Includes work(s) for piano by Enrique Granados. Soloist: Douglas Riva.

WOLF, E.W.: 4 Symphonies

Recording information: Conservatorio di Lugano, Switzerland (04/07/2008).

ADAM Giselle • Pavel Klinichev, cond; Svetlana Lunkina ( Giselle ); Dmitry Gudanov ( Albrecht ); Maria Allash ( Myrtha ); Vitaly Biktimirov ( Hans ); Elena Bukanova ( Berthe ); Ekaterina Barykina ( Bathilde ); Alexey Loparevich ( Duke ); Vladislav Lantratov ( Wilfreed ); Chinara Alizade, Andrey Bolotin ( Peasants ); Bolshoi Ballet & O • BELAIR BAC074 (109: 00) Live: Moscow 01/2011


ADAM Giselle: highlights • Andrew Mogrelia, cond; Slovak RSO • NAXOS 8.572924 (61:07)


Giselle is one of the ballet characters that dancers relish, emblematic of the Romantic era, complete with mad scene yet requiring dancing of great purity for the second act. Svetlana Lunkina is one of the new crop of Bolshoi ballerinas equally at home in bravura roles at the same time as being a convincing Giselle or Sylphide. Dmitry Gudanov is a convincing hero, his youthful looks helping to define his character as an innocent, totally unaware of the chaos he has created. Maria Allash possesses the same romantic qualities as Lunkina, allied with a stern demeanor that makes her Myrtha a very steely character. Chinara Alizade and Andrey Bolotin dance the interpolated Peasant Pas de Deux with the requisite charm, while Vitaly Biktimirov’s lovelorn Hans (aka Hilarion) almost arouses our compassion. Pavel Klinichev and the Bolshoi Orchestra offer a straightforward reading. The credit “choreographic version by Yuri Grigorovich after choreography by Jean Coralli, Jules Perrot & Marius Petipa” is puzzling as this appears to be a standard version, other than a hastily choreographed court dance the first time the Duke and his followers arrive. Grigorovich’s only other contribution would appear to be some of the bizarre rhythmic accentuations that he favors.


The CD of orchestral highlights is well-enough performed by Andrew Mogrelia and the Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra, of particular interest for the music with hunting fanfares that are rarely heard at the start of act II before Myrtha’s entrance. But some of the tempi are unsuitable for the theater and may even jar listeners familiar with the work.


FANFARE: Joel Kasow

This disc offers you satisfying performances of satisfying music. How can you refuse?

This second instalment in the continuing cycle of Ries's piano concertos from Naxos is a disc for your wish-list.

Ries is more famous today for being Beethoven's pupil and biographer than for his own career in music. In his day he ranked with Hummel and, yes, even with Beethoven himself as one of Europe's greatest composer-pianists. Thanks to the efforts of Naxos and Allan Badley's Artaria Editions, we can now hear for ourselves what it was that so excited nineteenth century audiences.

All three works here show Ries to be a composer of originality, though one with a respect for his musical forebears. It would go too far to call him daring or revolutionary. Nonetheless, despite the backward glances at Mozart, his facility for contrasting grand orchestral statements with piano writing of a free, rhapsodic lyricism bridges the gap between Beethoven on the one hand and Chopin and Schumann on the other.

The Swedish National Air with Variations opens with a proud and darkly coloured orchestral flourish, which is immediately contrasted with a gently glittering statement from the piano. This pattern of contrasts is repeated throughout the 15 minutes of this piece, as Ries plies his skill at conjuring variations, first dazzling, then soulful. He casts the orchestra as chorus rather than as equal partner in dialogue, but he knows how to use its tone colours – listen to the lovely clarinet commentary about five minutes in, for example.

The Piano Concerto in C sharp minor is a delightful work, written largely on the road as Ries toured and then fled Russia in 1812. It is natural to want to draw comparisons with Beethoven's C minor concerto of 12 years earlier, but similarities are few and comparisons unhelpful. Apart from a few blustery tuttis, Ries uses the minor mode to spice harmonies and lend interest rather than to generate Beethovenian drama. The material is predominantly lyrical but virtuosic in the outer movements. The central slow movement lasts for less than five minutes, but is the heart of the concerto. Here Ries'sw gentle lyricism calls for a Chopinesque rubato and lightness of touch. His writing for orchestra, though, is better than Chopin's and full of interesting details and colourings.

The Introduction and Polonaise may have been composed 21 years after the other two pieces in this programme, but it demonstrates a remarkable consistency in Ries's idiom across the years. This piece is full of Mozartean turns of phrase, but with harmonic touches that point to Schumann. Again, there is some charming writing for the clarinets and flutes as they comment on the piano's discourse.

The Austrian pianist Christopher Hinterhuber plays with commitment and is a fine advocate for these works, just as able to command attention with flashes of fire as he is to lead the ear through the most delicate figurations. Grodd and the Gävle Symphony Orchestra support him well enough, though there is a little raggedness in the upper registers of the violins towards the close of the Introduction and Polonaise. The recorded sound is fine and the booklet notes by Allan Badley are interesting, though they hint at but do not explain the reconstruction of the score of the C sharp minor concerto.

All up, this disc offers you satisfying performances of satisfying music. How can you refuse?

Tim Perry, MusicWeb International

The string quartet is at the very heart of 20th century British music, encompassing some of the quintessential works of the chamber music repertory. This compendium features fine examples of the genre, revealing the precocious talents of Benjamin Britten and John Ireland, the quicksilver craftsmanship of Frank Bridge and Alan Rawsthorne, the ‘captured sunshine’ of Edward Elgar’s writing and the evocative pastoral renderings of Arthur Bliss and Arnold Bax. Although the musical styles of each of the composers featured in this collection are unique, their contributions are unified by an innate understanding and mastery of the string quartet form. The multi-award winning and twice Grammy Award-nominated Maggini Quartet’s consummate and much lauded interpretations of these works are presented here together for the first time.

Excerpts from select reviews of previously released items included in this set:

Ireland: String Quartets

These works make for gratifying listening. The performances from the Maggini Quartet are simply magnificent: what devotion these musicians lavish on this music. Furthermore, the recording is quite superb in its intimacy, blend, and balance — the listener feels like the “fifth” member.

– Fanfare

Bax: String Quartets Nos. 1 & 2

Both quartets are important contributions to the repertoire, something made abundantly clear by the Maggini Quartet's masterful, deeply felt, and finely executed readings. The ensemble's burning conviction will make you a believer too.

– ClassicsToday

Alwyn: String Quartets Nos. 1-3

With controlled vibrato and sharp attacks, theirs is a compellingly stark, uncompromising, physical approach, stressing the modernity of the works. Lyrical sections, as a result, stand out in bold relief.

– Fanfare

Anthony Burgess, celebrated author of A Clockwork Orange, memorably filmed by Stanley Kubrich, once said, “I wish people would think of me as a musician who writes novels, instead of a novelist who writes music on the side.” Initially thwarted in his desire for a professional musical career, Burgess returned to composition in the mid-1970s, writing prolifically in many genres. His music is mostly tonal but sometimes dissonant, a hybrid of Holst and Hindemith. Mr. W.S. is an imaginative evocation of the Elizabethan era while Mr. Burgess’s Almanack is a variegated work of ingenuity and charm with a nob towards modernism. This is the first recording of Burgess’s orchestral music.

•An unusual programme of works by four composers of different generations and diverse backgrounds from Central and South America. Anton Baranov has won both the Guitar Foundation of America and Francisco Tárrega Competitions.

The second volume in this series reveals once again the amazing flair that Japanese composers have for the guitar. It also explores the ways in which the more traditional aspects of the country's music are brought into the sphere of the classical guitar with variety, subtlety and richness. From Toru Takemitsu's popular arrangement of Nakada's A Song of Early Spring through Akira Miyoshi's lyrical Cinq Poemes pour la guitare to Toshio Hosokawa's evocative Serenade the listener encourters unexpected colors and textures as well as evocations of the biwa and shamisen (types of lute) and the koto, a long zither.

Click Here for the complete Naxos Film Music Classic Series

The most famous Italian opera composer of his day, Domenico Cimarosa saw his fame spread all over Europe. Written towards the end of the ‘Neapolitan School’ era, his operas endured in popularity long after his death thanks to their melodic invention, colourful orchestration and sheer vitality. The overtures in this programme include I tre amanti (The Three Lovers), the hit opera that made Cimarosa’s name outside Naples, and Il pittor parigino (The Parisian Painter) and the tragedy Giunio Bruto that were admired by Haydn and conducted by him at the Esterházy court. The first three volumes are available on Naxos 8.570508, 8.570279 and 8.572734.

When Heifetz chose Bruch’s Scottish Fantasy, reportedly his favorite concerto, for his legendary appearance on TV, he had already recorded it twice; the later recording, with Malcolm Sargent and the New Symphony Orchestra of London, has sometimes been recommended as representing him at his best. Although the Fantasy hasn’t received the attention that the First Concerto had garnered even in Bruch’s own lifetime (sometimes to his chagrin), its popularity seems to run ahead of the Second Concerto (which Heifetz also championed) and to outdistance by far the nearly orphaned Third, a chip of Spohr-like granite that remains the province of the few. Maxim Fedotov doesn’t challenge Heifetz’s proprietorship—or perhaps even Michael Rabin’s suave mastery, or even Kyung-Wha Chung’s passionate electricity; if his relaxed meandering in the opening movement and his weighty deliberation in the following Allegro don’t suggest fierce warlords (the Russian Philharmonic comes closer in the final movement, an Allegro guerriero), he plays with a rich, glowing tone that recalls Oistrakh’s, although perhaps not veiled with that master’s mystery, and his portamentos occasionally suggest an antique (if updated and sanitized) expressive manner well suited to this sentimental, though not maudlin, work. How did Pablo Sarasate, to whom Bruch dedicated it, play this concerto? He concocted his own confection from Scottish airs, so he must have had some familiarity with, and interest in, the folk idiom. The engineers haven’t shone the spotlight on Fedotov in the way Heifetz’s and Oistrakh’s did.

Bruch also dedicated his Serenade to Sarasate; and, though the Spaniard didn’t give its premiere, it bears the impress of his personality. If the Third Concerto seems a relative orphan, this work has remained almost unknown; but Salvatore Accardo included it in his collection of Bruch’s works for violin and orchestra with Kurt Masur and the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra (originally on Philips 9500 590 and re-released on CD as Philips 289 462 167-2). While Accardo’s reading explored the work’s nostalgic sensibility, Fedotov’s takes a more muscular approach to its tangy, concerto-like virtuosity—Bruch had, after all, intended this work as a concerto-like serenade (he repeatedly wrote movements and works that he expected would turn out to be his Fourth Concerto—without losing touch with its brooding sensitivity. His tempos seem relatively leisurely in the opening movement and upon its return at the Serenade’s end (in an effective valedictory gesture, Yablonsky and the orchestra insinuate the Serenade’s returning opening materials with poignant subtlety and close with a serenely hushed cadence), as well as in the episodic passages of the fast movements; but he struts briskly, too, as in the second movement’s march. Perhaps decisively, though, he doesn’t seem quite so comfortable in the long second movement as Accardo did, and he wanders without a strong sense of direction—though with richly textured symphonic support—in the sprawling third.

Those hoping to explore Bruch œuvre at first cautiously, then with more abandon, should find the Fantasy and the Serenade a well-ordered program. Recommended as a digitally recorded alternative to Accardo’s readings.

Robert Maxham, FANFARE

Ignacio Cervantes is a key figure of Latin American piano music. As the cultural and national identity of his native Cuba gained strength through the 19th century, the genres of danza and contradanza became a fixture of the island’s dance and concert halls, providing a bridge between different sections of society. Cervantes’s pieces, which display a similar swing and verve to Scott Joplin’s ubiquitous Rags, synthesize Cuban local humour and colour with the Romantic aesthetic of Chopin. Their titles range from the poignant Adiós a Cuba, to the laughter of La carcajada.

This second of Naxos' two-disc survey of Giorgio Federico Ghedini' complete piano music includes his largest-scale work for solo piano, the 1922 Sonata, an intimate and harmonically complex piece which emphasizes pianistic colour.

Classical Music

Shostakovich's film score to Hamlet is one of his finest, possibly because it's a serious film rather than a socialist-realist potboiler, and the composer's moody, mostly spare music supports the action with unfailing accuracy and makes compelling listening on its own. The well-known suite leaves out a lot of music, and while there's inevitably a degree of repetition involved, this complete recording is very welcome for its inclusion of such segments as "Hamlet's Parting from Ophelia", "Hamlet's Monologue", "Ophelia's Descent into Madness", "Hamlet at Ophelia's Grave", and "The Cemetery".

As you may have guessed from the titles, the added music creates a considerably darker overall impression than does the suite, and this in a work that begins with the "whip-crack" motive from the third movement of Shostakovich's not-exactly-jocose Thirteenth Symphony "Babi Yar". So it may not be the most emotionally varied score, but it does sound very Russian and very much like late Shostakovich, and conductor Dmitry Yablonsky treats it accordingly. He and his orchestra bring just as much conviction and intensity (try "The Ghost") as they would to one of the symphonies, and Naxos' sonics are vivid. Be sure, however, to get the regular stereo CD: the SACD is a failure, with way too much stuff coming from the rear channels. Definitely worth owning.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Full review from FANFARE Magazine:
Shakespeare’s indecisive hero played a persistent role in Shostakovich’s life. In 1932, the composer completed incidental music for a controversial stage production directed by Nikolai Akimov. Five years later, when the Fifth Symphony was completed, some commentators referred to it as the “Hamlet” Symphony because of its brooding and equivocal moods, and the composer himself did not escape comparisons with the great Dane. Given Shostakovich’s sizable experience with film scores, it was only natural for him to write the score to Grigori Kozintsev’s Hamlet in 1964. Over the years, there have been several recordings of the eight-item suite (op. 116a) that Lev Atovmian assembled from the score. This CD, however, appears to be the premiere recording of the complete score, including music that didn’t even make it into the film.

At this juncture, one usually makes the comment that Shostakovich’s film scores do not represent his best work, and that they shouldn’t be considered “typical” of his output. Even though I’ve made them myself, I’ve often found those comments a little condescending, however, and with Hamlet, we have music that is both top-of-the-line and typical of Shostakovich. To put this score in a chronological perspective, it is flanked by the 13th and 14th Symphonies, and it was completed in the same year as the Ninth and 10th String Quartets—hardly bad company! There’s much in Hamlet that is reminiscent of the composer’s very best work from this period. Shostakovich probably could write film music in his sleep, but it is clear that Hamlet engaged his attention and creativity in a very profound way.

Granted, not all the music is brilliant and essential—even 14-second fanfares have been included among these 23 tracks—but there’s much that is worth hearing outside of Atovmian’s suite. For example, the wonderfully eerie “Story of Horatio and the Ghost” might have been an outtake from the first movement of the 11th Symphony, and the five-minute “Hamlet’s Parting from Ophelia” proves once again that a note of music is worth a thousand words. A gently tinkling harpsichord aptly evokes both a courtly atmosphere and Ophelia’s emotional fragility. Hamlet’s music reveals his destructiveness and his nobility. And so it goes. Yes, there is some bombast here, yet it is bombast with a purpose—to evoke the empty pageantry of Claudius’s Elsinore, for example.

Yablonsky not only conducts this music passionately, he also plays it in its proper cinematic order. This is not true of Atovmian’s suite, in which the Players arrive after (!) they perform The Murder of Gonzago. As I suggested above, a few of the shorter cues are intrusive, but all in all, this CD is a satisfying listening experience, no matter what standard of judgment one uses.

Yablonsky is the son of pianist Oxana Yablonskaya, and he is accumulating quite a series of fine recordings for Naxos. Fine-sounding ones too, as the engineering is superb. Thirty years ago, who would have guessed that Russians would be making audiophile recordings in 2003? (I understand that there is an SACD version of this disc, too.)

If I had reviewed this disc a little earlier, I might have put it on my Want List for the year. The music, performances, and engineering are of the highest quality, and I can think of no better way to spend a leaden August (or November!) evening than to play this CD over and over again—which is exactly what I have done.

Raymond Tuttle, FANFARE

Click Here for the complete Naxos Film Music Classic Series

Robert Schumann's Studien and Konzert-Eteden transform Paganini's violin Caprices into stunningly virtuoso pieces for piano. Containing the hidden 'voice' of his beloved Clara the Humoreske Op. 20 is filled with contrasts Schumann expressed as composing and writing and laughing and crying all at the same time. Ukrainian pianist Mariya Kim has gained global recognition through prizes including the Horowitz Paderewski and China Shenzhen International Piano Competitions and the Seoul and Jose Iturbi International Music Competitions. Her achievements have also brought her a Yamaha Foundation Award.

The music of Bohuslav Martinů, whose complete solo piano works have also been recorded by Giorgio Koukl for Naxos, can ring like bells, shimmer like a mirage or pulse with sheer rhythmic vitality as is the case with these three piano concertos, where high drama, brilliant tunes, captivating colouristic effects and tongue-in-cheek frivolity all find their place. Volume 1 – Piano Concertos Nos. 3 & 5 has been acclaimed for its ‘Buoyant and exuberant performances’ (Gramophone Editor’s Choice) and as ‘an auspicious debut [and] extremely well played’ (International Record Review).

One of Prokofiev' best loved works today, Romeo and Juliet was initially declared 'impossible to dance to'.

RÜTTI Requiem • David Hill, cond; Olivia Robinson (sop); Edward Price (bar); Bach Ch; Jane Watts (org); Southern Snf • NAXOS 8.572317 (55:02)


The music of Swiss composer Carl Rütti (b. 1949) is not particularly well known in America. Though many CDs devoted to his music have been released in Europe on small labels, this internationally distributed Naxos release should help to bring his work to wider and extremely well-deserved attention. Rütti’s choral music is the most-performed part of his output, and his pieces have developed a following particularly in England where a number of significant choruses (especially the Cambridge Voices and the Choir of King’s College, Cambridge) have featured his choral music in high profile contexts.


Rütti’s Requiem is an extended work for soprano and baritone soloists, double chorus, strings, harp, and organ. He uses the traditional Latin text and, unlike a number of recent composers, he does not interpolate other texts into the narrative. The work was commissioned in 2005 by the Bach Choir of London, which performs it on this recording under the expert direction of David Hill. Though several of Rütti’s previous pieces (notably a terrific Pavane for violin and organ, which is quoted in the Requiem) had been inspired by death, he was initially somewhat reluctant to write a Requiem. However, after reflecting on personal losses, he decided (like many composers) that such a piece would be a meaningful way to express what he felt. The result is an absolutely magnificent work, and the best new Requiem setting of the many that I have heard in recent years.


Though there is a definite “British choral” influence on Rütti’s style, there are also Eastern European and Baltic characteristics that all combine to produce his personal voice. The resulting blend produces a truly wonderful mix of the practical melodic and modal character of much British music, and the poignant mysticism of many Baltic composers. The work begins and ends evocatively with an unaccompanied soprano solo, which the composer intends to represent the soul “alone before God.” Particular highlights of the work include the transcendently beautiful choral writing in the mostly unaccompanied Introitus that follows the opening soprano solo. The powerful and urgent Kyrie is extremely memorable. The most extended movement is the central Offertorium, which is packed with spine-tingling climaxes and textures. A memorable recurring motive throughout the whole Requiem is a sequence of shifting chords with false relations on the word “Jerusalem”; it is particularly glorious.


The common danger with Requiem settings is that the overall quiet mood of the text causes there to be far too much slow music; and when there is occasionally something fast and powerful (think Dies irae ), it ends up being earth-shattering. Rütti intentionally avoided a Dies irae because it did not fit with his beliefs about God. However, through a remarkable variety of texture and mood, Rütti manages to avoid this fatigue entirely. In the service of musical variety and dramatic shape, he ends up making some choices that other composers rarely do: the Kyrie, for example, is dramatic and powerful. Likewise, the main statement of the concluding “In paradisum” is thrillingly exciting and forms a major final climax to the work. The overall result is a perfectly balanced piece.


Perhaps what is most impressive to me about Rütti’s piece is how much genuine musical interest and variety he creates, despite the small forces. In terms of the creative spirit (though only rarely the actual sound of the music), James MacMillan’s seminal early pieces, such as Seven Last Words , are called to mind. In recent years, MacMillan’s large-scale works tend to use enormous orchestral palates, which are very appealing; however, it’s not nearly as difficult to create a lot of color with so many resources at one’s disposal.


The performance and recorded sound are excellent. Though I was somewhat “jaded” upon receiving the disc to see yet another new Latin Requiem by a contemporary composer, Rütti’s superb piece completely won me over. I cannot say enough in praise of this work, which is one of the finest Requiem settings of our time; I am absolutely convinced it will join the great ones from the past. It is a disc to which I will return frequently, and is Want List material, without doubt.


FANFARE: Carson Cooman

Beneath the shimmering surface of Delius’s little-known violin sonatas are the latent exuberance and nostalgic rapture which have made his orchestral music so popular. Across the decades separating the B major Violin Sonata of 1892 from the Third Violin Sonata of 1930, Delius developed a unique musical language which leavened the post-Romantic heritage of Wagner with French Impressionism and European and Afro-American folk idioms; an intoxicating mix that moved Sir Thomas Beecham to call him ‘the last great apostle in our time of beauty and romance in music’.

If you want to hear some very well-played Sarasate violin music, performed on a disc devoted solely to that composer's Spanish Dances, then this new release from Chinese violinist Tianwa Yang and Naxos will do the job splendidly. Yang was in her 17th year in 2004 when she recorded these stylish, dazzling showpieces--chamber works that also contain an inherent sensual, sultry physicality that requires a soloist with a keen sense of the rhythms and a true feeling for the passion--sometimes playful, sometimes athletic, sometimes erotic--embodied in these dances. Virtuoso they certainly are--and Yang delivers in this aspect of her performances; that is, her technique, which helped her win the prize of "Best Young Violinist in China" in 2004, is sharply developed, confident, and articulate.

Highlights include the energetic, triple-time Jota Aragonesa Op. 27, with its insistent down-beat, varied melodic twists and turns (including a section in harmonics), and sudden fiery outburst at the end. "Zapateado" (Spanish Dance Op. 23 No. 2) also is very exciting in terms of Yang's command of various bowing and fingering techniques--but this also is one place where she shows her occasional tendency to play under pitch, especially (and most unfortunately) on many of the harmonics (here and elsewhere). Because the pitch of unstopped harmonics (which many of these are) is determined by the tuning of the open string and cannot be altered simply by a fine finger adjustment, it suggests that Yang's violin was not always precisely in tune with the piano. At other times (in several places in the Op. 23 No. 1 ("Playera") an occasional note lies a bit flat at the end of a phrase, seemingly due to momentary inattentiveness, not to any fundamental failure of technique.


Aside from these spotty lapses, when you compare Yang's interpretations, which are basically solid and technically very impressive, with other versions, you realize the limitations of her emotional, experiential input to the pieces' expressive aspects. There's plenty of fire but not much heat; and there's undeniable vitality but the seductive, romantic spirit is missing.


For the most accomplished modern performances of many of the works on Yang's program, turn to James Ehnes' CBC recording, released the same year Yang's was made, which also includes works by Wieniawski. Ehnes seems to have thought more carefully about (or at least sensed) proper tempos relative to the particular nature of a given dance--his slower Playera, for instance, and considerably faster Jota Navarra and Zapateado, in each case ideally capturing the innate spirit of the dance in question. Ehnes also supplies the romantic depth and understanding these pieces need--a knowing turn of phrase, a clever shift of dynamics, a particular rhythmic emphasis here, a pulling away there. It's great stuff, and the Wieniawski selections are just as good.


The sound on the two discs also offers different choices--more edgy and gritty for Yang, making no compromise in presenting the instrument's natural character, and warmer, brighter, a bit more distant for Ehnes, yet no less realistic. Another consideration: Yang's program offers several works difficult or impossible to find elsewhere on disc.
--David Vernier, ClassicsToday.com

GALUPPI Keyboard Sonatas, Vol. 2: in B?, Illy 14 ; in d, Illy 2 ; in c, Illy 34 ; in C, Illy 27 ; in E?, Illy 24 ; in d, Illy 56 ; in D, Illy 1 • Matteo Napoli (pn) • NAXOS 8.572490 (68: 12)


Most people know Baldassare Galuppi (1706–85) as mainly a composer of opera, probably because he was certainly the major figure in Venice during the development of the opera buffa in the 1730s. He was, however, also well regarded as a keyboard player, and his music, mainly sonatas, was widely distributed throughout Europe even during his lifetime. Musicologist Hedda Illy catalogued more than 100 of them, but one and a half times as many other works for keyboard, including divertimentos, toccatas, and smaller pieces, have since turned up, making him one of the principal composers alongside predecessor Domenico Scarlatti.


This disc represents the second volume of what will eventually be a complete cycle of Galuppi’s sonatas, performed here on a modern Steinway piano, if the picture of Matteo Napoli on the back of the cover is accurate. Originally, the designations were probably far more generic, as in perform them on whatever keyboard instrument you might happen to have at hand. These are intimate chamber works, meant to provide entertainment in small private settings, and the publication of two sets of these in London between 1756 and 1759 was clearly aimed at the discerning amateur. That is not to say that the sonatas were simple or technically manageable by the intended performers. Rather, they explore a wide variety of styles and abilities that Galuppi no doubt absorbed during his long lifetime. In this particular set, arranged according to no real sequence or pattern, this variety is quite evident. Two of the works are in two movements, a sort of halfway house between the traditional Classical-period sonata and Scarlatti’s single-movement pieces. The first of these on the disc, in D Minor, opens with a lively set of motivic sequences that are spun out in Baroque fashion, making it clearly an early work. The second, also in D Minor, is more of a da chiesa form, with a lament first movement that has distinctive Neapolitan operatic roots in its emotional unfolding. The first seems made for harpsichord with its figuration, while the second might require a more nuanced instrument, such as a clavichord. The remainder are the usual three-movement format, all of which begin with a slow movement, followed by a lively Allegro, and concluding with some sort of stylized dance. In the sonatas in B? and C, Galuppi opens with a long lyrical theme above a flowing Alberti bass, simple and eloquent. In the turgid C-Minor sonata, the first movement is a cascade of scales and harmonic twists worthy of C. P. E. Bach. In the E?-sonata, he opens with a nocturne of Mozartean purity, lyrical and sinuous. The fast movements are usually highly virtuosic in their technical displays. In the D-Major sonata, the ever-changing figuration and chromatic lines are like a perpetual motion machine, shifting by phases (or phrases) in a Baroque manner using Classical era harmonies. The final movement of this sonata contains a theme and variations based upon a nice tune that Mozart probably would have killed to have. In the C-Minor sonata, this final movement is turned into a demented minuet, with the melody scurrying through scalar passages in between the block triple meter dance. All in all, these works show that Galuppi was cognizant of the evolution of style during his life and used it to best advantage.


Pianist Matteo Napoli is to be congratulated for persevering in this series, the first volume of which (Naxos 8.52263) I found quite stimulating. His playing is always finely nuanced, with expressive details emerging even during the most mechanical sequential passages. The works, most of which do not have much in the way of dynamic markings apparently, seem to fit quite well on the modern piano, though of course it would be great to have them also on instruments of that period. The piano, though, eliminates the need to determine just which keyboard instrument fits each sonata, perhaps a daunting task. But no matter; this disc is a must-have for those interested in 18th-century keyboard music, and I for one wait with anticipation for the next volume in the series.


FANFARE: Bertil van Boer

Seen as the successor to Beethoven by many of his contemporaries, Johannes Brahms combined traditional form with an originality o fmusical language that has inspired generations of composers. His two string quintets are, like Mozart's, scored with two violas for richness of texture and harmonic depth. The positive mood of the First String Quintet reflects the sunny resort of Bad Ischl where Brahms composed during the spring of 1882, while his Second String Quintet combines symphonic breadth with nostalgic melancholy in what was originally intended to be his final chamber work. Formed in 1987, the New Zealand String Quartet has established a distinguished international reputation over the past three decades. The ensemble's discography includes all the quartets by Mendelssohn, Bartok and Berg, and this recording completes their three albums of Brahms chamber music for Naxos.

To make Mozart’s Piano Concertos K. 466 and K. 467 more accessible to the public, the 19th c. composer Ignaz Lachner left the piano parts untouched and made splendid string quartet transcriptions of the orchestra parts with added bass. These chamber versions of two of Mozart’s greatest and most popular concertos sound almost as natural as if Mozart had transcribed them himself. Admired for his musical intelligence, dynamic personality, artistic vision and innovative programming, the NY Times called out pianist Alon Goldstein’s “brilliance and imagination” following a recent live recital.

Sofia Gubaidulina has found a soulfulness and freedom in the guitar which speaks to her musical language of expressive mood and often mysterious but precise sonorities. In both Repentance and Sotto Voce she combines guitars with lower stringed instruments, creating a virtuosic, multi-dimensional and deeply poetic role for each voice. Fascinating new sounds from the guitar are produced from the most eloquent chorales to remarkable effects using a drinking glass. The earlier Serenade is ‘music for pleasure’, while this première recording of the Toccata reveals a work with a driving momentum that hardly stops.

I had the good fortune to hear the first concerto RV532, arranged from one for two mandolins, on Radio 3 and was very impressed. It was delightful therefore to receive this disc for review and to have my original very positive impression endorsed. The disc has an added distinction, as sadly it will be Julian Lloyd Webber’s last recording due to a neck injury.

The disc begins with RV532 and this sets the high standard for what is to come. If one had doubts as to arranging the distinctive sound of mandolins to cellos then these are dispelled immediately. The playing, throughout, is very accomplished and sensitive and very well captured by the engineers. The success of an arrangement is surely not to feel the instrumentation is incorrect and this is the case here. RV531 follows which is the only one originally written for two cellos and was at a lower level of inspiration than the first piece. Fortunately RV409, originally written for one cello follows and this is an exciting piece with changes of tempo in the middle movement. The finale showcases Lloyd Webber’s expertise on the instrument and signposts the way for Haydn’s concerto a generation later.

RV545 is a most appealing work with the first movement originally destined for the instrumentation in a cantata. The arrangement from oboe to bassoon is seamless and again showcases the fine playing of the soloists; those who listen to the countless versions of the Four Seasons should definitely give this a listen. RV539 was originally conceived for two horns. This is a delightful piece with the cellos' imitation of hunting calls in the outer movements. The lullaby nature of the middle movement is very touching articulated by restrained playing and sympathetic accompaniment. RV812 was only discovered less than ten years ago. This was originally written for violin and the arrangement for two cellos again works well even if the piece is not as distinguished as some of the others here.

The final item is an arrangement of a Milonga (tango dance) from Piazzolla's Concerto for Bandoneon — a type of concertina — and Guitar. To say that this is a contrast to what’s come before is an understatement. The plaintive melody is well suited to the cello and as throughout the playing is first class: a most effective and original way to end this disc.

This is undoubtedly a successful disc which will appeal to many, especially at Naxos price. Perhaps not to be taken in one sitting but a couple of the concertos at a time. It is sad if this is to be Julian Lloyd Webber’s last record but if it is, he is signing off in some style.

– David R. Dunsmore, MusicWeb International

Dukas’ three major orchestral works make a logical and satisfying single program, and they are very well performed and recorded on this fine new disc from Naxos. There’s no guarantee, of course, that a French conductor will do especially well in French music, and no doubt Jean-Luc Tingaud does not wish to be pigeon-holed or limited only to the music of his countrymen, but he does play all three pieces with a certain idiomatic flair that’s both quite memorable and often excitingly fresh.

The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, which opens the program, receives a swift and brilliant reading, but also one notable for its naturalness and unforced musicality. Right from the start, in the slow introduction, you will register the way that Tingaud and the RTÉ wind players skillfully build long phrases from Dukas’ melodic fragments, and ensure that the tension never sags. The climaxes also are perfectly judged. La péri, with its opening fanfare brilliantly played, never lapses into the sort of droopy languor that tempts other artists into overindulgence: the music has both rhythm and impetus as well as lusciousness.

This reading of the Symphony in C major may be the most impressive performance of all. The opening movement is really gripping, and the long coda, which can sound like an artificial appendage, builds in energy right through to the final bars. Kudos to the orchestra for keeping up with some pretty hard-driving conducting here. The central Andante also is beautifully shaped and truly “espressivo”, but with no dead spots, while the lively finale offers a very satisfying conclusion. Although there is no shortage of available recordings of these works, or even discs that present them together, this one is as good as any, and better than most. Give it a shot.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

On its first appearance on the Marco Polo label, this recording was acclaimed as ‘a model of what these things should be’ (Fanfare) and that no release on the label was ‘better or more important than this’ (ClassicsToday.com). It presents a definitive restoration of Korngold’s music for the 1938 Warner Bros.’ production of The Adventures of Robin Hood, starring the ultimate swashbuckler, Errol Flynn, and still one of the most-loved of all motion pictures. Throughout—and to an unprecedented degree—Korngold captures its lavish spectacle, romance, colour, pageantry and humour in his magnificent score. Also included is the Original Theatre Trailer Music, not previously available on CD.

GLASS Concerto Fantasy for 2 timpanists and orchestra (arr. Lortz) 1. FAIROUZ Symphony No. 4, “In the Shadow of No Towers” 2 • Paul W. Popeil, cond; 1 Ji Hye Jung, 1 Gwendolyn Burgett (timpani); 2 J?nis Porietis (tpt); University of Kansas Wind Ens • NAXOS 8.573205 (57: 48)


The opening piece on this CD, Philip Glass’s Concerto Fantasy for two timpanists and orchestra, is heard here in an arrangement for wind band by Mark Lortz, band director at Stevenson University in Maryland. The transcription, from what I can tell (not knowing the original), seems quite fine, crafted with an excellent ear for texture and style. The problem, as usual, is with Glass’s music itself. Although this piece is not as heavily repetitious as most of the composer’s famous works from the 1970s and 80s, it still relies on repetition to make its point, and in this case the “point” is hammered home by the incessant banging of our two timpanists, Jung and Burgett. Let me put it this way: if you really enjoy Benny Goodman’s old arrangement of Sing, Sing, Sing, with Gene Krupa’s interminable tom-tom banging, you’ll love this Concerto. Glass regales us at the outset with a motif that sounds for all the world like the opening of Lalo Schifrin’s Mission: Impossible theme, interspersed with phrases from the Burt Bacharach song Promises, Promises. The second movement retreats from the sound barrier somewhat, but here the music sounded to me reminiscent of such iconic Glass works as Khayanaquatsi. Our two drummers recede somewhat from the sound barrier here, but the pattern they are drumming remains repetitious. The five-minute “cadenza” for the timpanists finally varies the beat a little, making some allusions to jazz, but not quite enough to hold the listener’s attention. (As comedian Stan Freberg once quipped on one of his records, “That’s close enough for jazz!”) Here, too, the timpanists are joined by xylophone for a real percussion funfest. In the third movement, the syncopation continues, but this time in typical Glassian style. Despite the use of some flatted thirds, this music reminded me of a section from Hydrogen Jukebox.


By contrast, Mohammed Fairouz’s Fourth Symphony, based on a “serious” comic book by Art Spiegelman bearing the title In the Shadow of No Towers, is a masterpiece (this is a world premiere recording). Fairouz has managed to capture the horror of the moment and its aftermath without wallowing in mawkish self-pity. Perhaps the liner notes’ descriptions of the four movements will convey to the reader the quality of the music. The first, titled “The New Normal,” shows a family’s interaction with television before, during, and after the events of September 11, 2001. Fairouz manages to suggest the twin towers collapsing by clashing rising woodwind scales with explosive brass chords, but before this Fairouz captures the feeling of unease with quiet music scored in close harmonics that often border on the eerie, and after their collapse returns to the opening material briefly before exploding again, then continuing in what the composer refers to as “a cold and quick funeral march.” The reader may feel from this verbal description that such a manipulation of musical material and emotional response seems calculated or even predictable, but such is not the case. This is damn fine and extremely creative music; not a single bar sounds formulaic, even if one is told and knows in advance what is “coming” in the music. Fairouz introduces themes that are sometimes developed and at other times juxtaposed with other themes; he keeps the listener off balance not with the sound explosions but with the silences in between.


The second movement, “Notes of a Heartbroken Narcissist,” is based on Spiegelman’s cartoon panels of a self-absorbed yuppie deciding how to comb his facial hair and turning into a rodent. It begins at a volume so low that at first I thought that my CD player had stopped working, with players scraping coins across suspended cymbals. The subcontra ranges of both brass and piano continue the gloomy mood. (Personal footnote: the day after 9/11, I went to work in shock, like everyone else in America. Talking to the young minister of a local church, I told her that what went through my mind was the plight of Olivier Messiaen and his fellow-prisoners during World War II, the four of them—all musicians—not knowing if they or the world would survive those horrible years, and Messiaen’s reaction by writing the Quartet for the End of Time. The minister’s reaction was a bit like the narcissist and his beard: “I just don’t know how to rock and roll any more!”) As annotator Paul R. Laird puts it, what emerges from this movement is not the yuppie’s narcissism but a very “heartfelt lament for those who died in the attack.”


The third movement, “One Nation Under Two Flags,” was Spiegelman’s reaction to the divisive split in America during the following years: the United “Red Zone” and “Blue Zone” of America. In Fairouz’s score, neither one is really treated sympathetically. The Red Zone is represented by shrill jingoistic music, the Blue Zone by music that is “just plain angry.” (Art Spiegelman referred to it as “a martial schizo-scherzo.” I call it modern-day Charles Ives.) Once again, Fairouz keeps you guessing as to how the music will play out. A quiet passage for clarinets and soft solo trumpet over piano comes almost as a shock in the midst of the chaos.


The last movement, “Anniversaries,” is based on Spiegelman’s pictorial description of clocks that restarted on September 12 yet seemed to resemble a ticking “time-bomb that occasionally explodes,” after which the ghostly image of the twin towers grows larger than life before fading away. Here, Fairouz does indeed rely on the gimmick of a ticking clock sound as the underlying motif for the movement, but once again his inner ear for harmonic movement and sound color are astonishing. He almost makes of the wind ensemble something entirely different than what we are used to: the sounds that emerge sometimes resemble a harmonium, at other times an organ. It is the musical equivalent of the relentless march of time against a backdrop of horror brought, kicking and screaming, into our lives.


In praising the varied moods of the Fairouz Symphony, one must give special credit to the University of Kansas Woodwind Ensemble and their director, Paul Popeil. This is playing on an extraordinarily high level of a work that is technically and emotionally demanding from start to finish.


A split review, then. It almost seems unfair that so trivial a work as the Glass Concerto is paired on this disc with an incredible masterpiece. It’s rather like putting someone’s Variations on “Blue Suede Shoes” on the same disc with the Górecki Third Symphony. Yet I must urge you to acquire this disc for the Fairouz work. You simply won’t believe how brilliant it is.


FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley