This set contains Stereo and Mono recordings.
Selections recorded in the 1940s and 1950s. This set contains both stereo and monaural recordings. It also includes a lecture on just intonation by Harry Partch and some conversations with the composer.

After Things to Come, his most famous film score, Arthur Bliss composed the soundtrack scores of CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS and MEN OF TWO WORLDS, two dramatic pictures which are largely forgotten today. Their music, however, enlivened by Spanish and African rhythms respectively, is colourful and interesting enough to be revived in the form of concert suites. Men of Two Worlds contains BARAZA, a miniature concert piece for piano and orchestra (like Addinsell�s �Warsaw Concerto� from Dangerous Moonlight, Bax�s Oliver Twist, R�zsa�s Spellbound and Herrmann�s �Concerto Macabre� from Hangover Square), with additional male choir. The three orchestral pieces from SEVEN WAVES AWAY are another real discovery and if anything even more deserving of concert performances than the two earlier scores.

MALIPIERO Symphonies: No. 1, “In quattro tempi, come le quattro stagioni;” No. 2, “Elegiaca.” Sinfonie del silenzio e della morte • Antonio de Almeida, cond; Moscow SO • NAXOS 8.570879 (77:40)


CDs containing the works of Gian Francesco Malipiero (1883–1973) occupy less than two inches of shelf space in my collection, so by no means can I claim more than passing familiarity with his music. My first encounter with this composer, however, was on a 1950s Nonesuch LP with the Stuyvesant String Quartet playing one of Malipiero’s string quartets. That recording, if anyone is interested, has been transferred to CD by Bridge.


Malipiero was one of the so-called “generazione dell’ottanta” (generation of the 1880s) composers that included Wolf-Ferrari (1876–1948), Respighi (1879–1936), Ildebrando Pizzetti (1880–1968), Riccardo Zandonai (1883–1944), Alfredo Casella (1883–1947), and Castelnuovo Tedesco (1895–1968). If permitted to engage in a bit of chronological stretching, I’d also include in this group Nino Rota (1911–1979) and Gian Carlo Menotti (1911–2007). In a 31:5 Rota review, I substituted for “generazione dell’ottanta” the “identity crisis generation.” Here were several Italian composers working independently of each other, but each in similar circumstances. Instrumental music in 19th-century Italy was all but dead, having been displaced by opera. And while all of the above-named composers made contributions to the operatic literature, one aspect of their shared dilemma was that Italian opera had by this time already achieved its apogee in Verdi and Puccini. At the same time, they also shared a desire to create a new legacy of Italian instrumental music, which led to their second dilemma. They retained strong roots in 19th-century Romantic traditions, yet their lives intersected those of other roughly contemporaneous 20th-century Italians—Dallapiccola, Nono, and Berio—who were committed to keeping abreast of the more modernistic and avant-garde trends elsewhere on the Continent. As a result, the “generazione dell’ottanta” came to be seen largely as a throwback to an earlier period.


Malipiero was enormously prolific, and much of his output is mostly of a serious nature, weighted towards Classical-form symphonies, concertos, and chamber works. His music never gained the traction of Respighi’s more easily digested style, but Malipiero’s smaller following of intellectual elites was significant and influential. Among his admirers was the aforementioned Dallapiccola, and Bruno Maderna was one of his students. It seems that Malipiero played a bit loose with musical terminology. No fewer than 17 of his works include in their titles the word “sinfonia,” and in the case of one of them on this disc, “sinfonie,” though not all of them necessarily fit the description of what is commonly thought of as a symphony. This also leads to some confusion, for the two numbered symphonies heard here are nowhere near being among the composer’s earliest efforts in the form. Three symphonies preceded the No. 1, and by quite a few years: the Sinfonia degli eroi (1905), the Sinfonia del mare (1906), and the Sinfonie del silenzio e della morte (1910) listed in the headnote. The Symphony No. 1, subtitled “In quattro tempi, come le quattro stagioni,” was not written until 1933, and its successor, the Symphony No. 2, subtitled “Elegiaca,” followed three years later in 1936.


The Sinfonie del silenzio e della morte (“Symphonies of Silence and Death”) is more like three interconnected tone poems than it is a three-movement symphony. Inspired by Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death , the first movement, “Danza tragica,” is a lot less macabre sounding than its description might suggest. The music has a distinctly Russian flavor to it, echoes of Mussorgsky’s Night on Bare Mountain being inescapable. But the specter of evil conjured by Malipiero is neither as vivid nor as visceral as that of Mussorgsky’s shrieking fiends. The second movement bears the heading that gives the work its name, while the third movement bears the heading, “Il molino della morte” (The Mill of Death). Whatever Malipiero’s morbid, ghoulish, and grisly intent may have been, his score too often belies it with interruptions by arching lyrical themes and infusions of lush orchestral writing. The work is simply too fetching to be anything other than a less-than-hair-raising ride on the lighter side of the dark side.


Malipiero’s Symphony No. 1 (“In four movements, like the four seasons”) was inspired by the Venetian poet Anton Maria Lamberti’s Le stagioni . The Symphony is programmatic only superficially and not representational in content. The music is abstract, and its formal structure laid out in four movements that proceed in a slow-fast-slow-fast order. The piece is fragrant with scents of the Orient, of the exotic, of early Debussy, and indeed of Respighi. In fact, if you like Respighi’s Roman trilogy, you are bound to find a close relative to it in Malipiero’s Symphony. It’s an exquisitely beautiful score, easily and immediately accessible, luxuriantly orchestrated, and filled with many memorable mood-evoking passages. I was so spellbound by the Lento, ma non troppo that I had to listen to it a second time before continuing on to the last movement. As the saying goes, “You can take the Romantic out of the 19th century, but . . .”.


Eschewing even the superficial program of the Symphony No. 1, the Symphony No. 2, “Elegiaca,” is also in four movements, but orders them in a fast-slow-fast-slow sequence. Three years in Malipiero’s life made no difference in his style. He was at this juncture still a dyed-in-the-wool Romantic, and this work dating from 1936 is as resplendent and gorgeous as the previous one. Again, it’s in the slow movements that Malipiero pours out his heart and soul in music that is never cloying but that nonetheless can make you weep. Considering the modernist trends of the time—Schoenberg’s Fourth String Quartet was written in the same year—it’s little wonder that history has marginalized Malipiero, along with many of the composers mentioned at the outset, as regressive and even reactionary. But unless one is an academic elitist of the worst kind, that should not be an argument against music written by any composer in any period that is beautiful and moving; and I can tell you that Malipiero’s music is both. I know that I, for one, having heard this disc, will be expanding my heretofore very limited Malipiero collection.


There do not appear to be any competing recordings of these works currently listed, so it’s providential that Antonio de Almeida and the Moscow Symphony Orchestra give exceptionally fine performances. I did not realize, however, until reading the fine print, that this Naxos disc is actually a re-release of a 1993 recording that originally appeared on the marco polo label. So make sure you don’t already have it before you run out and buy this one. If you don’t, this is a must-have purchase.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

KRAUS: Symphonies, Vol. 4

Brusa: Orchestral Works, Vol. 2

I came away from hearing this version with renewed enthusiasm for the work.

Sibelius wrote very little for the cello, although some of his violin pieces allow alternative instrumentation.

You may feel drawn to this disc out of a sense of duty. You know that you ought to know more of Schubert’s overtures than the so-called “Rosamunde” or the Overtures in the Italian Style. So you put this disc on – and are immediately transported with a sense of sheer delight. What is more, this continues throughout the disc as one engaging work follows another. At the end you pour yourself another cup of Earl Grey and start again. Well, at least that was my experience.

You may know all of these early works already and have scores or good recordings of them, in which case none of this will come as a surprise. For those who do not, let me explain that the nine overtures on this disc are all relatively early works written for a variety of purposes. Some are for operas or plays, some are concert works, and the last was probably written for a Cantata in honour of the Chief Inspector of Elementary Schools, a man also in charge of the fund for teachers’ widows. Despite that it is a very engaging piece. The notes by Keith Anderson helpfully explain the origins of each Overture, but I doubt whether you would be able to distinguish which is which without those notes. They are however unfailingly attractive, most with slow introductions followed by sonata-form movements. If you enjoy Schubert’s first three Symphonies, you will certainly enjoy these pieces which are very much in a similar vein and with similar virtues, especially in respect of the very characteristic scoring. Over and over again the listener will find themselves delighted by a turn of phrase, an unexpected harmony or deft orchestration.

Although clearly this is essentially down to the composer, much of the pleasure of the disc is also due to the bright but affectionate performances by the Prague Sinfonia, an expanded version of the Prague Chamber Orchestra. Christian Benda comes from a very distinguished family of Czech musicians and directs performances that are just right for these pieces, avoiding on the one hand blandness and on the other excessive point making. The recording quality is clear and full.

You will have gathered by now that I have had considerable pleasure from this disc. Completeness can be a mixed blessing, but on this occasion I am very glad that Naxos have decided to do this in respect of a category as unexpected as Schubert’s Overtures.

-- John Sheppard, MusicWeb International

RESPIGHI La primavera (orch. Adriano). 1 4 lirichi su poesie popolari armene. 2 La pentola magica 3 • Adriano, cond; Richard Haan ( Praying One ); 1 Miroslav Dvorský ( Young Man ); 1 Jana Valásková ( Sirvard ); 1 Vladimír Kubov?ik ( Old Man ); 1 Denisa Šlepkovská (mez); 2 Jakub Francisci (trb); 3 Slovak PCh; 1 Slovak RSO • NAXOS 8.570741 (79:20)


These may be unfamiliar works, but there will be no mistaking the composer of the opening of La primavera —it could fit seamlessly into The Fountains of Rome —nor the echoes of Rimsky-Korsakov’s Le coq d’or in its fifth movement. The Russian’s influence is obvious throughout this work, with its bold colors and brash exuberance united by Respighi, with surprising success, to Gregorian ecclesiastical modes. A setting of Italian verse by flamboyant 20th-century Armenian poet Gostan Zarian, the texts are, judging from the synopsis provided, uncomfortably naive. However, those of us with no Italian need not be concerned, since no text or translation is provided. This recording—a re-release of a 1994 marco polo CD from a six-disc series of neglected Respighi—features Slovakian artists relatively unknown in the U.S. The one familiar name is Dvorský. This is not, however, the more famous Peter, but rather Miroslav, one of four Dvorský brothers who sing opera. All of the soloists are skillful, though one could occasionally wish for more abandon. Dvorský’s Young Man is pleasingly ardent, with nice thrust on the top. Baritone Richard Haan’s tendency to wobble detracts only a bit from his noble Praying One, Bass Vladimir Kubov?ik is a sonorous Old Man, and soprano Jana Valásková creates the beautiful young Sirvard charmingly, if with a bit more maturity and edge to her tone than ideal.


Continuing the Armenian theme, Quattro lirichi —from the same marco polo release—is a setting of poems by Zorian and 12th-century theologian and saint, Nerses Shenorhali. Originally written for Respighi’s wife Elsa, it, like La primavera , achieves an archaic pastoral quality through use of church modes. Gregorian chant was Elsa’s academic specialty and she was instrumental in introducing the modes to Respighi’s compositional palette. Mezzo Denisa Šlepkovská has a luxuriant voice, but her performance of the songs, fine though it is, might have been enhanced by a bit more subtlety and shading. Adriano orchestrated Respighi’s piano accompaniment for a chamber orchestra approximation of an Armenian deste ensemble. Elsa Respighi approved, and it certainly works. La pentola magica , a 1991 marco polo release, is a ballet pastiche of works by lesser-known 19th-century Russian composers, with original material in the same style and an ethereal setting of an Armenian folk theme for boy soprano. Only the most hardened of detractors of Respighi’s “new old music” could fail to be won over by this beguiling work. As in its successor, La boutique fantasque , Respighi succeeds in retaining the character of the originals while unifying them in a clever and cohesive new work.


I hope that this Naxos re-release, the second from the series, signals the eventual release of the ballet and cantata discs, currently only available as arkivmusic.com CD-R reissues, alas without Adriano’s informative liner notes. Adriano, the Swiss conductor and Respighi expert who led all of the original series, invests these works with energy and beauty. The Bratislava-based ensemble performs well, though the winds are less distinguished than the strings. The choir is excellent. The sound on this release is slightly brighter and clearer than the marco polo issue, though neither issue has a solid bottom. Gianandrea Noseda and the BBC Philharmonic have recorded an excellent La pentola magica for Chandos (10081) coupled with La boutique fantasque . While better played than the Naxos, it remains a second choice for me, as Adriano and his orchestra realize more of the dreamy charm of the work. Especially at Naxos’s prices, admirers of Respighi’s more famous scores should not hesitate.


FANFARE: Ronald E. Grames

Poet Laurence Binyon is known today for one famous verse from "For the Fallen," the complete poem being the most substantial part of Elgar's the Spirit of England and the other two poems being "The Fourth of August" and "To Women." with this important new release SOMM commemorates World War I, and the courage and patriotism of those who fell defending England. The war inspired Elgar to write some of his most moving pages of music, which he dedicated "To the memory of our glorious men." the Philharmonia Orchestra, under the baton of John Wilson, and the London Symphony Chorus, under the direction of Simon Halsey, bring these pages to life in the most inspiring way. Another "plus" is the premiere recording of Elgar's Complete Incidental Music to Binyon's Play Arthur, edited and conducted here by Ben Palmer and his Orchestra of St Paul's.

Naxos is proud to announce the Tintner Memorial Edition, a special series of recordings celebrating the life and work of the late Georg Tintner. Through his passion for music, Maestro Tintner touched audiences and musicians on five continents. In an age that celebrates presentation over content, he remained resolute in his belief in the transcendent importance of musical ideas.

Classical Music

Naxos’s acclaimed survey of Luís de Freitas Branco’s orchestral works continues with his magisterial Third Symphony which, although composed in 1944, revels in Romantic melodrama and luminous orchestral sonorities. The brooding, agitated atmosphere of his tone poem The Death of Manfred for strings contrasts with the expansive Suite Alentejana No. 2, with its evocations of the rural landscape, folklore and village life of the Alentejo region south-east of Lisbon, where the composer owned a large estate and composed many of his works.

Carl Nielsen's "other" orchestral music includes a number of overtures and tone poems that on recordings usually show up appended to performances of his six symphonies. This primarily theatrical music reveals a surprisingly fantastical side to the composer's imagination, freed from the strictures of symphonic form. This is especially evident in the Aladdin Suite, where Nielsen concocts some fetching and convincingly authentic-sounding Arabian melodies, all lavished with exotic orchestral coloring. Dance rhythms abound, punctuated by spiky percussion. Niklás Willén and his South Jutland Symphony players effectively capture the distinctly-drawn moods of widely varied movements, though Esa-Pekka Salonen's Sony recording bristles with an energy and excitement (especially in the Festival March and Negro Dance) that's less apparent here.


Atmosphere again is Willén's strong suit as he evokes the mystical realms of Saga-Dream and Pan and Syrinx while deftly rendering the Helios Overture's stirring drama. Maskarade's bright comedy comes across effectively (though Järvi is unmatched for sheer exuberance). Finally, the brief Cupid and the Poet is from Nielsen's late style, sounding very much like his quirky and tonally ambiguous Clarinet Concerto. Overall, this is a fine set of performances, and it's great to have all these Nielsen gems together on one disc. Naxos' big-hall perspective is somewhat distant, but the sound-picture fills out nicely at those big, brassy climaxes.
--Victor Carr Jr, ClassicsToday.com

Volume 3 of the complete Rossini symphonic overtures continues the pattern of placing rarities such as the lively student work, Grand'overtura 'obbligata a contrabasso,' and Matilde of Shabran, set in medieval Spain, alongside perennial hits such as the Italian Girl in Algiers and La Cenerentola (Cinderella), said to have been written in just three weeks. Classics Today described Volume 2 (8.570934) of this series as 'delightful... amazing... strongly recommended.'

CHOPIN Songs (19). CHOPIN-VIARDOT-GARCIA Seize-Ans. Aime-moi. L’oiselet. Coquette • Olga Pasichnyk (sop); Natalya Pasichnyk (pn) • NAXOS 8572499 (57:04)


It seems like 100 years ago, but it was only the late 1960s when Maria Kurenko’s now-legendary album of Chopin songs (recorded, I believe, in mono) first appeared on LP in this country. It was considered sui generis, and so it was for many years; but now here we are in the 21st century, and there are several collections of these charming pieces available, including the first-class performances by Konrad Jarnot reviewed above.


Olga Pasichnyk, a Ukrainian soprano who studied at both the Kiev Conservatory and the Chopin Academy of Music in Warsaw, gives us beautiful, charming, deeply felt, and often spectacularly sung performances of these songs. Being in the original Polish helps a lot—excepting, of course, the four extra songs in French, which are actually arrangements by Pauline Viardot-Garcia of instrumental pieces, of which more later—and it also helps that Pasichnyk has not only the voice but the technique, interpretive skills, and voice to sing them. My only caveat is that, like so many Slavic soprano voices, hers has that unusual (to Western ears) prominent vibrato, not always even under pressure, but in this case Naxos’s overly ambient sonics cover some of the edginess of the voice. Otherwise, her voice is sweet of timbre, surprisingly flexible in both range and florid ornaments, and at times quite stunning in unexpected ways. Possibly because the original texts are less cumbersome in syllabic structure, she is able to sing them at quicker tempos than Jarnot, which allows her to fit in the four extra Viardot songs (totaling about 12 minutes) to the recital while only adding four minutes to the total disc time.


Pasichnyk also possesses a quality rare among present-day singers in that she has a “smile in the voice.” This is a rare and precious asset, not to be taken lightly, and she makes the listener smile as well. The Viardot-Garcia songs are rarely performed because they are far more technically difficult than Chopin’s own songs, but again Pasichnyk rises to the challenge; listen particularly to Aime-moi, set to the music of the Mazurka No. 23 in D. This piece demands not only a polished technique but, more importantly, the ability to use that technique in a flowing, instrumental manner—in other words, to emulate the way the notes are played on a piano. Pasichnyk does this so well, and so easily, that my jaw drops to hear it. And, like everything else she sings, she has worked over her technique so well that one is scarcely aware of the immense hard work that underlies her ease of execution. I assume that Natalya Pasichnyk is her sister, though the relationship is not mentioned in the notes, but whether she is or not, she is a first-rate accompanist and also knows this style like the back of her hand. Again, no texts are included in the booklet.


FANFARE: Lynn René Bayley


It was just a few months since I welcomed a disc with Chopin’s complete songs, marvellously performed by the great Lied singer Konrad Jarnot. I even had it on my list of possible candidates for Recording of the Year but in the semi-finals it lost against Yann Beuron’s Fauré recording. It is still a very good disc but has two drawbacks: there are no texts and translations in the booklet and it is sung in German. The new Naxos disc is sung in the original Polish and while the rather meagre inlay has no room for the texts they can be accessed on the Naxos website. That’s good service but I have never quite managed to come to terms with listening to music in front of the computer. To be frank: I hate that and I have found that I am not alone. End of complaint.

The original language makes an important difference insofar as it was the Polish words that Chopin set. To sensitive song composers the musical values inherent in the sounds as much as the actual meaning of the words are essential. Here one feels an integration that seems totally authentic while Jarnot’s German texts stand out as slightly strange birds. Since he is such a distinctive interpreter, the ‘wrong’ language didn’t bother me but I get closer to the atmosphere of the songs in the Olga Pasichnyk’s readings. Coming from Ukraine, Polish obviously isn’t her mother tongue but parts of her studies were carried through in Warsaw and she was soloist at the Warsaw Chamber Opera from 1992. Hers is a truly lovely and beautiful voice and she is a most sensitive singer, producing ravishing pianissimos. The majority of these songs are lyrical and poetic and Olga Pasichnyk is an ideal interpreter. It also seems that a female voice is more natural in this repertoire, though that may just be prejudice. But she also has the required power Hulanka (tr. 4), this outgoing, burlesque dance, where she responds with some stirring chest notes while otherwise retaining the elegance and sensitivity.

She is also careful with words and the whole recital is so alive and ‘lived-in’. Just listen to her inflexions of the text in Sliczny chlopiec (tr. 8) and the hushed intensity in Melodia (tr. 9). She certainly covers all the interpretative facets of these songs. One of my favourites is Moja pieszczoyka (tr. 12), a delicate waltz, that I can’t remember hearing better sung, and Piosnka litewska (Lithuanian Song)(tr. 16) is another highlight, simple and enchanting.

Her sister Natalya is an extraordinarily flexible accompanist and contributes greatly to the overall impression.

As a bonus we are offered four out of the twelve songs the famous singer Pauline Viardot arranged from mazurkas by Chopin. Viardot was a technical phenomenon with a range of three octaves and virtuoso technique and the songs were written to show off her ability. Chopin was also satisfied with the songs and they are splendid showpieces. Olga Pasichnyk has both the brilliant top as well as a contralto depth – listen to Coquette (tr. 23) – and the technique to negotiate the vocal fireworks.

The recording is fully worthy of the interpretations and anyone wanting a recording of this lesser known part of Chopin’s oeuvre need look no further. At super budget price and sung in the original Polish – the Viardot songs are in French – and with texts and translations available on the internet this is a self-recommending issue.

Göran Forsling, MusicWeb International

CLEMENTI Overture in C. Symphonies: No. 3 in G, “The Great National”; No. 4 in D • Francesco La Vecchia, cond; O S di Roma • NAXOS 8.573112 (71:32)


A riddle that may be posited is: “When is a symphony not a symphony?” There are, of course, a number of possible answers, but in the case of Muzio Clementi (1752–1832), this becomes a rather relevant issue. Clementi was an important composer for the keyboard, and his duel with Mozart in front of Emperor Joseph II is the stuff of legend (as are Mozart’s less than charitable comments on Clementi’s music and performance). As a composer of orchestral works, however, the entire situation becomes quite murky. When he established himself in London at the end of the 18th century, he achieved some renown as a teacher and publisher; one only needs note his protégé John Field, who Clementi apparently abandoned while on tour to Russia, as a pupil who was to achieve important things. He did, however, also dabble in the composition of orchestral music, eventually composing an undetermined number of works even as Napoleon was ravaging Europe and finally defeated. To be sure, like most composers of the time, he had a wide range of works, and in 1787 apparently even published a couple of symphonies as his op. 18 (available on the companion disc to this Naxos release). But the late works were and remain problematic, for even though they were featured on concert programs in the post-Napoleonic era in Northern Europe, somehow they failed to survive intact, forcing the inevitable “reconstruction” by modern scholars, namely Alfredo Casella and Pietro Spada. The work of these musicologists has been hampered by a web of conflicting sources, non-sequitur fragments, and portions which have been lost to time. Nonetheless, they have succeeded in cobbling together the works featured on this disc; two complete symphonies and the torso of a third (here euphemistically labeled an Overture).


This is not the time or place to discuss these reconstructions (here done by Spada), but suffice it to say that the editions do seem musically cohesive, albeit with no guarantee that these are in any shape or form what Clementi actually intended in toto . Still, they do allow for a glimpse into his work as an orchestral composer. My only concern is the extraordinarily heavy orchestration, including trombones, which seems to give the works an overweening sense of modernity at times. To be blunt, the textures are often extremely dense, sounding like these were companion pieces to, say, the Schubert Great C-Major, and I am not at all convinced that this is what Clementi, trained in the Italian Classical tradition, was after. The brief notes state that the symphonies are “more closely [tied] to the tradition of Haydn and Mozart than they are to post-Eroica Beethoven,” with a passing nod to the latter’s obvious influence. My view is that this seems far-fetched, particularly given these reconstructions. The “Overture,” for example, has a nicely waltzing main theme foreign to Classicism, and the lyrical second theme is positively Schubertian. It is performed in a Beethovian manner, but the appearance of an um-chuck-chuck accompaniment figure places us fairly close to the world of Italian bel canto opera. It is also rather repetitive. The symphonies, on the other hand, show a wider variety of styles, much of which probably is due to the reconstruction process. The so-called “Great National Symphony” in G Major (which nation I cannot fathom) has a slow, plodding opening followed by an obvious hymn, which is then repeated. Some of the faster portions sound heroic, but then Clementi devolves into a pattern reminiscent of Rossini. The second movement, with its massive brass introduction, also features variations on a hymn, and the Finale is positively in the manner of Haydn’s London symphonies; light and frothy. The D-Major Symphony offers more depth, with a solemn, mysterious D-Minor opening that seems to create a dramatic scene, which then dissipates into an Allegro that would not be out of place in one of Schubert’s early symphonies, both in tone and texture. The cantabile is suitably languid, and the off-beat minuet in B Minor positively Beethovian. Despite the thick orchestration, Haydn returns in the rondo Finale, save for a brief B theme that I would swear is Beethoven.


In short, the reconstructions offer a pretty mixed bag, but in Spada’s defense, I will say that his works reasonably well, given the tortuous path he probably had to negotiate to get a playable, cogent score. As for the performance, the Orchestra Sinfonica di Roma does a rather nice job. The tempos seem in order and the ensemble fits well together. The sound can be a bit muddy sometimes, particularly when the entire brass corps plays together, but this may be a consequence of the microphone placement or venue (I can’t decide which). My final verdict is that if you are collecting early 19th-century music and want an alternative to the multiple Schubert and Beethoven discs out there, this might prove interesting, but one should be aware of the caveat that the question of whether all of it is as Clementi wished it to be is still open.


FANFARE: Bertil van Boer

Petri Sakari knows this music, obviously loves it, and paces it to perfection. Indeed, his performance of The Bard may just be the finest available, particularly in the work's latter stages and final climax. The dark timbres of the lower winds--bass clarinet and bassoon particularly--not only add immeasurably to the atmosphere that colors the opening of Pohjola's Daughter, but also help to create the deep currents of The Oceanides and overshadow the pine forests of Tapiola. The Iceland Symphony Orchestra plays with complete security, and Sakari ensures that textures and balances retain the necessary transparency without sacrificing power. Indeed, the all-important bass drum part in En Saga seldom has registered with such dynamic accuracy (though as with all of these Naxos productions, make sure to turn the volume up to enjoy the best sound).


That said, there is one big fly in this particular musical ointment. The Iceland orchestra has a comparatively small string section, and while this fact certainly contributes to the clarity noted above, it robs the climaxes of sheer heft. This is particularly true during the headlong rush to the big cymbal crash in En Saga, the huge final wave in The Oceanides, and above all the great storm music in Tapiola. To his credit, Sakari doesn't push his players beyond their natural ability. For example, in Tapiola he cleverly ensures that the storm remains a background to the ferocious eruptions in the brass and timpani, but it's still impossible not to feel the lack in those moments (such as the ensuing dissonant shriek) where a big string sound is absolutely essential.


So is this disc recommendable? Certainly it is. But if you are one of those people whose preferences in this music demand Karajan's Berlin Philharmonic strings, you might be happier elsewhere. Still, there's far too much worth hearing to dismiss this issue for that reason alone. Sakari and his players capture the music's dark colors and primal qualities as do few others, and when all is said and done they offer a quintessentially Sibelian listening experience.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Drawn from the worldwide catalog holdings of Sony Classical, which includes both the Columbia/CBS and RCA Victor label imprints, the SONY Classical Originals, SONY Classical Masters Singles and Box Sets, and SONY Opera House series offer an extensive selection of highly desirable and collectible EU (Germany) pressed import editions, smartly designed and graphically pleasing, featuring the most sought-after recordings by the world's preeminent, legendary artists both past and present, with many titles newly re-mastered in 24bit High Resolution Audio.

Douglas Lilburn wrote relatively little orchestral music. Aside from the three symphonies (also on Naxos, very well played by this same orchestra) this disc about does it. Much of the music dates from early in his career and accordingly shows a variety of influences: Vaughan Williams (Lilburn's teacher), Copland in A Birthday Offering (1956), and above all Sibelius, particularly in Forest (1936) and A Song of the Islands (1946). These were all good models, but at the same time Lilburn had an individual voice, even if its elements are difficult to pin down because of the pace at which he developed from a home-grown, New Zealand branch of the English pastoral school to the much spikier idiom of the Third Symphony and (on the way there) A Birthday Offering.


Indeed, by the early 1960s Lilburn gave up working in traditional media and concentrated his attention on experiments in electro-acoustic music, which means that he effectively dropped off the map. Listening to the attractive works on this disc, from the Aotearoa Overture (his most famous piece) to the lovely tone poems, you can't help but regret his decision, however personally motivated and necessary it may have been for him. In any case we still have this rousing, very well executed, finely recorded disc to enjoy, in which Lilburn's home-town team under the baton of the ever-reliable James Judd does him proud. An easy recommendation.
--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Edmund Rubbra (1901?1986) waited a long time for the recognition that was his due. Although he found his voice and manner by the late 1930s, securing occasional performances and radio broadcasts of quality, it wasn?t until the 1970s that many of his symphonies achieved their premieres on LP?and the first recorded edition of his 11 symphonies had to wait until 2001. Many reasons have been attested for this neglect over the years, but the most convincing argument I?ve read is that he was too complex and ?un-English? for the old guard, while remaining far too conservative tonally and structurally for the Young Turks of the period.


Rubbra?s style certainly would fit into this uneasy zone that lay outside the accepted boundaries of the conventional and the conventionally unconventional. There is a curious amalgam in his compositions of Sibelian transformative development with complex, linear textures, and vocally inflected thematic lines that derive from Renaissance polyphony. Even more than Vaughan Williams, Rubbra frequently envisioned his more ambitious works as reactions to a moral battleground; and the length of his religious convictions can be taken by noting his conversion to Roman Catholicism in 1948. But although Rubbra used a musical language that was determinedly consonant and tonal, it didn?t possess any of the trappings of the folk nationalist school. When members of the avant-garde were latching onto the latest techniques to prove their individuality, Rubbra made good, traditional music, yet sounded like no one at any time save himself.


The Violin Concerto of 1959 is an excellent example of this. The allegro ?s uneasy thematic line is characteristic, as is its grave sweetness, delicate orchestration, and propulsive rhythms. The slow movement is among the most beautiful things ever penned by this composer who had little regard for surface beauty?an intensely meditative study that ranges between serenity and lyrical exaltation. As for the allegro giacoso that rounds off this work, extroverted finales were never that difficult for Rubbra. Unlike Lloyd and Finzi, he never sought to conclude anything composed in a serious manner and elegiac tone with a forced ?jolly celebration.? His finale here is on the minor side of several modes, but with bounding rhythms and brief, figurative allusions to folk drones (so very much like Rubbra?s favorite symphonic pedal points). The effect is not unlike Baroque dances in minor keys, exhilarating and with a twinkle in the eye that belies the grim set of the mouth.


The Improvisation for Violin and Orchestra was originally a Fantasia composed in the mid 1930s, then substantially recomposed in 1956 for a commission by the Louisville Orchestra. The lengthy, plaintive solo for violin with only occasional ominous rumblings from the timpani set the basic tone for the piece, whose ruminations cover the ground from self-lacerating doubt to momentary epiphany. Like the Violin Concerto?s slow movement, this Improvisation is a seemingly spontaneous but carefully wrought work.


The third composition on the program represents a departure, not only from the rest of the album, but from most of the composer?s ?uvre . I first encountered the Improvisation on Virginal Pieces by Giles Farnaby 30 years ago on a British RCA LP, where Rubbra wrote that a lighthearted piece was sought by Universal Edition to offset the cost of engraving and printing his First Symphony. (The LP was part of a series underwritten by Harveys of Bristol, manufacturers of Harveys Bristol Cream. Anyone want to suggest to Peter Coors that he sponsor a new recorded series of the works of William Schuman?) The result was this work, wherein Rubbra re-orchestrated and lightly but amusingly retouched five of Farnaby?s delightfully folk-inflected keyboard pieces. It?s a charmer.


Yuasa takes a relaxed but firm hand to all three pieces; too relaxed, perhaps, in the Violin Concerto?s opening movement, compared to a now-deleted Unicorn LP that featured David Measham leading the Melbourne SO, with soloist Carl Pini. I?ve never enjoyed Pini?s acidulous if bracing tone, but that same movement took roughly two minutes less on that release, and gained in the process. Elsewhere, Yuasa articulates the many lines of the finale so well that he conveys a sense of blithe activity without great speed. The slow movement and the Improvisation for Violin and Orchestra benefit from his considered approach. Osostowicz displays a warm tone, seamless legato, strong technique, and commanding personality. The Farnaby pieces could use more energy, but focus is never lacking, and Schönzeler did worse on my old LP. The Ulster Orchestra is bright, rich, and well blended, but that?s hardly news.


Sound is forward and effectively balanced, while Malcolm MacDonald supplies attractive liner notes. The timings are a bit slim, but with performances and music such as we find here, offered at a budget price, who can complain? Definitely recommended.


FANFARE: Barry Brenesal

MOZART Divertimenti: No. 11 in D, K 251; No. 17 in D, K 334 • Helmut Müller-Brühl, cond; Cologne CO • NAXOS 8.570990 (73:49)

Helmut Müller-Brühl remained active until shortly before his death in January 2012. These Mozart divertimenti, recorded in mid-September 2011 may well be the last recordings he made. His legacy—mainly in baroque and early classical repertoire, from the days of LP on Nonesuch and, if I’m not mistaken, on Turnabout and the Musical Heritage Society, all the way up to practically the present day, primarily on Naxos—is a long and distinguished one. Yet for all his many fine recordings of composers who were near contemporaries of Mozart, such as the two Haydns, Josef and Michael, Franz Anton Hoffmeister, and Ignace Pleyel, Müller-Brühl seems not to have committed much Mozart to disc. That makes this new Naxos release of the conductor leading two of Mozart’s divertimenti especially welcome.

As a musical genre, the divertimento is but one member in a family of interbreeds that included the serenade, cassation, and notturno. All shared a common origin and purpose in music that was intended to entertain guests and lubricate the gossip at various social gatherings and functions. A modern-day equivalent might be the string quartet hired to play in the background at a garden party. Everyone hears it and knows it’s there, but no one really listens or pays much attention to it. The serenade was typically performed outdoors. The notturno, as its name implies, was an after-dinner evening piece, possibly played on a balcony or veranda. The meaning of cassation is unclear, but Mozart often referred to his divertimenti as such, the term, possibly being derived from the German, Gasse , and suggesting street or alley music.

There was no fixed form or number of movements to any of these pieces, but in the hands of Mozart, not only did some of his serenades and divertimenti take on a much more serious tone, they rendered the distinctions between these composition types even more meaningless than they already were. You have, for example, Mozart’s great Divertimento in E?-Major for violin, viola, and cello, K 563, which, if not for the fact that it’s in six movements, would probably have been cataloged as a string trio. Then there’s the Serenata notturna , K 239, a work in three movements for double string orchestra and timpani, which seems to elude classification and which may be why Mozart’s father, Leopold, put this hybrid title to the manuscript. In order of composition, Mozart’s next serenade is the “Haffner,” K 250, a big, celebratory score in eight movements, written for his sister’s prenuptial festivities. Three of its movements feature a violin soloist, partially lending the work the feeling of a concerto. And then, of course, there’s the serious side of Mozart’s serenading, the “Gran Partita” Serenade, K 361/370a, a score in seven movements for 12 wind instruments plus string bass.

Gradually, it seems that both serenade and divertimento more or less merged into an entity that settled on six movements containing two minuets and, in many cases, an opening march that was reprised in the concluding movement. The musical content, however, still varied widely from light, even frivolous, entertainment fare to weightier, more serious matter.

The two divertimentos on this disc both exhibit the above-mentioned six-movement layout with two minuets, but K 251 is of the lighter, amusement type, containing a rondeau movement and ending with a march. And while it’s hardly a trifle at nearly 26 minutes in length, it’s dwarfed by the more serious-minded K 334, which is almost twice as long at 48 minutes and much more thoroughly worked out. The contrasts in length, placement of movements, and musical content between these two works are evidence of how loosely—or freely, if you prefer—these types of compositions were titled and categorized.

Apart from the later Musical Joke , K 522, and the previously mentioned String Trio, K 563, the D-Major Divertimento, K 334, of 1779–1780 is the last of Mozart’s scores to bear the title “Divertimento.” It’s also the most extended and formally developed. Yet surprisingly, perhaps, is that it’s more modest in terms of orchestral scoring than the earlier D-Major Divertimento on the disc, calling for only two horns and strings. K 251, dated 1776, adds an oboe to the ensemble.

Helmut Müller-Brühl and the Cologne Chamber Orchestra were made to play this music. Not even the most steadfast devotee of period-instrument performance could fail to be delighted by these performances. The Allegro s bubble and bustle with high spirits, while the slower movements capture the music’s sweetness, charm, and grace without surrendering to cloying sentimentality.

While Müller-Brühl may not have been one of the earliest pioneers in the historical performance movement, not all readers may know that for 10 years, from 1976 to 1986, the Cologne Chamber Orchestra he led also played and recorded on period instruments under the name Capella Clementina, and thus, both conductor and orchestra members gained inestimable experience in period practice which they applied to their post-1986 performances on modern instruments. This recording is a fruit of that familiarity with and understanding of Classical period performance practice and style.

Recent recordings of these works on modern instruments are not plentiful. In fact, unless one goes back to the mid 1980s and to Marriner’s five-disc Philips collection of the divertimenti with the Academy of St. Martin in the Fields, or to the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra’s four-disc Deutsche Grammophon serenades and divertimenti collection, which doesn’t include K 334, there aren’t that many more recent modern instrument versions to choose from. No matter; for these performances by Müller-Brühl and the Cologne Chamber Orchestra are spot-on, and at Naxos’s budget price, practically a steal. Very strongly recommended.

FANFARE: Jerry Dubins

Well researched and very well performed.

These aren’t new recordings; they’ve migrated from Marco Polo to Naxos’s Film Music Classics series and fit snugly in that marque. Honegger was one of the most resourceful and successful of film composers and his scores seldom disappoint; these ones never do.

We start with the first suite of Regain, a film made in 1937 by Marcel Pagnol on a Provençal theme. The striving and hardship of the landscape are strongly evoked and though there’s a rather deceptively ‘English’ march tune in there the inflexions are otherwise Honegger’s own. Brass writing emphasises the rawness of landscape, of terrain, of the daily grind, and the saxophone in the second cut, Hiver, facilitates subtle and evocative tone painting. But it’s not all grim – the whistling insouciance of Gedemus le remouleur proves a minute’s worth of scherzo high spirits along with some imaginative and unabashed instrumentation – rattles prominently.

Crime et Châtiment – Crime and Punishment to give it its English title – provides opportunities for a character study, not least of Raskolnikov the murderer. Honegger abjures the lurid though, preferring a far more subtle schema altogether. The wistful and lyrical answering themes of Raskolnikov and the prostitute Sonia suggest directions that are soon to be thwarted. The longest track is devoted to the murder. Powerful and dramatic it sports a throbbing, pulsing theme, a musical migraine of the most disabling kind. The killing itself is represented by a brief slashing figure – pre Bernard Herrmann – whilst the terse figures of the final cut, the Visite nocturne with bass clarinet and piano, leads to a rather Russian-Semitic tune.

The two symphonic movements from Le Démon de l’Himalaya are fascinatingly orchestrated; no horns but two saxophones and the Ondes Martenots, harp, percussion and wordless chorus. The first movement is a terse sustained ostinato, gust swirling build ups of great tensile intensity finally dissipated through the most unusual orchestration. The second movement is a solemn Passacaglia – and there are hints of Milhaud and Weill. Things get decidedly spooky before the chorus, before the uplift that it brings and the resolution that is afforded. Altogether fascinating evidence of Honegger’s forward thinking imagination and ear for colour.

L’Idée again features the Ondes Martenots and perky piano figures. It’s a lighter, droller score than its companions. There’s some saturnine sounding Weill influence once more though with less canine bite; some of the piano and brass writing sounds similar to the kinds of thing Martin? and Milhaud were writing at around the same time. The big powerful march theme is exciting on its own merits however. It’s an engaging way to end a thoroughly researched, intelligently annotated and very well performed disc.

-- Jonathan Woolf, MusicWeb International

Of Ukrainian origin, Boris Pigovat (b. 1953) is now based in Israel where he has won several distinguished national awards. His Holocaust Requiem received the ACUM (Israeli ASCAP) prize in 1995, and was premi�red at a concert dedicated to the massacre of Jews at Babi Yar. Each movement is named after the Latin Mass text, the emotional symbols of sorrow, suffering and hope expressed purely instrumentally but led by the 'human' voice of the viola. The deliberately Russian Romantic style of Poem of Dawn was especially chosen by the composer for the work's dedicatee, acclaimed violist Anna Serova. "I'm sure that the Holocaust Requiem has a great future. Boris Pigovat's composition is very sophisticated, but it isn't flowery or pretentious. It is simple but not primitive, it is frank and heartfelt, an outstanding work." ('The Day' - Ukrainian daily newspaper)

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