robert Franz of the ‘Death and the Maiden’ Quartet, and the first recording of the ‘Unfinished’ Symphony in a full four-movement performing edition for piano duet including arrangements by Anselm Hüttenbrenner (Schubert’s friend), Anthony Goldstone, and Friedrich Hermann. It includes a completion of Schubert’s part finished Scherzo and the Rosamunde Entr’acte, widely believed to have been the intended finale.

Includes work(s) by Frédéric Chopin.

At the tender age of 15, Francis Poulenc was introduced to a circle of daring French composers that included Eric Satie and Georges Auric. The experience no doubt left a mark on the young composer, whose style is wonderfully eclectic and ever challenging throughout. Poulenc became a member of this circle, a celebrated group of French composers that also included such luminaries as Arthur Honnegger and Darius Milhaud. Nicknamed "Les Six," they changed the face of French music forever.
This recording, the fourth in a series dedicated to the chamber music of Poulenc, offers a healthy cross-section of the composer's work in the genre, with particular attention paid to his vocal works. Poulenc's music is dizzyingly eclectic, and this recording of chamber music includes his celebrated "cantate profane," 'Le Bal masquè.' The delicious whimsy of 'Le Bal masquè' comes to life in a superb performance by baritone Franck Leguérinel and a talented instrumental ensemble. Purely instrumental works are included as well, including the rarely heard 'Sarabande for guitar,' played by Pierre Laniau with a sensitivity that captures the work's dreamy spirit.

Unaffectedly straightforward with a disarming simplicity in which charm lifts imperceptibly into the most intense utterance, moving us compellingly through the salon-like early pieces to the increasingly desolate soundscapes of old age. Exemplary. Classic. Spellbinding.



FAURÉ Nocturnes (complete) • Charles Owen (pn) • AVIE 2133 (79:36)


Fauré’s son, Philippe Fauré-Fremiet, described the composer’s playing: “His hands were strong and looked heavy; in fact they were supple and light. He hardly raised them above the keys but was able to obtain any effect he wanted. He had a horror of virtuosity, of rubato and effects aimed at making the audience swoon. He followed the printed notes meticulously, keeping strict time. What was so overpowering about his playing lay below the surface, in the areas of thought and emotion where teaching is helpless to guide you.” To which Jessica Duchen, in her annotations for David Jalbert’s unfortunate tilt at the nocturnes (Endeavour 1014, Fanfare 30:1), adds, “To play Fauré’s piano works successfully, a pianist must have a tremendously flexible technique, a strong sense of contrapuntal voicing and, perhaps above all, the ability to convey those sensuous, intertwining lines and subtle harmonies without allowing structural rigor to slacken. While playing this music with no expressive fluctuation whatsoever could seem excessive, a healthy respect for his ‘pudeur’—modesty veiling the immense sensuality beneath—is as essential to faithful Fauré interpretation as good posture is to the dance.” Both observations describe Charles Owen’s way with the nocturnes—unaffectedly straightforward, rhythmically steady (but breathing and never rigid or inflexible), the pedal sparingly used, allowing a light touch (graciously deft in animated passages) to articulate with absolute clarity while imparting moments of aquarelle-like color (rather than the heavily sustained impasto of the average pianist), all making for a disarming simplicity in which charm lifts imperceptibly into the most intense utterance, moving us compellingly through the salon-like early pieces, the opulent ecstasies of the middle nocturnes, and the increasingly desolate and despairing soundscapes of old age. Duchen confects a final elegance with other, no less gracefully penetrating, annotations. Avie captures Owen closely, at the optimal point where clarity flares into spaciousness. Exemplary. Classic. Spellbinding. And enthusiastically recommended.


FANFARE: Adrian Corleonis

Expressive, atmospheric, intelligent performance.

I was highly impressed by and still very much relish my time spent with Daniel-Ben Pienaar’s Mozart’s complete Piano Sonatas on AV 2209. Fans of this set will find all of this promise further fulfilled in this Goldberg Variations, though as a reviewer it would have been an easier task to welcome slightly less well-trodden repertoire. Pienaar’s Bach is magnificent and, to a point, individual, but does it really stand out in such a crowded field?
 
Daniel-Ben Pienaar poses as many questions as he provides answers in his deeply considered and well written booklet notes for this release. He doesn’t point to specific influences with regard to his interpretations in this great keyboard work, but develops ideas on its place and time both in the present, as well as the alliances formed between the circumstantial and the timeless – qualities and values inherent in the music itself, and the ways in which these can be approached and adapted by players over time.
 
This is a probing intellectual interpretation which on occasion displays dazzling feats of speed, but which is more often a more introverted exploration of the piece. It is almost as if Pienaar is playing for his own satisfaction, and leaving it up to us to decide whether we want to listen and take the journey with him. The compact timing reflects brisk tempi at times, but the unhurried feel of the playing and a minimum of ornamentation also allows a highly selective observation of repeats to remain a credible choice. Pienaar doesn’t work much with ‘variation within variations’, so there is no sense we are being cheated out of colourful technical insights and improvisational touches by not hearing certain bars come around for a second time.
 
Comparisons can be made ad nauseam, but looking at another recent take on the Goldberg Variations by Nick van Bloss on the Nimbus Alliance label shows how personality shades identical music into fascinatingly different manifestations. Bloss is the more extrovert of the two, seeking wit in the music and cheekily expressing it with effects like an occasional extra octave wallop in the bass. This ‘vibe’ turns his performance into more of a public experience – no less well considered than Pienaar’s, but introducing Bach to the bustle and language of the street: the call of market traders and the revving of motors. Bloss’s Bach isn’t rough and ready, but is easily the more resistant to external knocks and blows, and in this way is more of a challenge to Glenn Gould’s 1955 Goldberg Variations, the recording which gave the work and its performer such a remarkable hit status at that time.
 
This is not to say Daniel-Ben Pienaar’s recording is weak-willed and softly undemonstrative, but there is a gentler side to his playing – perhaps also a side-effect of a rather rounded piano sound – which brings out the warmth in the heart of the music rather than its big venue street-cred. There is bounce and life where Bach demands it, in the first variation for instance, and this sets the pace for the first grouping of variations which concludes with a rousing Variatio 4. Extremes of speed are a feature of some variations, and Variatio 5 is the first such example, acting as little more than a prelude to Variatio 6. Pienaar’s sensitivity to Bach’s dance style is demonstrated in a Giga which barely touches the floor, so light is his touch on the keyboard. The second grouping of variations has its finale in a robust performance of the Variatio 10 Fughetta. Central to the next group is the expressive Variatio 13, in which the little inner rubati which Pienaar uses make the performance seem that much more reflective and yes, introverted. The sound appears almost to want to stay within the case of the piano, rather than broadcast to the last row of an invisible audience. This is not to say the playing is timid, but you could equally imagine this as a clavichord performance. Variatio 14 blows away the mood created in a horizontal shower of sparkling notes, again making it a sort of prelude to the gently eloquent lines of Variatio 15, which concludes another ‘block’ within Pienaar’s structuring of the piece.
 
The conjoining of variations is a feature of a slow, almost tentative sounding Variatio 20, which serves as a launching point for an arguable too swift and brutal Variatio 21, which goes at a speed too fast for our minds to keep up. The expressive highlights of Variatio 21, 22 and 25 are all done marvellously, though without extremes of slowness or attempts to seek too far beyond Bach’s notes beyond what is already so miraculous on the page. Pienaar does dive for pearls, but not in a disproportionate sense – no need for extra breathing apparatus, though the atmosphere is breathtaking. He writes of the ‘return home’ of the Quodlibet in the way that “the use of folk songs suggests quite literally a return to shared ancestral roots.” In this way the final repeat of the Aria is more of a coda and a release, the feeling of which is palpably expressed by Daniel Ben-Pienaar.
 
As a bonus to the Goldberg Variations we are given a continuous passacaglia version of the Fourteen Canons BWV 1087, which are based on the first eight bass notes of the Aria from the Goldberg Variations. I’ve been intrigued by these little gems for a while now, but while Pienaar’s more lively moments are good you have to get used to his overly straight opening and an occasional over-prominence of the bass line in places. If you want to discover these fascinating canons have a listen to the Hänssler Bach Edition Musikalisches Opfer CD 92.133 which, along with the canons BWV 1072-78 is the version which convinced me that J.S. Bach was one of the first minimalist composers, even to the point of momentarily confounding our reviewer. Pienaar’s programme concludes with a lovely prayer-like performance of Bist du bei mir from Bach’s Anna Magdalena Notebook, the source of the Aria from the Goldberg Variations, or at least where it sees its first appearance in Bach’s manuscripts.
 
To conclude, this is a superbly expressive and atmospheric recording of the Goldberg Variations. One may not quite agree with the occasional extremes of tempo, but there is little doubting the jigsaw-puzzle accuracy and attention to detail with which Daniel-Ben Pienaar has formed his shaping of this masterpiece. Subsequent to my review of the Mozart sonatas I was contacted with regard to the piano sound, which one commentator found rather ‘harsh, full of reverb, somewhat lacking in definition’. I’m still quite happy with the sound quality of this, though I partially take the point about the reverb and definition. This Bach was recorded at the same location and the reverb is less by comparison; the instrument that touch closer to the microphones, something which can make all the difference. It’s perhaps not quite ‘demonstration’ piano sound with a little more mid-range bloom than makes for perfection, but is still very good.
 
-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International

Prokofiev, S.: Piano Sonatas Nos. 1-3 / Visions Fugitives

Ondine proudly presents a release featuring violist David Aaron Carpenter, “the hottest violist of the 21st century” according to Norman Lebrecht, and “stunningly talented” by The New Yorker, and member of the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Dreamtime features the titular solo viola work by Robert Mann (1920). Frank Bridge (1879–1941) is one of the most outstanding composers for viola. The longest work on the disc is Brahms’s Clarinet Quintet Op. 114 in the version for viola and string quartet.

BEETHOVEN Piano Sonata Nos. 1; 2; 3; 28; 29, “Hammerklavier” • Paavali Jumppanen (pn) • ONDINE 1248 (2 CDs: 143:37)


It has become a fairly common practice to program very early and very late Beethoven on the same recital. The purpose is obvious, but always useful; to compare and contrast the evolution of Beethoven’s style. Some pianists will point to the differences more starkly by emphasizing the strong Classical roots of the three opus 2 sonatas, as compared to the mystical Romanticism of the mighty final sonatas, including the massive “Hammerklavier.” The young Finnish pianist Paavali Jumppanen opts for an approach that seeks the commonality in the music, extracting kernels of that mysticism in the first sonatas, and emphasizing the Classical beauty and structure that still resides in the sprawling worlds of late Beethoven.


Jumppanen enhances this sense with generally leisurely tempos, which allow him to render textures with alluring clarity and balance, as well as pearly tone. The gentle pace of his playing is significant, because it flies in the face of the historicists who are keen to observe the metronome markings that Beethoven meticulously applied to his works, even years after they were composed (the metronome was patented in 1815). I am not one of those reviewers who normally lists competing timings, but in the case of Jumppanen’s “Hammerklavier” first movement, for example, the numbers are striking. He clocks in at 12: 08. No pianist in my collection comes close to such a crawl. Richter, 10: 35. Ashkenazy, 10:40. Horszowski, 11:39. Taub, 9:12. And the speed king, Schnabel, who attempts to hit the metronome marking of the composer, a remarkable 8:45.


These are not performances that carefully avoid the infusion of the performer’s personality. Jumppanen puts a certain gloss on the music that historically minded listeners might find off-putting, as I normally would. I also generally prefer this music a bit on the brisk side, although it is silly to expect performers to slavishly follow the metronome markings, which, for any number of reasons (and mere speculation) may not be accurate. But there is no denying the beauty of this playing. Jumppanen is no cookie-cutter pianist, and if my caveats do not bother you, there is much to enjoy here. Ondine’s beautiful recorded sound is no little bonus.


FANFARE: Peter Burwasser

Classical Music

Classical Music

Classical Music

Franz Liszt’s mystical piano cycle, Harmonies Poétiques et Religieuses takes its title from a collection of poems by the French romanticist Alphonse de Lamartine and underwent an unusally long period of gestation, written over a period of two decades. Liszt’s religious and abiding preoccupation with poetic themes in his creative works was in part fueled by his passion for the works of and friendship with de Lamartine. Given a splendid interpretation by pianist, Michael Korstick.

“When it comes to serving music through pianistic brilliance…tone and interpretive intelligence, then Michael Korstick is in his element.” (FonoForum) Among critics and informed citizens of the piano world, this Köln native enjoys considerable renown as one of Germany’s leading pianists. Mr. Korstick has proven to be an individual interpreter, creating new benchmark recordings, whether in works of unknown composers or the standard literature, He won the 2005 Echo-Klassik prize in the category Solo Recording of the Year for this rerelease of Schubert’s B flat major Sonata, D960.

Classical Music

What if four celebrated nineteenth-century composers—Mendelssohn, Schumann, Bruckner and Brahms—had written original works for brass septet? This disc explores that fascinating counterfactual twist, re-imagining choral and organ works by those composers. The arrangements call on the full dynamic and tonal range of the instruments—often extended with a multitude of mutes—to imitate the expressivity of the choir, the power of the organ, and the versatile sonorities of its different registrations and manuals. In dazzling and varied combinations the arrangers and performers together persuade us that this could indeed be original brass chamber music.

Ola Gjeilo was born in Norway in 1978 and moved to America in 2001 to begin his composition studies at the Juilliard School in New York City. Presently a full-time composer and pianist based in the US, his published concert works are performed all over the world. Ola is also very interested in film, and his music draws a lot of inspiration from movies and cinematic music. "Although many of the pieces on this album are free improvisations recorded in one take, the first three tracks are fantasies around three of my own choral works; Ubi Caritas, Tota Pulchra Es and Prelude." - Ola Gjeilo, 2012.

Vladimir Feltsman has a long-established reputation as a major artist. His 1987 arrival in the United States (after a seven-year shutdown of his career by Soviet authorities) was greeted with loud huzzahs. His first American recital took place at the White House, and his ensuing Carnegie Hall debut was recorded in its entirety. His repertoire covers everything from Bach through the 20th century. Recording first for Melodiya, then for Sony, then Camerata, he has now made a great many recordings for Nimbus since 2008.


These seem to be Feltsman’s first recordings of Haydn; his readings are very personal, as if he were trying to be different from every other performance or recording. There are many unmarked and unexpected tempo changes, some amounting to Luftpausen more appropriate to mid-19th-century music. Such playing can be either invigorating in its freshness or cloying in its fussiness; it would no doubt upset period practice purists. As a long-time lover of conductor Willem Mengelberg’s erratic ways, I would expect to be open to Feltsman’s performances, but I can be invigorated and exasperated by the same passage on succeeding days. I am bothered by Feltsman’s wildly inconsistent playing of the C-Minor Sonata, but maybe that’s just me: I have never been satisfied with any performance and am not even sure what I want from this often recorded piece. The only pianist to come close is Youri Egorov, yet I cannot cite anything special in his recording; he just plays it straight, offering no special insight.


I listen again as I write this, and I continue to be disturbed by the dichotomy: Such magnificent pianism takes the breath away, yet such inappropriate music-making almost loses Haydn. Then comes the opening Presto of the E-Minor Sonata: Feltsman understands well that the vibrancy of a Presto is never based on speed alone. Every mark in the score is faithfully observed, the clarity and sheer life of the playing are inimitable; there is only one slight slowdown at an internal cadence, and a thrilling virtuoso flourish—lasting less than a second—is tossed into the second repeat. I could keep, and recommend, this two-CD set for this one track. But the following Adagio is filled with bluster and virtuoso posturing (in his program notes, Feltsman calls it “elaborate ornamentation in the manner of C.P.E. Bach.”), and the final Vivace molto wanders fitfully, searching in vain for its true character. So it goes throughout both discs. Listening again to the C-Minor Sonata, Feltsman produces a lovely, yearning character in the opening measures, but after a minute or so his odd phrasings, unexpected pauses, and sudden violent attacks spoil the mood.


The opening Andante con espressione of the C-Major Sonata is fascinating here. Feltsman’s left hand is leonine, like nothing since Cliburn. But a cutesy twist of the three chords in measure nine breaks the spell before it has a chance settle in. In the Presto , there is an awkward moment during the repeat of measure 17 (at 0:37) that sounds like a too-tight edit, cutting a fraction of a second from the music. Nimbus’s trademark reverberance is too much for this tempo, blurring what seems to be pristine pianism. The Eb Variations are gentle, subtle music, and Feltsman has a strong feeling for them. There is not a single virtuoso excess in its 17 minutes.


It’s clear that Feltsman can do anything he wants at the keyboard, and do it better than almost anyone else. One constantly receives the impression that one is listening to a dominant artist. But his style of playing generally does not suit Haydn—Sviatoslav Richter could get away with it because he was so sensitive to every type of music. It works on and off for Feltsman. I equate his playing with Nimbus’s recorded sound: both are brilliant but overdone, too glittering, too shiny. Has any piano ever sounded this bright, with a tiny halo around every note? The results are not for me, but that doesn’t mean they may not be for you. What I do recommend is that every piano lover hear these performances.


Postscript : The package is a single-CD-sized jewel case, but the swinging inner tray fell out every time I opened it. It’s long past time to abandon the fragile jewel case.

FANFARE: James H. North

Performances alive with vitality in well defined recordings.

Clara Rodríguez has been recognised for some time now as an ideal pianist to perform missionary work on behalf of Latin American composers. She has performed the works of Venezuelan Federico Ruiz with fidelity and has earned the dedication of some of them; Tropical Triptych and Nocturne were written for her.
 
The music in this recital reflects an interesting range of influences, dance patterns and stylistic affinities. Merengue, composed in 1994, establishes Ruiz’s penchant for rhythmic vitality and romantic refinement. There is a long cycle of small character pieces called Pieces for children under 100 years of age, written between 1982 and 1994. Droll as the title is, it wouldn’t matter much were the music dull. That, assuredly, is not the case. There are hints of a Latin Chopin in the opening Prelude, whilst he summons up the spirit of Chaplin ( Charlot) in the second piece of the set. This turns out to be a touch of Ragtime, so it’s not properly Chaplin that’s being evoked, it seems to me, more the piano accompaniment provided in cinemas and movie theatres to some scenes from his films. Our Lady of Sorrow is properly wistful whilst there’s great charm to Magic Dream. It’s important that he establishes mood quickly in these pieces as they are all so short – none is longer than three minutes. The Dictator rides a moped is amusing for its out of control sequence; Dictators clearly can’t ride them. Debussy haunts the Encounter of Antonio and Florentino and there’s a laconic Cha cha cha further on in the sequence. Altogether this is a lively, imaginative and witty set.
 
The Three Venezuelan Waltzes, composed during the 1980s, are disparate but bound together by their origin in the waltz. The Nocturne is somewhat different, being rather chromatic and obviously effusive, and it’s played by its dedicatee with aplomb. Very different again, indeed the work of a much earlier Ruiz, is the Micro-Suite of 1971. The five succinct movements, more succinct indeed than the children’s pieces, are decidedly Webern-like, and suggest the journey Ruiz has undertaken from this rather formalised use of twelve-tone, to his later absorption of local models and rhythms.
 
We return, finally, to a more recent Ruiz in the shape of Tropical Triptych composed in 1993. When Ruiz conjoins rhythmic brio with lyrical intensity, as here, the results are idiomatic and exciting. His propensity for Ragtime, and a bit of Gottschalk, Ginastera and Milhaud certainly doesn’t hinder him either.
 
To these qualities and affiliations one can add that he writes, so it seems, with considerable pianistic affinity. The performances manage to get across this vitality in well defined recordings.

-- Jonathan Woolf, MusicWeb International

Classical Music

Classical Music

"Feltsman’s nocturnes seem to have been available twice before, first on Urtext Records and then on Camerata. This apparently is their first review in Fanfare. They were recorded as far back as 2000 in the Moscow Conservatory’s Great Hall, with superb sound engineering. Feltsman gives us one of the great sets of the nocturnes. This is music of suggestions and inferences, and Feltsman absolutely nails them. The First Nocturne sounds like a cradle song. For No. 2, Feltsman writes that Chopin provided embellishments to it for his students, so Feltsman has added ornaments following Chopin’s lead. The results are charming. No. 3 seems pensive. A childhood reminiscence with a dark side appears in 4, with a resemblance to Schumann’s Kinderszenen. No. 5 offers a story told among friends. A walk at nighttime occurs in 6. One watches a sunset in 7. No. 8 presents a reverie along with a sip of wine. For 9, we may think of someone writing a diary entry. No. 10 seems about thinking of the beloved. No. 11, on the other hand, is about love lost, with a sense of resignation.

No. 12 could take place by a stream. In 13, we contemplate death—there is a resemblance here to the funeral march of the Second Sonata. No. 14 perhaps takes place on a summer evening. An important question is posed during 15. No. 16 apparently contains the recollection of a dance. An intimate conversation is related during 17. No. 18 may portray a dinner between two lovers. No. 19 is about a lover’s despair. The sentiment in 20 is of the poignancy of young love. No. 21 sounds mazurka-like. I can think of two digital recordings of the nocturnes in Feltsman’s league, by Daniel Barenboim and François Chaplin, but Feltsman’s may prove the most satisfying on a regular basis.

Feltsman’s Barcarolle is fluid and majestic. His Berceuse is a pianistic kaleidoscope, with shifting textures and colors.

It’s perhaps worth remembering that the first recording by Feltsman issued on a U.S. label was Chopin’s preludes. He really is a Chopin player to the manner born. His sense of line is infallible, and no detail is so small as to escape his attention. Plus, he has the rare ability to convey an atmosphere, which is essential to a great Chopin style. That Feltsman has made a considerable career playing Bach may not be coincidental, given Chopin’s love for Bach and the subtlety of the Pole’s harmony. What’s more, Feltsman’s love for Chopin absolutely comes across in these recordings. You really can’t fake the excitement and affection that suffuse these readings. Feltsman here matches the greatest Chopin performances preserved in recorded sound. These [recordings] are likely to remain touchstones for decades to come."

FANFARE: Dave Saemann

Classical Music

"Martin Jones’s recordings of Percy Grainger have been gathered together into a 5-CD box set of the Complete Works, NI1767, in which form they were reviewed by Jonathan Woolf in March 2011 but we don’t seem to have reviewed this generous selection. It’s all that many potential listeners will want and I see that it’s advertised as available again. My copy of the CD dates from 1994. It’s not a reissue of a single CD from the set but a compendium of Grainger’s best-known works.

Let me deal with the least attractive part first: as Jonathan Woolf noted, the recording is not to everyone’s taste – it’s certainly too reverberant for my liking, but it didn’t get in the way of my enjoyment too much. Subscribers to the Naxos Music Library might wish to try it there first but give it a chance: after a few tracks you’ll hardly notice any problem.

Just about all the likely suspects are included in the programme, together with several pieces that I would hardly have described as well-known: track 4, for example, offers Grainger’s take on Dowland’s Now, O now, I needs must part. It’s in a style far removed from the madly dancing Percy Grainger that viewers of a certain age will retain from Ken Russell’s film about Delius – that’s Grainger, that was – and, though I hardly recognised Dowland’s original tune from Grainger’s treatment, he does retain the gravity and melancholy spirit of the original.

Much the same is true of My Robin is to the Greenwood gone (track 7) – the original tune is submerged in Grainger’s arrangement of what emerges as a fine piece in its own right. Nor is a folk tune such as Near Woodstock Town (track 15) quite the same after Grainger’s treatment. Mock Morris on the following track makes no pretentions to be other than Grainger’s own take on folk music – it only sounds as if it were based on a folk tune. In many respects it’s more quintessentially Grainger than anything else and it’s brought off to perfection here.

There are several arrangements here: the next track after Dowland (tr.5) contains Blithe Bells, Grainger’s arrangement of Schafe können sicher weiden (Sheep may safely graze), though, again, Bach’s original is almost lost in the latter part of the arrangement – it’s much more Grainger’s ‘own’ than Walton’s take on the same piece in The Wise Virgins. Other tracks contain arrangements of Stanford, Tchaikovsky and Richard Strauss – a characteristic Ramble on the final love-duet of Rosenkavalier.

The pop items are skilfully interwoven in the programme, starting with Handel in the Strand (track 1). Memories of George Malcolm playing this on the harpsichord are not erased but Martin Jones offers idiomatic and dextrous performances of the well-known and lesser-known works alike. Getting your fingers around the notes in a piece like the Stanford March-jig (track 9) is only half the story; the other half, which Jones contrives beautifully, is summoning an image of Grainger himself dancing to it around Delius’s garden.

On the following track we’re on Irish territory again in very different mood for the Tune from County Derry (alias Danny Boy). Does Jones milk the sentiment here slightly too much in the manner of those Irish tenors such as Josef Locke whom my father and grandfather worshipped? I think so, but perhaps my great-grandfather’s Irish blood was simply running a little too thin by the time it reached my generation. In any case, Marc-André Hamelin on Hyperion is faster and less sentimental here (see below). John Pickard’s observation in the booklet that ‘Grainger’s music shares with Bach’s the fact that, no matter how slowly one plays it, it always sounds satisfying’ looks as if it might have been written in defence of Jones’s tempo for this piece.

On track 11 Grainger and Jones take on the opening of Tchaikovsky’s First Piano Concerto single-handed, and do so surprisingly effectively. No question of too slow a tempo here.

Only if you are likely to be put off by the recording should you need to look elsewhere. If you do, you are likely to find a 1996 recording by Marc-André Hamelin on Hyperion your best choice – a very similar selection to that on Nimbus, on CDA66884 (CD or download in mp3 or lossless). If anything, Hamelin is even more fleet-fingered than Jones, but there’s not much to choose between them. If it’s the orchestral arrangements that you’re looking for, look no further than the inexpensive Introduction to Percy Grainger (Chandos CHAN2029: Bargain of the Month – see review), a sampler for their excellent complete series (see review), or another budget-price Chandos selection (CHAN6542, Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra/Kenneth Montgomery).

With first-class performances and excellent notes there’s a lot to be said in favour of this single-CD selection. Don’t blame me if it leads you to purchase the complete box, or if the Chandos sampler tempts you to buy some of the recordings in that series."

-- Brian Wilson, MusicWeb International

Classical Music

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.
Recording information: Peter-und-Paul-Kirche des Klostergutes Holthausen bei B (05/18/2007-05/19/2007).