Although an extraordinarily active figure in his native Milan, where he served as maestro or organist at no fewer than 11 churches (according to an almanac for 1775), and long recognized as an important figure in the development of the symphony, Giovanni Battista Sammartini remains today largely ignored. In Fanfare 26:3, my colleague Barry Brenesal gave a lukewarm reception to his first opera, Memet (1732), Robert Maxham a somewhat warmer welcome to a set of six Sonate notturne (21:6), and there’s a fine Harmonia Mundi disc that includes several of his symphonies played by Ensemble 415. A few instrumental odds and ends dotted around on collections complete a picture that scarcely reflects Sammartini’s one-time Europe-wide eminence.

He was born either at the end of 1700 or early in 1701, the son of a French oboist who immigrated to Italy. Both Giovanni Battista and his brother Giuseppe initially followed their father by becoming oboists, but G. B. soon established a considerable reputation as an organist, drawing the approbation of Charles Burney, who noted that Sammartini’s playing was “truly masterful and pleasing” when he heard him in 1770. His first significant vocal works were five cantatas, now lost, composed in 1725 for the Friday evening Lenten observations of the Congregazione of SS Entierro, a prestigious brotherhood that held its meetings in the Jesuit church of S Fedele. Three years later, Sammartini was appointed maestro di capella to the Congregazione, a position he retained for most of the remainder of his life. He died early in January 1775, his remarkably active life commemorated by a large gathering at a memorial service held on January 16.

Sammartini continued to write Lenten cantatas for the Congregazione throughout the years he was maestro to the brotherhood, there seeming little room for doubt that some at least of the “Lost: 40 sacred cantatas” cited in Grove’s worklist fall into this category. Just eight survive, five of which, including both those on the present disc, date from 1751. A recording of a further 1751 cantata, Il pianto degli angeli della pace, has been announced by Naxos (8.557432), but this has yet to come my way.

Both cantatas follow a similar design, being scored for soprano, alto (originally castratos), and tenor soloists accompanied by a standard “pre-Classical” orchestra of pairs of oboes and horns, strings, and continuo. The structure, too, is identical, with an opening Sinfonia followed by a semi-dramatized alternation of secco recitative and aria, with a concluding coro or trio, neither of which, pace Naxos’s notes, is predominantly contrapuntal. In didactic purpose and in form they are what would have been termed oratorios in the previous century. The style of the writing is advanced, already very much of the pre-Classical kind that would influence the young Mozart when he visited Italy 20 years later (Sammartini was apparently friendly toward Leopold and Wolfgang when they visited Milan). In the overtures there is something of the “spirit and fire” that Burney found “peculiar to the author,” while Sammartini’s harmonies are a constant source of interest, frequently taking quite bold paths. With one exception, that of the Virgin Mary in Maria addolorata (“The sorrowing Mary”), which is cast in repeated AB form with a concluding stretto, the arias are large-scale da capo structures.

The performances, given before a quiet audience in Milan’s Santa Maria Hoè church, are little more than serviceable, but have the not inconsiderable merit of having their heart in the right place. Ferrari’s direction tends to be rigid in quicker moving music, but he finds plenty of affecting lyricism in slower pieces, although they are invariably taken too slowly, as are recitatives, which are also much too vocalized. The best and most stylish of the soloists is the fine alto, Sonia Prina, who as Mary Cleophas has the longest and most elaborate of all the arias, a 12-minute outpouring of sorrowing sympathy for the Virgin that includes an elaborate cello obbligato part, here rather over-sentimentally played. The bright-voiced, but sensitive soprano Silvia Mapelli also gives pleasure, but I fear that Mirko Guadagnini is one of those all-purpose Italian lyric tenors with little sense of style in this repertoire, the demanding coloratura of his aria in Maria addolorata being way beyond his capabilities. The modern-instrument orchestra plays with some sense of style, but ensemble problems are not infrequent. Overall, this is quite an enjoyable disc that introduces to the catalog two works worthy of investigation by anyone interested in the still-misunderstood mid-18th century.

Brian Robins, FANFARE

A central figure in the arts in France during his lifetime, Déodat de Sévérac stressed the importance of distinctive regional character in music. He derived his inspiration from Catalonia and Provence, and the genial warmth of expression in his work is reflected in the radiant imagery of Baigneuses au soleil which was dedicated to Alfred Cortot. The two groups of En vacances, the first described as little romantic pieces of moderate difficulty, are dedicated to friends, relations or colleagues, while the Fantasy Sous les lauriers roses is dedicated to the memory of the composer’s teachers. Volume 1 (8.555855) of Jordi Masó’s survey is a Penguin Guide *** key recommendation.

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

Although Shostakovich's chamber music is dominated by the fifteen string quartets, he also left his mark on the piano trio, the piano quintet and the accompanied sonatas.

RODRIGO: Retablo de Navidad (Complete Orchestral Works, Vol.

Includes work(s) for gtr by various composers.

This album was nominated for the 2005 Grammy Award for "Best Orchestral Performance."

I vividly remember seeing Penderecki conduct the New York Philharmonic in a particularly wrist-slashing concert consisting of his De Natura Sonoris No. 2 (I loved it when the percussion section appeared to attack a filing cabinet with a hacksaw), this Viola Concerto, and as a cheery finale, Shostakovich’s Fourteenth Symphony. It was winter, and snowing heavily. By the end of the concert there were about a dozen people left in the hall, which came as no surprise. The Viola Concerto struck me as uniformly grey and dismal, and it still does. Try as I might, and as well played as it is here, I’m not convinced that this is one of the composer’s more compelling efforts.

The Second Cello Concerto, on the other hand, is terrific, a large piece recognizably in the composer’s later, neo-romantic style. It’s still dark-ish, but far more varied in texture, timbre, and expression than the Viola Concerto, and it’s very well played here. You also always can count on Wit and his Polish forces to deliver the goods, particularly in Penderecki, and they don’t disappoint. You may also like the Viola Concerto more than I did. This isn’t a top recommendation in this series, then, but I have no qualms about the quality of the music making or the engineering.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

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This is a compelling addition to the already impressive series of Naxos CDs devoted to the music of one of Europe's most important living composers. These two substantial works by Krzysztof Penderecki date from the early days of the period where he was, in his own words, "saved from the avant-garde snare of formalism by a return to tradition". In other words, any listener not enamoured of the post-war hardcore European modernism in which Penderecki more than dabbled - as his renowned Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima or the notorious De Natura Sonoris I and Fluorescences testify - can safely read on.

Nevertheless, neither the Viola nor the Second Cello Concerto can be construed as especially easy listening. The music is a heady mixture of neo-Romanticism and early modernist elements, employing a language that both Shostakovich and Bartók would have recognised, yet going beyond the relatively mainstream idiom of his 'Christmas' Symphony. In character both works are certainly darksome, a sense of menace never far off - perhaps a reflection of difficult times in communist Poland. The bleak, eerie strings-only opening of the Second Cello Concerto is particularly memorable: the work was written for and premiered by Mstislav Rostropovich and is as relentlessly Cimmerian as any Penderecki, or any other composer for that matter, has written. Confrontational, multi-climactic and superbly scored, this is one of Penderecki's key works. The Viola Concerto is notably shorter and less spectacular, but is nevertheless stylish and accessible, providing also a convenient route into the sterner challenges of the Cello Concerto.

Guided by the expert but still underrated Antoni Wit, the excellent Warsaw Philharmonic give surely award-winning accounts of these demanding scores. The Russian soloists are majestic too: intuitive, expressive and virtuosic. This is Grigori Zhislin's first recording for Naxos, but he knows the Viola Concerto very well by now: a friend of Penderecki's, he gave the Russian premiere of the composer's Violin Concerto, and then took up the viola at Penderecki's request in order to be able to give the premiere, a quarter of a century ago, of his new Viola Concerto! Some may recall Tatjana Vassiljeva's only other recording for Naxos, her 'Cello Recital' (8.555762) almost a decade ago, on which she performed the Sonatas of Britten and Debussy among other works. Naxos released that in their occasional 'Laureate Series', in which they showcase award-winning newcomers. The surprise is that it took them so many years to re-record someone of Vassiljeva's great talent.

Sound quality is very good. The booklet notes are informative, albeit focused on a step-by-step guide to the music. Despite the short running time, for anyone new to Penderecki, but perhaps familiar with Shostakovich's symphonies and concertos, this disc is an ideal place to begin what should be a thrilling exploration.

-- Byzantion, MusicWeb International

David Lloyd-Jones' new Bax Sixth is especially welcome since the only other modern recording is available only as part of a complete set of symphonies on Chandos. Even if that were not the case, Lloyd-Jones scores over Bryden Thompson with his generally more incisive reading. Both conductors make much of the first movement's melancholic rancor (in tempos that are virtually identical), but the central slow movement benefits from Lloyd-Jones' more rhapsodic approach, whereas Thompson seems content to languish (thereby adding more than two minutes to Lloyd-Jones' timing). The finale too finds Lloyd-Jones possessing a stronger sense of forward momentum as he reveals more of the music's dramatic architecture.


The Scottish National players yield nothing to their London counterparts--if anything their brass have the edge in terms of projection and rhythmic alacrity. Naxos' recording, while less opulently reverberant than the Chandos production, presents a sharper image that allows more of Bax's multilayered detail to emerge clearly (while still swallowing some of the top end, glockenspiel in particular). To top it off, Lloyd-Jones offers first-rate performances of Bax's lushly exotic Into the Twilight and the dreamy Summer Music. Certainly a must for Bax fans, but newcomers can unreservedly join in the fun too.
--Victor Carr Jr, ClassicsToday.com

This is an excellent Delius collection, as interesting for the repertoire as for the high quality of the performances. There are some real novelties here, including the American Rhapsody (later to become Appalachia in its expanded version) and the first recordings of Three Small Tone Poems, only one of which--Summer Evening--is at all well known. Sleigh Ride appears under its original title, Winter Night, as the centerpiece of the triptych, while Spring Morning wasn't even published until the late 1980s. So what we wind up with is three quarters of a Delian Four Seasons, with Spring Morning a wholly characteristic essay in the composer's early "Grieg meets Debussy" style.


As for the remaining items, The Walk to the Paradise Garden receives a beautifully flowing, ecstatic reading from Lloyd-Jones, while Two Pieces for Small Orchestra ("On Hearing the First Cuckoo in Spring" and "Summer Night on the River") benefit from fine wind playing and tempos that never let the music meander excessively. A Song before Sunrise and Delius' last completed (with Eric Fenby's help) orchestral work, Fantastic Dance, complete this well-planned, career-spanning collection. Naxos' sonics rank with the finest work on the label, as is usually the case with its Glasgow recordings. Strongly recommended both for the novelties as well as for the more popular items.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Acclaimed for her 'beautifully clear, warm and intelligent coloratura' and 'naturally bright, vernal timbre', Spanish soprano Maria Bayo has shone as a prima donna internationally, yet reserves a special place for the music of her native country.

DUKAS: Piano Sonata / Variations on a Theme of Rameau

The Naxos Deutsche Schubert-Lied-Edition: Schubert set the poetry of over 115 writers to music. He selected poems from classical Greece, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, from eighteenth-century German authors, early Romantics and Biedermeier poets.

Sergey Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet was completed after the composer's final repatriation to Soviet Russia after a period abroad. It was written for the Kirov Ballet but early productions faltered, and Prokofiev soon adapted his music to the concert hall. The Suites avoid narrative sequence, selecting crucial moments such as the famous "balcony scene", and dramatic climaxes such as the Death of Tybalt. Composed to celebrate the famous author's 150th anniversary, the Pushkin Waltzes are relaxed, easygoing, and with a typically witty edge.

Giovanni Bottesini was not only among the most famous double bass players of his time, but was also a conductor of some distinction and a composer. He conducted the first performance of Verdi's opera Aida in Cairo in 1871 and won success with some, at least, of his own ten operas. Known to some as the Paganini of the double bass, he significantly extended the technical possibilities of the instrument.

"The Duetto for two basses is probably the earliest and most etude-like work on this disc, from a set of three dedicated to Bottesini’s teacher, Luigi Rossi. The Concerto No. 2, sometimes referred to as in A minor, or in B minor, for complicated reasons arising from old-fashioned tuning conventions, is a fully mature work, from the well proportioned, somewhat laconic first movement, through the simply singing second, to the third, driven by a rhythmic figure typical of the polonaise (and the Cuban bolero).

Other selections emphasize the essential vocality of Bottesini’s inspiration, most explicitly in the Bellini Fantasia, but stylistically so in the pairings of bass, always singing, now with clarinet, now with soprano. The anonymous texts are routine bourgeois expressions of popular Romantic sentiment; but in the case of Tutto che il mondo the music is very well known - Chopin’s Etude Op. 25, No. 7. The Bach transcription is perfectly straightforward. Can there be any instrument without a transcription of this piece? The Adagio melancolico projects that characteristic elegiac mood, demanding a virtuosity of feeling at least as much as of just technique, that Bottesini perfected for many of his stand-alone solo pieces."

Jeffrey L. Stokes

Handel's Concerti Grossi, Op. 6 are written for small solo string ensemble and orchestra, a combination which invites elegant interplay between like-sounding but distinctive groups. Nicknamed Il gardellino, or 'The Goldfinch', Vivaldi's Flute Concerto is as filled with charming melody and sounds from nature as anything in the Four Seasons. Possibly written for King Frederick the Great, the easy grace of C.P.E. Bach's Flute Concerto in D minor has a surprisingly dramatic and virtuoso finale. This recording brings together leading soloists of the Seattle Symphony in a feast of 18th century refinement.

Kenneth Leighton's distinctive gifts as a composer were apparent as early as the premi�re of his Cello Concerto, when he was barely 26. It was an instrument for which he wrote with particular subtlety and often from an inner compulsion. The Elegy, Op. 5 is full of brilliance, lyricism and mystery whilst by the time he wrote the rhapsodic and expressive Sonata for Solo Cello, Op. 52, his position as one of Britain's leading composers had long been cemented. The beautiful Alleluia Pascha Nostrum, Op. 85 was first performed by the soloist on this disc, Raphael Wallfisch.

The decision by the Vaughan Williams estate to release for publication and performance a tranche of his early chamber and orchestral works has proved to be popular with recording companies and performers. This is the third recording of the 1903 Piano Quintet I have heard and I suspect that is not a complete list. The "concern" of the Estate trustees one imagines was that the late-developing Vaughan Williams' reputation would in some way be tarnished by the public's knowledge of these apprentice works. Instead, one is able to enjoy this attractive and appealing music in its own right as well as marvelling at how, in just a few short years, Vaughan Williams went from being rather derivative to wholly personal.

Take the 1903 Piano Quintet that opens the disc. This is the same year Vaughan Williams started working on his Sea Symphony - for all the occasions of awkwardness that beset the completed work his originality blazes out. In the Quintet, Brahms is a benevolent shade. Vaughan Williams uses the same instrumental line-up as the Schubert Trout Quintet with a double-bass thickening the bottom line as opposed to a second violin as in the more traditional piano quintet ensemble. Then fascinatingly, as in the second subject of the opening movement, there is a glimpse of 'Music-yet-to-come' with a tentative violin-led theme gently reiterated by the piano. It is as though the 'original' Vaughan Williams is peeking out almost not daring to have the effrontery to be himself in the presence of the older master. The London Soloists Ensemble give an excitingly powerful and dramatic account of the score, excellently recorded at Champs Hill by veteran producer/engineer Michael Ponder. This music was first recorded on a very fine 2 CD set from Hyperion by the Nash Ensemble. That compilation collected together in one place most of the early chamber works including three of the four recorded here plus several other substantial pieces. If that set is already in your collection, excellent and near complete as it is I am not sure the new disc will add substantially to your knowledge. However, in its own right this is very fine. The London Soloists offer a more dynamic and full-blooded approach than the Nash Ensemble with all the parts beautifully integrated but solo lines brought forward with character and panache. First amongst equals violinist Lorraine McAslan is a dynamic presence in the two main works to which she contributes. What I especially like is the high romantic style of her playing; flamboyant, dramatic and skilful as required. Vaughan Williams was never the greatest of composers for the keyboard but here John Lenehan makes light work of the frequently thick writing.

Violist Sarah-Jane Bradley has her own moment to shine in the undated Romance for Viola and Piano - it was found amongst the composer's papers after his death. Liner writer Paul Conway speculates it may have been written for Lionel Tertis. It is no reflection on the excellent Bradley, who gives a fine and eloquent performance, to say that this is the least interesting work on the disc. Whereas the other works might have been with-held on the grounds of being juvenilia, I suspect this remained in Vaughan Williams' bottom drawer simply because he knew it was not one of his finest or indeed very characteristic works.

McAslan, Bradley and Lenehan are joined by guest players Anthony Pike on clarinet and Tim Jackson on horn for the Quintet in D from 1898. Here the Brahmsian influence is even more undigested - indeed I would be amazed if any 'innocent ear' listener was able to identify this as a work by Vaughan Williams. Yet in many ways I enjoy this work more than the later piece. This is romantic music with a capital R. Big sweeping gestures made with a young man's confidence. The addition of the two wind instruments adds considerably to the tonal range. The clarinet writing - played here with melting beauty by Pike - is so directly influenced by Brahms' late chamber works as to be all but plagiaristic. I like the way Vaughan Williams delays the horn's first entry, so that when it does the elegiac melody has all the more impact. There are weaknesses and oddities in the work; the second movement Intermezzo [track 6] is as close to a salon waltz as anything the composer wrote. The cello has a relatively uninspiring part, rarely having much of an independent existence other than to reinforce the piano's bass line. Then there is an oddly directionless and rather weak fugato in the finale that seems to spring more from the exercise manual than any compositional imperative. But balance that against the third movement Andantino which is simply beautiful - deliberate reference to Brahms' 4th Symphony and all. Would we be listening to this music if it was not written by a composer who went onto far greater things? I do not know for sure but this is a very enjoyable and easy listen.

Initially I thought the inclusion of the much later - and relatively well known - Six Studies in English Folksong from 1926 to be at best rather anachronistic. I still wonder if it was included to showcase the great talent of the ensemble's clarinettist Anthony Pike. Two things disarm my doubts; the quietly simple genius of the work and Pike's exceptionally beautiful playing. By hearing this brief work at the end of the programme it reinforces the compositional journey Vaughan Williams made and just what a liberating force the discovery of English Folksong was for him. Gone are the profligate, almost verbose - but enjoyable - gestures of the earlier works. Here is the very essence of both composer and original songs existing in perfect accord. The piano writing is a model of minimal intervention, simply supporting the melody or reinforcing a harmonic point. John Lenehan's accompaniment is quite superb - again aided by the excellence of the recording. The work exists in other versions - notably that for cello and piano. I think I prefer this version most, the purity of the clarinet's tone in some way matching the simple directness of the original songs. Many fine recordings exist of both versions but I do not think I have heard a better one than this; five of the six songs are in effect slow and lyrical and Pike floats his tone with effortless perfection. There is a little key action to be heard but nothing to disturb the gentle sense of rapture the players evoke.

An unusual typo from Naxos calls Vaughan Williams ‘Waughan Williams’ at one point but that aside the English-only liner is interesting and succinct. With a generous playing time and as a single disc survey of early Vaughan Williams chamber music coupled with a superb Six Studies, this disc is hard to beat.

-- Nick Barnard, MusicWeb International

Mieczyslaw Weinberg’s Eighteenth Symphony is the centerpiece of his symphonic trilogy On the Threshold of War, focusing on the traumas of the Soviet Union in World War II and stands as one of the most significant creations of his later years. Using texts by important Soviet poets, the work reflects on war with eloquent expressive power. The Trumpet Concerto is amongst Weinberg’s most substantial and diverse works from the 1960s. Ranging in effects from pointillist modernism to the grotesque and sardonic, Shostakovich described it as a “symphony for trumpet and orchestra.”

"[The 18th Symphony] is a complex work in every way worthy of the later Weinberg and his blossoming during the thaw. These are excellently solid performances of works well worth having. Lande and the amassed choral and instrumental forces give us a performance worthy of the brilliance of the music. Very recommended. Weinberg!" -- Gapplegate Classical-Modern Music Review [6/2014]

“The present performance boasts a compelling contribution from Andrew Balio, who revels in the witticism of the Finale while also encapsulating the darker undertones of the wistful central movement. The St Petersburg State Symphony offers strong support.” -- BBC Music Magazine [7/2014]

WEINBERG Symphony No. 8, “Polish Flowers” • Antoni Wit, cond; Rafal Bartminski (ten); Magdalena Dobrowolska (sop); Ewa Marciniec (alt); Warsaw PO & Ch • NAXOS 8.572873 (58:32)

Although I have written some very nice things about previous Weinberg CDs I’ve reviewed, this is one for the ages. It is the world premiere recording of his 1964 Eighth Symphony, subtitled “Polish Flowers” (Kwiaty Polskie) and based on the series of poems under that name by the famed poet Julian Tuwim (1894-1953). As usual with Naxos, none of the song texts are in the booklet in either language, and online in this case you can only access them in the original Polish. I was able, however, to find a brief translation of one poem online:


A box with paints from childhood’s time:


The colors of town are earth and grime.


An old worker at a dark doorway squats,


The spuds in his bowl are powdery dry.


It’s a face of yellowish and gray spots


In the midst of hunger, cold, dirt and slime.


Brief descriptions of all 10 poems are also given, in English, in the booklet. As one can surmise from the above, Tuwim’s poetry was often ironic, focusing “on Poland’s troubled past and ominous future,” covering such things as “social inequality, poverty, cruelty in times of war and a final luminous vision.” And Weinberg’s music is right there with him, redoubling its message and making dolorous or ironic comments of his own.


Like many such symphonies, the 10 “movements” are played continuously in one 58-minute work. The music is primarily tonal, but, as is the case with so much of Weinberg’s music, there are marvelous tonal “shifts” in the underlying structure, and the music seems often to flow rather than progress rhythmically. However, because so many of these poems focus on man’s cruelty to man, there are some intensely powerful rhythmic passages, primarily for the full chorus.


I know that these comments of mine may seem like constant reiteration, but Antoni Wit’s conducting is nothing short of miraculous. Not only does he impart full musical value to this work but he also draws the listener inward as he projects the emotions outward. In this way he creates a musical ambience that flows around the listener, almost like an enclosure of sorts. One is drawn into the musical web at the outset and not let go until the last note is sounded—and even then, one waits with bated breath to see if the music will continue. Yes, there are some pieces where Wit’s approach has its limitations, but in modern music that combines tonal and atonal qualities he is generally peerless. I can think of few other conductors who can create the kind of musical spell that Antoni Wit creates with regularity in his performances.


Needless to say, under such inspired direction the Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir play and sing with fervent commitment, and I’m thrilled to say that his vocal soloists are all first-rate, particularly tenor Bartminski who gets the lion’s share of the solo music. He has a typically bright Polish tenor, lyrical yet with a bright “cut” on top similar to certain Russian or Spanish tenors, and his powers of interpretation are simply marvelous. Soprano Dobrowolska and alto Marciniec are not to be slighted—their contributions are equally telling, and equally well sung—yet it is Bartminski around whom so much of this music revolves.


In general style this symphony resembles some of the work of Benjamin Britten at his very best. I am not implying that Weinberg copied Britten’s style, merely trying to give the listener unfamiliar with his music a frame of reference. This symphony also contains elements that sound like Mahler or Orff, and there are many differences in the way Britten and Weinberg set texts and the overall musical development. In the final analysis, however, there is much here that sounds somewhat akin to the War Requiem. This was probably conditioned by the poetry used for the texts, just as Britten’s music was conditioned by the poetry of Wilfred Owen.


The liner notes say that this symphony is one of Weinberg’s most personal artistic statements. That’s rather an understatement. This is a very deep, emotional, and involving work that you will certainly be caught up in and not forget.

FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley

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Although he never returned to his native Poland after the Second World War, Mieczyslaw Weinberg never lost touch with his roots. His Eighth symphony of 1964 is a setting of 10 poems (in Polish) of poet Julian Tuwim for chorus, tenor, and orchestra, with brief contributions from soprano and alto soloists as well. The subjects range from images of nature (Gust of Spring, There was an Orchard, Elderberry) to social injustice (Lessons, Justice), to the depredations of the Nazi years (Warsaw Dogs, Mother). The music is compelling, often haunting, and quite touching. Weinberg’s scoring is sparse and for the most part restrained, keeping power in reserve for the central poems about cruelty and inhumanity (Lesson, Warsaw Dogs), while his vocal writing gets the most out of simple melodies that carefully project the text.

Antoni Wit and his Warsaw forces are almost always at their best in choral music (remember the stunning Mahler Eighth and vocal works of Penderecki). The chorus sings with the right purity and, where called for, intensity. Tenor Rafal Bartminski has a pleasing timbre and makes a very effective soloist. Both women handle their small parts as well as anyone could ask, and the whole production is very well recorded. Naxos makes texts and translations available on its website, fortunately, as the music really does ask that you know what the singing is all about. This is a very fine release of music by an elusive but tremendously sincere and worthy composer.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Taking its name from Evan Ziporyn’s Hive, which grew out of the composer’s experience as a beekeeper, this album brings together an engaging selection of pieces for solo clarinet and clarinet ensembles of various sizes. From Piazzolla’s popular tangos to Harbison’s Bach/Stravinsky-inspired Trio Sonata, Schuller’s Duo Sonata and Barker’s Single Six, both jazz-inflected yet classical in spirit, to Persichetti’s lyrical Serenade, Clarinet Hive is an endlessly fascinating showcase of the clarinet’s expressive and virtuosic potential, as well as its wide range of subtle sonorities.

Galuppi is an original and Napoli's performance makes this a good choice for connoisseurs of 18th century keyboard music.

Galuppi is an original and Napoli's performance makes this a good choice for connoisseurs of 18th century keyboard music.

Though Baldassare Galuppi is rightly famed for his huge contribution to opera buffa, he was also a prolific and popular composer of keyboard music, particularly sonatas. When British pianist Peter Seivewright released on the Divine Art label a programme of Galuppi's keyboard sonatas in 1999 it was the first volume in a projected complete set running to ten discs and 90 sonatas. So far, and possibly because of ill health (see footnote), Seivewright appears to have got no further than volume 3 but in the last decade more sonatas have been unearthed, and there are now known to be over 130. This is the first Naxos CD devoted to Galuppi's music, and volume 1 of his keyboard sonatas. Volume 2 has not yet been released on CD, but is available as a download.

One immediate question about this recording - major or minor, depending on individual sensitivities - is the choice of a modern pianoforte (Steinway D). There will doubtless be many who feel that Galuppi's sonatas belong on a period instrument - whether harpsichord or fortepiano. The sonorities, slender textures and delicate ornamentations of his alternately late-Baroque and forward-looking pre-Galant music are sometimes partially lost in the lush, deep sound of Napoli's piano. Nevertheless, within these self-imposed limitations, Napoli's performance here is creditable - plenty of sensitivity, no misplaced showmanship.

There is no question, however, about Galuppi's masterly, mellifluous musicianship. Sonata after sonata is packed with beautiful melody and fluent invention, and it comes as no surprise that it was not only his opera music that was in great demand. But though Galuppi was himself a keyboard virtuoso, this is idiomatic music written with an eye on, or an ear to, the amateur player - it is varied, beautiful and rewarding, without being technically overwhelming.

Often the music is quite reminiscent of Domenico Scarlatti - the outer movements of the superbly imaginative Sonata in D, for example (incidentally incorrectly catalogued by Hedda Illy in E), or the ebullient two-and-a-half minute, one-movement Sonata in C, Illy 98. There are also reverberations of C.P.E. Bach, as in the refined Sonata in F and the thoughtful Sonata in F minor, and even of J.S. Bach, as in the Sonata in G.

But Galuppi is an original, without doubt, and Napoli's performance makes this altogether a good choice for connoisseurs of 18th century keyboard music, particularly those for whom the idiosyncratic colour of the harpsichord or fortepiano holds little attraction.

Sound quality is generally high, although the Sonata in C, Illy 57 does have a couple of minor imperfections that sound suspiciously like edit joins.

-- Byzantion, MusicWeb International Footnote The reviewer refers to Peter Seivewright’s ongoing series having halted at volume 3 ‘possibly due to ill health’. I want to point out for the benefit of potential customers (and the music industry) that Peter is very well indeed – he did in fact undergo surgery not too long ago but is doing very well; his projects (which include several CDs of Bach, a Reger disc and a series of American Piano Sonatas, have also been held up due to his work commitments – he moved from Scotland to help set up and manage the new Department of Music at the University of Trinidad and Tobago. His fourth volume of Galuppi has been recorded and will appear in due course, hopefully with the other projected volumes to follow a little more quickly than heretofore. Stephen Sutton (Divine Art)

Brothers Franz and Karl Doppler were both accomplished flautists. Their compositions, sometimes written together, reflect the tastes of the period, making great use of Hungarian themes.

Described as 'the first German song book', Das Lochamer Liederbuch is one of the earliest collections of German songs and instrumental compositions, assembled in the 1450s.

TANEYEV Violin Sonata in a. 1 Theme and Variations in C. Repose. Scherzos: in d; in g; in e?; in C; in F. Prelude in F. Quadrille. Andantino semplice. Prelude and Fugue in g?, op. 29. Romance, op. 26/6 (arr. Feigin) 1 • Olga Solovieva (pn); Ivan Peshkov (vn) 1 • NAXOS 8.557804 (72:41)


After several decades in the wilderness, Sergey Ivanovich Taneyev (1856–1915) is enjoying somewhat of a comeback, with a number of recent recordings introducing him anew to audiences that may have known his name but have heard little of his music. With Nikolai Rubinstein as his piano teacher and Tchaikovsky as his instructor in composition, Taneyev graduated from the Moscow Conservatory with honors. He made his concert debut in Moscow in 1875 playing Brahms’s D-Minor Concerto, and the following year he toured Russia as accompanist to the great violinist Leopold Auer.


Unfortunately for Taneyev, a dyed-in-the-wool musical conservative who distinguished himself as a performing artist in the works of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven, and who, as a composer, cast his countenance ever further West and further back than Tchaikovsky, becoming an expert in the techniques of 15th-century vocal polyphony and 16th-century counterpoint, he ran afoul of his Russian nationalist contemporaries. No love was lost between them. Taneyev was disdainful of the “Mighty Handful,” publicly reproaching Balakirev, calling Borodin “a clever dilettante,” and remarking that Mussorgsky made him laugh. He was a bit more deferential towards Rimsky-Korsakov, respecting the composer of Scheherazade for his serious study of counterpoint.


Taneyev’s personality and outlook are perhaps a bit easier to understand when one realizes that he was, in his own mind, anyway, an unfairly untitled aristocrat. Coming from a wealthy family, he enjoyed the resources to pursue his interests in science, history, mathematics, and philosophy. Traveling extensively, he rubbed elbows with literary figures such as Zola and Flaubert, and with musical celebrities such as Franck and Saint-Saëns. Taneyev’s attitude towards the progressive composers and modern music of his day was not dissimilar from that of his older but longer-lived French contemporary, Saint-Saëns; both abhorred what they saw as unschooled, undisciplined dilettantism in any field of endeavor, but especially in music and the arts. When Tchaikovsky left his position at the Moscow Conservatory in 1878, Taneyev replaced him; during his tenure there, Scriabin, Rachmaninoff, Gliere, and Medtner, among others, benefitted from Taneyev’s teaching, though each went his own way once out from under his influence.


The five scherzos for solo piano on this CD, written between 1874 and 1875, are asterisked as being world premiere recordings. And grateful we should be to pianist Olga Solovieva and Naxos for outing them, for they are gem-like beauties, which, in melodic and harmonic vocabulary, are heavily indebted, according to note author Anastasia Belina, to Schumann and Tchaikovsky.


The major work on the program, Taneyev’s 1911 A-Minor Violin Sonata, carries the subtitle, “Of medium difficulty.” The piece was new to me, though there is another recent recording of it listed on the Northern Flowers label. Melodically, as well as in the close exchanges and echoing back and forth of material, the writing bears resemblances to the op. 12 violin sonatas of Beethoven, not surprising, given Taneyev’s Classical leanings and his touring with Auer. Based on the hearing of it—I don’t have the score—I’m fairly confident in saying that the piece is technically easier to play than the Beethoven sonatas. Filled with charming melodies for the violin and delightful effects in the piano part, Taneyev’s Sonata would make a wonderful work for any moderately advanced violin student.


Though Naxos is not claiming premiere recording status for the C-Major Theme and Variations, this is the only current listing I find for it. The piece is a student work dated 1874. Taneyev was 18 at the time and still under Tchaikovsky’s supervision. According to Belina’s note, Taneyev’s exercise was heavily influenced by Tchaikovsky’s “Thème original et variations,” the concluding number in his Six Pieces for Piano , op. 19, which appeared in 1873, the year before Taneyev wrote his work. Evidence in support of Belina’s contention comes in the form of a theme Taneyev borrowed from the finale of Tchaikovsky’s Second String Quartet as a counter-melody in the second variation. The transmigration from Tchaikovsky’s Quartet to Taneyev’s Variations must have happened at the speed of light, for both works were written at virtually the same time.


Of the remaining pieces on the disc for solo piano, the Quadrille is the most interesting and the longest at almost eight minutes. Careful listening reveals that Taneyev did not use the title flippantly or fancifully. He was too much of a stickler for correctitude. Technically and formally, a quadrille is an ancient and very complex dance that became all the rage, alongside the waltz craze, in 19th-century Vienna. If written according to the Viennese form, which Taneyev’s is, the dance is comprised of six sections: (1) an open rondo-form, the “Pantalon,” in 2/4 or 6/8 time; (2) the “Été,” always in 2/4; (3) the “Poule,” a closed rondo form, always in 6/8; (4) the “Trénis,” a mirrored binary form (A-B-B-A); (5) the “Pastourelle,” a modified rondo, always in 2/4; and (6) “Finale,” a double ternary form (AA-BB-AA) in 2/4 time in which each statement of the theme is eight bars in length. It’s fascinating to listen to the precision with which Taneyev adheres to the formal scheme in his whirligig Quadrille.


Finally, there is the Romance adapted for violin and piano from the composer’s song cycle, Immortelles . The appearance of the right-hand piano’s notes on the page is alleged to resemble the stalactites of the song’s title, “Stalaktitï.” While there is a static “dripping-tears” character to the piece, I wouldn’t put too much stock in the analogy, especially if you, like me, associate stalactites with the freakish icicle-like formations found in cold limestone caves. Taneyev’s Romance may be tearful, even sentimental, but it’s heartwarming in the same way that the fourth in the set of Dvo?ák’s Four Romantic Pieces , op. 75, is. In fact, Taneyev’s Romance bears a striking resemblance to the Dvo?ák.


This is a thoroughly winning disc. The more of Taneyev’s music I hear, the more I think he has been undeservedly eclipsed by the very dilettantes he despised. He wasn’t a Russian nationalist in the mold of the “Mighty Handful,” but his music may actually be better crafted than theirs; and, to me at least, it’s more appealing than that of some of his more renowned students. Ivan Peshkov is wonderful in the two violin works, and Olga Solovieva, as both soloist and accompanist, is one of the best advocates Taneyev has. Urgently recommended.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Vasily Petrenko’s Shostakovich cycle marches on. This is volume seven. I presume there are four more to follow as and when Petrenko sets down the Fourth Symphony – to which I’m particularly looking forward – and numbers 7, 13 and 14.
 
This latest instalment pairs symphonies from the opposite chronological ends of the composer’s symphonic output. Number 2 was written to mark the tenth anniversary of the 1917 Revolution. Perhaps ominously – in terms of potential for artistic merit – it was commissioned by the Propaganda Division of the State Music Publishers’ Section. Interestingly, Richard Whitehouse relates in his notes that, initially, the work was not designated as a symphony; Shostakovich only took that step, it seems, a couple of years later. The work is in one continuous movement and in the last six minutes or so an SATB chorus is introduced. Their task is to deliver the four-stanza poem by one Alexander Bezimensky (1898-1973). Richard Whitehouse describes him as an “’official’ proletarian poet” but if this is a fair example of his work the term “party hack” might be more appropriate. Clearly, Shostakovich had no say in the choice of text and, apparently, he didn’t think much of it.
 
Richard Whitehouse observes that the symphony was composed during the most overtly modernist phase of his career. One might suggest that the term “brutalist” might also fairly apply to this score. Naxos helpfully split the piece into three separate tracks and these are reflected in the liner-notes. Shostakovich can be a forbidding composer at times but in this score we find him at his most experimental and intractable. For a start there are virtually no melodic themes in it – the trumpet tune that appears a couple of minutes into the score is more or less the only melody, as Whitehouse points out. Given the absence of themes it’s perhaps unsurprising that I struggle to discern any sort of development in the conventional sense. For example, I find it hard to see what relation the first five or six minutes of the score (track 1) bear to the music that follows, except as an unrelated introduction, perhaps. The music that opens the second section (track 2) is reminiscent of parts of the First Symphony. As this section unfolds the music becomes ever more strident. After a solo violin passage the texture becomes increasingly complex but it’s hard to see what all the activity signifies. Hereabouts the playing of the RLPO is tremendously vigorous and earlier, when the music was stirring to life from very subdued beginnings, there was no little finesse to the playing. So far as I can tell the performance is also very precise.
 
It would be kind to describe the words of the concluding choral section as banal; the poem is unmitigated Revolutionary tosh! Shostakovich “rewards” the poet with choral writing of no great distinction; these final minutes are brash and boldly coloured but, to be honest, one feels it’s a case of sound and fury signifying nothing. It’s richly ironic that when Shostakovich produced the sort of music that the authorities expected he wrote such stuff as this but when he composed music that was not in keeping with official expectations – in the Sixth or Eighth Symphonies, for instance – he produced his finest work. Vasily Petrenko and his orchestra – and choir – do their best for the score and give a colourful and committed account of it but, really, this is base metal. I find it perplexing, to say the least, to trace Shostakovich’s development as a symphonist from the precocious First Symphony through to the magnificent, complex Fourth. Indeed, the Second and Third Symphonies don’t really seem to offer much in the way of a bridge between those two tremendous scores.
 
I find the Fifteenth Symphony just as perplexing but in a very different way. Just what was Shostakovich saying this late score? What was going on behind that impassive face and those slightly owlish thick spectacles? A troubled spirit, it would seem, but what was troubling him?
 
One of the great enigmas of this score lies in the use made of quotations. Shostakovich made use of self-quotation in his music but to the best of my knowledge it was rare for him to quote other composers. Yet here, in what turned out to be his last symphony, we find him quoting from two composers – and from two radically different composers at that – as well as from himself.
 
The first movement opens deceptively with perky material on flute and then bassoon. The opening pages are reminiscent of the Ninth Symphony it seems to me. Then, at 1:57 the trumpet plays a familiar motif from Rossini’s William Tell overture. The Rossini motif has been foreshadowed in the moments leading up to its first appearance – the first of several in the movement – but what is the meaning? I confess I’m far from sure except to note that the motif is of a piece with Shostakovich’s characteristic sardonic streak and that, though the fragment of tune stands out every time we hear it, it is well integrated into the composer’s own material. The music becomes increasingly urgent, alarmed and, indeed, strident in tone and the reappearances of the Rossini quote seem to act as a brake on proceedings and to bring the music back to a less stressful, more insouciant level. Throughout this movement, whatever the mood of the music, the playing of the RLPO is crisp and characterful.
 
The second movement takes us to an altogether deeper level – though in saying that I don’t wish to imply that the first movement is superficial; it’s not. The Adagio opens with a brass chorale, which recurs at intervals as the movement unfurls. I think it’s hugely significant that this chorale is taken from the opening movement, The Palace Square, of the Eleventh Symphony, a work that I still think has yet to receive its full recognition within the composer’s output. It will be remembered that the Eleventh commemorates the failed Russian Revolution of 1905. The chorale is followed by extended glacial passages in which cello and viola solos are prominent. Here we are in the world of the string quartets. This is spare, searching music that has the character of a threnody. Petrenko and his players are excellent in maintaining the tension in these sparsely scored paragraphs, a virtue I < admired in their traversal of the first movement of the Sixth Symphony. Eventually (at 6:50) we hear an idea on the flutes but it’s not until this is taken up at some length by a solo trombone that it becomes clear that this is a funeral march. Eventually (at 11:01) the march erupts almost out of nothing into a huge climax. When this is spent the chorale returns, firstly on hushed strings and then on the brass. Now, I think, having experienced the funeral march we perhaps understand the significance of the quotation form the Eleventh. Is it that Shostakovich had unfinished business with the failed revolutionaries of 1905? Is he saying in this movement that those revolutionaries were betrayed by the Stalinist excesses in the years that followed the successful revolution of 1917?
 
The third movement, which follows attacca, is extremely brief. Richard Whitehouse rightly draws attention to the “barbed humour”. This is real nose-thumbing, sneering music and it’s adroitly done by Petrenko’s orchestra which offers some suitably pungent playing. Unless my ears deceive me the horns make a reference to the old DSCH motif one last time in a Shostakovich symphony.
 
The finale brings us the quotations from a second composer: Wagner. Right at the start the low brass intone the ‘fate’ motif from Die Walküre, followed by the soft timpani tattoo from Siegfried’s Funeral Music in Götterdämmerung. A few moments later (at 1:07) there’s surely another Wagner reference. The violins have an extended melody and as a kind of upbeat to it they play the same three notes with which Tristan begins. It’s possible that this is a coincidence but I don’t think so. The melody itself is described by Richard Whitehouse as “graceful”. I know what he means but I’m not sure that description is the full story: it sounds to me to be a spectral kind of grace; as so often with Shostakovich ambiguity is everywhere. This long, winding violin theme serves as the impetus for much of the content of the succeeding paragraphs. After another appearance of the ‘fate’ motif (5:28) what is at first a ghostly passacaglia begins. The music grows in temperature and intensity until a substantial climax is reached (10:08). This is another – and the last – of Shostakovich’s trademark towering symphonic climaxes and in it I hear definite echoes – grim ones – of the Leningrad Symphony. After the climax has subsided the music becomes wan and lean again; here the playing of the RLPO is once again most effective. The ending is enigmatic; the soft, tintinnabulating percussion over soft string chords recalls the conclusion of the Fourth Symphony, albeit the passage is longer this time. With a soft bell chime Shostakovich writes finis to his canon of symphonies.
 
The Fifteenth is a difficult symphony, not because its language is difficult in the way that the language of the Second is gratuitously difficult. It’s difficult because it’s so hard to grasp what are the composer’s intentions. I bought Maxim Shostakovich’s 1972 première recording when it came out – I still have the LP – and yet, even after all these years I’m not confident that I fully comprehend this elusive piece. I am sure, however, that it’s a fine and expressive composition and it’s the work of a mature and highly experienced symphonist whereas the Second is the work of a young, iconoclastic innovator. I don’t believe that earlier piece is genuinely symphonic in the sense of including any conventional development of ideas.
 
I doubt I shall listen often to the Second, though I’m sure that Vasily Petrenko and his choir and orchestra serve it well. I’m certain, however, that I shall return to this performance of the Fifteenth which strikes me as being excellent both in terms of the interpretation and the execution. The Naxos sound is very good: it reports the massive climaxes very well but conveys equally successfully the many quiet passages, both at the start of the Second and during the Fifteenth. As usual, Richard Whitehouse’s notes are very good at outlining the background to the works and at describing each score. However, it’s slightly disappointing that he doesn’t attempt any real discussion of the quotations in the Fifteenth beyond saying that they’re present.
 
This is another fine instalment in this important Shostakovich symphony cycle and I hope we won’t have to wait too long for the next release.
 
-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International

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One of the nice things about Vasily Petrenko’s ongoing Shostakovich cycle, now well past its halfway point, is that it is making me reevaluate symphonies I did not think so highly of previously. The conductor’s recent recording of the Third Symphony (with the First, on Naxos 8.572396) inspired me to comment, “Petrenko’s reading is so full of good humor—and perhaps a little sarcasm—that I found myself enjoying this symphony more than usual.” Well, the Second is, for the most part, just as good, aided and abetted by some really fun playing from the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, and exciting sound from Naxos’s engineering team. The opening pages, an extended bass drum roll, quietly played, and soon overlaid by what Shostakovich called “ultrapolyphony” (27 simultaneously played voices) create a strikingly Ivesian effect. Now, Ives was ahead of his time, and so was the young Shostakovich, who anticipated several of the 20th century’s later musical developments in this symphony. Petrenko pulls it off with impudence, and the factory whistle that introduces the chorus has never been more visceral in its impact. (Shostakovich advised that, in the absence of a factory whistle, a chord for horns and trombones could be used instead. I am not sure what is being used here—it sounds like a jet engine, actually—but it is most impressive.) The chorus is almost as idiomatic as it was in the Third Symphony, and if the singers sound a little hoarse, I can forgive them. (Shostakovich shows neither the orchestra nor the chorus much mercy in this symphony.) Perhaps that’s what singing about Lenin and communes does to one.
Few people doubt the importance of the 15th Symphony. In fact, in bolstering its stature, and its place as the terminal symphony in Shostakovich’s canon, conductors have a tendency to make it seem more funereal than perhaps is necessary. Petrenko’s reading takes 48: 35, which really is quite slow, but this is one of those times when the subjective tempos seem faster. I think this is because Petrenko plays up the chamber music-like textures that dominate this work; slow is not the same as heavy, after all. Also, he is almost maliciously funny in the first movement, and in the third. Yes, the humor is of the black variety, but Petrenko applies it delicately, and as a consequence, there is more subtlety and nuance here than one expects even in this symphony. There are many examples of particularly fine solo playing from several members of the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic, too. Surely, this is one of the best versions of the 15th Symphony currently available—right up there with one of Kondrashin’s recordings, or (for something much richer) Ormandy’s. Petrenko’s Second easily eclipses Morton Gould’s and Bernard Haitink’s (to name two of the most famous alternatives). For the Shostakovich fan, there’s every reason to get this newest release from Petrenko, and no good reason not to. Have at it.
FANFARE: Raymond Tuttle

CORELLI Violin Sonatas, op. 5: No. 7 in d; No. 8 in e; No. 9 in A; No. 10 in F; No. 11 in E; No. 12 in d, “La follia” • François Fernandez (vn); Glen Wilson (hpd) (period instruments) • NAXOS 8.557799 (62:53)


François Fernandez and Glen Wilson’s readings of the last six sonatas of Corelli’s op. 5 make up the second of a two-disc set (the first issued by Naxos as 8.557165). Harpsichordist Glen Wilson has provided the notes, in which he discusses the style of ornamentation, the use of harpsichord alone in realizing the figured bass, and the choice of A=400 (at which pitch Fernandez’s 1690 Andrea Guarneri violin, hardly so viola-like as might be expected, retains a surprising edge—of course, Corelli, like many of his contemporaries, avoided more than occasional use of the G string, supposedly because the bulkier string responded more sluggishly, so the higher tessitura doesn’t focus so intently on the instrument’s lower registers). Corelli’s sonatas influenced not only his contemporaries and immediate followers, but generations to come, and Fernandez and Wilson’s performances should make them equally impressive to modern listeners as well—not because of modern instruments or reliance on astringent timbres, but simply because they make these works breathe with a similar vital force as they must have exhibited in their own time. Even in these sonatas da camera the bass counterpoint should hold the most hidebound polyphonist’s attention, yet the melodies flow liquidly in the slow movements and they leap with sprightly, though controlled, energy in the fast ones. In the Ninth Sonata, Fernandez plays, on repeats, the ornaments provided by Corelli’s student, Geminiani, available in Hawkins’s History of Music (elsewhere, they try to remain true to the spirit of models that Roger claimed Corelli himself provided. Geminiani’s “ornaments,” as Wilson notes, amount almost to recomposition—heavy handed ones, in fact, some might think, in the spirit of Geminiani’s reworkings of Corelli’s solo sonatas as concerti grossi). Throughout, Wilson and Fernandez tease the textures of these works—which could alternatively be played with a noble (deadly?) restraint as inviolable masterpieces—with textural highlights, strong underscoring of the signature sequential passages, and zesty tempos. In Fernandez and Wilson’s performance, the famous “Follia” blends a somewhat melancholy dignity with the noted technical brilliance that made it a model for virtuosic showpieces through the generations. In this joie de vivre the duo seems to be having a thumpingly good time, as did Andrew Manze in so many pieces. Yet, with Corelli’s sonatas, Manze (Harmonia Mundi 907298, 26:5), with period instruments, wove sensitive, seductive fantasies. In 20:3, I reviewed John Holloway’s more abruptly rhetorical set, on period instruments (Novalis 150-128). And I also like Elizabeth Wallfisch’s set with the Locatelli Trio on Hyperion 66391, which Nils Anderson reviewed in 14:4.


Although Fernandez draws a somewhat reedy, acerbic sound from his violin, sound never seems an end in itself, nor does he rely upon it as a means to any other kind of end than a purely musical one. The engineers have balanced the harpsichord and violin almost perfectly; the ambiance remains clear and light. These performances constitute both an irrefutable argument for Corelli’s predominance and an irresistible introduction to his œuvre . In the last analysis, the choice between Manze, Holloway, and Fernandez depends more on the listener’s aesthetic predilections rather than on any superior merit. They are all authoritative in their very different ways. Fernandez belongs in this august company. Urgently recommended.


FANFARE: Robert Maxham

Havergal Brian was one of the most remarkable of twentieth century symphonists, whose reputation for the gargantuan (Symphony No. 1 ‘The Gothic’; Naxos 8.557418–19) has tended to overshadow the more concise nature of his later music. His Symphony No. 20 for instance, written in 1962, is compact, thematically sophisticated, and deeply expressive. Both it and No. 25 (1966) abandon Brian’s previous practice of one-movement symphonies in favour of the more classical three movements. Symphony No. 25 has beautiful melodies channelled within a wholly logical structure and is one of Brian’s most distinguished late works.

There have been only a handful of recordings of Michael Tippett's oratorio A Child of Our Time--André Previn and the RPO, Colin Davis and the BBC Symphony (with Jessye Norman and Janet Baker), both of which are out of print; Richard Hickox and the City of Birmingham Chorus & Symphony (Chandos), and this one, originally issued on Collins Classics in 1992. Of course, this performance has the benefit of the composer as conductor--and like Britten, Tippett was a fine podium interpreter of his own music, here supported by excellent orchestral and choral forces and some pretty decent vocal soloists.


The oratorio, written at the dawn of World War II, is (in Tippett's words) "a Passion, not of god-man, but of man whose god has left the light of the heavens for the dark of the collective unconscious." Its text, written by the composer, begins: "The world turns on its dark side. It is winter." And from there we are confronted with questions, emotions, and often perplexing aspects of our humanity, specifically the nature of good and evil and the individual's responsibility, expressed in words near the work's end: "I would know my shadow and my light, so shall I at last be whole." Amid the rousing, powerful choruses, poignant solo sections, and vibrant orchestral scoring, Tippett injects several Spirituals, which serve as commentary and help expand the work's reach and message, from "a Europe...stretching out through its torments toward Russia in the East, and even America in the West." It's a brilliant creation (its three-part structure loosely modeled after Handel's Messiah) whose sentiments and questions certainly haven't lost their relevance--and the music sounds with an originality and spiritual force that's as fresh as ever, from the stirring, ominous orchestral opening to the closing strains of the choir and soloists singing "Deep River".


There hasn't been much interest in Tippett's music for quite a while, but as things tend to go with great but neglected composers, it's only a matter of time before performers and record companies "rediscover" his orchestral and chamber music, his choral works and songs, and his five operas. If you don't know Tippett, here is an ideal place to begin; if you're a choral music fan and somehow missed this the first time around, don't hesitate.
--David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

The promising young composer Antonio Jose Martinez Palacios, known in musical circles simply as Antonio Jose, was executed, a victim of the Spanish Civil War, in the same year as Federico Garcia Lorca.