Despite his tragically short life, Nikos Skalkottas has now become recognized as one of the most important Greek composers of the 20th century. The modernist style of his earlier period is balanced by the four important mature neoclassical works presented here. Both the Sinfonietta and the Classical Symphony are expressions of the deep regard Skalkottas had for traditional forms blended with his unique musical language. Skalkottas was a violinist with the Athens State Orchestra, who are honoring his memory with this and future recordings of his works.

 Gabriel Fauré Centenary (1845 - 1924)

A collection of his solo piano, chamber music, and vocal works, most prominent among them the composer's favored Requiem.

Andrew Nethsingha and The Choir of St John’s, Cambridge present a tribute album to two former directors, Christopher Robinson and David Hill, who celebrate their 85th and 65th birthdays respectively. Taking the idea of new growth as a starting point, the album develops from the seed of a single treble line, gradually adding organ, then lower voices, a second choir (Yale Schola Cantorum), 150 additional singers, and eventually combining nearly 500 voices together (former members and friends of the college choir). The programme spans Hildegard of Bingen to a new commission by James Long (b.1987) and also includes works by three ex-St Johnians: Herbert Howells, Johnathan Harvey and Christopher Robinson. The Choir of St John’s College, Cambridge is one of the finest collegiate choirs in the world, known and loved by millions from its broadcasts, concert tours and recordings. Founded in the 1670s, the Choir is known for its distinctive rich, warm sound, its expressive interpretations and its breadth of repertoire.

Although most widely remembered for his operettas in partnership with W.S. Gilbert, Sir Arthur Sullivan was the most famous of all British composers of the nineteenth century. He was revered as a composer of oratorios, and was urged by Queen Victoria to compose a grand opera. The result, Ivanhoe, achieved 155 consecutive performances (in an opera house especially built for it). Achieving equal success in his lifetime, his substantial legacy of songs fell into neglect in the twentieth century, but as this album demonstrates Sullivan's endlessly fertile melodic gifts withstand comparison with those of any other song composer. David Owen Norris and his quartet of outstanding young British singers deliver this fascinating programme with terrific style and panache.

The term étude first started to turn up in musical literature in the late 1700s, and came into common usage in the first half of the 19th century. The notion of a piece of music exactingly engineered to promote some specific aspect of technique was nothing new; in her public presentations of “The Étude Project,” pianist Jenny Lin traces the concept back to Johann Sebastian Bach’s Clavier-Übung, four volumes of keyboard exercises published between 1726 and 1741 — the final volume known more widely as the “Goldberg” Variations.

Countless composers have risen to the challenge of the étude. This album, the first documentation of a sweeping project conceived by Lin, includes some of the most famous examples – Debussy, Scriabin, Rachmaninoff, Messiaen, Ligeti, and Glass – alongside equally noteworthy contributions to the format by such mavericks as Ruth Crawford Seeger, Toshio Hosokawa, and Unsuk Chin. Lin further pairs each of her canonical selections with an entirely new work by a member of ICEBERG New Music, a determinedly heterodox collaborative of 10 gifted young composers who represent a broad range of stylistic inclinations, but who are united by their enduring faith in substance and craft.

Bucking a current fad, the new études were not proposed as sequels or responses to existing works. Lin simply asked the ICEBERG composers to challenge her, and then used her own keen ear and sure instincts to find sympathetic pairings. Driving rhythms and rich harmonies link pieces by Alex Burtzos and Chopin. Rangy scatterings of notes present a frolicsome affinity between Victor Baez and Unsuk Chin. Stephanie Ann Boyd and Debussy both deploy dreamy arpeggios in rippling waves; and so on. In each case, hearing the new piece enhances your understanding of the older one—and vice versa. Identifying affinities among old and new music, and among familiar and unknown pieces, is a knack Lin has demonstrated again and again throughout her career—and it’s part of what makes her not only a persuasive interpreter, but also an invaluable guide and companion. Stated simply: you are in extraordinarily sure hands, here.

REVIEW:

Aligning with composers of ICEBERG New Music, pianist Jenny Lin gave its ten members absolute freedom of style and pianistic approach when crafting new etudes for her. In addition to her Herculean playing, the fearless pianist brings curatorial prowess to bear in pairing each new etude with an existing work from the canon. Have a listen to this disc and then have another. The Etudes Project will repay you manifestly.

– The Whole Note (CA)

This series explores China’s rich and diverse musical heritage. The songs featured in this recording are folk songs of four of the minority ethnic groups of Guangxi province – Zhuang, Bouyei, Mulao, Maonan. As with Chinese traditional visual arts, the song titles explain their mood and origin. It is noteworthy that the music of the Dong-Tai language speakers presents a common feature of incorporating polyphonic or heterophonic songs. Although this feature is present in the music of more than 20 minorities in China, it is rare that the speakers of a whole language family all incorporate multi-voice songs in their music. The performance forms of these multi-voice songs include nearly all the types found in folk music. The number of harmonic intervals is limited because the songs usually employ only one octave. Aside from pentatonic scales, the folk music of the Dong-Tai language speakers also incorporates the scales of three or four notes.

Following the announcement by Tasmin Little of her intended retirement from the concert platform, we wanted to create an album that would stand as both a tribute to, and celebration of, her outstanding career as a performer. What better way to do so than ask her to select her own, personal favorites from her recorded career? An exclusive Chandos artist since 2010, Tasmin has made a series of recordings that have proved a cornerstone of the Chandos schedules for a decade, and feature a range of composers and styles of quite breath-taking variety. The first album concentrates on concerti, and features both Walton’s and Britten’s concertos with Edward Gardner, along with the slow movement of her award-winning Elgar recording with Sir Andrew Davis. The second features works from Vivaldi though to Shostakovich via Brahms, and includes (among many other gems) her recording of Vaughan Williams’s iconic The Lark Ascending. It also celebrates Tasmin’s recital partnerships with three outstanding pianists: Piers Lane, Martin Roscoe, and John Lenehan. As she writes in her booklet note: ‘I am very happy that this final, double-album set should reflect so many aspects of me as a musician; and I remain full of gratitude for the tremendous opportunities I have been given to play and record with the greatest musicians of today. I hope you all enjoy this final release.’

The renowned American pianist Tedd Joselson presents a 'companionship' of his favourite concertos – the Grieg Piano Concerto and Rachmaninov's Second Piano Concerto, recorded over two days with two different orchestras at London's Abbey Road Studios. Led by conductor Arthur Fagen with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra (Grieg) and the Philharmonia Orchestra (Rachmaninov), the disc is also a companion to Joselson's April 2021 recording the of Lim Fantasy of Compansionship for Piano and Orchestra, recorded at the same time at Abbey Road with the London Symphony Orchestra. Belgian-American pianist Tedd Joselson was only 17 when he auditioned for the Philadelphia Orchestra’s music director, Eugene Ormandy, after which the famous conductor remarked “Anything you want, you can play with us”. He was offered a recording contract by RCA whilst still a student at Juilliard, and quickly became, and remained until his retirement, one of the most sought after performers regularly appearing with nearly every important symphonic ensemble and conductor. He gave his debut piano recital on the Great Performer’s series in Lincoln Center in NYC in 1975. Thereafter, his annual sold out recital tours were eagerly awaited events on the music calendar. Noted for his lyrical playing across a wide range of repertoire, his recordings of works span 400 years of music from Bach to Lim, and have won numerous awards including several Grammy nominations.

This recording of the Tchaikovsky Piano Trio might well may be among the best.

In Russian chamber music, a rather special tradition evolved around the piano trio, with a number of composers turning to the genre to write ‘instrumental requiems’. First out was Tchaikovsky with his Piano Trio in A minor, Op. 50, ‘à la mémoire d’un grand artiste’, and he was followed by composers such as Rachmaninov, Arensky and Shostakovich. In the case of Tchaikovsky’s trio, the ‘grand artiste’ was the pianist Nikolai Rubinstein, and Tchaikovsky chose the trio genre as he felt that a piece for solo piano would be too lightweight and one with orchestral accompaniment would be too showy. The work is in two movements, a Pezzo elegiaco (‘elegiac piece’) and a set of variations, and it begins with the cello playing a moving lament which sets the tone for the entire first movement. The theme returns at the end of the second movement in the form of an impassioned funeral march. Seventy years later, when the Armenian composer and pianist Arno Babajanian (1921—83) wrote his Piano Trio in F sharp minor, he didn’t give it any subtitle, but there’s a grandeur and breadth of scale which rivals Tchaikovsky’s work – and the second movement is thoroughly elegiac in character. The trio is Babajanian’s best-known work, composed in the Romantic style of Rachmaninov, but also rooted in Armenian folk music, melodically as well as rhythmically. Performing the two works are Vadim Gluzman and Yevgeny Sudbin, both with Russian roots, joined by cellist Johannes Moser, and the three close the album with Sudbin’s arrangement of a brief Tango by Alfred Schnittke.

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REVIEW:

I will begin with what, strictly speaking, is merely the “other piece” on this disc: the piano trio by Arno Babajanian. I have never heard of him or what appears to be his best-known work, but the outstanding recording and startling advocacy of this starry chamber group makes me think I should have.

The piano trio opens with the violin and cello playing a dark theme together. The piano comes in with some lovely runs reminiscent of Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto (no bad thing, in my view). The second movement starts with a long violin melody over a syncopated piano accompaniment, not a million miles from Korngold or Prokofiev’s second violin concerto. The final movement opens with something of a shock, a jazzy passage in 5/8 time, but then the cello comes in with a lovely theme, and the two moods alternate until the end.

It is a delightful work with strong melodies and rhythmic complexity, which this trio plainly adore. It is wonderfully recorded, giving plenty of power to Johannes Moser’s cello work. I shall be taking it off my shelves frequently.

I have so far had to make do for Tchaikovsky’s Piano Trio opus 50 with an old Naxos recording by the Ashkenazy Trio (8.550467), still available. The coupling is Arensky’s trio, and I would not want to be without that. But this disc blows that version out of the water, both in terms of performance and recording. I cannot pretend to have heard all the hundreds of recordings of the work by world-renowned musicians which are out there – but this well may be among the best.

Once again, the recording of Moser’s cello has all the resonance of the real instrument; Sudbin’s piano is alert but self-effacing when it needs to be; Gluzman’s violin soars and inspires. Above all, the trio give the impression they are listening to each other and adjusting their performances accordingly.

The disc ends with a little bon-bon which I assume the group put in because they were enjoying themselves so much: the Tango from the opera Life with an Idiot by Alfred Schnittke. It is not really necessary, since the disc lasts almost seventy minutes without it, but it is great fun, for us as well as for the artists.

– MusicWeb International

Antonín Dvořák’s music, imbued with the spirit of Bohemia, reflects a love of his native land. His String Sextet, written in the distinctive style which brought him international fame, was an immediate success at its premiere. Composed just eight years earlier, his String Quartet No.4, unpublished until 1968, features pioneering, wild outer movements, highly unusual for the time, which foreshadowed the modernist innovations of composers decades later. A moving Andante religioso, which Dvořák made use of in future works, lies at its heart. The Polonaise exploits both the soulful and virtuoso character of the cello.

REVIEW:

It’s about time that Dvořák’s fascinating and gripping Fourth Quartet got some individual attention apart from big boxes of the chamber works. A single movement more than 30 minutes long, in three extended sections, the music reveals the influence of Wagner and the New German School. It represents a road not taken, as Dvořák never followed it up, and immediately afterward returned to a path at once more “classical”, formally speaking, while pursuing its harmonic audacities within the bounds of a Czech nationalist style. This last point is important. Dvořák never gave up his love for adventurous harmony. He merely ceased imitating Wagner’s particular version of it, and in the process he found himself.

In any case, the central Andante religioso survived to become the lovely Notturno for string orchestra. It sounds like a cross between Rachmaninov and the Siegfried Idyll, only it predates both! There’s no question that Dvořák was very good at what he was doing. The quartet’s outer sections also invite comparison to late Beethoven, with their sometimes gnarly counterpoint and sense of struggle. In short, the work deserves to return to the repertoire, and the only reason I can see that it hasn’t is because it doesn’t sound like typical Dvořák. Happily, the Fine Arts Quartet does an excellent job allowing the music to unfold on its own terms, offering sensitive, well-balanced, and timbrally vibrant playing that sustains the piece over its entire length.

The Sextet of 1878 (eight years after the Fourth Quartet) shows the composer in full nationalist mode, with a “Dumka” slow movement and a “Furiant” for a scherzo. Its concluding theme and variations is especially outstanding. Here is yet another work that, however frequently recorded, has not received the attention that it deserves in concert, perhaps because sextets are awkward to program. The concluding Polonaise in A major makes a fine encore to an unusually well-rounded program, one that presents Dvořák as a composer of much wider range than many would have us believe. The title of the disc, Spirit of Bohemia, is typically silly and not entirely relevant, but with fine engineering I can recommend this release without hesitation.

– ClassicsToday.com (David Hurwitz)

S. WAGNER Der Kobold • Frank Strobel, cond; Rebecca Broberg ( Verena ); Regina Mauel ( Gertrud ); Andreas Mitschke ( Ekhart ); Achim Hoffmann ( Trutz ); Johannes Föttinger ( Fink ); Philipp Meierhöfer ( Kümmel ); Volker Horn ( Friedrich ); Nicholas Isherwood ( Der Graf ); Martina Borst ( Die Gräfin ); Ksenija Lukic ( Jeannette ); Marco Bappert ( Jean ); Joachim Höchbauer ( Knorz ); Heike Kohler ( Käthe ); Young Jae Park ( Seelchen ); PPP Music Theatre Ens; Nuremberg SO • Marco Polo 8.225329 (3 CDs: 195:27)


Each time I listen to this recording of The Goblin , I am utterly unnerved—do not be fooled by the descending flute figures that cue the overture, like Pan himself coming down to bless the land. Obviously, there is no shortage of warped and twisted librettos, which tend to serve as jumping off points for music yet more warped and twisted, but my goodness, our man Siegfried was exorcising some personal demons with this work—ironically, by enlivening some.


The first “sung” note, once the gentle, autumnal instrumental opening has concluded, is a scream, one that comes through on the recording like a spike—no reverb, no vibrato, just fear, hammered home. We are dealing with a dramatis personae of goblins (including one whose entrance into the world comes courtesy of a mixture of a hanged man’s seed and the yellow grass below), a wizard, some assassins, night phantoms, a few satyrs, a circus collective, a rapist, and such cheery pursuits as infanticide, abortion, flesh trading, and prestidigitation for, shall we say, less than salubrious ends. Good luck sorting out the plot, which is about as close to postmodernism as Siegfried ever got, and features an opera within the opera, and a climax not dissimilar to F. W. Murnau’s Nosferatu , which had the subtitle, intriguingly enough, of “A Symphony of Horrors.”


The quality of the recording itself will jar you, but that’s part of its effectiveness—weapons crash to the ground as though they’ve landed on microphones, or like something is kicking inside the speakers and trying to get out. It’s a fascinating, weird kind of audio-vérité, that further unsettles the nerves; but distortion was Siegfried’s ally in the creation of this work, and some passages even appear, at first, to be atonal. Rebecca Broberg as Verena, the opera’s heroine—a default designation, really, in this case, given her successive and ultimately defeating tragedies—is really stretched on the rack in her exceedingly taxing role, and it is through her vocal lines that we experience whatever empathy—which often takes the forms of anxiety and fear—the opera has to offer. It’s been remarked that for all of its fantastical elements, Der Kobold is something of a gangster story, but the noir -ish element becomes almost hallucinatory in the constant churn of crises, a vortex of demonism, you might say—of both the supernatural and human variety, the latter, of course, always being worse. Cpo has a Siegfried Wagner sampler disc with the West German Radio Symphony Orchestra and Roman Trekel handling an excerpt, but for the whole, vivid nightmare, you’ll need this set to be properly shocked and disturbed. And for those who cherish their illusions of childhood, there is perhaps no 20th-century opera that poses such a menacing threat to any and all forms of latency.


FANFARE: Colin Fleming

Chief conductor of the BBC Symphony Orchestra since 2013, Finnish conductor Sakari Oramo has a special affinity with the music of his compatriot Sibelius which this recording admirably demonstrates. Sibelius’ ever-popular ‘Lemminkäinen Suite’ is coupled here with ‘Spring Song’, and the lesser-known Suite from ‘Belshazzar’s Feast’. Sibelius composed the ‘Lemminkäinen Suite’ (also called the Four Legends, or Four Legends from the Kalevala), Op. 22, in the 1890s. Originally conceived as a mythological opera, Veneen luominen (The Building of the Boat), the suite is based on the character Lemminkäinen from the Finnish epic, the Kalevala. Sibelius’ music for ‘Belshazzar’s Feast’ was originally composed as incidental music for a play (by Hjalmar Procopé), in 1906. First performed in the Swedish Theatre in Helsinki in November of that year, conducted by the composer. The following year, Sibelius extracted four of the eight movements to form the more widely known orchestral suite we hear in this recording.

REVIEWS:

The BBC Symphony's chief conductor brings deep insights to bear here. It is thrilling to hear the rarity Spring Song played with full acknowledgement that this is rather more than a seasonal ditty. We once again come close to the heart of Sibelius in an unlikely place.

– Gramophone

The Lemminkäinen Suite has tended to be viewed as an important staging post on Sibelius’s path to the symphony. What Sakari Oramo shows is that it’s a marvellous achievement in its own right, and as such not quite like anything else. Superbly recorded, this is a Lemminkäinen Suite to treasure.

– BBC Music Magazine

"The merriest ninety minutes in the town's night life." -- The New Yorker

"There isn't a gayer, wittier or subtler cabaret show in town than 'Seven Come Eleven'... The enterprising Julius Monk has again assembled a group of six versatile performers, furnished them with material from about a dozen bright song-and-sketch writers and mounted the whole thing with fluency and verve." -- Arthur Gelb, The New York Times [10/9/1961]

Seven Come Eleven - A Gaming Gambol

With Philip Bruns, Ceil Cabot, Rex Robbins, Steve Roland, Donna Sanders, Mary Louise Wilson.

William Roy and Carl Norman at the plural pianos.

Musical and vocal arrangements by William Roy.

It all began (way back in 1956) in a dark, dank cellar, located beneath an ancient brownstone on New York City’s Sixth Avenue. It was here that Julius Monk, with a few yards of velvet and a handful of performers, presented his first subterranean sensation, Four Below. Notwithstanding some mild competition from a musical called My Fair Lady and an occasional attack of bends, Four Below romped happily through a six-month run. It was followed, quite naturally, by The Son of Four Below (1956) and, in time, Take Five (1957), the latter fondly recalled as a classic nightclub entertainment.

By 1958, The Downstairs Room was firmly established as a favorite late-night spot for New Yorkers on the town. But the tranquility at 51st Street and Sixth Avenue was disturbed by the ominous approach of demolition squads, which looked jealously at a street corner that they hadn’t yet battered down. It was not long before Julius and his companions were homeless, as The Downstairs Room was politely removed in the name of architectural progress. Vagrants for but a trice, they moved to West 56th Street, where they took up permanent residence in a congenial mansion formerly owned by John Wanamaker. There, Take Five took its second wind and was later followed by Demi-Dozen (1958), Pieces of Eight (1959), Dressed to the Nines (1960) and now Seven Come Eleven, which opened to rave notices on October 5, 1961. Dorothy Kilgallen expressed the attitude of the critics by referring to Seven Come Eleven as “the wittiest cafe show in town.”

Aware that there still may be one or two people who have not yet seen a Julius Monk opus, we offer the following description. It is New York at night. Taxicabs wind perilously in and out of traffic, along glittering, noisy avenues. Soon they drive up an attractive, quiet side street, lined with shops in remodeled town houses and stop in front of a canopied entrance that announces “Upstairs at the Downstairs.” A uniformed doorman greets the couples arriving from Broadway shows or late dinners and ushers them inside to join a crowd waiting to ascend the circular marble staircase leading to the Upstairs Room, where the show is about to go on.

The Upstairs Room, formerly the sitting room of the mansion, is lined with rich, red fabric and softly lighted by glowing globes from the last century. Visitors are seated at little tables, and soon the lights dim. Suddenly, a half dozen bright, young Thespians leap onto the tiny stage at one end of the room. Accompanied by twin pianos, they spend the next hour and a half singing songs and performing sketches which touch upon just about every event in the newspapers, every phobia in the textbooks, and every celebrity in the history of the world. Seven Come Eleven, for example, contains hilarious spoofs on the John Birch Society, the Peace Corps, sick comedians, Cuban highjacking of airplanes and other topics close to the hearts of New Yorkers: school scandals and the construction of a new hotel designed in typical Miami Beach fashion. If all this sounds terribly, terribly sophisticated, it should be pointed out at once that the performers in this show come from such remote spots as Pipestone, Minnesota; Pierre, South Dakota; Eldred, Pennsylvania, and Greenville, Texas.

In succession to the Tudors, the flourishing court culture of the Stuart royal dynasty fostered one of the greatest periods in the history of British music. Director and organist Andrew Arthur unites his forces in this compelling program of works by three composers who flourished in the Jacobean period – Orlando Gibbons, Thomas Weelkes and Thomas Tomkins – around the theme of the Word of God. The choral items on this album exemplify a rhetorically-aware sense of what it means to sound the Word enriched with music in order to teach, move and delight.

The German-born Christian Friedrich Ruppe (1753-1826) made his career in the Dutch city of Leiden, where he had originally arrived in 1773 as a student of mathematics and literature. In 1784 he married Christina Chalon (1748-1808), the daughter of the lead violinist the of the Nederlands Theater in Amsterdam. In 1890 he was appointed as music director of the city’s renowned and ancient university, and from 1802 he taught theory of music there, having in 1788 become organist of the city’s principal Lutheran Church. In 1796 an orphanage choir was founded in Leiden on Ruppe’s initiative, consisting of girls and boys from the Holy Spirit or Poor Orphanage and Children's Home near the church. During the following church year he then composed a pair of cantatas on anonymous Dutch texts, designed for the orphanage choir. Despite their musical richness and evident beauties, the scores remained in the archives of the orphanage, only to be rediscovered in 1987. Two centuries after their first performance, they received the recordings reissued here by an accomplished team of experienced Dutch early-music performers. While comparing the cantatas to the music written by Handel for the Foundling Hospital would not flatter Ruppe, his music nonetheless exhibits many charms of its own: unfailingly graceful phrasing, for one, fresh melodic charm and sympathetic writing for voices. There appears to be a clear Haydnesque imprint to both works, but operatic models are more evident in the sinfonia that opens the Christmas Cantata as well as the style of the dramatic recitatives which move along each development of the familiar story. The work concludes with a trumpet-and-drum chorus in the style of oratorios such as Messiah and The Creation, rising to the grand harmonization of an Easter chorale designed for singing by the choir and entire congregation.