The New Haven Symphony Orchestra (NHSO) and the Yale University Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library are pleased to collaborate on the William Walton Project. The Frederick R. Koch Collection, housed at the Beinecke Library, contains the world's largest archive of Walton's original manuscripts. This project presents a unique opportunity for Walton's music to be "brought to life," using these manuscripts as the source of preparation for performances.

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BLOCH Voice in the Wilderness. Schelomo. CAPLET Épiphanie. RAVEL 2 Mélodies hébraïques: Kaddisch (arr. Ravel) • Raphael Wallfisch (vc); Benjamin Wallfisch, cond; BBC Natl O of Wales • NIMBUS 5913 (75:13)


This album holds deep personal significance for the performers. In a video interview released in promotion of it, Raphael Wallfisch discusses his conception of the program as a memorial to his family, particularly his four grandparents, who perished in the Holocaust. Having engaged his son, Benjamin, to conduct the recording, Wallfisch views it as both a musical and a familial statement. Additionally, Wallfisch emphasizes the vivid “cinematic” drama of the Bloch pieces, for which he considered his son’s close involvement with film music to be a natural fit.


Given these factors, it is not surprising that the Wallfisches’ performances on this disc are rhapsodic and dramatic. And that is what this music demands. The two Bloch pieces, when played well, can be shattering experiences for the listener: unremittingly grim, with the cello as tormented protagonist. The Ravel Kaddisch , based on a traditional cantorial melody, captures the outermost depths of reverence and mourning. And Caplet’s rarely-performed Épiphanie is an ecstatic portrayal of an Ethiopian telling of the Adoration of the Magi. There is no moderation of emotion in these works; this is music to captivate, move, and overwhelm the listener.


Bloch’s Voices in the Wilderness was written in 1936, a period during which he produced some of his most substantial works. (The Sacred Service was composed in 1933 and the piano sonata in 1935.) It was originally conceived for cello and piano, and was reworked for piano solo as Visions and Prophecies , which presents the orchestral expositions to the first five pieces. Familiarity with both versions provides an intriguing contrast; the role of the cello in Voices in the Wilderness is one of commentator on the orchestral material presented in the first half of each movement. As evidenced by Visions and Prophecies , this material can succeed on its own; it is not simply introductory but traces a complete musical arc. Is the cello response therefore redundant? Some movements work better than others. The second, for example, is atmospheric and pensive in the orchestral section. It ends with an upward, questioning melodic gesture. Left here in the Visions and Prophecies , the question lingers enigmatically. In Voices in the Wilderness , the cello begins its response with outraged scales. The orchestral accompaniment thickens and becomes more dissonant. In this movement, the second half constitutes a reassessment of the ideas presented in the first half rather than simply an elaboration of them. The third movement’s exposition, majestic with vivid coloration unavailable to a solo piano, feels like a public statement of triumph and benefits from the individual perspective offered by the cello response; moreover, it is brief enough that its restatement is not unwelcome. But the foreboding first movement achieves its full emotional impact and reaches a convincing full stop before the cello entrance, as does the idyllic fourth movement. Finally, the coda to the fifth movement ends in such eloquent silence as to render the boisterous sixth movement almost disruptive. Qualms about the composition’s structure aside, Wallfisch’s playing exhibits an impressive range of emotion, texture, and color. His cadenza in the fifth movement is especially effective in its bold, emphatic statements and its relentless build.


Ravel’s Kaddisch was composed in 1914 for piano and voice as one of the 2 Mélodies hébraïques . Ravel orchestrated both songs in 1919–20. Wallfisch’s approach to the melody is appropriately improvisatory in its fluctuations of tempo and sudden shifts of dynamics. He even produces some strikingly vocal portamentos. But without the words, much of the emotional impact of the piece is lost. This is not simply because of the profundity of the text; rather, the articulation of specific consonants and vowels has a timbral effect that cannot be replicated instrumentally. Additionally, the orchestration obscures the insistent treble octaves that provide the focal point of the original piano accompaniment. Ravel was a masterful orchestrator, and this version of the Kaddisch is musically pleasing, but it does not have the impact of the original.


André Caplet’s Épiphanie has been recorded only a handful of times—inexplicably for such an accessible and attractive work, and one that offers the soloist a true virtuoso spectacle. The piece is in two large movements connected by an extended solo cadenza. Though subtitled “Musical Fresco after an Ethiopian Legend,” the first movement is solidly in the sound world of Impressionism—perhaps closer to Roussel than to Debussy in its harmonic palette. The feeling is sunny and ingratiating throughout. The cello part features extended pizzicato passages and frequent harmonics. The cadenza is accompanied by a pedal tone in the double basses and by a quiet, steady drumbeat, which the program notes identify as “a characteristically Ethiopian element.” The cadenza itself sounds fairly European, despite some pentatonic material and occasional uses of the Semitic scale. This is not a complaint; the music is impassioned and colorful, and Wallfisch’s playing is commanding. The second movement, the “Danse des Petits Negrès,” takes a more exotic tone with a rapid, heavily-accented 5/4 meter and a repeated whirling motif in the cello. Brief musical phrases, repeated in groups of two, create a “primitive” effect. The constant repetition becomes predictable, and the Orientalist subtext is highly dated. But the movement is generally exciting, especially in its final pages.


Bloch’s Schelomo is the most widely-performed work on the disc. It is here that the Wallfisches are most open to comparison. Were I not familiar with the Rostropovich/Bernstein recording of the piece, I would be unreserved in my praise of the current performance. And indeed, it is a very fine performance: imposing, brooding, and highly effective. But where Wallfisch rages, Rostropovich thunders. Where Wallfisch sobs, Rostropovich wails. The same can be said of the conducting: Wallfisch’s Schelomo is dramatic but does not quite achieve the gripping immediacy of Bernstein’s. It is nonetheless a vivid and moving rendition of the piece, and the disc as a whole makes for very rewarding listening. Excellent, vivid sound engineering is a welcome bonus.


FANFARE: Myron Silberstein

Thys Yool is a four-part programme of medieval music in which four images central to the Christmas story are brought together. Beginning with a sometimes melancholy picture of earth-bound humanity (Winter and Wassail), the record moves through nativity songs (A Child Is Born) towards the point at which Christian and pagan traditions come together in an adoration of the Virgin which is often expressed in the passionate language of the courtly lover. A sense of human perceptions being profoundly altered by the events of Christmas is evoked in Mary’s Son, Goodwill on Earth and a French 12th century conductus touches on the theme of Rebirth. Thys Yool has been a popular Christmas title in the Nimbus catalogue for many years. The Martin Best Ensemble, led by English singer, lutenist, and guitarist Martin Best, specializes in early music, minstrel songs, and French troubadour traditions.

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Emma Johnson is one of the few clarinetists to have established a busy career as a solo performer which has taken her to major European, American and Asian venues as well as to Africa and Australasia. She is one of the UK’s biggest selling classical artists, having sold over half a million albums worldwide. Her recent recording of sonatas by Brahms and Mendelssohn with John Leneham was described as definitive and triumphant. “The great thing about the clarinet is it can take you anywhere- any country, any style, any era- and accordingly Clarinet Goes To Town journeys from Brazil to China encompassing styles from Classical to jazz. It’s basically me letting my hair down with my favorite musicians in party pieces we’ve honed in concert over the past few years.” (Emma Johnson)

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FRANÇAIX Scherzo. 5 Portraits de jeunes filles. Eloge de la danse. Piano Sonata. 5 Encores. Danse des 3 Arlequins. 8 Variations. Nocturne. 3 Equisses sur les touches blanches. La Promenade d’un Musicologue Eclectique. De la Musique avant tout chose. Pour Jacqueline. Si Versailles m’etait conté. Scuola di Ballo. 1 8 Danses exotiques. 1 15 Portraits d’enfants d’Auguste Renoir. 2 Napoléon 2 • Martin Jones, 1 Richard McMahon, 2 Adrian Farmer (pn) • NIMBUS NI 5880/2 (3 CDs: 19:05)


Had Jean Françaix been born a decade or so earlier, we would be referring to Les Sept rather than Les Six. As it was, the French-polished and long-lived composer (1912–97) followed in the footsteps of his slightly older confrères, particularly Poulenc, in typifying the French style of his era: witty, light-hearted, and insouciant. Françaix’s music derives from the bouncy rhythms and diatonic melodies of French folk music, but mixes in the vulgarity of the boulevard, the harmonic asperity of Stravinsky, and an occasional hint of 1920s jazz, all done with assured craftsmanship. While many of his concertos have been recorded—the best-known are the sprightly Piano Concertino (1932) and the Clarinet Concerto—Françaix’s output for solo piano has not. The only previous recordings I discovered are by Annette Middlebeek on a hard-to-find Koch disc from 2001, and another from 2008 by Nicole Narboni on the obscure label CDBY, which I have never heard of. (The latter recital is intriguingly promoted as “Narboni on Food, Felines, Fathers, and Jean Françaix.”) I did not manage to do any comparative listening—my order of the Koch disc failed to materialize by deadline— but in any case this new Nimbus set trumps both in terms of completeness alone.


Although Françaix was an expert orchestrator, probably more skilled than Poulenc, whose Story of Babar the Elephant he arranged for orchestra, the younger composer first made his mark as a pianist. He continued to play throughout his life, not only his own works but also music by other composers, often teaming with the cellist Maurice Gendron. Many of his compositions involve piano, and I notice a three-disc set of chamber music with the composer at the piano is scheduled to be released late in 2012 (this being the year of Françaix’s centenary, of course).


Meanwhile, we have the indefatigable Martin Jones to bring us up to speed on the keyboard works. The set opens with the early, mostly staccato Scherzo, a favorite of the composer that he played often, and it shows him at his most deft in its clarity and harmonic sleight of hand. The Scherzo sets the tone for the rest of the program and is tossed off with perfect élan here by Jones. Françaix preferred miniatures, and many of the larger works are in fact suites made up of several short movements. Some, such as the oddly titled Promenade d’un Musicologue Eclectique , are composed of tributes to other composers such as Chopin, Ravel, and Adam. Françaix always sounds like himself, but Ravel was clearly a major influence along with Chabrier and, to some extent, Satie. We might expect a work titled Piano Sonata to be more serious in tone but that expectation is quickly dashed; the first movement scampers off like a French poodle. (The same thing happens in the composer’s one symphony.) The sonata’s second movement (Elégie) features an Impressionistic bell-like accompaniment. Timing is one of the composer’s finest assets: Nothing outstays its welcome, and just as one might be tiring of high spirits a pensive moment of lyricism comes along, like the lovely “La Tendre” in the Five Portraits of Young Girls suite. The gentle Nocturne’s arpeggiated left hand registers like updated Fauré, and it is this piece, the composer’s final composition for solo piano (1994), that brings the first disc to a close.


In the duo and two-piano works Jones is joined by Richard McMahon or Adrian Farmer. The Eight Exotic Dances of 1957 draw on popular Latin and jazz forms. The final movement is titled Rock’n’roll but it is far more jazz than rock, a musical genre too earthy for the fastidious Françaix, I suspect. Napoléon and Si Versailles m’etait conté are two-piano arrangements of music from films, while Scuola di ballo is a ballet score from 1933, which, 30 years later, the composer reworked for himself and his daughter Claude to play. The resulting score is more elaborate than a mere reduction, as you will hear if you compare it to the orchestral version recorded by Thierry Fischer and the Ulster Orchestra (Hyperion). It draws on music by Boccherini in much the same way as Stravinsky reinterpreted Pergolesi in Pulcinella , and forms a joyous finale to the program.


Devotees of piano music and avowed completists owe a lot to Martin Jones, truly one of the finest of British pianists. For Nimbus he has recorded a good deal of Spanish music (including multiple discs of Mompou), a Czerny series, Szymanowski, and several others. He is a sparkling technician, but beyond that he always manages to sound utterly sympathetic in the music he chooses to record. His partners in this enterprise are equally at home; McMahon, for one, has a formidable reputation in duet work. Nimbus’s recording strikes me as perfect; as usual, there is air around the sound but it is never muddy, always crisp, and suits the piano to a T. While it may be asking too much to listen to the three discs straight through (though I did so without any ill effect, several times), this is undoubtedly a delightful set to dip into and certainly a significant addition to the catalog.


FANFARE: Phillip Scott

The coordination of the partners is marvelous, the variety of the sounds they produce is spectacular, and the feeling of the right sound at the right moment is priceless.

Gustav Holst was the Director of Music of St. Paul’s Girls’ School in London between the years 1905 and 1934. John York is currently the Senior Music Head of Department at the same school. It happened that in this school, in a cupboard of Holst’s room, John York found a leather-bound, engraved copy of Holst’s The Planets, arranged for 4 hands, one piano. The version was prepared with the help of two of Holst’s colleagues, Nora Day and Vally Lasker. Additional editing was done by John and Fiona York.
 
The 4-hand version is no substitute for the full orchestral one. This is probably most apparent in the opening number, Mars. The timbre of the heavy brass, like bellowing of battle elephants, colors this orchestral sound in violent dark red. Much of the musical progression is repetitive. In the full version this is concealed behind the constant change of color; the piano is not able match this ability completely. As a result, the music drags a bit. The final climax also loses much of its cosmic horror.
 
In the beginning of the static and mysterious Venus I get a feeling that a softer touch would have been better. But the further in the more I become enthralled by these impressionistic splashes, and the last minutes are magical. It’s possible that the performers deliberately avoided excessive softness, in order not to fall into the standard Debussian watercolors.
 
John York wrote in the liner-note that Mercury gave them the most trouble. Whatever their problems were, the pianists overcame them. The rhythmic precision is stunning. The silver glitter is dry and not too warm: the taste of Brut Champagne, exactly as needed.
 
Holst’s Jupiter is The Bringer of Jollity – and, surprisingly, that’s exactly what the music depicts: jollity, not solemnity, or grandeur, or other possible attributes of The Supreme One. This is Sir John Falstaff, dancing as he arrives, and humming the most hummable tunes! The music is not vulgar: there is much nobility in the Elgarian melodies, especially in the stately middle episode. This middle episode has the British imperial air around it, and the pianists play it with restraint. The performance is splendid, lively and bright, excellently conveying Holst’s humor. Music to raise your spirits!
 
Saturn is The Bringer of Old Age. Nothing is easy when you’re old, and the music breathes with an effort. Its steps are heavy. The middle episode quickens the tempo, and the tension grows. The climax is dark and heavy, though not as sinister as in the orchestral version. In the final part, the texture brightens and warms. There appear to be some good things in old age after all!
 
Uranus, the Magician seems to be a good pal of Dukas’s Sorcerer. In the orchestral version, the feeling of galloping power is created by mighty brass and colorful percussion. The piano version avoids being flat by using different registers. John and Fiona produce some spectacular fireworks here.
 
The soft shimmer and shine of the full-version of Neptune is painted by gentle woodwinds and by the mystic, wordless women’s choir, like voices of sea sirens coming through the fog. The Yorks manage to reproduce this misty atmosphere. Again, their piano does not sound for a single moment like Debussy: the sound is focused and well defined, and this only increases the depth and the mystery. Certainly, the finale of the original Neptune is unique, and there can’t be a substitute for that feeling of awe when the mesmerizing chorus enters. It’s out of this world, in all senses. But apart from this, frankly, I think that the Yorks hit the bull’s eye. The tempo, the dynamics, the viscid drift, the slowly swirling clouds – all is perfect.
 
It is very interesting to hear how such a rich orchestral score as The Planets can be rendered on a single piano. After listening to the entire suite, the conclusion has to be that the piano is a fantastic instrument! One should know all its psychology, but Fiona and John York don’t seem to lack anything here. Their sound is so different in each piece. My minor objections are mostly about Mars (I still find it drags after many listenings) and the beginning of Venus. But I understand that they can’t play much more than is in the notes, and the level of polish and attention that the composer devoted to this transcription certainly cannot compare to those that the orchestral version received.
 
As a fill-up we have some less familiar music: the Suite No.1 by York Bowen, to which the pianists added the Finale movement from the Suite No.2. This was a smart decision: the first suite, ending on the lyrical Nocturne, would sound incomplete, and with the added Finale it obtains a closed 4-movement structure, similar to Rachmaninov’s Second Suite. The Prelude has a wide Romantic flow, with rising and falling tides. It is warm and ecstatic, and sounds a lot like Rachmaninov, though with a simpler harmonic structure. The second part is entitled Dance, which does not seem to me a good description of its character. Its structure is tripartite. The outer parts are fast and cheerful, almost march-like. The middle episode is slower, more lyrical, and very songlike. The entire construction seems overlong for its contents. Nocturne again borrows some melodic and harmonic moves from Rachmaninov (or, through him, from Borodin). It is warm and sensual, and builds to a dramatic climax. The music has movement and depth. John and Fiona give it a beautiful and expressive – I’d even say, loving - performance. The Finale is mercurial and happy. It has some nice Lisztian waterplay, and ends just at the right moment.
 
This disc is a piano duo feast. The coordination of the partners is marvelous, the variety of the sounds they produce is spectacular, and the feeling of the right sound at the right moment is priceless. Regrettably, the music itself has a certain second-hand feeling, though for different reasons. The 4-hand version of The Planets is a faithful portrait of the full version, but much is lost. However excellent the playing, I doubt I’ll ever take it to listen when I have the orchestral version next to it on the shelf. And Bowen’s work could too easily be attributed to Rachmaninov. No doubt, another “Rach” piano suite is a good thing, but it’s not quite on the same level of inspiration.
 
Still – my standing applause to York2, who once again prove their reputation as a “duo with a difference”! Where can I get in line for their future discs? The recorded sound can be bettered in terms of depth and presence. It is clear, but somewhat two-dimensional. The booklet contains an excellent essay by John York about the history of creation of The Planets (both the original and the piano version), and more.
  -- Oleg Ledeniov, MusicWeb International

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Great stuff, undemanding and pleasing.

This is a lovely disc, and one that also plugs some important gaps in the repertoire. Hans von Bülow is known as an historical figure of some import, mainly as conductor. Piano pupil of Friedrich Wieck (Clara Schumann’s father) and Liszt, friend of Raff, teacher of Richard Strauss, Bülow was assisted by Wagner, no less, in his conducting career. He’s also known as the guy who lost his wife, Cosima, to Wagner.

The recital begins with the doleful Ballade, replete with Wagnerian chordal progressions. The piece becomes freer in discourse as it progresses, more quasi-improvised. There is a nice full-bodied sound, both from the pianist and from the recording. Anderson is a master of delineation, and there is some lovely balancing of strands - try the right-hand filigree around 3:40. Certainly it is a long piece, but Anderson somehow pulls it off. There are some distinctly Lisztian gestures around 6:40 - spread right-hand chords as part of a long cantabile line, for example. The impression is of superb pianism.

The Carnavale di Milano, subtitled “Ballabili e Intermezzi”, was inspired by the ballerina Elvira Salvioni, and the ten movements portray aspects of the dedicatee’s persona. There are ten dances and intermezzi, within which one (“Quadriglia”) is divided into six subsections. This piece lasts three-quarters of an hour, but is most appealing. The opening Polacca is Chopinesque and suave with some truly lovely shadings from Anderson. It is followed by a delightful Valse with a grand ending. This could be hammy if one is not careful - Anderson brings it off brilliantly. The Intermezzo is nicely exploratory - hesitant and teasing. If the six Quadriglia all seem much of a muchness, Anderson plays charmingly. The Mazurka is more interesting, more varied, and the Intermezzo lirico that follows is simply beautiful - it is subtitled “dancing sighs”. The Tarantella is properly virtuoso.

The short La Certa (The Lizard) is a Schubertian Impromptu that has been here gorgeously played and recorded. There is a wonderfully serene coda before the lizard scampers off. And to finish, the fun Marche héroïque on a theme by Erkel, from Hunyady László. Anderson teases the hiatuses in lines very pleasingly and there is an excellent drum - timpani roll - evocation. Great stuff, undemanding and pleasing.

There does not seem to be that much Bülow in the catalogues currently. It may be possible to find a disc on Marco Polo of Bülow’s transcriptions. This is played by Daniel Blumenthal on Marco Polo 8.223421. There’s also a disc on Oehms Classics OC 808 of songs by great conductors - Bruno Walter and Clemens Krauss being the others. Von Bülow’s tone poem Nirvana appears alongside orchestral works by Heger, Szell and Weingartner on Arabesque Z6752 (National Philharmonic of Lithuania/Leon Botstein).

-- Colin Clarke, MusicWeb International

Quite simply exemplary and splendidly recorded as well.

The in this series was what I called ‘a valuable corrective to the partial, more generally held view of Czerny as a composer of an exhaustive number of pedagogic studies.’ This view is simply reinforced by volume 2 which is, similarly, a two disc set and which offers the same tangible musical rewards as the earlier volume.
 
There is nothing in the second volume quite as extensive as the massive Sixth Sonata of 1827. Nevertheless we do get four powerfully proportioned sonatas from his maturity played, as before, with powerful eloquence by Martin Jones, one of the most exploratory and energising pianists before the public. The interesting thing about Czerny’s sonatas is that the primary influence is not that of Beethoven. Rather it often sounds to have been Schubert who exerted the greater pull. The opening movement of the Eleventh Sonata, for example, sounds like a Schubert finale, though Brahms’s name is evoked by sleeve note writer Calum MacDonald. The sonata’s slow movement is a romantic soliloquy, its finale a songful, almost Schumannesque one played with warmth and clarity. This sonata dates from 1843. Nearly a quarter of a century earlier his first effort shows similar virtues. It’s a sonata that was admired by Liszt, who dedicated his Transcendental Etudes to Czerny, and is a powerful, exciting and generous spirited five-movement work. In this nourishing piece the central Adagio is hard to overlook, so richly cantabile is it, and so finely played too. Czerny is careful to balance the two faster inner movements; his Prestissimo agitato is galvanically brisk, whereas the Rondo is altogether more relaxed.
 
The Second Sonata is not unlike the First in that it too has five movements, one fewer than the Sixth where, one feels, Czerny did at least emulate Beethoven’s multi-movement example in his late string quartets. It is however much more concise than the earlier work. It has a most touching slow movement and an Allegro agitato that reminds one of the similar movement in the First. Another link comes from Czerny’s schema which is to end both these sonatas with a Fugue. In the First sonata the fugue is linked to earlier material, but not in the Second where the fugue stands, in effect, as a separate entity. The effect is grand, but it does lessen the sense of cumulative tension that the earlier work generated. The Sonatine is more compact still, but belies its name by virtue of its elevated and highly personal powers of reflection. And there are two small pieces. The Chanson sans paroles is spiced with delicious filigree, whilst the Character Etude Op.755 is a lissom and decidedly lovely effusion.
 
There is one remaining volume in this series, and one awaits it with anticipation. Jones’s playing is, quite simply, exemplary and he has been splendidly recorded as well.
 
-- Jonathan Woolf, MusicWeb International

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"[A] collection of choral works composed by Italian and Russian composers between 1765 and 1915; 150 years of spine-tingling creations of sheer uplifting beauty. ... Harmonia Sacra under Peter Leech present this music in performances that are skilful, stylish and hugely attractive to the ear. The air is consistently tender rather than forcefully dramatic, and the great attention to detail readily discloses all the subtleties of these quite inspiring gems." – ClassicalNet

This CD has been a long time coming, and dates back to the first time Paco Peña and Eliot Fisk ever met, when they performed separately at a now-defunct guitar festival in Germany, in September 1983. The disc does not pretend to be either pure flamenco or pure classical. Necessarily, the classical selections are colored by Paco’s flamenco sensibility just as the flamenco selections are colored by Eliot’s formation in the classical world. But that is exactly what is interesting! Paco finds things in classical music that would never occur to a classical player, and something analogous can be said of Eliot’s attempts to enter the mysterious temple of flamenco.

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