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

-------
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.

Pavlova: Symphonies Nos. 2 and 4

Includes work(s) by Hans-Eberhard Ross. Ensemble: Gould Piano Trio. Soloists: Benjamin Frith, Lucy Gould, Alice Neary, Robert Plane.

Although Martinu is known for a number of significant choral works, including his oratorio the Epic of Gilgamesh, relatively little attention is given to his vocal music. Songs with piano, many of them still unpublished or only made available in print.

BACH, J.S.: Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin, BWV 1001-1

KREISLER String Quartet in a 1. ZIMBALIST String Quartet in e 1. YSAŸE Harmonies du soir 2 • 1,2 Fine Arts Qrt; 2 Otis Klöber, cond; 2 Members of Europe PO • NAXOS 8.572559 (71:36)


Two of the works on this disc—Zimbalist’s String Quartet and Ysaÿe’s Harmonies du soir —are premiere recordings. While it’s conceivable that someone reading this review could have heard Ysaÿe in concert toward the end of his career—he died in 1931—it’s more likely that readers will be more familiar with the great violinist as a composer, many of whose works, particularly his six sonatas for solo violin, have survived him to become standard repertoire pieces.


With Fritz Kreisler (1875–1962) and Efrem Zimbalist (1890–1985) the situation is somewhat reversed. More than a few readers, I suspect, will have heard them play, at least on record if not in person. Their compositional output, however, was either slim in the case of Zimbalist or, in Kreisler’s case, consisting of a collection of salon pieces, cadenzas to other composers’ concertos, and a number of hoaxes perpetrated under the names of actual Baroque composers.


Kreisler did, nonetheless, make at least one attempt at writing a serious, multimovement, classically-styled work, the String Quartet in A Minor heard on the present disc. He wrote it in 1919, and it displays both considerable craft and familiarity with the musical trends of the time, which is to say it’s a beautifully written piece with nary an original idea. The first movement, titled Fantasia, is a dead ringer for César Franck’s 1889 D-Major String Quartet. The second movement, a scherzo, is positively Mendelssohnian. The lovely Romanze returns to a Franck-Fauré-Debussy idiom, while the finale, titled “Retrospection,” takes on the character of some of Kreisler’s lighter salon pieces. It’s a sort of Caprice viennois flirting with a Fuchs serenade.


Zimbalist thought enough of his 1931 E-Minor String Quartet to revise it in 1959. It too, like Kreisler’s quartet, is a model of superbly crafted string writing, but differs considerably from it in style. Where Kreisler synthesized his score from the musical vocabularies of composers and their works that were roughly contemporaneous in 1919 when he wrote it, Zimbalist looks back for his inspiration to the closing decade of the 19th century and first decade of the 20th, and specifically to his Russian roots in the music of Arensky, Glazunov, and Sergei Taneyev. In other words, Zimbalist’s quartet is a throwback to an earlier period and style, one that is very romantic and very Russian sounding.


Ysaÿe’s Harmonies du soir is an unusual hybrid of a piece scored for string quartet and string orchestra. Written in 1924, it’s a fairly late entry in the composer’s catalog, described in Roy Malan’s program note as “a sensuously chromatic journey through thickly textured emotions and colors finally leading, by restlessly climbing motifs, to a glorious sunrise in C.” To my ear, the piece resembles early Schoenberg; Transfigured Night could well be its mother. The only documented public performance was given by the Columbia University Strings in New York in 1979.


As noted, the Zimbalist and Ysaÿe pieces are firsts on disc, and while both are quite attractive, I’d be surprised to see seconds anytime soon. Luckily, both scores find themselves in excellent hands with the Fine Arts Quartet and, in the Ysaÿe, joined by the string section of the Philharmonic Orchestra of Europe led by Otis Klöber.


Kreisler’s quartet has been previously recorded, most notably by Kreisler himself with an ensemble that also included violist William Primrose. That recording, however, appears to be available only in a 10-CD EMI set that gathers a multitude of concerto and sonata recordings featuring Kreisler in his capacity as violinist.


The performances on the current Naxos CD are top-notch, as is the recording. The three works are appealing enough and certainly of sufficient interest to warrant recommendation, especially given a release so affordably priced.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

This is an exciting release of excellent music by one of Russia's greatest living composers (except that the last time I checked the Shchedrins were residents of Munich). As a composer, Rodion Shchedrin has been cursed by the popularity of his "Carmen" Ballet, but while you won't find the same level of tunefulness (obviously) in his original music, there's a similarly brilliant orchestral imagination at work, and no small level of arresting invention. Concerto No. 4, inspired by the folk music of Shchedrin's childhood, contains evocative writing for (among other things) recorder and harpsichord. Shostakovich's famous "tick-tock" percussion from the Fourth and Fifteenth symphonies also features prominently.

Shchedrin actually quotes a traditional Russian song in the Fifth concerto, but the remaining tunes are all original, and the title suggests the work's form--a simple alternation (with variations) of the basic material. Although characterized by some powerfully dissonant outbursts, the progress of the music is always clear and easy to follow, and the mood of both concertos is predominantly lyrical and often quite nostalgic. They are beautiful works. Kristallene Gusli is a brief, atmospheric exercise in mostly high sonorities, and it reveals Shchedrin's ability to write effective "modern" music (by which I mean essentially texture-based or athematic).

The performances under the able leadership of Kirill Karabits sound very confident, with the orchestra playing extremely well in music that affords numerous solo opportunities. Shchedrin attended the sessions and pronounced himself fully satisfied with the results. Certainly I see no reason to take issue with his judgment. The sonics are also extremely vivid and remarkably well balanced given some of the tricky juxtapositions of texture and sonority that Shchedrin explores in all of this music. Without question this is a major release from a composer who richly deserves the attention.

--David Hurwitz,ClassicsToday.com

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

Ranging from 1927 to 1959, the year of Martinů’s death, these four works reveal his unceasing versatility in chamber repertoire. La revue de cuisine, heard here in a recent reconstruction of the original complete score, is a supreme example of Martinů’s jazz style. In Les rondes he evokes his Moravian folk heritage. The Harpsichord Concerto is resourcefully scored and brilliantly crafted, whilst Chamber Music No 1 (‘Les fêtes nocturnes’), one of his last works, sees no cessation of his invention nor of his delight in atmospheric colour.

R E V I E W S:

ClassicsToday:
Canteloube's setting of folk songs from France's Auvergne region is a sure-fire hit. The music is catchy, full of delightful oboe and wind solos, snappy percussion, and imitations of traditional native instruments, including bagpipes. And unless you're genetically resistant to rustic humor, the texts are charming. But, especially in the songs with full orchestra, they're art songs, not folk music, and thus they ask for a trained soloist. The rub is that singers also must project the rawness of the real folk singer, a trait rarely found in opera singers turning to folk material. Here, Véronique Gens, a favorite in Baroque and Mozart recordings and a soprano endowed with gorgeous, full-bodied tonal resources, finds the right blend of trained sophistication and folkish naiveté.


Gens is predictably fine in lullabies like the popular "Brezairola" and "Baïlèro", her lovely soprano soaring, its bright touch of silver shedding rays of light on the infant objects of affection. In songs like "Lo calhé" (The Quail) and "La delaïssádo" (Deserted) I first thought her a bit too cultivated, but by the second hearing she seemed just right, hitting the swinging rhythm of "Lo calhé" with vigor and aptly characterizing "La delaïssádo". Apprehensions of oversophistication went out the window with "Malurous qu'o uno fenno" (Unfortunate is he who has a wife), where Gens really gets down and dirty. And she closes the program with a bouncy "Lou diziou bé" (They said), wonderfully bringing out the mockery of the words and portraying the narrator and the faithless Pierre with humor.


Jean-Claude Casadesus and the Lille Orchestra offer fine support, the unnamed wind soloists really digging into their parts with gusto. I wouldn't part with the incomparable charm of Victoria de los Angeles, the appropriately folkish Netanya Davrath, or the first and still best interpreter of these songs, Madeleine Grey. But Gens wraps most of their strengths into one full disc (but with plenty of room for 3 or 4 more songs). Would that the engineers have matched her. Oddly enough, sometimes they do, capturing vivid presence and good voice/band balances. But in other songs, especially those with full orchestral strings, she's often too closely miked, the orchestra veiled. Bottom line: this bargain Naxos disc of 21 songs is the one to have if you want a well-chosen, representative selection. [2/18/2005]--Dan Davis, ClassicsToday.com

MusicWeb
"Véronique Gens has easily one of the most exquisite voices in the business today; moreover anything she does is uncommonly intelligent and musically informed. With this recording Naxos enters the echelons of upmarket performances. In this material, Gens outclasses Kiri te Kanawa in terms of vocal beauty and is in an altogether different league interpretatively. She is even a match for the venerable recording made by the late Victoria de los Angeles. Indeed, she may even have an edge over her competitors, for Gens is a native of the Auvergne. She would have grown up well aware of the history and traditions of regional culture...This recording is so distinctive that I've little doubt it will be the definitive Chants d'Auvergne for many years to come." - Anne Ozorio, MusicWeb

Classical Music

This recording highlights a selection of Rameau's well-loved ballet suites. Previously an established keyboard player and composer, 17th century composer Rameau's foray into the world of opera was well received by an adoring French public, and he became renowned for his ability to produce one brilliant melody line after another.

Plateé's Ouverture begins with a particularly sensitive touch and beautiful dynamic interpretation - the strings echo each other with a real tenderness as their imitations fade to a whisper. But Rameau's penchant for switching moods soon makes an appearance, and with a flurry of strings and harpsichord, the European Union Baroque Orchestra (EUBO) springs to life. The vivacity and humour of this comic opera are conjured up beautifully by the dynamic style of the players, and they bring a real energy to these suites.

The EUBO was formed to give young players the opportunity to fine-tune their Baroque playing style, and this youthful ensemble firmly plants its own stamp on the collection of suites. Their versatile style lends itself wonderfully to the series of short dances that feature in the Pigmalion suite, capturing the sober mood of the Gracieusement and the uplifting spirit of the Tambourin.

When Rameau originally penned Dardanus, it was described as 'a piece so laden with music that for three whole hours, the orchestral players do not even have time to sneeze'. You get this sense with the recording, but the tempo never suffers from being rushed or forced. The steady opening of the Ouverture is faithfully interpreted and during the moments when the players scurry through the Rigaudons and Tambourins, their well-phrased playing gives the dances room to breath. The EUBO are in no danger of playing catch-up with Rameau's racing melody lines - their vivid performance is an arresting tribute to Rameau's vibrant style.

Helenka Bednar, BBC Music

A collection of wholly agreeable music, stylishly written and elegantly performed. The emphasis is on charm, lyricism, and vivacity—something to serenade and divert the listener. Donizetti treats the soloists as vocalists; the music is always expressive. For the most part, this music is played in reconstructions and in others’ orchestrations. But all seems most sympathetically researched and, where necessary, edited and arranged. The Clarinet Concertino mixes pathos and good humor, and the hunting finale of the Oboe Concertino is ear catching. The work for English horn (cor anglais) was written for a now defunct instrument; the cor anglais sounds slightly uncomfortable here, despite the player’s best efforts, and is cast as a theme and variations, the theme reminds of one used by Schubert in his music for Rosamunde. Beginning the CD is a short fancy for woodwind nonet, rather Mozartian, and closing the program is the most operatic music here, written for the funeral of a violinist, and culminating in the manner of a Rossini overture, with a crescendo. If the music appeals, then this release can be regarded as a winner. The recording is excellent: airy, tangible, and well defined.

Colin Anderson, FANFARE

It was Francisco Tárrega, composer and guitarist, who first transcribed Bach’s music for his own instrument, offering colour, tonal variety and clarity in an exploration of counterpoint. Tristan Manoukian’s transcription of the Partita No. 2 honours the precedent in its virtuosic and expressive writing. It is possible that the Suite and the Prelude, Fugue and Allegro were originally conceived for the so-called “lute-harpsichord”, a keyboard strung with gut that sounded like a lute. Bach’s version of Vivaldi’s Violin Concerto transforms and refashions it, and the guitar transcription is perfectly suited to convey the richness of its invention. Prizewinning guitarist Judicaël Perroy is one of the most exciting talents to have emerged in years.

One of England’s most distinctive composers, George Butterworth belonged to the generation of young men decimated in the Great War of 1914–1918. His sensitive and melancholic settings of poems from A.E. Housman’s A Shropshire Lad, with their subject matter of the futility and arbitrariness of war, are small-scale masterpieces. Of particular note are the Loveliest of Trees, describing the passing of the seasons, and the ghostly and elegiac Is my team ploughing? The Folk Songs from Sussex and settings of poems by R.L. Stevenson, Shelley and Wilde, whose subject matter revolves around flirtation, love, courtship, marriage and desertion, are no less notable for their attention to detail, linguistic nuance and delicate, economical piano writing.

Best known today for his sumptuously Romantic symphonic poems, Mieczysław Karłowicz completed his most ambitious work, the ‘Rebirth’ Symphony, in 1903. Like Mahler’s ‘Resurrection’ Symphony which was premièred the following year, it evokes the soul’s spiritual struggle against fate from tragedy to triumph. The resplendent Prologue from Karłowicz’s music for the play The White Dove leads to a serene Intermezzo. Polish conductor Antoni Wit brings out the brooding, portentous and lyrical characteristics of his compatriot’s richly orchestrated yet seldom-heard scores.

VAUGHAN WILLIAMS Dona nobis pacem 1. Sancta Civitas 2 • David Hill, cond; 1 Christina Pier (sop); 2 Andrew Staples (ten); 1,2 Matthew Brook (bar); 2 Winchester Cathedral Choristers; 2 Winchester College Choristers; Bach Choir; Bournemouth SO • NAXOS 8.572424 (64:39 )


This release presents two of the great English composer’s most heartfelt statements of personal conviction: the 1936 Dona Nobis Pacem, his strongest statement on the depravity of war, and the visionary Sancta Civitas (1923–25), his clearest confession of personal faith. ( Pace Bertrand Russell, Vaughan Williams prefaced the score of Sancta Civitas , which drew heavily on Revelations , with Plato’s quote of Socrates from Phaedo , “A man of sense will not insist that things are exactly as I have described them. But I think he will believe that something of the kind is true of the soul and her habitations,” and reportedly considered it his favorite choral work.) It is a combination that seemed odd at first, as others have opted for more stylistically consonant combinations, but as an overview of the soul of the man it is perfect. The horror of war and the destiny of the soul are themes to which Ralph Vaughan Williams returned continually throughout his life and these two works are the purest statements of those preoccupations.


This CD duplicates one of the finest RVW choral discs ever produced, the 1992 Richard Hickox recording of these two works. (And I say that as a great admirer of the late-1960s recordings of these works by Boult and Willcocks, respectively.) The Hickox, which seems to have come and gone quickly in the U.S., is still very much available from English sources, and for little more than the cost of this Naxos disc. So this new release is competing with a legend and without the usual Naxos price advantage.


As it happens, comparison finds this a close thing, as Naxos offers superb performances, matching, in many ways, the strengths of the earlier EMI. As with the Hickox, the central asset is the alert and impassioned conducting of the conductor. In fact, David Hill’s generally quicker tempos reveal an appealing vigor and backbone in the works altogether fitting to the rugged verse of Walt Whitman and the apocalyptic vision of St. John of Patmos. Listen, for instance, to the noble, steady pacing of RVW’s “Dirge for Two Veterans,” or to the ecstatic “Nation Shall Not Lift Up Sword Against Nation.” The Hickox excels in shear orchestral virtuosity, in the rich underpinning of the organ, and in atmosphere and gravitas—I prefer, for instance, Hickox’s unhurried ascent to the majestic final chorus of the Sancta Civitas . Hill’s recording impresses with his thrilling choruses, nuanced and exemplary in diction (though Hickox’s choruses hardly disappoint, either), in the clarity and spaciousness of the recording of the multilayered Sancta Civitas —much like Britten’s later War Requiem in its use and positioning of multiple choruses and ensembles—and in two of his soloists. Yvonne Kenny is brilliant for Hickox, but Christina Pier, a new name to me, provides similar purity of tone and contained power with a pleading quality that is very moving. Philip Langridge is, as always, a superlative artist in the Hickox, but Andrew Staples more easily sings the tenor’s 21 syllables in their uncomfortably high tessitura.


For some collectors, however, the deciding factor may be the bass-baritone soloist. Matthew Brook, who sang a very fine Friar Tuck in the recent Chandos Ivanhoe , is somewhat miscast here. There are several issues: His grainy, rather gruff vocal quality does not lend itself naturally to the nobility of much of the writing; parts of “Reconciliation” lie uncomfortably high and he strains for them, and softer sections of “Oh Man, Greatly Beloved” and “I Was in the Spirit” are almost crooned. Though Brook’s response to text is intelligent throughout, some consonants are oddly elongated for emphasis. And comparison is not kind, as he is up against the nonpareil skills of the young Bryn Terfel in the Hickox. The Welshman’s refulgent tone, shaping of phrases, and projection of the text are simply stunning. (The texts, by the way, are not printed, but may be downloaded from the Naxos Web site.)


Still, as a whole, this new Naxos release has many virtues and no debilitating liabilities, and ought to be acquired by anyone with an interest in this repertoire. It is powerful, lucid, beautifully sung, and vividly recorded. Of course, the Hickox should be in every Vaughan Williams collection. If I had to choose one, therefore, it would be the Hickox, but choosing is not my recommendation.


FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames


----------------------------------------------------------------------------

These are beautiful works, and they receive very good performances. David Hill digs into the war music of Dona nobis pacem quite effectively (save for the missing tam-tam at the climax of Beat! beat! drums!), the choirs sing very cleanly, and soprano Christina Pier is the best of the three soloists on this disc. The two men, while not bad, have what you might call "oratorio" voices--good as regards declamation, but not especially attractive as pure singing. Still, they get the job done, and in Sancta Civitas the interplay between the various on-stage and distant choirs is particularly well judged. The latter really is a masterpiece, a gorgeous work that, perhaps because it's not as physical and hard-hitting, gets less play than its disc mate.

Naxos' engineering is very good in terms of balances between chorus and orchestra, but the soloists sometimes sound as if they are operating in a different acoustic, with an odd halo around the voice. On the whole, though, this disc represents good value, and is at least as successful as the competition on EMI (mostly) and a few other labels.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

MUSIC WEB INTERNATIONAL::


Igor Stravinsky memorably described Rachmaninov as ‘six-foot-six of Russian gloom’, and that description fits admirably, and at the same time magnificently, with this music. It arose out of Rachmaninov’s admiration for Tchaikovsky. For Tchaikovsky’s only Piano Trio, his Op. 50, had been dedicated ‘to the memory of a great artist’: Nikolai Rubinstein. Rachmaninov gave his Trio élégiaque of 1893 the same dedication; now the ‘great artist’ was Tchaikovsky himself. The young Rachmaninov was already making his mark on Russian musical life, as both prodigious pianist and talented composer. The dedication of the Trio is a reflection of the strong impression he had made on Tchaikovsky, the composer of the previous generation whom Rachmaninov most admired.


The Trio is arguably the finest achievement of Rachmaninov’s earlier career: the period before his breakdown following the disastrous premiere of the First Symphony. It was preceded by another piece of the same name and for the same instrumental combination; but in every way, in both scale and conception, the earlier work is a pale imitation of the later.


Naxos couple these two trios in a sensible combination that gives commercial value as well as artistic integrity. The performers seem ideal, and so too the recorded sound from that favourite venue for Naxos: Potton Hall in Suffolk. The Trio No. 1 is a work of sensitive emotion and admirable intellectual command, but the music lacks the vision and with it the truly epic commitment of the Op. 9 Trio of 1893. The latter is still an early work, and it is true that Rachmaninov returned to it fourteen years later to revise it in the light of a more sophisticated technique. Be that as it may, there is a complete integrity of design and an associated command of structure, and its every bar conveys an eloquent immediacy of emotion.


Of course the performers need bring their own vision to chamber music that is built on such an ambitious scale. This Russian trio of Grohovski, Wulfson and Yablonski combine to achieve eloquence of line and intensity of expression, a performance that is founded upon techniques of the utmost assurance. Their interpretation is captured in an acoustic whose warmth serves the music well. Make no mistake; this is one of the most successful recordings of chamber music one could wish to encounter, and to have it available at budget price is a cause for celebration.

Terry Barfoot, Music Web International

S. ARNOLD Overtures: in B?, op. 8/1; in D, op. 8/2; in F, op. 8/3; in D, op. 8/4; in G, op. 8/5; in D, op. 8/6. Macbeth: Incidental Music. Polly: Overture ? Kevin Mallon, cond; Toronto Camerata ? NAXOS 8557484 (76:27)


Even though his name is lost to all but musicologists and then only a precious few of them, Samuel Arnold (1740?1802) was a gifted musician, highly respected theater composer, conductor, and an outstanding musical historian in Georgian England.


Arnold was the son of Thomas Arnold and probably Princess Amelia, a student of Handel. Arnold studied with Bernard Gates, a pupil of John Blow, and from the mid 1760s was active as a composer for the summer concerts at London?s pleasure gardens. By 1769, Arnold?s struggle to stay afloat financially ended abruptly when he came face-to-face with financial ruin as the result of a £10,000 embezzlement. However, the resourceful Arnold rekindled his relationship with the London theaters in 1777, when George Colman the Elder secured Arnold?s talents as house composer for the Little Theater in the Haymarket. Additional positions included posts as organist at the Chapel Royal and Westminster Abbey and head of the Academy of Ancient Music. In 1786, Arnold commenced editing a complete edition of Handel?s works and had completed 180 volumes by his death in 1802. Arnold is buried in Westminster Abbey, along with two of England?s other musical greats, Handel and Purcell.


Samuel Arnold wrote no less than 60 works for the stage, including The Maid of the Mill , the first English opera to have action finales in the manner of its European counterparts, The Castle of Andalusia , Turk and No Turk, and the oratorio The Prodigal Son (1773), the last work performed at Oxford on the occasion of Arnold?s receiving the degree of doctor of music from Oxford University; all of these further solidified Arnold?s reputation as a first-rate composer for the English theater.


Generally, composers active at the time would assemble works in sets of six or 12 for publication, as with the six concertos of Handel?s op. 3 and the dozen that make up his op. 6. Arnold?s half-dozen overtures fall into that pattern. There were exceptions to the rule, though, notable examples being Thomas Arne?s seven trio sonatas and William Boyce?s eight overtures and three concerti grossi .


The six overtures recorded on this Naxos release from the spring of 1996 were composed for the concerts at Marylebone Gardens and published in parts by John Welcker, c. 1771. They are high-spirited works and, as noted by Dr. Robert Hoskins in his excellent annotations, are composed in a ?homophonic idiom, with fast tempos, pleasing tunefulness, and colourful contrasts [that] had resonances with the gardens? audiences.? Although Arnold?s idiom is indebted to that of Johann Christian Bach and composers of the Mannheim school, there is a decidedly English ring to each work.


Apropos overtures, that to Polly , the long-delayed successor to Gay and Pepusch?s The Beggar?s Opera , didn?t grace the boards in London until 1777. It came on the heels of a revival of The Beggar?s Opera that included new music written by Thomas Linley. Arnold?s curtain raiser is nothing more than a medley of 13 tunes from the prequel to Polly . On the occasion of the premiere, a critic wrote in The Morning Post that ?the airs were arranged and blended with great judgement? and ?we do not remember any Overture being more enjoyed.?


The eight tracks that comprise Arnold?s music to Macbeth were composed for a 1778 production of Shakespeare?s masterpiece at Colman?s Little Theater, but the critics weren?t as kind as they were to Polly the previous year, complaining of botched lines, provincial dialects, and inappropriate costumes. While there is newly composed music in the score, Arnold also relied upon traditional Scottish tunes, including The Braes of Ballenden and Lochaber and a march from Henry Purcell?s incidental music to Bonduca.


Arnold?s op. 8 set is the strongest music on this Naxos release, being characterized by that typical English bent for a sprightly tune in the outer movements and uncomplicated lyrical material in the slower central sections. Beneath this seemingly simple exterior though, one finds enviable craft in the alternation and working out of thematic material, not to mention refined phrasing, and some interesting and colorful timbres.


Kevin Mallon and the Toronto Camerata?incorrectly identified on the cover as the Toronto Chamber Orchestra?have recorded several discs for Naxos, including symphonies of Ordonez and Vanhal, as well as CDs of violin concertos of Saint-Georges and flute concertos of C. P. E. Bach. The band?s playing is consistent from release to release: it is always alert, in tune, and successfully carries the message of the music in question, whether profound or not. This latest release in its discography is well presented with charm and elegance in bright and resonant sound, making for empathetic interpretations that unquestionably bestow long-belated credit to the bulk of the material, i.e., the op. 8 Overtures.


FANFARE: Michael Carter

Includes symphony(-ies) by Johann Baptist Vanhal. Ensemble: Toronto Camerata. Conductor: Kevin Mallon.

A massive asseveration of confidence, staggering scale and substance by an outsider to the musical establishment.

I recently re-read the book on Sibelius by his secretary Santeri Levas. It presents one of the most personal and personable portraits of the composer. Amongst the many anecdotes and observations was one relating to the long silence from Järvenpää. Levas made the point that Sibelius was 61 by the time he completed his last major works and that the vast majority of composers had completed the bulk of their oeuvre by that age anyway or had died. Whether or not there is illumination in that point there are always exceptions: take Haydn, Hovhaness and Havergal Brian. Brian's old age was alive with challenging symphonic invention. The Brian Naxos series has reminded us of that point but has also looked at the works of his ‘younger age’. The Gothic was completed when Brian was 51 at about the same age as Brahms when he wrote his first. Thus while Brian was astonishing productive of symphonies well into his eighties he started late (we’ll ignore a false start or two).
 
Has there ever been a First Symphony as ambitious in intention, grasp and achievement as the Gothic. There have been remarkable firsts; I think of those by Enescu, Prokofiev and Shostakovich yet none of these have stormed the heavens or stared unblinkingly at eternity in the same way. Across its almost two hours it never falters. Violence and peace stand close to each other throughout. Try the last section of the first movement for the seraphic voice made eloquent in the solo violin. For Violence we can cite the Mars-like dynamic established by the rapped-out timpani attack that impels the work forward at the start of the first movement. The layout of the Symphony some may find disconcerting. However it does work. The first three movements are entirely orchestral. In fact they work as a 'conventional' symphony and have been played in that form. The second part is a massive setting of the Te Deum for multiple soloists, choirs, full orchestra and brass ensembles.
 
You may well think of other composers. For example in the second movement you will encounter a 'ticking' figure which for me links with the snowy ambience of Bax’s later Fifth Symphony. Gloriously glowing horns call out above the magnificent din put up by the rest of the orchestra in music that defines heroic. The Judex (tr. 1 CD2) features yet more extraordinary writing. The wheeling choral passage is like Holst's Hymn of Jesus. Tr. 2 CD2 has a brutal lumbering march with raw fanfares and brass bands rolling and echoing around the great space of the Slovak Concert Hall. Once again however Brian leaves us in awe with the Mother Goose iridescent delicacy and joyful glitter of the women's voices and silvery tinkling percussion (tr. 10 CD2). The mood then switches in tr. 13 to a jaunty, slightly Mahlerian, march for nine clarinets. The work finds consummation in words intoned with deep reverence: 'Non confundar in aeternam'. The singing is rich and resonant in bass definition. Not that Alexander Sveshnikov and the USSR choir would not have made even more of a dream-team ending.
 
As a recording it is amongst Gunter Appenheimer's best and it was captured in the exemplary grand acoustic of Bratislava's world-standard concert hall.
 
The more than just useful notes for this Naxos set, reduced by Keith Anderson from the original Marco Polo issue, are by Brian and Foulds champion, Malcolm Macdonald.
 
The sung Latin texts are printed in full with parallel translations. The work is liberally tracked so that you can follow the structure, incident by incident.
 
The Gothic has had quite a blooming of late. It was performed in Brisbane, Queensland, on 23 December 2010 with John Curro conducting the Queensland Youth Orchestra and many other artists. The performance was dedicated to the memory of the late Sir Charles Mackerras who himself conducted a number of Brian’s symphonies. This performance was said have been filmed for an ABC documentary The Curse of the Gothic Symphony which will debut at the Melbourne International Film Festival in 2011. Then on Sunday 17 July 2011 it will have an extraordinary Proms premiere conducted by Martyn Brabbins who recorded Brian’s Symphonies 10 and 30, the Concerto for Orchestra and the English Suite No. 3 with the RSNO for the magnificent Dutton.
 
Brian’s Gothic is a massive asseveration of confidence by someone who stood as an outsider to the musical establishment unblessed with private resources or a public school education let alone a formal musical training. It is a work of staggering scale and substance and is not let down in any way by the present recording.  

-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International

From the very first notes, with their tolling bells, Casella’s Symphony No. 2 is deeply indebted to its model, Mahler’s own Symphony No. 2, whose Parisian première was championed by Casella during his years in the French capital. A notte alta (‘In deepest night’), which Casella described as ‘the only piece of programme music I have ever composed…inspired by emotional events in my personal life’ (Casella’s love for his Parisian student Yvonne Müller), is a work of intimate self-revelation and sombre meditation on ‘the utter indifference of Nature to human passions’.

A multiple prize-winner at several international competitions, the young Chinese pianist Yun-yi Qin here presents a wide-ranging recital of major works and delightful miniatures that showcases her remarkable ability.

Hisato Ohzawa, one of the foremost Japanese composers of the first half of the twentieth century, studied in the 1930s in Boston and Paris. He had an excellent command of diverse styles derived from his extensive knowledge of jazz, late Romanticism.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nice one, Naxos.

-- Dan Morgan, MusicWeb International