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

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

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


A box with paints from childhood’s time:


The colors of town are earth and grime.


An old worker at a dark doorway squats,


The spuds in his bowl are powdery dry.


It’s a face of yellowish and gray spots


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley

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

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

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Born in Hanau near Frankfurt-am-Main in 1895, where he was something of a musical prodigy, Hindemith entered Hoch’sche Konservatorium where he studied violin, composition and conducting. He supported himself by playing in local dance bands and theatre groups. He soon made his mark as a performer and became deputy leader of the Frankfurt Opera Orchestra at the age of nineteen, becoming its leader three years later.

His early compositional style earned him the reputation of something of an enfant térrible. Whilst his music is modernist in outlook, he rejected some of the modern trends in music, including the teachings of Schoenberg, who he admired, in favour of a more individualistic outlook. In 1921 he had his String Quartet Op. 16 and his Kammermusik No. 1 performed at the Donaueschingen festival of contemporary music. This was followed by further performances of his music the following year at the International Society of Contemporary Music festival which served to bring Hindemith and his music to the attention of a wider audience.

The music presented on these two CDs seems to have been performed as part of the centenary celebrations of Hindemith’s birth during the 1995 Schwetzingen Festival. This is a well planned and executed concert which brings together two of his better known pieces with two of his less well known theatrical works.

Der Dämon or "The Demon" is described as "A Dance-Pantomime" and is set in two scenes, revolving around the said Demon's seduction of two sisters. In the first scene he seduces the first sister, leading the second sister into a Dance of Grief and Longing. The second scene deals with the second sister's advances towards the Demon and his rejection of her. I really enjoyed this performance. This is a work known for its more jazzy elements, and the Ensemble Varianti highlight this aspect far more than the Radio-Sinfonie-Orchester Frankfurt under Werner Andreas Albert on CPO (999 220-2) whose performance is more symphonic.

The Kammermusik No. 2 is in reality a mini piano concerto and marks the first in a six-part series of solo concertos which Hindemith completed in 1927. It has a highly virtuosic obbligato piano part and is in itself quite dramatic; it is believed that Hindemith composed his The Four Temperaments in order to stop George Balanchine re-working the Kammermusik No. 2 as a ballet presentation.

Herodiade which is a Ballet – Orchestral Recitation after Mallarmé, is the latest work presented here and displays greater maturity. It is available in two versions, one with recitation, and one purely orchestral. The one presented here has the wonderful Gisela Zach-Westphal whose declamation is far more dramatic than Ann Gicquel for Albert on CPO (999 220-2), although I do prefer his more orchestral sound and he does present both versions.

The final work on the disc is a spirited performance of the Kammermusik No. 1 with its famous finale entitled 1921 and siren-call ending. This was the piece that really announced Hindemith on the world-stage. Both of the Kammermusiks are given performances here that bring out the chamber music aspect more than in the other versions I have, Albert on CPO (999 301-2, 999 138-2) and Chailly on Decca (473 722-2). Even so, each version has a lot to offer.

These four works all have a significant role for the piano and here Florian Henschel is on top form, especially when you take into account that he was a late replacement for Sviatoslav Richter. His playing is strong and impassioned and he seems to make light of some fiendish sounding piano writing. As mentioned above, the Ensemble Varianti are excellent and really bring out the different colours in the music. As for Gisela Zach-Westphal she makes this disc worth buying just for her part in Herodiade. Whilst I knew that Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau also liked to dabble in conducting, especially towards the end of his singing career, this is the first disc I have of him in this role. He manages to keep a tight control on his forces whilst not losing any excitement from the music. First rate performances.

The sound is clearly from a live event; you get the applause and one or two coughs. There is also a slight string twang that I am sure is not in the score. Despites this, these are performances that are full of thrilling and energetic playing. I would have loved to have attended this concert. The booklet essay is exemplary; it is detailed and informative and fills in a couple of blanks in my knowledge of this composer.

– MusicWeb International (Stuart Sillitoe)

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

Classical Music

A stunning aural experience - the extraordinary virtuosity and diversity of color achieved by the Grimethorpe Colliery Band astonishes.

The extraordinary virtuosity and diversity of colour achieved by the Grimethorpe Colliery Band can still astonish in spite of their well-known reputation. However, the brass-band world has always suffered from having a limited number of conductors with the musicianship and interpretative flair to equal that displayed in the concert-hall. Such a one is Elgar Howarth and Sir Malcolm Arnold has rightly praised his unerringly paced, carefully prepared yet highly spontaneous performances.

The composer was present throughout these recordings and himself conducted the final item, the Padstow Lifeboat march with its insistent offkey foghorn (based on the pitch of the real one at Trevose in Cornwall). The sheer ebullience of the playing is immediately breathtaking in the first of the Scottish Dances, and in the second the 'drunken' solo bass trombone is in the best tradition of the British brass experience. When the Grimethorpe players come to the glorious third Scottish Dance (one of the most magical tunes Arnold ever penned) the subtlety of colour is astonishing. The effect is quite lovely and the cornet choir are melting, with a subtly rich sonority beneath. One really does not miss the strings. A soloist then takes over against a gentle glockenspiel, the close frisson-creating. The gusto of the last dance is irresistible.

The eight English Dances are played with equal sophistication and brilliance, and are very enjoyable. Nevertheless, here I miss the orchestral colours more (these two suites are, in my opinion, the finest orchestral music Arnold ever wrote). Even so, the Meslo (Op. 27 No. 3) is quite haunting and the players get round the colour problem in the first dance in Op. 33 by whistling the air themselves! The heavy brass in the closing Gubiloso is a joy. The more melancholy atmosphere of the Cornish Dances is touchingly caught; the weird ghostly effects of the second and the hymn-like solemnity of the third (with their imagery of "deserted engine-house of the tin and copper mines", and echoes of Sankey and Mood hymns) are unforgettable. The two Little Suites (like the Padstow March) are written for brass band and demonstrate how well the composer—once a trumpeter himself in the LPO—understands the medium. The first has a charming Siciliano second movement, the second a Galop finale worthy of Offenbach in its effervescence, yet still very much of the bandstand. The finest of the original band works is the Fantasy, one of those rare test pieces which is more than just test for a soloist's nerve, combined sectional bravura and inter-instrumental tuning and sonorities. It is all those things, yet also a highly imaginative series of joined vignettes.

The performances are superlative and the recording made—appropriately—in Dewsbury (Yorkshire) Town Hall is tangible and natural, and beautifully balanced, making the most of the hall's ambience without any loss of detail. A stunning aural experience.

-- Gramophone [12/1993]

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

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

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

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

Pavlova: Symphonies Nos. 2 and 4

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

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

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

--David Hurwitz,ClassicsToday.com

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


FANFARE: Michael Carter

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

This recording is based on the edition of Prof. William Carragan (Version 1878), which is oriented towards the Nowak Edition. It is shorter and much catchier than the usually performed version. The strings have the upper hand here instead of the brass, but the four horns do resurface with reminiscences of the first movement. Gerd Schaller leads the Philharmonie Festiva. Live recording.

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

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

-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International

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

Includes work(s) by Ottorino Respighi. Ensemble: Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra.

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At what point does a recording become ‘historic’? Anyone remembering some of the very earliest and sometimes highly dodgy period instrument recordings with young Harnoncourt and others in the 1960s and 1970s might approach this kind of early authentic instrument project with some trepidation. The 1980s was a boom period for period performance recordings, and the symphonies of Beethoven were and still are something of a pinnacle for any orchestra. The Hanover Band was one of if not the earliest to record a complete cycle on authentic instruments, alongside Roger Norrington’s Beethoven cycle with the London Classical Players originally on EMI Classics Reflexe from 1987-1989 and now available on Virgin Classics (see review). Also from the 1980s comes Christopher Hogwood with The Academy of Ancient Music on Decca’s L’Oiseau Lyre label. In fact, the experience with these and Roy Goodman’s Hanover Band is by no means the hair-shirt one you might expect. We’ve come a long way since 1983, but this pioneering bunch of musicians can still speak to us even from all those years back in the 20^th century.
 
Criticism has been levelled at these recordings in the past for their excess of resonance, and indeed the church acoustic used is a major feature in each. The Nimbus label used ‘ambisonic’ recording techniques, and these CDs are labelled as being UHJ encoded. I’ve become something of a fan of SACD of late, but have seldom heard any of the Nimbus releases actually de-coded and presumably heard as they were originally intended. The stereo effect is always good enough, and I must admit to having a soft spot for the old Nimbus releases with their single ‘soundfield’ microphone technique. These Beethoven symphonies are quite a rich listening experience, but the first disc with Symphonies 1 and 2 suffers most from acoustic ‘smoke’ around the sound, and the timpani are also rather boomy compared to the rest of the recordings, which were made in All Saints Tooting rather than St. Giles, Cripplegate. What you do notice almost immediately is the relative softness of the winds against the strings. True, period winds are softer than modern instruments where string instruments are still almost exactly the same, metal as opposed to gut strings aside. The beginning of the Symphony No. 1 does immediately show up this contrast though, the needle sharp daring of Beethoven’s pizzicato opening in the strings accompanied by a mellow band of woodwinds and horns who are somewhere ‘way over there’.
 
The quirky qualities in the recording are something you can get used to, and one has to accept that you just won’t hear absolutely everything. Having tried to get used to John Eliot Gardiner’s Archiv recording from the 1990s with the Orchestre Révolutionaire et Romantique I can also report that being able to hear absolutely everything is not necessarily always the Holy Grail when it comes to Beethoven symphonies. Gardiner is pretty much the reference in these works when it comes to period instrument recordings, but these can also be something of a rough ride as well – rather uncompromising in some ways, to the extent that I’ve not played them much, and certainly haven’t trawled them out when referencing modern instrument recordings. Goodman’s Hanover Band is a little softer edged, not so much in the performances but certainly in recordings which you can listen to for longer periods without feeling you are constantly having to feel ‘impressed’. I’m afraid the first two symphonies are a bit too ‘far out’ as recordings to be regarded as truly successful, Listen to those upward scales in the winds in the final section of the last movement of the Symphony No. 1 and you have to strain sometimes to make out what’s going on. The opening of the Symphony No. 2 also reveals some strain in intonation in some wind sections, and the strings can be shown to be a bit scrappy when exposed. There is a great deal of verve and excitement in the performances and I can find much to enjoy in them, but in isolation they wouldn’t receive much of a recommendation.
 
A few years later, a different location, and everything snaps into crisper focus with the Symphony No. 3. The drums are played with harder sticks and are much better in proportion, the winds and brass are still backed up a bit, but cut through the strings more effectively and have a better definition. This is the kind of recording which brought the value of period instruments to the fore, with lither textures, a more chamber-music footprint on the score when compared to the likes of the Berlin Philharmonic, and a set of timbres which revealed the music in unexpected and refreshing ways. Not everything is perfect, but the sense of expectancy and discovery outweigh occasional weaknesses and the mild foibles of the recording. There are delights everywhere, from the weight of the Marcia funebre to the squirty natural horns in the Scherzo and massive tumult mixed with big holes of Haydnesque strangeness of the Finale, you can imagine something of what the crowds must made of it all the first time it was played. An attack of newness had indeed broken out, and the Symphony No. 3 is magnificent and extraordinary in this recording. The Symphony No. 4 is more neo-classical and optimistic in its outlook, but this performances scholarly examination of dynamics, tempo and articulation makes it another bracing listen. The Adagio in particular is something of a trot with a long-legged steed than a real slow movement, but I like it, and the musical narrative of all of these movements is a path to savour. Some slightly sour violin moments on occasion take a little away from good wind solos, but again the sum is greater than the parts, and this is a performance which would hopefully still grab wild applause even today.
 
The Symphony No. 5 is always going to be a crucial work, and I’m not entirely convinced by the opening here in this, another one of the earliest recorded in the set. Sustained notes in the strings are undecided whether to vibrato or not, and the lead violin is distractingly up-front. If you can stand back from this a bit, there are good horn moments and the pace and drama are all there, but that string mix is troubling throughout. The extreme contrast between really quite close and fairly distant instruments also makes ensemble coherence that much more difficult. There is still plenty of good playing here and some remarkable moments, such as the hushed and surreal opening to the final Allegro, but real enjoyment is something of an uphill struggle in this case. The Symphony No. 6 is a good deal more entertaining though the generalised sound and large acoustic fights against the detail and chamber-music aspect of the playing in the tuttis. This is a strange set of contradictions, but what I mean is that it sounds more symphonic and grander than it needs to or perhaps even should be. This is however not a small-scale performance, and the dynamic shading is as well observed and constructed as one could hope for, with the antiphonally placed violins a nice touch which adds to the sense of openness in the music, if making headphone listening a tad disorientating at times. The muted strings in the Szene am Bach are lovely, and those exquisite harmonic changes later on are very nicely turned. Lyrical expressiveness turns out to be a strong feature of the Hanover Band as well as their punchy rhythmic drive as the peasant’s merrymaking moves into a fearsomely potent Sturm. The joyful song is gorgeous, though the accompanying figures in the strings are sometimes a bit over-present. In all, this is a Pastoral which can be relished.
 
The last three symphonies are all from 1988, the last phase of recording, and less prone to the troublesome sense of danger which inhabits some of the earliest. The lyrical against dramatic qualities in this symphony work very well in this case, with the wind sonorities having sufficient impact to steer the harmonic pace. That funeral-march Allegretto moves forward with a satisfying momentum, and builds towards some tremendous sonorities. The swiftly urgent Presto crackles with energy, and has to be topped by the Allegro con brio and is, though the greater extremes of volume result in some less usual acoustic effects, some of the wind notes being heard more through their reflection than from the original attack. The Symphony No. 8 is also very good, with plenty of theatricality through its lighter textures. Roy Goodman manages some nice moments of ritardando as well, heightening certain expressive corners to great effect. This is sunny but also seriously weighty music making, creating an eighth which is imposing as well as generously warm hearted and boisterous.
 
If I appear to skim a little over these last symphonies it is only because they are less problematic in terms of performance and recording quality than some of the others. Not without their usual minor momentary problems, I’m still happy to endorse them without going into minute detail. The monster Symphony No. 9 does however demand greater attention. Ambitious music demands scale and stature, and the recording here does rise to the challenge, providing decent enough balance and filling the acoustic better than in some cases. There does appear to be some spot miking now, so for instance the horns pop up in your left ear more closely than previous experience would lead you to expect. The bass section is less powerful in the balance which is a shame, as a firm bottom is something you really need to carry this work properly. The first movement is good enough, though its vast canvas sometimes lacks clear direction – perhaps as much an artefact of Beethoven’s deafness as Goodman’s leadership. The Molto vivace second movement extends a vaguely unsettling feeling that we’re hearing a product of encroaching madness as well as genius. The music is driven on with a consistency of pace and within fairly narrow expressive parameters, giving the mind little chance to hook itself onto moments which are normally pointed out with greater expressive contrast. I remember one of my lecturers at the RAM pointing out what a ‘bad’ piece of music the 9^th Symphony was, and I think hearing this version makes me realise what he meant for the first time. It’s truly eccentric and not less than crazy, but all done so gloriously and with such daring panache that we’re all left agape with a kind of awe of disbelief – we can’t really ‘get’ it, so it must be wonderful.
 
Well, there are wonderful things about Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9, but this is one of those recordings which challenges preconceptions and forces a re-evaluation. The final Presto-Allegro assai throws down the gauntlet one last time, making the low strings ‘sing’ that recitatief before the vocal entry, and this is done with great declamatory style here. With a relatively hectic pace established, the first quiet entry of that famous tune takes us more by surprise. It pops out like a sketchy doodle. We all know what it’s going to grow into, but in this case it has a good deal of work needed before achieving adulthood – an effect I admire. As for the singers, Michael George is a bit jowly in tone colour in the solo but is a fine bass, and the members of the quartet blend well enough together. The choir is very fine, but perhaps a little recessed in the sound. More recent research has the Allegro assai vivace a good deal swifter than we get it here, and it sounds bizarre now to go back to that now discredited tempo of one beat per half bar rather than one beat per bar – twice as fast in effect. Being used to John Eliot Gardiner’s generally faster tempi makes the first choral Freude, schöner, Götterfunken sound a bit clunky by comparison, and the rhythmic emphases enhance the vertical rather than the horizontal, although there are some remarkable moments. The brass in general tends to sound a bit isolated, and doesn’t mould too well into the general orchestral picture, but this is still a performance which leaves an exhaustingly intense and powerful impression.
 
This is indeed a ‘historical’ recording, in the sense of its being a milestone – or at the very least part of a significant moment in recording history, when the period instrument movement came of age and proved itself capable of challenging the old order of symphonic orchestras. There is much to be enjoyed in this cycle, and much which frustrates. I don’t think by any standard it can make a claim to be anyone’s first choice for a set of Beethoven’s symphonies, but that’s no longer the point with this recording and probably never was. This is a version which can live next to your box sets by Karajan or anyone else, and be brought out when you feel the need for a change of sonority and a different angle on familiar music. To be frank, I hadn’t expected it to have stood the test of time as well as it has. We have indeed moved on, and performance techniques, instruments and aspects of interpretation have all been refined and adjusted as the years have progressed. Just as with modern instrument recordings, there is no one option with period instrument versions of these symphonies. Roy Goodman/Monica Huggett and The Hanover Band can however still make a splash.
 
-- Dominy Clements, MusicWeb International [11/2011]

Classical Music

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This performance goes right to the top. Not since the amazing mono Ancerl recording has there been a version of this work of such intensity, such expressive urgency, and (yes, believe it or not) such incredible orchestral playing. It's impossible to praise the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic enough: they put their London colleagues to shame. The cellos and basses have a dark, tactile presence in pianissimo not heard since the old Kondrashin Melodiya recording. The horns play the daylights out of their solos in the first and third movements, while Petrenko has the violins sustaining, articulating, and phrasing the climax of the first movement with a passion and grit that's beyond praise.

Indeed, as an essay in Shostakovich conducting alone this performance deserves an honored place in every collection. Petrenko has the players digging into the second movement with unbridled ferocity at an ideally swift tempo. He ferrets out every subtle detail of scoring in the crepuscular Allegretto while never permitting the music to drag. His finale has just the right manic high spirits, and he clarifies the DSCH motive in the timpani at the end better than anyone else ever has. It's all captured in gloriously vivid, present sonics by the Naxos engineers. Thrilling, perfect, essential--a magnificent achievement and hands down the modern reference recording.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

GOUNOD Symphonies: No. 1 in D. No. 2 in E? • Patrick Gallois, cond; Sinf Finlandia • NAXOS 8.557463 (68:14)


Charles Gounod (1818–1893), internationally famous for his grand opera Faust, composed both these symphonies in 1855. By that time, he was an accomplished and well-traveled musician, but not famous, and the symphonies went unperformed and, before the LP era, unrecorded. All the critics I read are unanimous that this is a shame. Though not among the towering masterpieces of the genre, both are perfect within their modest intentions. Among words and terms that fairly describe them are cheerful, polished, attractively scored, deftly organized, melodious, and economical. Now that they are available, listeners seem to like the First (here 29 minutes long) a bit better than the Second (almost 40 minutes), if they show any preference at all.


Gounod’s Symphony No. 1 is most often discussed as the model for the Symphony in C of his 17-year-old student, Georges Bizet. The two works are similar in length, mood, orchestration, and faithfulness to classical models. Furthermore, both remained unknown until modern times. But Gounod as a symphonist sounds like a French Mendelssohn, whereas his student, subsequently world-famous for Carmen, already sounds like himself. However, if the student’s essay deserves greater fame than its model, that is no reason for neglecting the fine work of the older composer.


Conductor and flautist Patrick Gallois recorded these symphonies with the Sinfonia Finlandia of Jyväskylä in May 2004. The performances are alert, disciplined, expressive, and beautifully recorded, making a highly recommendable disc. The leading current competitor is a widely praised Philips disc with Neville Marriner conducting the ASMF Orchestra. That costs more than this Naxos release, but has the bonus of including the ballet music from Faust. One assumes that Marriner either plays the symphonies faster, or skips repeats—possibly both. Finally, one should mention an ASV disc of the Gounod symphonies featuring John Lubbock and the Orchestra of St. John’s, which has its partisans.


FANFARE: Robert McColley

This fascinating disc presents the young Georges Bizet' first composition after having won the prestigious Prix de Rome, the grandiose Te Deum, which remained unpublished until 1971, and his Prix de Rome cantata Clovis et Clotilde.