A good insight to the composer’s musical development.

I would suggest that an interesting approach to this CD is to listen to the works in chronological order. The music presented spans nearly thirty years and gives a good insight to the composer’s musical development over that period. It is an often-stated fact that William Alwyn drew a line under his musical development in 1939, largely disowning his previous works. Even the briefest of glances at the catalogue of his music published by Stewart Craggs and Alan Poulton in 1985 or Andrew Knowles’ listings in The Innumerable Dance by Adrian Wright show a huge number of works that fell foul of his desire to make a new beginning. In fact, the chamber works seem hardest hit by this momentous decision. Fortunately, for Alwyn enthusiasts, a number of these early and seemingly lost pieces have been gradually emerging from obscurity. Recently, Dutton released the tone-poem Blackdown and the Peter Pan Suite; Naxos have given the listener a number of early pieces including Aphrodite in Aulis - An Eclogue for small orchestra after George Moore, and the Five Preludes. Some early piano music has also been rediscovered including the charming, but rather difficult Cricketty Mill.

The present CD includes one attractive and important work from prior to 1939 – the pastorally-inclined Oboe Sonata and also a world premiere recording of the Viola Sonatina (1941). Apart from this ‘first’ all the other pieces are available in rival recordings by Chandos.

William Alwyn’s Oboe Sonata was first heard at the Royal Academy of Music in a recital by Helen and Lillian Gaskell. The Times reviewer was suitably impressed and suggested that the work was ‘euphonious and agreeable without sounding old fashioned’ and that it was a ‘true sonata’ that gave each instrument a share in the progress of the music.

The Oboe Sonata is written in three unbalanced movements with the first being as long as the second and third together. The opening bars of the ‘moderato e grazioso’ provide much of the material for the entire work. I have always been struck by the fact that much of this movement seems to defy the ‘grazioso’ instruction. In fact, there is a lot here that is slow and reflective and quite introverted. Certainly this is pastoral music at its best: without being in any way a cliché.

The second movement is a chorale-like ‘andantino’ which really prolongs the mood of the first movement. There is a lovely tune here that is given in dialogue between piano and oboe. The final movement is a lively little waltz which most definitely has a ‘French feel’ to it. The coda, however, is rather restrained and brings the work to a quiet close. The work typifies the composer’s ability to write ‘easy flowing melodies’ and music that is eminently satisfying for both the players and the listener.

Finally, strange as it may appear to listeners in the 21st century; the Oboe Sonata caught the imagination of the general public during the 1930s and was even included in the BBC Radio Programme –‘Your Choice of the Week’.

The Viola Sonatina is the next work chronologically: it is a world premiere recording. My first reaction is that this is a sonata in all but name. There is little here that would fulfil the common expectation of a ‘Sonatina’ being ‘easy to play’. The only concession to the form is the relatively short movements. The work was written in 1941 and was originally called a Short Suite, but the composer deleted this in the manuscript and wrote in the present name. There are four movements, a prelude, a dance, an aria and a finale. There is a depth to these movements that seems to belie their brevity. In fact the ‘aria’ is one of the loveliest things in Alwyn’s catalogue and leaves the listener wishing it would continue for more than three minutes. The opening ‘prelude’ is deep, reflective music which is not really lightened by the ‘dance’ which is played muted throughout. However the finale blows away care. This is exciting music that brings this Sonatina to a dynamic close. It is good that Alwyn enthusiasts should have this worthy piece in their collections.

Four years later, in 1945 wrote the diminutive Suite for Oboe and Harp. It was composed for Léon and Sidonie Goossens, who gave the first broadcast performance in November of that year. Alas the music is over all too soon. The opening ‘minuet’ has a feeling of sadness and regret that is not quite dispersed by the short ‘valse’ which follows. Yet even the ‘jig’ does not completely change the mood. Here there is a hint of Irish folksong, but also a touch of Celtic melancholy in the middle section. It is a lovely work which should be better known. I guess that it is the combination of harp and oboe that tells against its more frequent performance. Yet, it is this particular instrumentation that gives the work its charm.

Conversations had me confused. I knew that I had heard this piece on CD before. But I could find no reference to it in the record catalogues. It was then that I read Andrew Knowles sleeve-notes and discovered the solution to the problem. The original title of the piece was Music for Three Players which had been completed in November 1950. The work had been especially composed for the Claviano Trio, Arthur Pennington (violin), Reginald Kell (clarinet) and Richard Favell (piano). When the work was published some 46 year later it was renamed Conversations, which well reflects the composer’s idea that they were a kind of ‘conversazione’ between friends. The work consists of eight short pieces. Mary Alwyn wrote that ‘... the piano spans the discussion with the violin and clarinet adding their comments.’ The content or mood of this exchange of opinions include a ‘prelude’, a ‘romanza’ a ‘fughetta’ and a ‘carillon’. Please do not be put off by the seemingly ephemeral nature of this piece. It is an important work that has depth, variety and colour and often considerable beauty. And lastly, I suddenly realised where I had heard this work before: it was on the Chandos Volume 1 release of Alwyn’s chamber works. However, here it had been given its original name!

The String Trio seems to have a confusion of dates. Hubert Culot in a review on MusicWeb International dates it as 1962, as does Knowles/Wright in The Innumerable Dance. The composer in his notes used by Chandos cites the same date. However, Andrew Knowles, in the liner-notes and Poulton/Craggs in their catalogue give the ‘true’ date of 1959. The confusion probably arose because the work was not performed until three years later. The Trio was written at a time of considerable stress in the composer’s personal life and also at a time when he was experimenting with ‘short scale groups’ in his Third and Fourth Symphonies and the Twelve Preludes for Piano. The String Trio was commissioned by The South Western Arts Association and is dedicated to ‘The Ormonte Trio’ which gave the first performance on 13 March 1962.

The distance of nearly a decade does seem to have made a considerable difference to the sound-world utilised by the composer. For one thing, this work is constructed from a 12-note tone-row which is announced at the start of the piece but is then subdivided and used judiciously throughout the rest of the work. The Trio lasts for just over quarter of an hour and has four movements - an ‘allegro molto’, a molto vivace and a ‘cavatina’ and a final ‘allegro’. Interestingly the Poulton/Craggs catalogue lists this work as having three movements!

Hubert Culot has stated that this Trio is one of William Alwyn’s most important chamber works. He adds that it is a ‘compact work full of imagination and invention, of highly contrasted ideas, in which the conflicts are eventually washed away by the peaceful coda of the fourth movement.’

Finally, the listener should not be put off this work by any mention of series and tone-rows. William Alwyn never allows these compositional tools to dictate the direction of the work: he uses them to create something in his individual style. This is an attractive and often moving Trio that totally hides the ‘construction lines’ beneath sheer musicality and beauty.

The latest work presented on this CD is the Clarinet Sonata which was completed in Blythburgh, Suffolk in August 1962. It was written as a commission from the great clarinettist Thea King, although it was dedicated to Anthony Friese-Greene.

The Clarinet Sonata is a relatively short work, lasting some dozen or so minutes. It is written in a single movement: Alwyn himself typifies it as a ‘fantasy sonata’ which well defines the fluid, almost improvisatory nature of much of this music. Criticism has been made on the over-dependence of the opening gesture throughout the piece, resulting in ‘much empty rhetoric and vulgarity.’ This is an exaggeration, and with hindsight it appears that Alwyn has squared the circle of writing a piece that sounds ‘free’ yet is actually tightly controlled. Hugh Ottoway, writing in the August 1964 edition of the Musical Times writes that the work ‘displays three main facets of the instruments character - the flamboyant, the lyrical and the ejaculatory.’ It is a good summation of this work’s impact.

The first performance was apparently on 3 November 1962 at Leighton House, Kensington with Thea King (clarinet) and accompanied by Celia Arieli (piano) and not at the Chelsea Music Club in 1963 as stated by Poulton/Cragg.

I enjoyed this CD. Like most other Alwyn enthusiasts, I have the two fine Chandos CDs mentioned in the review above. It is a futile business to try to decide between these two editions. I guess I might suggest that Nicholas Daniel and Julius Drake had the edge with the lovely Oboe Sonata. But that would be to ignore insights brought to this piece by Sarah Francis. The Hermitage String Trio gives a fine account of the String Trio on the Naxos disc –but who can say that it is better than the excellent performance by the Quartet of London on Chandos. I conclude that I have to have all of these discs. It is a bit like saying who plays Beethoven piano sonatas better, Alfred Brendel or Daniel Barenboim. I would need both.

Finally, this Naxos release has the fine Viola Sonatina, which to my mind is well worth the price of the recording. Yet my favourite piece on this CD is the stunningly beautiful Oboe Sonata. I am just so glad that William Alwyn did not tear it up in 1939!


-- John France, MusicWeb International

Includes work(s) by Healey Willan. Ensemble: Elora Festival Singers. Conductor: Noel Edison. Soloist: Matthew Larkin.

WILLAERT: Missa Christus resurgens / Magnificat / Ave Maria

Includes kujawiak(s) for violin and piano by Henri Wieniawski. Soloists: Marat Bisengaliev, John Lenehan.

The reputation of Polish pianist, composer, conductor and educator Józef Wieniawski has proved less robust than that of his famous elder brother, the violinist Henryk Wieniawski, but during his lifetime he was considered one of Europe’s finest musicians. The brothers performed together extensively for a time, and the virtuoso elements in the violin part of the youthful Allegro de sonate and Grand Duo polonais can be credited to Henryk. Józef’s Violin Sonata reveals elegant sophistication, expressive depth and jocular playfulness in exploring the full expressive range of both instruments.

A highly enjoyable, and, thanks to the organ, rather remarkable release.

This is a good potpourri-style introduction to the organ works of Charles-Marie Widor. Too often he is of course only remembered for the infamous Toccata from the end of the fifth symphony, all too frequently so poorly played. Good then for the general music enthusiast to have a budget price introduction to some other corners of the Widor oeuvre many of which deserve to be better known than the Toccata. The implication however, that Naxos’s vast Organ Encyclopaedia isn’t going to include a complete Widor cycle strikes me as particularly unfortunate. This is especially true given that Naxos’s library does include a complete Rheinberger cycle.

The most interesting element of this disc though is the choice of instrument. I wrote in glowing terms here about Martin Pasi’s extraordinary dual-temperament instrument in Omaha in the context of Julia Brown’s Buxtehude recording. That was recorded – mostly, I think - in meantone using the 28 stops of the organ available in that temperament. Perhaps more of a challenge to these historically-informed super-eclectic American organs is how they handle repertoire such as that on the present recording. It makes for fascinating listening!

If I’m honest, some of the sounds here are not sounds one associates with the world of Widor. However only occasionally - the mixture at the beginning of track 2 for instance - does an aesthetic clash wander into one’s consciousness enough for it to be uncomfortable. Other idiosyncrasies - the flexible winding – surely there could be a more effective stabiliser for this sort of repertoire - and even the pure thirds in the well-tempered tuning - listen to those big C major chords in the Marche Pontificale! - maybe take a little getting used to, but I managed. The overriding impression of this disc is of an organ of simply enormous panache and personality. The warmth of the 8’ stops, the effectiveness of the swell box, the sheer grunt of the pedal reeds – all are extraordinary. Pasi’s organ doesn’t really evoke Rouen, but it is a work of sheer brilliance. To quote the late, great Stephen Bicknell: “the work of Brombaugh, Fritts, Pasi, Taylor and Boody and even Fritts-Richards operates at a level of artistic quality that simply does not apply in Europe any more, despite the beacons offered by, say, Ahrend and Aubertin.” He wasn’t wrong.

The organ seems to inspire Robert Delcamp to better performances than I’ve enjoyed on his previous Naxos discs - on much lesser instruments. Occasionally still a little ‘square’, his flair for French repertoire is undeniable, and I can therefore recommend this is as a highly enjoyable, and, thanks to the organ, rather remarkable release.

Chris Bragg, MusicWeb International

Charles Widor’s musical life covered around 75 years of French cultural history. His organ symphonies helped to blow spectacular new life into an instrument that had become sorely neglected, and it was in salons such as that of the organ builder Cavaille-Coll that his chamber music was first welcomed with enthusiasm. Widor went on to work with leading players of his day, composing audition showpieces such as the Introduction et Rondo, the recently rediscovered and popular Serenade with its rich harmonium sonorities, and the Suite, Op. 34 that far transcends the salon genre in its character and range.

Light—life-enabling, life-enhancing. Something fundamental, universal in our life. Images evoking it abound in language, and virtually all the authors of the texts set here deal with or refer to it in one way or another, from ancient seers to the modern luminary Desmond Tutu.

There are of course many different kinds of light, but on its own the single word evokes something bright, pure, clear. These are words which can equally well be applied to James Whitbourn’s music. His writing is simple and straightforward (especially harmonically), and not outwardly virtuosic; his use of texture (often under-appreciated as a musical value) is also simple, but beguiling. The choir often sings homophonically (all voice parts moving in the same rhythm, as in a hymn), which implies a clarity of communication. But with a few sure strokes—the addition of a single element, such as the solo voice in the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis, and A Prayer of Desmond Tutu, or the use of percussion in the same works, or the tanpura and the cunningly Eastern-sounding viola in Luminosity, he can simultaneously evoke different, non-Western traditions, and thereby multiply the allusions.

-- Bernard Robertson

James Whitbourn is known for his ‘boundless breadth of choral imagination’ (The Observer) resulting in compositions of brilliance and power. His extraordinary work for choir, saxophone and organ, Son of God Mass, receives a new recording from the young voices of one of Westminster Choir College of Rider University’s finest chamber choirs under the leading American choral conductor James Jordan. It is heard alongside a collection of première recordings of other works associated with life and death, including the Requiem canticorum and Living Voices, a work to commemorate the dead of 9/11 with a poem by Andrew Motion.

It’s remarkable that The Diary of Anne Frank has not been the subject for a major choral work until this thoughtful and often moving setting of selected texts (the original version premiered in London in 2005, conducted by Leonard Slatkin) by English composer James Whitbourn and librettist Melanie Challenger. Material from the ultra-famous diary has been used for an oft-performed opera/mono-drama (by Grigori Frid), a song cycle, numerous individual songs, and of course as the basis for a famous play and movie, but never for a vocal work of this form (a kind of choral-song cycle/cantata/tone poem) or scope (14 musical sections lasting a total of 70 minutes).

A convincing argument could be made that Anne Frank’s diary doesn’t need musical treatment; it works just fine on its own. Its prose (translated from Dutch to English) does not readily fall into musical phrases; neither do those phrases, beautiful as they often are, suggest handy poetic rhythms. Rather, the power of Anne Frank’s writing lies in the fact of its unadorned simplicity and heartfelt expression, which needs no embellishment or commentary. That said, Whitbourn, who is a first-rate composer for voices, has seen fit (been inspired) to attempt to enliven and enrich some of those revered words with music, and Annelies (Anne Frank’s full, original name was Annelies Marie Frank) is the result.

Whitbourn states that Annelies is “a commemorative work” both for Anne and for “those voiceless millions who shared her fate.” The intent of the librettist was to focus on Anne’s keen observations of people, of events in her immediate environment and of the world beyond, and of her own situation and longed-for destiny. The order of presentation of the text selections is not chronological (the first one is from April, 1944, only a few months before the inhabitants of the Annexe were found by the Nazis and taken away); rather the selections are organized to capture the essence of Anne’s thoughts, feelings, and character independent of time, which at some point ceased to have the same relevance for her as for those not confined as she was, separated from the normal measurements of life and progress.

Setting English prose, especially of the un-self-conscious variety, to music is not easy—it usually comes off sounding unnatural, contrived, forced. Melodies go off in weird directions, misled by irregular rhythms and jagged inflections. Britten and Menotti got it absolutely right; Whitbourn, while very often successful, doesn’t always join them. When you have to set words such as, “I started packing my important belongings. The first thing was my diary…”, or, “We arrived at the Prinsengracht, led through the long passage and up the wooden staircase to the Annexe…”, you need to think of the realization as speech, not as some remote, detached musical expression. But here, passages like this seem contrived to “fit” rather than to illuminate the thought or idea of the speaker.

One problem for me was the choice of soprano for the solo passages. Arianna Zukerman unquestionably has a beautiful voice, but her big sound and operatic style, especially in this chamber version of the work, and her somewhat detached delivery of the texts seemed at odds with the sincere, uninhibited voice of the teenage Anne. In fact, for me the best parts of the work were those featuring the chorus.

There also are some misleading contextual issues that at least on the surface seem unnecessary. One is the point in the score titled “Passing of time”, a quote from a diary entry in January, 1944. Here, the text simply says “The years went by. There’s a saying: ‘Time heals all wounds,’ that’s how it was for me.” From this we have no way of knowing that in her diary, what Anne was actually referring to was her experience of love for a boy, before the war, but in this context we’re led to believe that it was some vague reference to her endless days spent in the confined, oppressive world hiding in the Annexe. Later in the work, in lines quoted from February, 1944, we hear of Anne’s desire to “fulfill my longing at last…” But the important lines telling us what this longing is are omitted. We’re led to believe that it refers to something about spring, but actually she is talking about how she is “longing—really longing—for everything: conversation, freedom, friends, being alone.” She even longs—”to cry!”

Apart from these pointed reservations, I have to say that Whitbourn does a wonderful job finding musical contexts and expressive techniques to realize them. He uses his chamber instruments (violin, cello, piano, clarinet) well, sometimes calling them to create the sounds of traditional Jewish music, at others to paint a mood, whether of gloom or levity, contemplation or exuberance or apprehension. And his writing for unaccompanied voices, which constitutes a large part of the score, is superb; there are so many moments of happy inspiration throughout that you easily glide past the less shining sections.

Some of the more affecting sections come near the end of the work: the beautiful hymn-like tune on “Ich danke dir für all das Gute…” (Anne included this German text, which she said at the conclusion of her prayers each night, in the diary on March 7, 1944); the eerily captivating choral/instrumental evocation of the scene of the Annexe residents’ discovery, capture, and rude departure for Westerbork and the concentration camps (“The capture and the concentration camp”); the following a cappella chorale based on verses from the Psalms and from Lamentations.

I actually wished that the work had ended there—by now it had effectively made its point, shining its light on several of this remarkable teenage girl’s all-too-briefly lived moments of insight, despair, longing, eloquence, and most of all, of hope, doomed yet more desirable, more sustaining than the alternative. At this point, it just seemed fitting to leave us to ponder the true, harsh end, enhanced by the open, bitter chords of this chorale and the final words (“The young and the old lie on the ground; the maids and young men are fallen”, from Lamentations). However, it’s also easy to understand Whitbourn and Challenger’s decision to instead leave us with the words and image of the more positive, optimistic Anne, whose spirit rose above and outlived all the evil that surrounded her: “As long as you can look fearlessly at the sky, you’ll know you’re pure within.” These words understandably may inspire us and make us feel better (nothing wrong with that), but, as Anne’s observations should vividly remind us, we still cannot escape from who we are as humans, what we’ve done, and why these things that happened to Anne and millions of others, in one form or another, keep happening.

-- David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

By all accounts Wilhelm Friedemann Bach was the greatest organist of his time in Germany. The music critic Christian Friedrich Daniel Schubart stated: "Undoubtedly the greatest organist of the world! He is a son of the world-famous Sebastian Bach and has reached - if not surpassed - his father's virtuosity." He then goes on to describe his features: "a fiery genius, a creative imagination, originality and inventiveness, a stormy quickness, and the magical power to enchant every heart with his play on the organ". Bach's oeuvre for the organ bears witness to that description, and it is a great shame that so little of his art has come down to us.

The CPO disc promises us "the complete organ works" by Wilhelm Friedemann Bach. This has to be taken with a grain of salt. To begin with, it is not easy to make a clear distinction between pieces for any keyboard and compositions specifically intended for the organ. Obviously pieces for two manuals and pedal can only be played at the organ. Those include the seven chorale preludes and the two Fugues in F and g minor respectively which Friedhelm Flamme included in his recording. Inexplicably he did not include the Fugue in F (F 36 / A 91) which Julia Brown has recorded. On the other hand Flamme plays several pieces which don't require a pedal; these include the Fantasias in d minor and c minor which open and respectively close, his programme. Also no pedal is required in the Eight Fugues (F 31 / A 81-88), but here Friedemann has specifically indicated that they can be played either at the "Clavier" (any keyboard without pedals) or the organ.

Although these two discs contain duplications, they also complement each other in that both offer pieces which don't appear on the other disc. The two Fantasias I have just mentioned are absent from Julia Brown's disc - she played them at the harpsichord on Naxos 8.570530 - whereas she included various fugues which are not in the two catalogues of Wilhelm Friedemann Bach's oeuvre. The reason is that they are not considered authentic. It is rather odd that this is not mentioned in the liner-notes. Authentic or not, it is nice to have them available, even though they have been recorded before - for instance by Leo van Doeselaar on Etcetera KTC 2503, 1984.

One can understand that they are considered doubtful, as some are very baroque in style and not very different from Johann Sebastian's fugues. The Fugue in B flat (track 16) is a good example. But that in itself doesn't tell against their authenticity. Listening to the chorale preludes one will notice their rooting in a past even before J.S. The cantus firmus is virtually unornamented, and Friedemann makes use of so-called Vorimitation in which the chorale melody is anticipated in the other voices. It was not only used by Sebastian but is also a feature of the chorale preludes by Johann Pachelbel (1653-1706). Other fugues begin in a rather old-fashioned manner but then turn towards the fashion of the time towards the end. This is typical of Wilhelm Friedemann who in his oeuvre moves to and fro between the various styles of his time.

The number of fugues he composed is remarkable and this is considered one of the reasons he fell from grace towards the end of his career. The form of the fugue had become largely obsolete, and when Friedemann attempted to get the Eight Fugues printed, publishers refused. These are very likely characteristic of his style of playing, and that could well have been the reason that in the last stage of his life he wasn't in much demand as an organist any more. It is assumed that he mostly improvised during his public concerts; that is probably the reason so little organ music by him has been preserved.

The duplications allow us to compare the interpretations of these two organists which are quite different. A look at the track-lists reveals that Julia Brown is consistently slower than Friedhelm Flamme. It is mostly not possible to decide which tempo is right. The Fugue in F (F 33 / A 90), for instance, works in both performances quite well. The slower reading by Julia Brown lends it a kind of gravity and seriousness which suits its character as it is reminiscent of the fugues in Sebastian's Well-tempered Clavier. Elsewhere the slow tempo works against the music, for instance in the Fugue in c minor (track 6) where the trills are unnatural. One could probably characterise Ms Brown's performances as analytical: every detail is exposed, thanks not only to the relatively slow tempi but also the registration which is mostly modest and allows for every single voice to be followed.

The differences between these two discs are also due to the organs. Julia Brown plays an instrument built by Paul Fritts and Company in 1999, which was clearly inspired by the German baroque organ. Friedhelm Flamme also plays a modern organ by Martin Hillebrand dating from 2008. Here new stops have been built in the style of the 18th century, particularly based on the disposition of the organ by Christian Vater which was built in this church in the 1730s. Some pipework from the organ Carl Giesecke had built in the same church in the 1860s has been incorporated into this organ. Because of that the sound is quite different, mellower and less penetrating than the sound of the organ Julia Brown plays. I don't want to choose between them. The Eight Fugues come off beautifully at the Hillebrand. So do the chorale preludes, but in these somewhat old-fashioned pieces the Fritts organ is probably closer to what Bach had at his disposal in his earlier years.

Both booklets leave something to be desired. I have already identified that the doubtful authenticity of several pieces in Julia Brown's recording is not mentioned. Otherwise the liner-notes are not very specific about the various pieces. The CPO booklet contains some general information about Wilhelm Friedemann as an organist, but little analysis of the music. The track-lists should have given the numbers in Peter Wollny's catalogue as well, in particular as Falck's catalogue is out of date. I have added them on the basis of the work-list in New Grove.

Both recordings have their merits and those who have an interest in Wilhelm Friedemann's music shouldn't miss either of them.

-- Johan van Veen, MusicWeb International

W. F. BACH Sonatas: in Eb, F 5; in Bb, F 9; in C, F 2; in D, F 4. Suite in g, F 24 • Julia Brown (hpd) • NAXOS 8.572814 (75:58)


This is the third volume in Naxos’s projected series of Wilhelm Friedemann Bach’s keyboard works. Like the previous two, it features Julia Brown, music director and organist of the First United Methodist Church in Eugene, Oregon. (The previous volumes featured organ works, 8.570571, and Fantasias and Fugues, 8.570530.) Although the previous harpsichord disc received good reviews, there was a caveat that Brown tended to play too slowly. That certainly isn’t the case on this disc. If anything, the consistently upbeat tempos of these pieces tend to sound quite jaunty, and Brown’s penchant for introducing obvious moments of rubato in her phrasing creates the same kind of stutter-step in the music that one hears in the keyboard works of Dietrich Buxtehude.


My issue is not so much with Brown’s playing, which is sparkling and lively, as it is with Bach’s music. It’s exceptionally well crafted but lacks imagination. Yes, there are moments here and there which grab one’s attention—he was, after all, a Bach—but even when compared with his younger brother Johann Christian’s piano sonatas, they lack charm. When one lacks both inventiveness and charm, one is left with very little save energy. The liner notes, written by Brown herself, claim otherwise; she hears “sudden contrasts and surprising changes” in the Bb-Major Sonata, but to my ears such changes are quite mild compared to any of his brother Carl Philipp Emanuel’s keyboard pieces. Generally, what I hear is the older style of his father reworked and retreaded so often that the tire tracks show. Nearly every piece has the same bright, perky quality. To my ears, the most original and imaginative movement in the entire recital is the second movement ( Grave ) of the Sonata in C Major. If you hear W.F. Bach’s music differently, however, there is no question that this is an outstanding disc to get.


FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley

Includes work(s) for organ by Samuel Sebastian Wesley. Soloist: James McVinnie.

Delicate contrasts of mood and bright clear recording.

Of particular interest in this collection of Weber’s uplifting overtures are those from Der Beherrscher der Geister, Turandot, Jubel and Silvana. Der Freischütz, Euryanthe and Oberon need little introduction.
 
Those overtures from the forgotten Weber operas have shed their obscurity in the opera house for favourite status in the concert hall. Following Beethoven and Mozart, Weber’s works for the stage were considered fresh, and seen to carry a blend of strong orchestral craftsmanship, coupled with inspired lyricism and this is evident from the overtures.
 
In the various recordings of popular Weber overtures one is often aware of the presence of either a ‘robustly mechanical’ or ‘sensitive’ reading. Here, the New Zealand orchestra under Wit engage in delicate contrasts of mood coupled with a bright and clear recording. This puts them in the same league as some of the more prestigious recordings.
 
This is the first time I have heard Abu Hassan played with such vitality and speed. This approach certainly adds spice to Weber’s bustling score. The warm wind section in a fine acoustic - against subtly balanced shimmering strings - provides real appeal in their rendering of Der Freischütz. The Turandot music was completely unknown to me. Its simple pipe opening comes across as particularly British yet it was written for Stuttgart in 1809. I find from the notes that the ‘folk music’ opening was Weber’s interpretation of the Chinese idiom!
 
The elegance of Preciosa is charming with contrast provided by the sedate introduction and the energetically dynamic central section with crisply defined first violins.
 
One may be surprised that the Jubel Overture ends with the British National Anthem. This work however was composed after the Battle of Waterloo and celebrated the 50 ^th anniversary of the then King’s accession. Its majestic opening gives the necessary pomp and splendour.
 
Antoni Wit is an accomplished conductor who studied in Krakôw and works with the Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra and with Polish Television and Radio. We remember his excellent interpretation of the Prokofiev piano concertos and later of the Messiaen Turangalila symphony in 2002.
 
The notes in English are fairly generous and give more than adequate background to the overtures.
 
--Raymond J Walker, MusicWeb Intenational
 

Weiss, S.L.: Lute Sonatas, Vol. 4 - Nos. 21, 37, 46