Gaubert: Works for Flute, Vol. 3

The two main works on this recording are among the peaks of twentieth-century Norwegian orchestral music.

Composer, performer, teacher, music publisher and piano manufacturer, the Italian-English piano virtuoso Muzio Clementi stood at the vanguard of musical development in Europe. His piano sonatas influenced Beethoven with their treatment of complex harmony, structure, and texture. Clementi’s Gradus ad Parnassum, a collection of 100 stylistically diverse pieces, stands as a monument to Clementi’s technical and expressive mastery of the instrument. Award-winning pianist Alessandro Marangoni has been acclaimed as playing “naturally and beautifully” (ClassicsToday.com / Gradus ad Parnassum Vol. 1 / Naxos 8.572325).

It was not until his fifties that the fiercely independent Giorgio Federico Ghedini came to be acknowledged as one of the finest Italian composers of the 20th century. This first of Naxos' two-disc survey of Ghedini' complete piano music begins.

DI VITTORIO Overtura Respighiana 1. Symphony No. 2, “Lost Innocence 1.” Ave Maria 2. Symphony No. 1, “Isolation 1.” Clarinet Sonata No. 1 3 • 1,2 Salvatore Di Vittorio, cond; 2 Respighi Choir; 3 Benjamin Baron (cl); 1 New York “Ottorino Respighi” CO • NAXOS 8572333 (56:52)


RESPIGHI Aria for Strings. Violin Concerto in A. Suite for Strings. Rossiniana: Suite • Salvatore Di Vittorio, cond; Laura Marzadori (vn); New York “Ottorino Respighi” CO • NAXOS 8572332 (77:32)


If Palermo-born Salvatore Di Vittorio (b.1967) is new to you (as he is to me), based on these two Naxos releases you might be justified in thinking he’s a third-generation relation to Italian composer Ottorino Respighi. That’s because as a conductor, Di Vittorio leads an ensemble he founded and named “Ottorino Respighi” Chamber Orchestra of New York in a program of works by Respighi. As an arranger, he revised and/or completed three of the works heard on the second of these two discs. And as a composer, Di Vittorio has been hailed as a “lyrical romantic … following in the footsteps of Respighi.” Though a reading of Di Vittorio’s biography on his website (salvatoredivittorio.com/bio.html) discloses no direct link to the former composer, it appears that Respighi is near and dear to Di Vittorio’s heart.


In a sense, you might say that in at least one of his compositions, Overtura Respighiana , Di Vittorio has channeled Respighi to write music that the real Respighi might have written himself, for the piece is a devilishly delightful concoction that plays on Respighi’s Rossiniana and Pines of Rome , fusing them with references to Di Vittorio’s own music, to create a kind of freshly minted Boutique fantasque.


The Symphony No. 2, titled “Lost Innocence,” on the other hand, does not, as far as I can tell, quote anything by Respighi, but the brilliant swatches of instrumental color Di Vittorio weaves into and through this striking musical tapestry is reminiscent of Respighi’s way with the orchestral palette. Di Vittorio tells us that the work was inspired by the tragedy of the Yugoslav civil wars in the late 1990s. Its four movements—“Requiem for a Child,” “Dance of Tears,” “Childheart,” and “Elegy: Marcia Funebre”—at least up until the finale, reflect a calm that is neither quiet nor peaceful, but one that builds toward a shattering, tragic ending.


The Ave Maria for a cappella women’s chorus is one of Di Vittorio’s conservatory works, written in 1995 (revised in 1998) after graduating from the Manhattan School of Music. At first it struck my ear as fairly dissonant, sounding almost like it could have been written by Penderecki, Lutos?awski, or Vasks, but as the piece unfolded, emerging from the harmonic counterpoint were passages that, with just a few minor adjustments to the voice-leading, sounded as if they might have come from a cappella moments in Verdi’s Requiem. Di Vittorio confirms that impression in his booklet note, stating that a number of influences run through the piece, from Palestrina and Monteverdi to Verdi, and that “in particular, certain resemblances may be traced to Verdi’s choral Ave Maria .” The effects of Di Vittorio’s piece are quite arresting, simultaneously stark and austere yet illuminated from within by a shimmering light that leads to a most meltingly beautiful cadential Amen.


The Symphony No. 1, titled “Isolation,” dates to one year before the Ave Maria but was revised in 1999. No borrowings from Respighi appear in this score either, yet his spirit hovers over it in the luminous divided string writing and exquisite chiaroscuro effects. This is a strings-only work, and according to Di Vittorio one of its influences was Vivaldi’s seldom-performed Sinfonia al Santo Sepolcro , RV 169, one of Vivaldi’s most harmonically tortured works, written in a highly chromatic idiom intended to represent Christ’s pain and suffering. For Di Vittorio, the “Isolation” Symphony is meant to depict man’s alienation from himself and his fellow man. If you were to listen to the piece without knowing that, I’m not sure you would necessarily pick up specifically on that theme. The music is sad, to be sure, even brooding, but more than once it put me in mind of Barber’s Adagio for Strings , a piece that is somehow uplifting in its tragedy.


The Di Vittorio-as-composer CD closes with another work revised in 1998, the Clarinet Sonata No. 1. Not reflected in its title is the fact that it’s a piece for unaccompanied clarinet, which is a bit of a challenge for both composer and performer, considering that a solo wind instrument, unlike a violin or cello, can’t make its own harmony by playing double-stops or chords. But I suppose if Bach and Debussy could write for unaccompanied flute, there’s no reason the solo capabilities of other wind instruments shouldn’t be explored. Di Vittorio notes that he drew inspiration and advice for the work from his father, Giuseppe, who was a clarinetist. Di Vittorio claims to have been influenced by Verdi, Brahms, Berlioz, and elements of French Baroque dance, though these elements are not easily discerned due to the nature of the music’s syntax and style, which consists largely of loosely connected contrasting phrases that never quite seem to coalesce into an identifiable whole. Nonetheless, Benjamin Baron’s very accomplished clarinet playing invites further listening and offers a promise that there is more to this piece than meets the ear on first hearing.


Critics can be a cruel lot—I know because I’m one of them—and there are those who will say, and already have, that music like this being written today is irrelevant. That’s a strong sentiment, for sure, but nowhere near as judgmental as someone like Pierre Boulez would be. He is quoted as having said that composers who write music like this simply don’t exist, prompting an acquaintance of mine to describe Boulez as “the Dr. Mengele of France.” With one wave of his hand, off you go to the gas chamber. My attitude, as expressed on a number of past occasions, is that beautiful music is beautiful music, regardless of when it’s written, and Di Vittorio proves himself with this CD to be a composer of beautiful music extraordinaire. I strongly recommend this release to you for many hours of listening pleasure.


The second of the two entries consists entirely of music by Respighi, though Di Vittorio has had a hand in the realization of three of the four of the works as heard on the disc. I’m not sure just how seriously Respighi was ever taken by critics and the academic elite, but thanks to a small number of works—primarily his Roman trilogy, the Ancient Airs and Dances suites, and La Boutique fantasque —he came to enjoy considerable exposure and popularity, especially in the U.S. Toscanini premiered the third number of the Roman trilogy, Feste Romane , with the New York Philharmonic in 1929, and then went on to record the piece for RCA twice, once in 1942 with the Philadelphia Orchestra and a second time with the NBC Symphony Orchestra in 1949, adding the Fountains of Rome in 1951 and the Pines of Rome in 1953. Toscanini wasn’t the only one to climb aboard the Respighi bandwagon. Mengelberg premiered the composer’s Toccata for Piano and Orchestra with the New York Philharmonic in 1928, and the Boston Symphony Orchestra commissioned Respighi’s Metamorphoseon for its 50th anniversary in 1931.


Yet of Respighi’s nearly 200 scores—among which are nine operas, five ballets, several concertos, quite a few chamber works, and a considerable volume of vocal and choral numbers—a good deal of it is unrecorded and rarely, if ever, performed. The reasons seem to be twofold. First, the critics and opinion-makers, while acknowledging the composer’s gift for colorful orchestration and pictorial illusionism, regarded the music as “derivative,” “cinematic,” and even “vulgar,” by which I prefer to think they meant lacking in substance and depth rather than tawdry and tasteless. The truth of the matter is that there is nothing any more cinematic or “vulgar,” if you choose to use that word, about Respighi’s The Fountains of Rome , written in 1916, than there is about Bloch’s Schelomo written a year earlier. But the second, and perhaps more serious, criticism Respighi faced—though it was largely unjustified—was that he was a supporter of Mussolini’s fascist regime. Evidence seems to suggest that Respighi didn’t have a political bone in his body, but it may have been his very passivity and silence that were damning.


The 24-year-old Respighi began work on a violin concerto in 1903. Only the first two movements were completed; the third remained in a piano reduction with just a few measures orchestrated. After analyzing the score, Di Vittorio made enhancements to the orchestration of the first two movements and completed the third using material from the other movements. Di Vittorio’s completion was premiered in New York in 2010. I note a 1994 recording of the concerto on a Bongiovani CD, but it is only of Respighi’s original first two movements. The current performances of both the concerto and the Aria for Strings, transcribed by Di Vittorio, are world premiere recordings. The concerto, which owes much to Vivaldi and early Mendelssohn, inhabits a world of lyrical sunshine that plays on the senses like a fresh breeze bearing scents of an Italian vineyard in spring. Thanks to the efforts of Di Vittorio, and the capable hands and sensitive voice of violinist Laura Marzadori, this romantically expressive score is brought to us complete for the first time.


The even earlier 1901 Aria, Respighi’s salute to his Italian heritage by way of Frescobaldi, Corelli, and, again, Vivaldi, found its way into the composer’s Suite in G Major for Strings and Organ. Di Vittorio makes of it a lovely air for string orchestra. Both the Aria and the Suite were revised or edited to prepare the very first printed editions (score and parts) of each score. Up until now, only manuscript copies of the score and parts existed for both works. Beyond this, Di Vittorio then made slight adjustments to the Aria to make it suitable for not only string orchestra but string quintet, in order to promote Respighi’s music in academic settings, such as conservatories and music colleges.


The booklet does not explain to what extent Di Vittorio “revised” Respighi’s Suite for Strings, cataloged as P 41. The piece is a six-movement suite in Baroque style that anticipates Respighi’s later and very popular Ancient Airs and Dances.


Six years after Respighi visited Rossini’s collection of piano pieces titled Les Riens (“Trifles,” aka “Sins of my Old Age”) for his ballet La Boutique fantasque in 1919, he returned to mine the mother lode again in 1925 for his Rossiniana Suite. It is given here in unaltered form and in a delightful performance by Di Vittorio’s “Ottorino Respighi” Chamber Orchestra of New York. As one of Respighi’s more popular works, there is of course serious competition in the suite, not least among which is a classic 1967 recording with Ansermet (one of his last) and the Suisse Romande Orchestra.


The current Naxos release, in addition to excellent performances and recording, offers to the Respighi fan a combination of never-before-heard music and works in never-before-heard transcriptions by Salvatore Di Vittorio. Strongly recommended.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

BLANCAFORT Pastorel-la. American Souvenir. Sonatina antiga. Ermita i panorama. Cavantina i diàleg. Romance, Intermezzo, and March • Miquel Villalba (pn) • NAXOS 8.557335 (64:38)


This is the fourth in a series devoted to the piano music of Catalan composer Manuel Blancafort (1897–1987). His work resembles that of his fellow Catalan Federico Mompou. I hear a similar tough edge to the harmony, stabs of dissonance underpinning the intimate surface, but Blancafort draws on a wider stylistic range, incorporating neo-Classical influences ( Sonatina antiga ) and often a Debussyan sparkle. A fluency to the writing indicates the composer’s prowess as a pianist, and one or two pieces that wind down in a gradual rallentando remind us that the Blancafort family was in the pianola business.


I have found this disc beguiling, returning to it out of sheer pleasure as much as reviewing necessity. The stately Cavantina and the similarly melancholy Saraband that constitutes the central movement of the Sonatina (Tendresa) reveal a considerable depth of feeling. On a more Impressionistic note, the piece entitled Ermita i panorama (“Hermitage and Panorama,” 1930–31) opens with a folksy theme, sounding like a Hispanic Vaughan Williams, then blossoms into virtuosic activity. With its rippling surface, this could be a newly discovered prelude by Debussy.


American Souvenir (1926–29) consists of two movements. The first was inspired by an Atlantic crossing the composer undertook, where the slow progress of the voyage was punctuated by the distant sounds of bustling activity and the resident American jazz orchestra on board. The second is a tribute to Charlie Chaplin, a screen star who fascinated Blancafort—much as he fascinated the composer’s French contemporary Charles Koechlin. In both these pieces, Blancafort retains his personal voice (as indeed did Koechlin in his own Chaplin tribute, the final movement of the Seven Stars Symphony ). There is no mock-ragtime to depict the 1920s; rather the composer has evoked the energy of that era through his own musical language, more a passive observer than participant. A tinge of pathos to the high jinks makes the second piece suitably “Chaplinesque.”


The music covered in this program comes from a six-year period centering on the late 1920s, with the exception of the three-part Romance, Intermezzo, and March , written in 1942. In this suite of pieces, Blancafort has pared back his textures and any French influence has practically disappeared. The result is plainer, closer to Mompou in its concision. Several of these works remain unpublished, including Ermita i panorama and the lilting Pastorel-la that opens the recital.


Pianist Miquel Villalba presents this unfamiliar music with skill and sensitivity; one senses that his heart is in it. The sound is enjoyably warm and clear. In its gentle way, this disc is a winner.


FANFARE: Phillip Scott

Sir Peter Maxwell Davies’s passionate Sixth Symphony is dedicated to the memory of the writer George Mackay Brown, with the ‘very special musical virtuosity’ of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in mind. It is one of his most beautifully expressive works and, whilst not untroubled, reaches moments of serene beauty. Composed for the 50th anniversary of the founding of the United Nations, Time and the Raven is a brilliant and exciting collage, whilst few contemporary works enjoy such popularity as the magical An Orkney Wedding with Sunrise.

Best known for his spectacular operas Giacomo Meyerbeer also contributed to the more intimate world of French, German and Italian song with a fair number of finely-crafted examples.

Peter Maxwell Davies's Strathclyde Concertos, jointly commissioned by Strathclyde Regional Council and the Scottish Chamber Orchestra in 1987, have given rise to a whole family of concertos for different and unusual instruments. The Ninth Concerto provides an opportunity for woodwind instruments to shine as soloists, the music inspired by the infinite shades of winter light reflected from the seas of Orkney. The final Tenth Concerto is "a concerto for orchestra that's as bracing as a gale on the rugged Orkney cliffs" (BBC Music Magazine), and the delightful Carol�sima is filled with dances and singable tunes.

Naxos' Takako Nishizaki Plays Suzuki Evergreens albums feature acclaimed violinist Takako Nishizaki who, as a child, studied with her father, Shinji, and with Shinichi Suzuki himself.

Starter question for 10 - can you name any Italian orchestral composers of the early to mid 20^th century? Ottorino Respighi comes to mind, as do Gian Francesco Malipiero, Ildebrando Pizzetti and - thanks in part to those enterprising souls at Naxos - we can now add Alfredo Casella. This recording of the latter’s Symphony No. 1, a world premiere, is just part of a projected series devoted to Casella’s œuvre; the most recent instalment - which includes Symphony No 2 - is available on 8.572414. Naxos have stolen a march on Chandos, who have just released a recording of the latter - coupled with Scarlattiana - featuring Gianandrea Noseda and the BBC Philharmonic (CHAN 10605). And we mustn’t forget CPO, whose contribution to this risorgimento includes the Op. 63 Sinfonia.

At first glance, Casella’s enrolment at the Paris Conservatoire - Gabriel Fauré was one of his teachers - and his admiration for Debussy might suggest strong links with French music of the period. However, the First Symphony, which dates from 1905, doesn’t strike me as particularly Gallic, either in sensibility or sound world; indeed, Casella is quoted in the liner-notes, where he dismisses the work as a potpourri of Borodin, Brahms and Enescu. These influences may be there, but they aren’t striking. Perhaps it’s the Italian band and conductor who are to blame, as they add a touch of southern warmth to this absorbing score.

True, the brooding start to the Lento seems Russianate, but then there’s an arresting lyricism in the strings and an orchestral blush that speaks more of Richard Strauss. As for the Roman orchestra they sound full-bodied and precise, climaxes expanding with plenty of weight and impact. Musically the score may seem a tad threadbare at times, but it’s well shaped and convincingly paced. Initial impressions suggest this is not the youthful indiscretion it first seems; in fact, the Adagio - reprised in the Second Symphony - is rather lovely. After a quiet, rather unsettling theme at the outset there are some melting string tunes - just listen to the passage that begins at 3:44. It really is luminous, heart-stopping music, most eloquently phrased.

The final movement, like the first, is a dark-toned Lento, the grumble of percussion at the start thrillingly caught. And, for the first time, there’s a real sense of nobility, a Wagnerian amplitude if you like, the muted brass simply splendid. Moreover, there’s a momentum here - listen out for that recurring, jaunty little tune - and a firm sense of purpose, which ensures that any structural weaknesses are artfully concealed. Such advocacy augurs well for the rest of this series; indeed, having heard both Noseda and La Vecchia’s accounts of the Second Symphony I can assure you the latter yields little or nothing to the former in terms of execution although, as expected, the Chandos sound is both weightier and more spacious.

The concerto is a wartime work, written while the composer was recovering from a serious illness. The soft edges of the symphony are replaced here by a harder, more muscular idiom, which includes strong, uncompromising rhythms. There’s plenty of bite to the strings, ever-present timps commendably crisp and clear, the Sarabande more lyrical - and inward - than one might expect. The piano part is carefully woven into the musical fabric, which only shows signs of fraying in the latter half of this movement. The brisk, martial opening to the final Allegro - snare drums very much in evidence - takes us back to the sinewy world of the first. It’s well played and tightly argued, the muted march coloured by the gentlest of taps on the tam-tam.

So, a most encouraging start to this new cycle which, along with Noseda’s, will surely bring this music back into the mainstream, where it belongs. It seems entirely right that La Vecchia and his Roman band are leading the charge; goodness knows, they play this music with verve and vision - and that’s just what it needs

Nice one, Naxos.

-- Dan Morgan, MusicWeb International

The Carpe Diem String Quartet’s first volume of Sergey Ivanovich Taneyev’s string quartets gained critical accolades both for the revival of this important repertoire and for the ensemble’s sensitive and assured interpretations. A gift to musicians and listeners in search of rewarding new repertoire, Taneyev’s Second and Fourth String Quartets are masterfully crafted, the former piece possessing the inner energy of Beethoven, the latter being his most dramatic quartet. Both quartets impress with their unexpected harmonic combinations, wealth of ideas and mastery of form.

Marin Alsop's recordings of Brahms' first two symphonies were good, at times very good, but not great. In particular, for all her basic musicality, the performances lacked a certain element of excitement, never mind actual risk-taking. So my expectations for this Third, the toughest of them all to conduct, were not that high. After all, some really great Brahmsians, including Toscanini and Furtwängler, have really screwed up this symphony. The latter's performances especially constitute some of the most hideously embarrassing documents ever left by a theoretically great artist. Indeed, in the entire history of the work on disc, there have been perhaps seven or eight truly great performances: Walter (Sony, stereo), Levine (RCA), Wand (his first one with NDR, on RCA), Klemperer (EMI), Jochum (EMI, with this orchestra), Dohnanyi (Warner/Teldec), and perhaps most surprisingly, Solti (Decca).


To this select list, add Alsop. This is not a judgment made lightly, but this is one hell of a fine performance of this most elusive symphony, perhaps closest in character to Dohnanyi's Cleveland version. It's interesting to note the dearth of German or central European orchestras in the above list, and this fact holds a clue to Alsop's success: her ability to keep the textures from becoming too heavy, and to keep Brahms' bass lines moving. Ordinarily, and particularly in the First and Fourth Symphonies, the typically dark, rich German bass is just the ticket, but not here. This symphony, with its obvious homage to Dvorák's Fifth in the same key, and its frequent recourse to syncopated rhythms in the middle registers of the orchestra, needs as much space around the notes as is consistent with lively tempos and well-sprung rhythms.


Part of the problem is of Brahms' own making. While the last three movements offer some of his finest orchestral writing, especially for the woodwinds, the first movement often comes across as a clogged-up mess. Conductors overcompensate for the lack of audible detail by playing the music too slowly. Alsop keeps the music moving, but also clarifies the underlying rhythm quite splendidly. As an example, consider the transition from the first to the second subject, and later on, the triplet accompaniments to the finale's heroic second subject. This is very good Brahms conducting: the tension never sags, no important details go unobserved (note the nicely touched-in contrabassoon just before the recapitulation), and nothing detracts from the evolving symphonic argument.


The Andante features beautifully blended wind playing in its serene outer sections and just the right touch of mystery in the central chorale. Alsop takes great care to observe the written dynamics, a big plus in the ensuing Poco Allegretto, which sounds so much better minus the usual excess of espressivo. Best of all, the finale is spectacular: swiftly exciting, with very present timpani and a tremendously explosive (but remarkably transparent) central climax. The coda captures that special, autumnal glow that Brahms builds into the scoring, but without sacrificing sufficient momentum to bring the work to a fulfilling (as opposed to a merely exhausted) conclusion.


The Haydn Variations makes an excellent coupling, and is equally well done. Alsop's excellent command of rhythm once again is very much in evidence, particularly in the Vivace fifth variation, and even without those darker, heavier bass lines the final passacaglia builds quite effortlessly to a joyous conclusion. Vividly detailed sonics seal the deal. The truth is that very few conductors manage to do all of the Brahms symphonies equally well, which is why the modern tendency to do them in fours is such a pity. This effort bodes well for the conclusion of Alsop's cycle, but at the same time it will be a tough act to follow. I hope she can do it; in the meantime, I'm more than happy to recommend this superb new recording as strongly as possible. [1/22/2007]
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

LISZT Polonaise from Yevgeney Onegin. Le Rossignol. Chanson bohémienne. Abschied. Mazurka. March from Russlan and Ludmilla. Prelude to the Borodin Polka. Russian Galop. Tarantella by César Cui. Slavic Tarentella by Dargomyzhsky. 2 Anton Rubinstein songs. Autrefois • Alexandre Dossin (pn) • NAXOS 572432 (66: 25)


The Naxos traversal of Liszt’s complete piano music, which began in 1997, has now reached its 35th volume with Alexandre Dossin playing a fascinating program of transcriptions of Russian composers. Dossin’s bona fides as a Liszt player of distinction were established with his 2007 contribution to the series, a disc devoted to the Verdi transcriptions and paraphrases. This new release shows him in wide-ranging repertoire, from salon trifles such as the Chanson bohémienne of Bulakhov, through the resplendent setting of the Polonaise from Tchaikovsky’s Yevgeny Onegin , to the heartrending Abschied (Farewell), a simple song setting for Liszt’s beloved pupil Siloti.


The chief interest of this repertoire, however, is not its variety, but its chronology. Five of the transcriptions—those based on music of Alyabyev, Bulakhov, Glinka, and Vielgorsky—are souvenirs of Liszt’s Russian tours of the 1840s. The isolated Mazurka “composed by a St. Petersburg amateur,” possibly Vielgorsky, dates from 1856, during Liszt’s Weimar years. The remainder—including the Tchaikovsky Polonaise and the Borodin, Dargomyzhsky, and Cui transcriptions as well as the two Rubinstein songs—were all set by Liszt in 1880 or later. In other words, these final seven transcriptions are products of the last six years of Liszt’s life and thus contemporaneous with such late-style works as Czárdás macabre , the Hungarian Historical Portraits, Bagatelle without Tonality, Unstern!, and the several pieces memorializing Wagner.


The Polonaise from Onegin , easily the most familiar work on the disc, is given an extrovert reading that highlights its profusion of opulent pianistic detail without obscuring the overall structure and momentum of the dance. Dossin’s interpretation readily holds its own beside those older, famous ones of Cziffra and Ponti, and perhaps surpasses them in its unforced poise and characteristic voice. Dossin approaches Alyabyev’s The Nightingale , set by Liszt as a veritable mini-Russian rhapsody, with intelligence and finesse. Meanwhile, the quirky Circassian March from Glinka’s Russlan and Ludmilla, a virtuoso tour de force , fairly explodes with rhythmic acrobatics and kaleidoscopic colors.


The two tarantellas by Dargomyzhsky and Cui are particularly intriguing, reminding us that, during the 1860s, Liszt and Dargomyzhsky were among the first composers to experiment (independently) with use of the whole-tone scale—Dargomyzhsky in his opera The Stone Guest and Liszt in his melodrama Der traurige Mönch. Both tarantellas exemplify Liszt’s tendency in old age to transform the materials he transcribed, imbuing them with the radical harmonic and rhythmic characteristics of his own late style. In many cases, and certainly in these tarantellas, the originals are endowed with a “new formal and authorial weight,” as Jonathan Kregor has suggested in his pathbreaking study, Liszt as Transcriber (2010). Dargomyzhsky had been dead 10 years when his unprepossessing piano duet Slavic Tarantella was taken up by Liszt and expanded into a haunting and concert-worthy piano solo. The longest piece on the program is the Tarantella by César Cui , possibly Liszt’s very last transcription of another composer’s work. Kregor points out that Cui’s orchestral original had been in circulation for more than 25years when Liszt decided to transcribe it. Liszt expands, emends, and amplifies the material in a way that elevates this folk dance to a veritable metaphysical realm. If proof were needed that the acuity of Liszt’s perceptions and the richness of his imagination remained undiminished to the end, the Tarantella by César Cui provides ample testimony.


It is hard to imagine a more eloquent spokesman for this repertoire than Dossin. Though he is by birth and upbringing Brazilian, the nine years he spent studying in Moscow lend an unmistakable authenticity to his voice in Russian music. Moreover, Dossin’s refined and multifaceted pianism, combined with his formidable intellectual and musical grasp, make him one of the more remarkable Liszt interpreters before the public today.


FANFARE: Patrick Rucker

Includes work(s) by Jean Marie Leclair. Soloists: Fenwick Smith, John Gibbons (classical), Laura Blustein, Laura Jeppesen, Christopher Krueger.

Scriabin' cycle of Piano Sonatas is one of the most visionary and dramatic in the canon.

The 18th century French writer, Charles de Brosses described Pergolesi' Stabat Mater, completed as the composer lay dying, as 'the master work of Latin music'.

A new benchmark for Rachmaninov’s Second Symphony.

What a far cry this recording of the Rachmaninov Second Symphony is from the old Detroit Symphony recording by Paul Paray, as I remember it. That was lean to the point of being bare and, while exciting enough, it lacked any kind of romantic ardor. The exact opposite was the recording I grew up with and still have on LP, Eugene Ormandy’s with the Philadelphia Orchestra. That was very lush and string-heavy with plenty of portamento that left one wallowing in sheer sound. One wasn’t aware of any of the counter-melodies by the winds, only the swooping strings! On CD my favorite was Andrew Litton’s with the Royal Philharmonic on Virgin that seemed a better balance of the score’s elements. I also appreciated both of André Previn’s accounts, the EMI for his dynamic interpretation, and the Telarc for its splendid sound. I have never cared much for Ashkenazy’s Concertgebouw recording on Decca, which I found rather coarse sounding, although I have liked his other Rachmaninov discs a great deal. Then, like William Hedley, in his review of the present disc, I received as a BBC Music Magazine cover disc the BBC Philharmonic recording with Edward Downes. I discarded my Litton recording and have kept the Downes ever since. However, unlike Mr. Hedley, I will now replace that recording with this new one — a performance that has everything for me except for the first movement repeat. I do not at all mind the missing repeat, as the first movement is long enough without it and it does not really add anything except length.
 
What’s so special about this performance is the perfect balance between the lush melodies in the strings and the delectable wind counter melodies and solos. Slatkin’s tempos seem to me to be just about perfect, too, although one could argue that he takes the second movement a bit on the fast side. Nonetheless, it works well. The performance never stagnates and the symphony is the better for it. One could not ask for warmer strings or more dynamism in the rhythms. However, it is the sheer vitality of this account that causes me to prefer it to the Downes. Credit for this is due not just to the conductor, but especially to the world-class playing of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra. I have heard them over the years and they have never sounded as good as they do on this CD. Based on this, the DSO is up there with the best that America has to offer. One not-so-small thing I should also point out is that Slatkin does not allow a spurious timpani thwack at the end of the first movement (neither did Downes) and sticks to the score as written. Furthermore, Naxos has captured this performance in sound that is both rich and clear, and very natural. The applause at the end of this live account is fully justified. I wanted to cheer along with them. It was a good idea for the insert to list the orchestra’s personnel, as they really deserve the credit. Keith Anderson’s notes preceding the listing are also exemplary.
 
As a bonus, the CD begins with the well-loved Vocalise in a sensitive performance that matches that of the symphony. Litton also included that on his recording. Pace Mr. Hedley, this new recording of Rachmaninov’s Second is now my benchmark.

-- Leslie Wright, MusicWeb International

Here's a live performance of the Second Symphony that really lives up to the expectations of a live event: exciting, spontaneous, and impulsive, but also beautifully shaped and extremely well played. Leonard Slatkin's Rachmaninov cycle during his early years in St. Louis represented one of his finest efforts for Vox, so there's no question that he knows the music well. But this performance is in another league entirely. First of all, he doesn't mess with Rachmaninov's percussion parts, and believe me that's a good thing. There's no nasty timpani thwack at the end of the first movement, no extra cymbal crashes in the finale--it's just what the man wrote, and wrote so well.

This is a small detail, but Slatkin is no less adept in addressing the big picture. The first movement, urgently flowing, rises to a huge climax, probably the best since Temirkanov/EMI, assisted by some terrific brass playing. The scherzo is very quick, and hugely exciting. The return to the opening theme after the central fugato and march is unforgettable. Slatkin never lets the Adagio bog down or turn soggy; it's fresh and lyrical, while the finale is just plain thrilling, with the horns and trumpets aptly celebratory in the main theme and the strings playing their collective hearts out in the big tune at the end. The sonics are excellent, crowd noise is minimal, and the Vocalise makes a nice filler. Terrific!

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Andres Isasi's youthful promise can be heard in the easy romance of his Grieg and Dvorak influenced String Quartet No 0.

The second of three volumes devoted to Andres Isasi's complete string quartets is again performed by the composer's foremost champions, the Isasi Quartet, who premiered all the works on this recording. String Quartet No. 4 in D major reveals his vibrant and imaginative use of textures and his affiliations with the music of Dvorak. Though unfinished, the 1921 String Quartet No. 3 in E minor fuses melodic richness and serenity. Each of the three smaller pieces shows contrast and warmth, not least the beautifully eloquent Prelude in a major.

Recognised as rising stars of their generation, pianist Ashley Wass and the Tippett Quartet join forces to present two contrasting yet equally engaging British piano quintets. Conceived on a grand, expansive scale and influenced by Celtic music, with all manner of harmonic and instrumental colours exploited to super effect, Arnold Bax’s Quintet is arguably a precursor of his later symphonies. Frank Bridge’s early work (1904–5, revised 1912) combines his admiration for the music of Fauré with the highly integrated ‘fantasy’ techniques he honed when composing music for the famous Cobbett Prize.

PENDERECKI Hymne an den heiligen Adalbert 1. Song of the Cherubim 2. Canticum Canticorum Salomonis 3. Kosmogonia 4. Strophen 5 • Antoni Wit, cond; 4,5 Olga Pasichnyk (sop); 4 Rafa? Bartmi?ski (ten); 4 Tomasz Konieczny (bs); 5 Jerzy Artysz (spkr); 1,3-5 Warsaw PO; 1-4 Warsaw P Ch • NAXOS 8.572481 (57:18)


Naxos’s Penderecki releases have been of very good quality, but have tended to jumble together music in wildly different styles. The present release is no exception, going backwards chronologically from the Hymne an den heiligen Adalbert (1997) to Strophen (1959), which was composed when Penderecki was in his mid-20s. One would be forgiven for guessing that at least two different composers, perhaps more, were at work here. In the 1970s, thanks in large part to Hollywood, I was turned on to “old” Penderecki, and had a difficult time accepting the changes his style underwent from that point onward. Now that I am gaining maturity (ha!), I’ve become more open-minded, and if “new” Penderecki is not as innovative and striking as “old” Penderecki, the level of workmanship remains very high, and a distinctive voice remains, albeit a different one.


Having said that, I think this disc is most welcome for the presence of the last two, and oldest, works listed in the headnote, because they have been elusive on CD—in fact, I am not sure they have appeared on CD until now. The first (and only?) recording of the creepily beautiful Kosmogonia (1970) appeared on the Polskie Nagranie/Muza and then the Philips labels. The conductor was Andrzej Markowski, and the soloists were Stefania Woytowicz, Kazimierz Pustelak, and Bernard ?adysz. That recording, if you can find it, remains attractive, as it has a warmth and an emotional quality not quite matched by Wit’s, which seems a little clinical. As I recall, like Naxos, it does not print the work’s texts (which are “in copyright”), but I think the texts dealt with the creation of the universe and ended with . . . was it a quotation from Neil Armstrong? Maybe someone will help me out here. I have Strophen on a Polskie Nagranie/Muza LP (with Canticum Canticorum Salomonis ) and I am glad to replace it with this new version, even though I prefer Stefania Woytowicz to Olga Pasichnyk. The texts are taken from Menander, Sophocles, the Books of Isaiah and Jeremiah, and Omar Khayyam, and if their stagey narration makes Strophen seem a little dated, one has to appreciate the work’s daring, if nothing else.


Canticum Canticorum Salomonis (1973) slightly predates Penderecki’s Magnificat , and listeners will appreciate their stylistic proximity, particularly in the aggressive choral writing. Song of the Cherubim (1986) is much more reined in, with little to remind one of the composer’s avant-garde experimentation 15 years earlier. It is, nevertheless, a fine work, whose stern spirituality speaks for itself. Hymne an der heiligen Adalbert references a bishop who was martyred, in the 10th century. The stark but impressive brass and choral writing play off each other to good effect. This is much closer to Górecki than “old” Penderecki; it’s even (gasp) tonal. Still, it’s tough and demanding in its own way, and I don’t think anyone could reasonably suggest that Penderecki lost his nerve as he passed through middle age—he simply became more appreciative of tradition.


The Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir, whether they are conducted by Wit or someone else, can be depended upon to bring authenticity and fire to Penderecki’s music. Despite my preference for Markowski’s Kosmogonia , I really have no reservations about these performances. In fact, this Canticum Canticorum Salomonis is the most impressive I’ve heard, eclipsing the composer’s own recording on EMI. (Wit’s slower tempos emphasize the music’s sensuality.) Texts, with the exception of Kosmogonia , are available online. I am looking forward to hearing what Wit does with the Magnificat.


FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle

Together with Johann Simon Mayr, Ferdinando Paër counts as one of the most important opera composers of his day, and he was unable to resist filling his oratorio on Christ’s Passion, Il Santo Sepolcro with expressive extremes. Pain and grief contrast with joy and hope, and scenes including the terrible hours of the crucifixion, frenzy of the crowd, resurrection and Last Judgment are given potently descriptive music. Originally a prelude to Haydn’s Seven Last Words, Mayr’s Invito is a call to hear Paër’s incomparable narrative.

Hubert Parry is best known for his coronation anthem I was glad, and for his hymn tune Jerusalem, a setting of Blake’s magnificent poem. The hymn alludes to the legend that Jesus spent time in England during the undocumented years between his childhood and the beginnings of his ministry in and about his homeland.

Parry is sadly underrated today, even though he composed a number of fine symphonies that are on a level with Elgar and dare I say it, even Brahms. He is represented here by Blest Pair of Sirens, to a text by John Milton, a less often performed, but no less glorious work than those aforementioned. Alas, from a disc of otherwise quite outstanding performances, this rendition is found wanting. The booming acoustic, the thundery organ and a general lack of attention to enunciation render the text of this marvelous work unintelligible. Add to the fray a wayward member of the tenor section whose overzealous brightness of tone sticks out like a badly-voiced reed stop, and you get a performance that leaves something to be desired.

Now that those quibbles are out of the way, we can get on to what is one of the finer choral recordings that have crossed my desk in some time. Stanford’s rich double choir Magnificat, dedicated to the memory of Parry, with whom the composer had a longstanding and sadly unresolved parting of the ways, receives a splendid performance with all the elements of clarity, intonation, balance and tone in place.

John Stainer is ridiculed today as the apex of Victorian bad taste. But in spite of his rather trite and passé style, he should be remembered as a fine teacher and scholar, and as an organist and choirmaster who helped to revolutionize Anglican church music. I saw the Lord, is a diehard favorite and here receives a clear and unaffected performance by the Vasari Singers.

E.W. Naylor was primarily a composer of operas, and his Vox Dicentis: Clamavi of 1911 reflects his dramatic flair. My reaction to this work has always been “oh yeah, I sang that piece once.” Although it is flashy, I have never found it to be particularly memorable. The Vasari’s performance is stately and without undue affect.

Walton’s music is marked by taut rhythms and spicy, jazz-influenced chords. The Twelve, with a text by the oft-acerbic W.H. Auden is typical Walton with splendidly biting harmonies and jaunty off beat rhythmic gestures. Again, the Vasaris do not disappoint with a finely hewn performance that captures all of Walton’s seriousness deliciously offset by wit.

Holst’s glorious Nunc Dimittis lay fallow for many years until it was rediscovered in the 1970s and thankfully restored to the repertoire. It is distinguished by a splendid cascade of vocal entries marked by shimmering harmonies and a most sensitive setting of the text. My only beef with this performance is that it seemed a bit rushed. There could have been more time for the lush chords to settle into place. I also felt that the ending was a bit to edgy in its loudness.

Gerald Finzi lived all too short a life for one so very gifted. His epic motet Lo, the full final Sacrifice, shows him in his finest hour. It is a masterpiece, a perfect union of music and word and is abundant in simply ravishing sounds. Ravishing is as good a word as any to describe this splendid performance that achieves near perfection. Mr. Backhouse leads a seamless performance of a work that can be maddeningly “sectional” when in the wrong hands. This fine rendition is worth the very affordable price of the whole disc.

To sum it all up, this is a collection of great standards that on the whole is left in very able hands. The flaws, although distinct, are few enough not to detract from what is generally some very fine singing indeed. Organist Jeremy Filsell is up to his usual fine standards with sensitive registrations and technically flawless playing.

-- Kevin Sutton, MusicWeb International

Soler was music master to the princes of Bourbon in El Escorial, the palace of the King of Spain. It’s probable that most of his keyboard sonatas were written for Prince Gabriel and these essentially private works—around 150 have survived—bear comparison with the works of Domenico Scarlatti and C.P.E. Bach. Soler was fond of dance rhythms and guitar imitations, as well as infectious and delightful modulations. These fifteen sonatas are heard here in the order proposed by Rubio’s catalogue. Pianist Martina Filjak—“brilliance, sensitivity and imagination” (New York Times)—is a much admired international artist.