Forsyth, M.: Canadian Composers Portraits

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The partnership between BIS and Finnish composer Kalevi Aho is a most fruitful one, as our survey of this composer’s work amply demonstrates. The most recent additions to Aho’s growing discography include a massive orchestral work premiered on a mountainside – Symphony No. 12 ‘Luosto’ – and the smaller-scale but no less compelling Symphony No.14 ‘Rituaaleja’. Happily, Osmo Vänskä – who had already moved to Minnesota – returned to Finland to record the two works on this new disc. He certainly knows this composer’s sound-world better than anyone, his long relationship with the Lahti orchestra cemented by their earlier, much-praised Sibelius cycle for BIS.

This new concerto, commissioned by the Mänttä Music festival’s artistic director Niklas Pokki, was written with Finnish pianist Antti Siirala in mind. Unaccountably I’ve not heard this soloist before, although he’s already collected a clutch of major awards. So, how does he fare, and how does this 21st-century concerto sound? It’s rather intimate – the pianist is accompanied by just 20 string players – and on first acquaintance the quicksilver writing reminded me of Prokofiev. That did surprise me, as the composer’s liner-notes make mention of Siirala’s prowess in a rather different musical tradition, that of Beethoven, Liszt and Brahms. However, that apparent dichotomy is soon resolved, with writing – and playing – that will certainly bring that illustrious trio to mind.

The three movements, played without a break, have a wonderful; rhapsodic character, the BIS engineers capturing Siirala’s warm, natural pianism very well indeed. And yes, even though one might detect a Brahmsian flavour at times – sample the passage that begins at 3:00 – there’s a strong, very individual voice here, any stylistic snatches welded into an entirely original and convincing whole. As for the strings, they soften the music’s edges, bringing out a wonderful sense of wistfulness in quieter passages. Just sample the gentle rain of sound that Siirala conjures up at 7:59 in the second movement, the string playing that follows Straussian in its weight and quiet stoicism. The Lahti forces are glorious, full, warm and beautifully blended.

And while the final movement strikes a distinctly Brahms/Beethoven pose at the start, the quirkier writing that follows seem closer to Prokofiev. Siirala delights in the glittering melodies, which he dashes off with aplomb, the strings adding their strange, tangential harmonies to the mix. This concerto is both elusive and refreshing; also it’s piqued my interest in this most talented pianist, who I’d especially like to hear in core 19th- and 20th-century repertoire.

Symphony No. 13, commissioned to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Lahti’s Sibelius Hall, makes use of the building’s unique acoustics. In his liner-notes Aho points out that various instruments are directed to play in the lighting gallery, the echo chambers and the choir. Listeners may remember he experimented with instruments and singers in the same hall in an effort to reproduce the spatial effects of ‘Luosto’, his outdoor symphony. Speaking of subtitles, the 13th has one too, ‘Symphonic Characterizations’. Cast in two movements, it depicts a range of human traits. Again, listeners may be reminded of the composer’s anthropomorphic ~ and highly entertaining – Insect Symphony (No. 7).

The different instrumental placements and varying acoustics, evident from the outset, probably work very well in the hall itself, but I’m not convinced the intended effects are that apparent here. Perhaps this would have sounded more striking as a multi-channel SACD – as was the case with ‘Luosto’. That said, there’s no denying the sinewy orchestration and constant momentum of the piece, which yokes together a whole range of conflicting moods – imperioso, semplice, malinconico, aristocratico, morbido and calcolatore. It’s an interesting conceit, but listeners may feel – as I do – that these labels aren’t pivotal to one’s enjoyment of the symphony as a whole.

Once again, I was struck by the composer’s economy of style, which creates music of chamber-like lucidity and concentration. The allure lies not so much in the overall picture but in the daubs that make up this larger orchestral canvas. In some ways the work’s discrete inner dialogues make it seem more like a concerto for orchestra than a symphony. Even in the second movement, with its emphasis on baser emotions, the percussion and brass are sparingly used, the various instrumental colours and timbres captured with commendable crispness and clarity. Just listen to the shimmering tam-tam at 5:00, it’s so wonderfully tactile.

New Aho recordings are always a cause for celebration, and this one is no exception. Of the two works here the concerto probably has the broadest appeal; it’s inventive without being perverse, and effortlessly tuneful without ever sounding anodyne. Many of the same qualities come through in the symphony as well, but if you really want to hear this composer at the height of his powers I’d suggest you try the more recent Symphony No. 14.

Not the best introduction to this discreet, ever-fascinating composer’s œuvre – the early symphonies would be a better place to start – but a must-hear for those who already own the other works in this excellent cycle.

-- Dan Morgan, MusicWeb International

Premièred in January 1945, Sergei Prokofiev’s optimistic and heroic Fifth Symphony had seemed to herald the victorious end of World War Two. In stark contrast to this, his Symphony No.6, which received its first performance in 1947, is one of his deepest and most personal works. Although it was greeted with enthusiasm by the audience, the Soviet authorities were critical of the work and in 1948 a Party resolution singled it out as ‘abnormal’ and ‘repellent’. In fact, the first ideas for the symphony preceded those for the Fifth, and date from a period when the issue of the war was still uncertain. Early in 1945 the composer had suffered a collapse, from which he never completely recovered and which forced him to live the life of an invalid with almost constant headaches. In regard to the work, Prokofiev himself stated: ‘Now we are rejoicing in our great victory, but each of us has wounds that cannot be healed.’ This haunted symphony is here coupled with two works which illustrate a very different side of the composer, his gift for creating vivid musical images that can sum up a scene in a few bold strokes. These are the ever-popular suites from The Love for Three Oranges, the tragic-comical opera from 1921, and from the film score to Lieutenant Kijé, a light-hearted satire from 1934. The original film score included two songs, which form the second and fourth movements of the concert suite. Often performed in a version for solo saxophone and orchestra, these are heard in this recording in their original vocal form, performed by the Ukranian baritone Andrei Bondarenko. With acclaimed previous recordings of music by Prokofiev, as well as by Stravinsky and Rachmaninov, Andrew Litton and his Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra are a tried-and-tested team in this repertoire, and once again make the most of the enormous palette of colours and moods provided by these three scores.

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.

When Maurice Ravel in 1909 was commissioned by the ballet impresario Serge Diaghilev to write a score based on the ancient Greek novel Daphnis and Chloe, he decided to compose 'a huge musical fresco, concerned less with archaism than with faithfulness to the Greece of my dreams'. Three years later, when Daphnis et Chloé was first performed by the Ballets Russes, it had indeed grown into Ravel’s longest work, playing for about an hour and requiring a large orchestra with an extended percussion section, not to mention a choir. The first production was fraught with difficulties and the première in Paris was less than successful. It was only the following year, in London, that the composer received proper recognition for his music, which Stravinsky later described as 'not only Ravel’s best work, but one of the most beautiful products of all French music'. Ravel himself labelled it a ‘choreographic symphony’, and although he did extract two suites from it, the complete ballet score has also entered the concert repertoire. It is here performed by the Rotterdam Philharmonic Orchestra and Yannick Nézet-Séguin, a team with the best possible credentials for realizing the full spectrum of this sumptuous music – from the idyllic evocation of dawn in Lever du jour to the orgiastic Danse générale which closes the work. If Daphnis et Chloé is one of Ravel’s most highly regarded works, his Pavane pour une infante défunte is one of the most popular. The brief piano piece from 1899 was orchestrated by the composer in 1910, while he was working on Daphnis. Its profound melancholy has caught the imagination of listeners ever since, in combination with the poetic title – which was only chosen because of its agreeable sound, however: Ravel never had a particular dead princess in mind, and finding many interpretations too sluggish, famously remarked that the piece was not, after all, ‘a dead pavane for an infanta’.

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Nézet-Séguin seems to have this music in his soul, and he unquestionably has it at his fingertips, with a secure hold on the drama, the unfolding of events and the ballet's cohesive span… [T]he Netherlands Radio Choir add wordless halos to a characterful, involving interpretation.

– Gramophone

If you don’t know Danish composer Ole Buck, you’ve been missing something special. His music is approachable, imaginative, often nature-inspired, and crafted with remarkable precision. Each of these pieces is written for a different number of instruments or players (the notes unfortunately don’t tell us which ones), and each of them matters. Buck is a master of musical timing (the notes do say that, and it’s the truth). In Fiori di ghiaccio (Ice Flowers), for example, just when you think all nine players have made a contribution, in comes a trumpet injecting a new flash of color (and melody).

A Tree, for thirteen musicians, predictably features some wooden percussion, but nothing else about the piece follows conventional paths. The title is the only naive thing about it. [Untitled], for eight instruments, is the most austere work here, and also the shortest, but it’s also incredibly imaginative. It’s a sort of “Pictures at an Exhibition” dedicated to paintings that are, as you might have guessed, untitled. Use your imagination. Flower Ornament Music, for seventeen instruments, is a major statement. There are, perhaps, Asian overtones in the central section, with its crashing tam-tam, and the ebullient closing minutes have minimalist overtones, but there’s nothing really like it in the modern repertoire.

The performances sound totally at home with the idiom; the players clearly relish their solo opportunities, and conductor Jesper Nordin has a good feel for the music’s carefully gauged pacing. Great sound, and just a great disc.

– ClassicsToday (David Hurwitz)

In connection with the 2009 bicentenary of the death of Joseph Haydn, BIS Records and the Haydn Sinfonietta Wien have entered into a collaboration which will bear fruit in several recordings. The repertoire will mainly consist of rare works from Haydn’s œuvre, including music written for the stage, concert arias and orchestral works. Also included will be rereleases of the highly acclaimed recordings by Haydn Sinfonietta Wien and its conductor Manfred Huss of Haydn’s overtures, divertimenti etc. Providing an opportunity to explore less familiar aspects of the great composer, this six-disc set contains works written for the house of Esterházy, Haydn’s long-time employers, and for the King of Naples: from the Six Scherzandi, a set of ‘miniature symphonies’ probably composed in 1761, to the Eight Notturni for the King of Naples, composed around 1790.

Up until the late 18th century, almost all music was written for a specific person or institution, and often with a specific occasion in mind. But the works featured here are associated with their maker’s employer to an unusual degree: the Baryton Octets (and the Quintet Hob.X:10) were written for the private use of Prince Nikolaus Esterházy I, for performances that may have been heard by nobody but the musicians themselves. At such occasions, the part of the baryton, an instrument of the gamba family which was outmoded already at the time of composition, would be played by the Prince himself, while his favourite horn-player performed the highly virtuosic horn parts. Similarly, the ‘Concerti a Due Lire’ and the Notturni were commissioned by Ferdinand IV of Naples for his own consumption: a great lover of the ‘lira organizzata’ – a development of the hurdy-gurdy – he contacted a number of composers in order to expand the very limited repertoire of this highly unusual instrument. In fact, so unusual was the lira that Haydn, fearing that his music would never be played outside of the court in Naples, soon made versions in which the lira parts were replaced by other instruments. The result is to be heard here – glorious chamber music for various combinations of instruments, including flute, oboe, clarinet, horn, violin, viola, cello and double bass. Haydn Sinfonietta Wien’s acclaimed recordings of these works were originally produced and released by the Koch/Schwann label, with the exception of Notturni Nos 2, 4, 5 & 8, which, although recorded during the same period, were never released. For this collection the original recordings have been remastered by BIS Records.

MUSIC INSPIRED BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN'S FAIRY-TALES

Classical Music

I discovered with Sakari Oramo’s Nielsen symphonies that writing off an entire cycle based on just one instalment is very unwise. To ensure I don’t do that again I’ve elected to review Andrew Litton’s Prokofiev Fifth, even though I found his Sixth rather disappointing. The Bergen Phil are a fine band, as their work with Andrew Davis, Edward Gardner and Juanjo Mena so amply demonstrates; not only that, Chandos and Hyperion seem to get better results in the Grieg Hall than BIS have managed thus far.

Then there’s the stiff competition; Neeme Järvi’s much-celebrated cycle for Chandos springs to mind, as does Dmitri Kitaienko’s for Phoenix Edition. Sakari Oramo’s Ondine Fifth and Sixth mustn’t be overlooked either. All offer very different views of the Fifth, Prokofiev’s great wartime symphony, and that in itself suggests the work responds well to opposing interpretations. Oramo’s is a case in point, for he taps into a vein of lyricism that others don’t always find. He also has a very transparent recording that exposes much of the score’s inner workings.

The Järvi Fifth dates from the conductor’s halcyon days with the RSNO – then the Scottish National Orchestra – which yielded particularly memorable recordings of Richard Strauss, Shostakovich and Prokofiev. Revisiting his Prokofiev Fifth after a long break I discovered the performance has all the spunk and spike that I remember, although the treble is fiercer and the big moments are rougher than I recall. I have no such qualms about his Scythian Suite – coupled with a white-hot Alexander Nevsky – which is my benchmark for the piece.

Litton’s Andante is powerful enough, but alongside Järvi and Kitaienko it takes a little while to limber up. Admittedly, this is the kind of music that lends itself to large, gruff gestures, but as Oramo’s forensic reading confirms there’s more to this score than that. For sheer excitement, though, Järvi is hard to beat; as for Kitaienko he plays the music with a a bold, deep-rooted conviction that’s impressive too. Litton isn’t quite so overt, so visceral, but I soon came to realise that's no bad thing. The recording is exceptionally vivid, although there's an occasional hardness in the treble.

Moving on, Litton’s perky Allegro marcato is nicely phrased, and he captures the score’s veers and vacillations very well indeed. Now this is more like it. The Bergen Phil are well up to the challenge and the BIS balances are much more believable than Phoenix's; while that certainly helps to soften the music’s sharpest edges it doesn't undermine the thrust and energy of Litton's reading. Oramo’s version is the most pliant and personal one here, but some may feel that robs the music of its pith and piquancy. As for Järvi he's as taut and compelling as ever in this movement, a reminder of just how good a team he and the RSNO once were.

The yearning Adagio with its inner musings and gentle tread finds Litton at his most thoughtful and communicative. There’s a pleasing lucidity and openness here that's most welcome. In short, this is a very persuasive account of this lovely, multi-faceted movement. Built on a smaller, more intimate scale Oramo’s Adagio is the most lyrical and colourful; the Ondine recording has a very strong stereo spread, and it’s closer to BIS's in terms of subtlety and tonal sophistication. Unfortunately Oramo allows the pace to flag, which is a shame as I like what he’s trying to do. Both are commendably refined, and that makes for more congenial performances than either Järvi's or Kitaienko's; frankly, the latter have a raw edge and restless angularity that can be a tad unremitting at times.

In that rather forceful context Litton’s frisky Allegro giocoso may seem rather reticent, although it’s actually alert and keenly paced. Not only that, there's a joy, a sparkle, to this music that brisker and more declamatory performances tend to miss. I'm also extremely imprssed by the recorded sound, which really brings out the score's muances and competing timbres. Here and in the symphony as a whole Litton is nearer to the affectionate and reflective Oramo than he is to the volatile Kitaienko/Järvi. I can live with both extremes, but it's a relief - and a pleasure - to hear Prokofiev performances that don't sound like they're being forged on a factory floor.

The Scythian Suite gets a typically febrile outing, with thumping bass and glittering treble. Järvi may have the rhythmic edge, not to mention the most spectacular recording, but Litton’s no slouch either. As with the symphony he combines slam with subtlety, and there's a mervellous sense of a tale being told. He’s aided and abetted by wide-ranging sonics and an orchestra that's in tip-top condition. Indeed, this strikes me as the very best of BIS’s Grieg Hall productions to date, and that augurs well for the rest of Litton’s Prokofiev cycle.

Despite some initial reservations I’m delighted to welcome this addition to the Prokofiev discography. These are performances that grow in stature with each hearing; in fact, not only is Litton's Scythian Suite every bit as thrilling as Järvi's, it's also the more illuminating - the most interesting - of the two.

A terrific pairing, very well played and recorded; here’s to the next instalment.

– MusicWeb International

Classical Music

This penultimate volume charts Strauss' life from the revolutions of 1848 to his trip to London to perform before Queen Victoria the following year.

An der schönen blauen Donau: Walzer und Polkas der Strauss-F

This second volume in Marco Polo's crucial survey of the symphonic cycle by the most prominent Slovak symphonist of the first half of the past century—Alexander Moyzes (1906-84)—comprises two consecutive though quite contrasted works.

The Third or "Little" Symphony of 1942 is one of the composer's shortest and least problematical, and thus an excellent point of entry into his musical world. It is adapted from an earlier wind quintet, and its atypical five-movement format projects an easygoing and celebratory character. Though it opens with a near-Beethovenian motto-motif, which recurs in the finale and thus helps the piece from lapsing into a species of symphonic suite, the symphony quickly springs into an essentially joyous and eventful kind of momentum. With its relatively compact movements—a Larghetto Variazioni, Presto Scherzo, and Largamente Intermezzo framed by two highly charged Allegros— the work is suffused with Moyzes's very personal but also universalized distillation of the Slovak folk spirit.

The Fourth Symphony, however—initially written during the dark days of World War II and extensively revised in 1952—is a very different kind of piece. Scored for a large orchestra and running 40 minutes, it is among the longest and most elevated of Moyzes's 12. Utilizing once again an integrative motto-theme, it is usually interpreted as both a protest against war and a healing evocation of the Slovak past and countryside. The 16-minute opening Andante con moto sets the tone for the whole work: one of expansive breadth and slowly unfolding narrative where the heroic and epic strains generate a high level of majesty and grandiloquence. These moods carry over through the quasi-Impressionist textures of the Adagio (in which a brief scherzo flare-up is embedded) and reach fulfillment in the guardedly affirmative Allegro moderato finale. Although the annotator speaks of stylistic parallels with Sibelius and Mahler, to these ears the idiom remains tenaciously Slovak in sonority and personality.

The veteran conductor Ladislav Slovak has been identified with the Fourth Symphony over many years, having recorded an analog version in the early 1960s. That earlier performance was perhaps somewhat tighter and more forceful than this more relaxed approach of three decades later. Nonetheless, this is a most sympathetic reading that succeeds in melding Moyzes's tendencies toward the rhetorical and the episodic into a satisfyingly coherent whole.

Another illuminating installment in the reconstruction of the mosaic of 20th-century Czech music, and an essential purchase for those whose interest focuses on the modern symphony.

-- Paul A. Snook, FANFARE [7/2001]

In the mind of the general music lover, Rimsky-Korsakov is to a large extent associated with two works: Sheherazade and The Flight of the Bumblebee. It is therefore a great pleasure to be able, in our ongoing series of his orchestral music, to present works less well-known but equally deserving of a wider audience.

Classical Music

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Championed by distinguished conductors such as Marin Alsop and Mariss Janson's, since his mid-20s, Michael Hersch's music has been performed by leading orchestras and concert artists.

G. COATES Symphonies: No. 1; 1 No. 7; 2 No. 14 3 ? Jorge Rotter, cond; 1 Siegerland O; 1 Olaf Henzold, cond; 2 Bavarian RSO; 2 Christoph Poppen, cond; 3 Munich CO; 3 Raymond Curfs (kd) 3 ? NAXOS 8.559289 (65:47)


First, this is Gloria Coates (b. 1938) not Eric. Second, we have a welcome addition to a still-too-small discography of one of the most original living American composers. I will confess this is my first encounter (far too late) with her music, but I have been primed by word of mouth, above all by former Fanfare critic Kyle Gann, who praises her lavishly in his American Music in the Twentieth Century. And the advance word has been confirmed by the music I?ve finally heard.


Coates is definitely a composer in the mold of the American ?ultramodernists? of the early 20th century. The listener will immediately sense an adventurous, uncompromising, cantankerous spirit in her work that is a descendant of such as Ives, Ruggles, Cowell, and Crawford. Her most distinguishing technique is that of the string glissando, which in lesser hands can be a cheap symbol of modernist instability, and a passport to aural seasickness. Not here. Coates is careful to place her sliding tones at the service of larger processes: canons in particular, or ?additive/subtractive? lines that expand and contract the range of the glissando over time and in perceptible patterns. She?s a wonderfully paradoxical composer because, on the one hand, the music is highly experimental in its surface technique, but on the other hand, classical in its attention to form and development within the symphonic argument. She?s a very conceptual composer, as both the titles of movements (Symphony No. 7?s movements are ?The Whirligig of Time,? ?The Glass of Time,? and ?Corridors of Time?) and her attachment to strict processes, nowadays called algorithms, may suggest. But no matter how idealistic the music, it always carries a visceral impact, or in good old American terms, a real wallop.


The three works on this program nicely cover the composer?s entire symphonic cycle (up to this point), dipping into the start, the middle, and end. Symphony No. 1 (1972?73) is her best-known work, also referred to as ?Music on Open Strings.? The work begins with an alternate pentatonic tuning of the instruments, and in the third movement incorporates the scordatura (retuning) of the strings back to the conventional tuning into the real-time performance fabric. Not all the sounds are just the five pitches, though, as Coates inserts all sorts of glissandos that enrich the texture, even if they don?t establish other firm pitch centers. It?s a highly original work, and a bracing combination of both minimalist and modernist practices.


The Symphony No. 7 (1990; a tribute to ?Those who brought down the Wall in PEACE,? though there is little I hear that?s programmatic in the actual music) is the most European sounding of the three works: not a surprise, as the composer has lived her mature artistic life in Germany, another marker of her ?outsider? status. It?s highly abstract in its materials, and verges on being the work whose glissandos wear out their welcome. But just when I started feeling the music was becoming predictable (in the first and third movements), it marshals its forces to create overwhelming climaxes that simultaneously sound surprising yet natural. I don?t know exactly what the technique is, but I suspect Coates has deep processes at work that lead to a culmination one desires but can?t easily predict. The relentless growth and impact of the piece, a storm in sound, is similar to Xenakis?s Jonchaies for orchestra, though I don?t claim it?s quite as great a work.


The final work, Symphony No. 14 (2001?02, ?Symphony in Microtones?), is by far the most American-sounding piece, for at least two obvious reasons. First, the piece (for strings and timpani?only the Seventh uses full orchestra on this collection) divides the string orchestra into two halves, tuned a quarter tone apart. Some of the music is so dense one doesn?t really perceive the differences, but in cases of the hymn quotation discussed below, it can be striking. The effect is the most Ivesian of this set and, in particular, I think of the composer of the Robert Browning Overture as an antecedent here.


Second, the first two movements quote pieces by Supply Belcher (a late 18th-century Maine hymnodist) and William Billings, the Boston Revolutionary-period composer who was himself an aesthetic revolutionary of the first order. The Billings choice is particularly apt, as it is ?Jargon,? his completely atonal (though better stated, it could be called ?non-functional,? as all the intervals are consonant, but they don?t make up traditional tonal chords) choral work, a message from another universe to the 18th century. In both movements, the antique sources emerge from Coates?s swirling textures like apparitions, an effect that is magical and unnerving. In the Billings movement, after appearing, the source is then stated with the quarter-tone difference, which feels like a true enrichment rather than a mere distortion.


In short, this is remarkable music. At times it can seem too crude and obvious, spurning standards of polish and taste, and then at the next moment it blindsides you with the power of its vision, a balanced match of manner and substance, form and content, style and idea. And on top of it all, if the booklet?s cover is any guide, Coates is a talented visual artist as well, in the tradition of Ruggles.


The sonic standards of the disc are variable: Symphony No. 1 is a recording from 1980, with more surface noise than we?re now accustomed to, and No. 7 comes from a concert recording of the world premiere. Only No. 14 has the clarity and crispness listeners have come to expect. At the same time, this doesn?t bother me, as none of the earlier sonic flaws are too distracting, and the music overcomes any such obstacle on its innate strengths. There is one serious competitor to this disc, cpo 999 392, which includes Nos. 1 and 7, substituting No. 4 for No. 14. I have not heard it, but I note from its online data that No. 1 is also a live recording from the same year as the Naxos (1980), and No. 7 was recorded in 1991, so I suspect at the very least there are similar sonic issues involved. I have a hunch that, based on repertoire, the Naxos disc will be preferable as an introduction, providing a broad sweep of the composer?s career. But based on what I?ve heard, I also suspect if you are hooked on Coates, you?ll probably need to get the cpo eventually.


This may well reappear on my 2006 Want List.


FANFARE: Robert Carl

Classical Music

This is a hybrid Super Audio CD playable on both regular and Super Audio CD players.

On this disc, Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune – possibly Claude Debussy’s most popular work for orchestra – is framed by two of his greatest achievements in the medium, La Mer and Images pour orchestre. All three works are programmatic, but Debussy’s concern was to create an atmosphere rather than any naturalistic likeness. The Prélude is a case in point – while taking his inspiration from a pastoral poem by Stéphane Mallarmé, Debussy famously told a conductor who wanted a more detailed explanation: ‘It’s a shepherd playing the flute, sitting on his bum in the grass!’ In La Mer, Debussy abstains from the various clichés of so many other musical depictions of water, and instead creates an immediately recognizable seascape, largely through a pioneering use of various instrumental timbres, once described as ‘an impressionism of sounding dots’. Soon after La Mer, the composer started on Images, in which he went even further: although using a large orchestra, Debussy mainly avoids big sonorities, concentrating instead on unusual sound combinations and on transparency. His aim was compose a cycle focusing on the colours of three countries, while as far as possible avoiding the clichés associated with their music. Of its three panels, the expansive middle one, Ibéria, is often performed as an independent piece, but its Spanish colouring takes on new shades when framed by Scottish mists and the freshness of spring in France. The present disc combines new recordings by Singapore Symphony Orchestra and Lan Shui with the team’s acclaimed performance of La Mer, first released in 2007 on Seascapes, a programme of sea-related works. The reviewer in American Record Guide called it ‘the most astounding, effective, and beautiful recording of La Mer I have ever heard’ and in BBC Music Magazine it was described as ‘an unequivocally world-class performance’.

In 2002 we released the first recording of Karl Weigl's (1881-1949) Fifth Symphony, subtitled 'The Apocalyptic' and dedicated it to the memory of Franklin Roosevelt. Completed in the last year of the Second World War, it is a programmatic work describing the world hovering on the brink of total destruction - a very natural way of seeing things for an Austrian refugee of Jewish decent living in the US during that troubled time. But there was more than the destiny of his beloved Vienna that occupied Weigl. He was very much part of an old central-European tradition, the tradition of Brahms, Bruckner, and Mahler, which - as he must have realized - was threatened by whatever the outcome of the war. Described by his fellow student Schoenberg as 'one of the best composers of the old school, one of those who continued the glittering Viennese tradition', Weigl in one of the first works written after his flight to the US in 1938, celebrates one aspect of his native city: the waltzes of the Strauss family. In 'Old Vienna' we get a rhapsody of Vienna-style waltzes, executed with the affection - and nostalgia - of someone who had been present at the time. (Weigl was a regular guest at the soirées of Adèle Strauss, widow of Johann Strauss II, in whose home he met his first wife.) Compared to this work and to the Apocalyptic Symphony, the 'Sixth Symphony', composed eight years later and Weigl's last major work, is a piece of absolute music. But here too, in the music itself, is a testament to the tradition that for political and aesthetic reasons had already become a memory in the old world that had fostered it. Neither of the works was performed in the composer's lifetime, and in fact the Symphony had to wait until the present recording. The previous Weigl release on BIS (CD1077) was greeted with a 2003 Cannes Classical Award and great acclaim by reviewers who called Weigl 'a fascinating voice' and 'a major discovery' while naming the performances, by the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra and Tomas Sanderling, 'exceptional' and 'committed'. The ones on the present disc - on which conductor Alun Francis also appears - certainly are no less!

This is very, very good. We seem to be going through a particularly satisfying period as regards Nielsen symphonies on SACD. First we had Gilbert’s cycle with the New York Philharmonic on Dacapo, and now we have this sterling second installment of Oramo’s, containing the First and Third Symphonies. Both works receive marvelous readings, with world class playing from the Royal Stockholm Philharmonic and interpretations that propel the music forward with all of its muscular energy and lyrical intensity.

The First Symphony is, in this respect, perhaps a more remarkable (but not “better”) performance than the Third. Usually the work gets damned with faint praise: “early Nielsen;” “Brahms praised it;” and the like. Here the music sounds fully mature, the outer movements played with such verve that their tendency towards formal stiffness simply vanishes. The highly developmental third movement that does duty for the scherzo, also sports an unusually wide range of mood, with Oramo’s attention to accent and phrasing paying big dividends. If you have ever had doubts about this symphony, this performance may well erase them.

The “Espansiva” also packs quite a wallop. Its high octane opening gestures enlivens the entire movement, nowhere more so than in the grand waltz at the heart of the development section. The pastoral second movement is magnificent: the string playing has tremendous intensity, and there’s also an unusually bold contribution from the brass when they finally have the opening tune. Soloists Anu Komsi and Karl-Magnus Fredriksson aren’t highlighted unduly. Their wordless vocalize merges with, and emerges from, the surrounding texture with a naturalness that’s memorably poetic. In the last two movements, once again Oramo’s punchy accents and rhythmic drive create powerfully satisfying and idiomatic results.

BIS’ engineers have, as expected, achieved tactile, glowing sonics, placing the orchestra in a warm and open acoustic space and capturing every textural detail with just balances and palpable presence. It’s a good time to be a Nielsen fan.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Classical Music

Classical Music