The final volume of Andrew Manze's Vaughan Williams symphony cycle with the the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra features Symphonies Nos.7 and 9. The seventh drew it's inspiration from music Vaughan Williams had composed for the film Scott of the Antarctic. The composer headed each movement with a literary quotation. They are narrated on this recording by distinguished actor Timothy West. Existing manuscripts of the ninth symphony support the idea that Vaughan Williams originally thought to compose a programmatic work based on Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbevilles. This work, dating from the composer's final years, bares no trace of creative decline.

This Signum Classics release presents four orchestral works by leading Chinese composer Xiaogang Ye, performed by the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by Dane Lam. Recorded in February 2024 at Liverpool Philharmonic Hall, the album features The Backyard of the Village alongside two concertante works: The Memories of Mount Jing Gang with violist Diyang Mei, and My Faraway Nanjing with cellist Guy Johnston, plus the overture The Loquat in Five Colors. Ye's music blends contemporary orchestral writing with Chinese history, landscape, and cultural memory, reflecting his distinctive international voice.

These works share the common key of E flat major but represent two very different stages in the composer’s life. The Piano Concerto "No. 0," WoO 4, was written when Beethoven was 13 years old and is one of his earliest works. With the orchestral score lost, this extant version for piano solo written in Beethoven’s hand includes the tutti sections reduced for piano. The radiant ‘Emperor’ Concerto shows the 38-year-old Beethoven at the peak of his creative powers, and remains a glorious example of his spirit triumphing over life’s adversities.

REVIEW:

Boris Giltburg’s recording of Beethoven’s Emperor Concerto is offered with a scintillating twist, the ‘other’ E-flat concerto composed when the composer was 13. This brings Giltburg’s Beethoven concerto cycle to a close, his ebullience and physicality the reverse of plain-speaking, brilliantly partnered by the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic under Vasily Petrenko.

Given such forces this is never simply ‘another’ Emperor, but one boldly and exuberantly conceived. Giltburg makes you listen with new ears to one of the most familiar and greatly loved works in the repertoire. The Piano Concerto No 0 (played in Beethoven’s original piano reduction) may be a protracted jeu d’esprit, but Giltburg’s relish of its tonic, virtuoso aplomb sets the pulse racing. Naxos soundworld is of an exceptional clarity and focus.

-- International Piano

Excellent performances of the Emperor and the rarely heard Concerto No. 0. The sound reproduction on this Naxos CD is vivid and well balanced. Those looking for an excellent performance of the Emperor and who are attracted to its lesser coupling, will certainly find this a most rewarding disc.

-- MusicWeb International

Not only do you get performances to rank with the best, but also a bonus of the splendidly played Rondo.

Beethoven’s first two piano concertos share an abundance of lyric and virtuosic qualities. Concerto No. 1 in C major is expansive and richly orchestrated with a sublime slow movement that is tender and ardent, and a finale full of inventive humor. Concerto No. 2 in B flat major marries energy with elegance, reserving poetic breadth for its slow movement and quirky wit for the finale. Also included is the jovial Rondo, WoO 6, which Beethoven originally intended to be the finale of Concerto No. 2.

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REVIEWS:

Here’s a very promising start to what I assume will be a new Beethoven piano concerto cycle, featuring performances not otherwise included in Naxos’ “complete” Beethoven box. Boris Giltburg plays both works with the youthful panache that they require–the kind that makes you forget about any formal issues and just revel in the virtuoso passagework and good tunes. The standard for comparison in this coupling is Argerich/Sinopoli on DG–you might think an unmatchable team, at least pianistically, but Giltburg more than holds his own. Indeed, in Concerto No. 2 he matches Argerich’s fleet timing in the finale (and other movements) almost exactly, and in the First Concerto he’s even a bit quicker, all without sacrificing subtleties of touch, dynamics and phrasing for mere velocity.

Of course there are difference–welcome ones too. In the first concerto, Giltburg adds a couple of minutes to the central Largo, producing a genuine specimen of that particular tempo designation. His legato playing is beautifully sustained, making this early example of Beethovenian lyricism a real gem. Petrenko accompanies with real flair, proving himself a true partner in both concerto first movements. It’s so much more satisfying to have a real conductor working with a gifted soloist, rather than the single-person-at-the-keyboard approach so frequently offered these days. There’s just no substitute for full-time orchestral guidance. Giltburg also includes the original “Concerto No. 2 finale version” of the Rondo WoO 6, a considerable bonus, as are his intelligent and detailed booklet notes. Fine playing, fine conducting, fine engineering–in short, a really fine release generally.

– ClassicsToday (David Hurwitz)

Giltburg is a subtle artist who, despite his all-encompassing technique, rarely, if ever, engages in virtuosic grandstanding, preferring instead to interpret the music for maximum artistic yield. Nor does he employ radical or eccentric interpretive approaches. Yet, his performances are never bland but rather quite individual, typically rich in nuance and meaningful detail, and containing insights missing in other versions. His accounts of the two concertos feature well-chosen dynamics, main lines and inner voices perfectly balanced, and judicious tempos. In addition, he realizes these are the works of a youthful Beethoven, not of the mature, profound and serious-minded master of the three concertos that followed. Thus, he points up their lighter, more vivacious characteristics, his dynamics appropriately less weighty and his pacing never too relaxed.

Not only do you get performances to rank with the best, but also a bonus of the splendidly played Rondo.

– MusicWeb International

The Estonian composer Mihkel Kerem - born in Tallinn in 1981 and Joint Assistant Leader in the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra since 2015 - used the Covid lockdown to produce no fewer than four symphonies, two of them, his Seventh and Eighth, conceived as a contrasting pair. Kerem's dark and ominous Seventh Symphony, like that of Sibelius, plots a huge sonata-form arch, growing from and back into it's opening material. It's soundworld sits somewhere between Sibelius and Schnittke, combining a sense of natural symphonic growth with dramatic twists of kaleidoscopic textural variety. No. 8, which also nods to Sibelius' Seventh by quoting it's celebrated trombone theme, is a vast, unhurried accelerando, it's three linked movements tapping into the Nordic-Baltic tradition of using the controlled power of the orchestra to suggest the vastness of nature.

Although best known for his film music, William Alwyn composed five symphonies (among other concert works). Symphony No. 1 unsurprisingly marries symphonic form to an engaging dramatic narrative. The first movement's slow, quiet introduction is pregnant with anticipation of the conflict to come, while the moving Adagio features one of those irresistibly hummable movie-style tunes. And connoisseurs of classic film cannot help but conjure cinematic images as they listen to Alwyn's triumphant, brassy Allegro jubilante finale. But even without such associations, the First is a fine symphony in its own right.


The three-movement Symphony No. 3 is even more compelling. Alwyn states that he used a "new kind of 12-note system", but the resulting music is certainly not atonal. Indeed, much of it has a modal quality similar to Vaughan Williams--a similarity that extends to the music's formal plan, warlike character, and sometimes even the orchestration (the brass writing in the first movement, and the woodwind/string interplay of the finale's "scherzo" section)--all of which are reminiscent of that composer's Sixth Symphony. But Alwyn's own voice predominates, and the symphony is enjoyable for its powerfully argued rhetoric and taut thematic construction. Conductor David Lloyd-Jones certainly believes in this music, as he demonstrates in these winning performances with the excellent Royal Liverpool Philharmonic. Naxos provides first-rate sound.
--Victor Carr Jr, ClassicsToday.com

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

Billed as the start of a new complete Shostakovich symphony cycle, this initial entry holds a great deal of promise. The Eleventh Symphony has more the character of a film score than a traditional symphonic work: it thrives on atmosphere, color, and the repetition of simple tunes and motives rather than drama created by development and tonal contrast. Conductor Vasily Petrenko certainly understands this, whether in capturing the ghostly string timbres of the opening (reinforced by celesta on its many subsequent returns), in the crushing massacre sequence in the second movement, or in the splashy ending, with cymbals, bells, and tam-tam making cinematic contributions.

Petrenko's also very sensible in his handling of tempo. The first and third movements don't drag; the second and fourth have plenty of excitement with rhythms that never turn mechanical (as they have a tendency to do, what with so much militaristic march music). The Royal Liverpool Philharmonic plays very well, with distinguished contributions from all departments. My only quibble concerns the slightly backward positioning and lack of clarity afforded the timpanist, who carries much of the thematic substance of the first movement and presides over the massacre's percussion fusillades. Otherwise, this is pretty terrific on all counts. I recommend it accordingly, and look forward to the continuation of the cycle. [4/2/2009]

--David Hurwitz, ClassicssToday.com

Great performances of this massive symphony aren’t exactly thick on the field, but my goodness, this is one of them. Vasily Petrenko and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic play with 100 percent commitment in every single bar. The first movement opens broadly, the intensity already palpable. Taking full advantage of excellent sound and a wide dynamic range (crank up the volume for this one), the central march and battle will have you sweating in your seat. The unrelentingly sustained passion that Petrenko brings to this long section triumphantly vindicates Shostakovich’s controversial vision, and at the same time makes short work of a 28-minute overall timing.

It may sound odd, but what stands out most in the scherzo (for me anyway) is the strikingly sharp pizzicato violins accompanying the shrill clarinet in the movement’s central outburst (sound sample below). Obviously this isn’t the most important idea, but the fact that Petrenko and his strings take such care to characterize even simple accompaniments helps us to understand just why this performance is so compelling. Like the first movement, the Adagio has a strikingly intense central episode, one whose contrasting power helps to sustain interest in the slow, grave outer sections. Then we come to the finale, with a thrilling, wild allegro, and a broad, take-no-prisoners coda that’s simply immense. Petrenko’s Shostakovich cycle already is one of the best out there, but this release really puts the seal on his achievement. This is absolutely essential, and as I said, it’s exceptionally well recorded to boot.

– David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

William Alwyn's Fourth Symphony is an epilogue to his first three, conceived as a cycle. It's a tough work, its Romanticism tempered by an edgy modernism. Interest is added by a powerful rhythmic pulse (especially the first movement with its throbbing drums and the hard-driving Scherzo), blazing trumpet climaxes, brilliant orchestration, and a sense of gravity. David Lloyd-Jones and his orchestra bring all of these elements to the fore in an interpretation bristling with energy, including a fast-paced headlong dive into the Scherzo that adds to the excitement. In effect, the conductor's energetic pace tightens the work and takes some of the gloss off its Romanticism. Not that he short-changes the lyrical sections; moments of repose are strategically placed within the work. The last movement is, in the composer's words, "a calm epilogue", and Lloyd-Jones gives such important sections their full due. He knows that Alwyn dared to write long-lined melodies at a time when the music establishment frowned on anything hummable, and there's plenty of poetry in this three-movement symphony.


The Sinfonietta is symphonic in scope, ambitious in its materials, and usually lasts about 25 minutes (close to 23 on this disc). It opens with an unforgettably dynamic passage for cellos and basses that recalls Bartók, then alternates the vigorous and the lyric with Romantic fervor. The gentle Adagio embeds a quote from Alban Berg's Lulu, another composer Alwyn admired and refers to when he writes "... any composer who is honest acknowledges the debt he owes to genius."


The final movement is a complex fugue followed by a peaceful ending, as if to bring rest to the preceding turbulence. Lloyd-Jones is only a couple of minutes faster than his rivals on disc, but it all comes out of the last two movements, producing a more flowing Adagio and a finale that doesn't lose its clarity because of the swifter speeds. Oddly enough, the opening of the work, electrifying in Alwyn's own account, is a bit tamer here.


In general, Alwyn's the best conductor of his own music on disc, but his Lyrita recordings are hard to find. Lloyd-Jones' series of the five symphonies, of which this is the concluding volume, is an excellent alternative. The engineering on this disc has a split personality due to different dates, producers, and engineers. The Symphony is acceptable but a touch opaque; the Sinfonietta has more presence, better dynamics, and a stronger bass. If you are unfamiliar with Alwyn, try this disc--the music, performances, and price make it an unbeatable buy.
--Dan Davis, ClassicsToday.com

There are a lot of performances of this remarkable symphony available now, but this one stands out as having a truly distinctive and persuasive point of view. The Royal Liverpool Philharmonic, however well it plays, isn’t an orchestral powerhouse like the Chicago Symphony (Previn) or Kondrashin’s Moscow Philharmonic, but Vasily Petrenko more than compensates for any lack of sheer heft with an extra jolt of energy and a razor-sharp rhythmic attack. Listen to the strings dig into the music right after the first movement’s “climax of fugal insanity”. If the preceding din isn’t exactly paint-peeling, it’s still very exciting, and as you can hear, Petrenko sustains the tension very well, providing an unusual degree of continuity to a movement that easily tends to break up into a sequence of disconnected episodes.

The scherzo also is unusually characterful—slower than the norm, which only makes it more gaunt and spooky. The “tick-tock” percussion at the end is especially clear, and disturbingly mechanical. As for the gripping finale, not only is the wacky ballet suite interlude remarkably fun, but Petrenko really unleashes the hounds in the form of some magnificently braying brass in the final chorale. This is one of those performances that justifies purchasing yet another recording of what is becoming a relatively well-known work. It confirms the piece as a true classic, in the sense that a variety of approaches reveals an endless series of valid interpretive possibilities. The performance is also extremely well recorded, naturally balanced, and vividly present. Wonderful.

– David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

FRANKEL The Curse of the Werewolf: Excerpts . So Long at the Fair Medley . The Net: Love Theme. The Prisoner: Excerpts ? Carl Davis, cond; Royal Liverpool PO ? NAXOS 8.557850 (74:40)


CD?s of film music have experienced a renaissance of late, with older scores being rediscovered and recorded in droves. This CD retrospective of Benjamin Frankel (1906?1973) demonstrates the composer?s European style and lineage. Frankel, along with early pioneers in the field, including Korngold, Hermann, Mayuzumi, and Copland, redirected the classical tradition, bypassing atonality. In film scores to this day, it is acceptable to be traditional, because composers such as Frankel set the tone. The likes of John Williams still follow the lead with current neo-Romantic film scoring?no tricks or mathematical formulas.


The music is just good?and original. Novelty is not always complex, but may be fresh in its return to simplicity and comprehension.


The CD title selection here is Curse of the Werewolf , a 1959 cult film classic. The music is appropriately narrative, with more urgency than creepiness. Without seeing the movie, you can guess what?s happening by the musical allusions. Yes, it?s necessarily programmatic. Surprisingly, for all its accessibility and familiarity?it?s composed in 12-tone row, proving that what is serial may be packaged like cereal. There is a booming brass opening, some ominous Shostakovichian passages, punctuated by nervous snares and distant hunting horns. Castanets take on morbid significance, followed by a lilting string theme, the calm before the storm or, in this case, perhaps, clean-shavenness before the big five o?clock shadow. Musical wild howls and fangs follow. Frankel scores 12-tone bird sounds throughout, giving the impression of nature always watching, waiting for the grim game to be played out. There are, in addition, spooky xylophone riffs, mysterious harp glissandos, juxtaposed with more themes of virginal innocence, eliciting a chuckle, if your mind wanders to Mel Brooks?s Young Frankenstein . Later, Frankel introduces a relentless ticking motif, as if time is building to a crescendo of madness. Then the xylophone returns, with a momentary tonic chord, and more bird song, string plucks, and timpani, with a repeat of the distant hunting horns. An ironic waltz theme is recapitulated, followed by a denouement with furious swells of strings, screeching trombones, and a brooding bass leading to a bipolar coda.


Whether you view the werewolf tale as a metaphor for the onset of puberty, a depiction of the battle between nature and predation, as a cautionary tale about the evil of testosterone, or as a veiled reference to unbridled sexuality?or even if you?re not into Freud at all?this is a campy CD, but not a knockout. The other selections in this box, So Long at the Fair Medley and excerpts from The Net and The Prisoner , are pedestrian but pleasant, with So Long at the Fair being superior, with its familiar two-step dance, as well as nostalgic themes of childhood.


It?s all good music, but I?m just not sure it deserves its own CD?I?d rather rent the movies, and have the benefit of score and picture. Indeed, Frankel also wrote the scores for The Seventh Veil , The Importance of Being Ernest , The Man in the White Suit , Night of the Iguana , and Battle of the Bulge . Perhaps I?ll check Netflix.


The Royal Liverpool PO does a fine job of performing the scores, with Carl Davis in fine conducting form.


FANFARE: David Wolman

Stravinsky: Firebird; Rimsky-Korsakov: Le Coq d'Or - After their critically acclaimed recording of The Rite of Spring, the award-winning team of Vasily Petrenko and the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra continue their survey of the Stravinsky ballets with The Firebird. Stravinsky was Rimsky-Korsakov's star pupil, and his influence on can be detected clearly in this opulent and exciting score. It is coupled with Rimsky-Korsakov's Golden Cockerel suite, which was arranged from the music of his 1909 opera based on a story by Pushkin.

When introduced to the audience in Liverpool by Domingo Hindoyan, Roberto Sierra's music was greeted with standing ovations. His name may be new to many, but his music is vibrant, appealing, accessible, and extremely well crafted. "The works included on this album span 25 years of creative activity. While current projects are always my focus, looking back is not something I often do; however, this recording confronted me with compositions representing a good part of my creative life. Most interesting was to notice that, although my music has changed through the years, there are traits common to all these pieces. These are elements that encompass aspects ranging from the expressive to the technical. A penchant for certain types of melodic constructions, harmonies, and orchestration choices is always present in these works. Another common element is the use of idioms that stem out of Afro-Caribbean and, more specifically, from the folk and popular music of Puerto Rico." This album is a wonderful introduction to this important contemporary composer from Latin America.

Italy, Florence - nothing gives me the slightest pleasure so far wrote Tchaikovsky to his brother. "I cannot live outside Russia." In the depth of depression, the composer commenced work on his sextet, Souvenir de Florence, which he completed upon his return to Russia in June 1890. Melancholy Russian folk melodies mingle with Tchaikovsky's Florentine theme rising in the Adagio. In 1892, with more creative struggles - a symphony in E flat was abandoned (much of it becoming the 3rd piano concerto and the Andante & Finale), and a new symphony in B minor was started. If the melancholy of Souvenir de Florence is never far from the surface, it threatens to overwhelm the 6th symphony. "I am very proud of the symphony, and I think it's the best of my compositions." Tchaikovsky died 9 days after conducting it's first performance, a victim of the cholera pandemic raging over the Russian Empire.

George Butterworth, one of the pre 1914 generation lost in the Great War, left a small but enduring body of work. He was introduced to folk music by Vaughan Williams, but he was also a dancer and collector of folk songs and dances - especially those from Sussex. It is however his A.E Houseman inspired orchestral rhapsody, A Shropshire Lad, that has become his most famous composition and seems to conjure up a powerful sense of the countryside of that county, and melancholy at the waste and futility of war. Holst, like Butterworth was a friend of Vaughan Williams, and together the two of them collected folk songs from around England. Holst also taught at the school for girls in Hammersmith, London and the St Paul Suite is a personal thank you to the school. Folk songs imbue the two Songs without Words. Holst became friendly with Thomas Hardy, and it was on a night walk (at the urging of Hardy) that the inspiration for Egdon Heath came to Holst. The 15-minute-long work capture the 'singularly colossal and mysterious in it's swarthy monotony' as Hardy described the area of moorland in his novel The Return of the Native. The high trumpet at the close of the work is surely sounding from post war sad shires.

Vasily Petrenko (b. 1976) has been leading the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra since September 2006 and has recently extended his contract until at least 2015. His work on Merseyside has been drawing many very enthusiastic notices, including several on MusicWeb International. However, until now, with the exception of his recording of Sir John Tavener’s recent Requiem (see review) I’ve not heard any of his performances. If this thrilling disc is anything to go by then I’ve been missing something.

I’ve long thought that Rachmaninov’s Symphonic Dances ranks among his finest works but this new recording really made me sit up and take fresh notice. For that Petrenko and his orchestra must take a huge amount of credit. However, the quality of the recording itself also has much to do with it. I can only describe the sound on this CD as stunning. By chance, immediately before I put this new Avie disc in my player I’d been listening to Vladimir Ashkenazy’s 1983 Decca recording of Symphonic Dances and The Isle of the Dead. Those are extremely fine performances, splendidly recorded by Decca in the Concertgebouw in Amsterdam. On that disc the sound is warm, yet very clear and there’s a good deal of space round the orchestra – I strongly suspect the orchestra was set out on the auditorium floor in the empty Concertgebouw. This Avie recording offers a very different experience for the sound is closer – though not oppressively so – and very present.

Producer John Fraser and Engineer David A. Pigott have produced here one of the best recordings of a symphony orchestra that I’ve heard in a very long time. The orchestra is, as I said, very present yet very natural also. The recording offers a wide side-to-side perspective and also very good front-to-back definition. There’s an abundance of detail to hear – the percussion thrillingly reported and the brass impressive without ever sounding domineering – yet without any sense of artificial spotlighting of sections or individual instruments. With a satisfyingly rich bass foundation and an impressive dynamic range this recording presents the orchestra in a most exciting and very musical way. The sound has terrific definition, not least in the quiet passages, and packs a real punch at climaxes. Best of all, the recording lets you hear just how impressive the performances are. For the orchestra there are few hiding places in Symphonic Dances, especially when the sound is as clear and detailed as this, but the RLPO are consistently sure-footed.

The quality of the recording and Petrenko’s care over balance got my attention from the first bars of Symphonic Dances. The very opening is light, crisp and delicate after which the bold string chords have a most impressive weight. Petrenko drives the music forward with vigour but never overplays his hand. The saxophone solo (from 3:26) is lovingly phrased, imparting just the right feeling of wistful nostalgia. In the succeeding passage (to 5:46) there’s some excellent woodwind playing – and not for the last time on this disc, either. When the strings take up the melody it sings gloriously – and between them Petrenko and the engineers balance the accompaniment of harp and piano perfectly. The eventual return to the movement’s opening material is at first suspenseful and then very exciting. Rachmaninov’s self-quotation from his First Symphony is warmly delivered but without any over-indulgence.

If I have a small criticism it concerns the brevity of the gaps between the movements. There’s a mere two seconds between the first and second dances – the Ashkenazy disc has some six seconds – and only three seconds between the second and third movements. Just a little more time would have been welcome. The second movement is a spectral, awkward waltz: in the memorable phrase of annotator Anthony Bateman “Evening has brought its ghosts”. Petrenko shapes the music with great imagination, conjuring up for this listener at least an image of a dimly lit and faded ballroom that has rather gone to seed. The RLPO strings play splendidly, with plenty of body to their tone – and their woodwind colleagues offer equally fine playing. Petrenko is alive to all the nuances and subtle inflections of Rachmaninov’s music. His is a colourful and well-imagined reading and he draws really responsive playing from his orchestra. Among many details that I relished is the nutty tone of the violas between 7:05 and 7:23 followed by the sound of really hushed violins and a doleful bassoon.

Once Petrenko reaches the main material of the third dance his reading has abundant energy but, rightly, there’s more than a sense of foreboding as well. As a sample of the impressive way in which soft passages are handled, sample the rather sinister passage introduced by the bass clarinet (5:04). Shortly afterwards (6:60 – 9:55) the long, brooding string paragraph, in which the RLPO players excel, is surely Rachmaninov revisiting his Second Symphony but with a melancholy air, knowing that those days are gone for ever. In the last five or six minutes Petrenko urges his players on to an exciting yet darkly-tinged conclusion. In these pages the tambourine, tam-tam and xylophone contributions are magnificently caught by the microphones and the dramatic last few bars bring a superb performance of the work to a tumultuous conclusion.

Recently, I was greatly taken with a live performance of The Isle of the Dead conducted by Evgeny Svetlanov (see review). I found that reading enthralling but its very expansiveness probably courts controversy and will not be to all tastes. Petrenko’s reading is more mainstream, if I may put it that way, in terms of pacing. His account, at 20:58. lasts for almost the same time as Ashkenazy’s (20:52) and is similar in length to several other recordings on my shelves. Mind you, it is salutary to note that the composer’s own 1929 recording with the Philadelphia Orchestra lasts a “mere” 18:05 and even after eighty years that recording still sounds well – and packs a real interpretative punch!

Petrenko isn’t in the Svetlanov league when it comes to expansiveness but his interpretation is still full of brooding power – and his performance affords better playing than we hear on the Svetlanov disc and, as you’d expect, comes in much better sound. This Liverpool account establishes a very potent atmosphere right from the outset. There’s dark grandeur in the playing – and in Petrenko’s conception of the work. As in Symphonic Dances the excellence of the sound supports Petrenko’s balancing of the orchestra magnificently. Between 7:22 and 7:44, for example, the balance between the cello tune and the woodwind decoration round it is outstandingly successful. Later on (8:04 – 9:40) the ear is impressed mightily by sonorous brass, pounding timpani and weighty strings.

Petrenko builds the piece to an impressive and potent central climax, thrillingly reported by the recording, but the way he winds the tension down in the following bars is just as noteworthy. Later on, he invests the urgent, surging string passage (11:23 - 12:59) with real ardour and the main climax of the piece (around 15:30) is shattering in its intensity. As Charon, the boatman, rows back across the Styx from the Isle, his work done for now, the opening music returns and Petrenko controls the sombre conclusion very effectively.

In a way I wish the disc had ended there; the piece that’s placed last would have been a more satisfying opener, I believe. The Rock is a youthful work but a significant achievement nonetheless by the twenty-year-old composer. Apparently Tchaikovsky admired the piece and it’s not hard to see why for the scoring is attractive and the invention is strong. For much of its course the nature of the music is much lighter than that of the other two works on the disc. Petrenko conducts with grace and affection but also does the powerful stretches towards the end very well. In the first few minutes the principal flute, Cormac Henry, has a lot of demanding solo work and he shines under the spotlight that Rachmaninov trains on him. Another example of finesse that caught my ear was the exquisite passage of string tremolandi between 7:04 and 7:39 – it’s details such as this that puts the stamp of distinction on this release. As a piece The Rock may not be the equal of the other works on this disc but it has many attractions and it receives a very fine performance here.

As I hope I’ve conveyed, this is an exceptional disc in every way. It’s one that I’ve enjoyed enormously but I also admire it greatly as an achievement both on the part of the musicians and of the engineers. If you’ve wondered why so much fuss is being made about the work that Vasily Petrenko is doing with the RLPO then this superb CD should provide the answer. Already, in early February, this disc is on my shortlist of Recordings of the Year.

One final thought. Could Avie be persuaded to record this team in Rachmaninov’s Second Symphony? If Petrenko and the RLPO could recapture in a recording of that great, sweeping symphony the form shown on this disc then the result would be a serious challenge to the longstanding hegemony of André Previn’s 1973 recording with the LSO (EMI). Meanwhile, don’t wait to see if that disc appears. Buy this one – now! I doubt you’ll regret it and I hope it will excite you as much as it has excited me.

-- John Quinn, MusicWeb International

Quite an achievement.

If you have heard the Durham Concerto or the zanily named Boom of the Tingling Strings you will know that since departing Deep Purple in 2002 Jon Lord has been gripped by classical composing. The earliest stirrings of this hunger go back to the 1969 and his Concerto for Group and Orchestra. It was premiered, filmed and recorded live at the Royal Albert Hall with Deep Purple and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Sir Malcolm Arnold. The next year the BBC commissioned The Gemini Suite. In 1974 Sarabande followed and in 1997 came Lord’s solo CD Pictured Within.
 
To Notice Such Things is clearly a very personal and affecting portrait of Lord’s friendship with John Mortimer, CBE, QC (1923–2009). It traces its origins to the affectionate stage show, Mortimer’s Miscellany. The title of the score is from the Thomas Hardy poem Afterwards which ended the show. The first movement, As I Walked Out One Evening is from the W.H. Auden poem and relates to the music that opened the revue. At Court picks up on Mortimer’s days as the darling of the combative anti-establishment in the 1960s and 1970s. Turville Heath is where Mortimer lived and we are told that the movement gives an impression of Mortimer in his beloved garden. In extreme old age his legs began to fail him. Stick Dance is said to portray our hero’s appreciation of a female companion jiving while Mortimer leans on his walking stick. Mortimer chose the dormouse to figure in his coat of arms. The Winter of a Dormouse is an attempt to describe Sir John's final months. It’s an affectionate and poignant farewell. The friendship throughout is echoed in the flute which voices Sir John. Lord is reflected in the solo piano role. These figures are played by the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra’s principal flautist Cormac Henry and by the composer’s piano.

Counter-intuitively As I Walked Out One Evening has all the warm vernal freshness of the morning of the world. This is coupled with a peculiarly English contentment – an ecstasy in being there. The language is caught between the pastoral Vaughan Williams of the 1910s and 1920s and the Copland counterpart. At Court is part lightly serene and partly rushing cut-and-thrust carried by the flute with brusquely joyous strings. Turville Heath hints at a Gallic-Delian influence although the presence of the self-effacingly supportive piano pulls the rug out from under the comparison. This movement could easily join the host of short piano and orchestra miniatures by Bax, Milford and Armstrong Gibbs. Towards its close the gentle muse dances with an innocent smile. In Stick Dance there is a Shostakovich-like caustic serration to the string writing though this does relent to make way for curvaceous gliding and dancing of the flute. The Winter of a Dormouse touches on desolation but from its chilly shores the flute sings, invoking and reviving the delights of years gone by and of the changes wrought by the passage of the years. Interesting how the flute line remains succulent in tone but it is now more pensive. The flute solo curves down a gentle gradient into silence. Afterwards is the final movement for piano and orchestra though the flute also plays its part. The writing has a distinctly Finzian poignant reflective quality - the drowsy heat-haze of a summer’s eclogue into which this sweetly tempered work fades.

The other four tracks are occupied by short pieces. Evening Song is for piano, alto flute, french horn and orchestra. Starting out as one of the pieces in Lord’s Pictured Within, it lays convincing claim to the sentimental congeries entwining that ideal English sunset. This is a place in space and time where contemplation is by itself fully satisfying. The solo violin part reminded me of Finzi’s Severn Rhapsody. For Example is a piece for string orchestra and flute. Its origins lie in a small piano piece dedicated to Lord’s friends the Trondheim Soloists and their Artistic Director and Principal Cellist, Øyvind Gimse. It’s a pensive essay with just that tincture of Grieg – a composer who was one of Lord’s earliest favourites. Air on the Blue String is for flute and strings –a contented essay with a few gently stern moments to provide backbone. This too had its genesis in a piano solo. The disc ends with Jeremy Irons’ undemonstrative reading of Hardy’s melancholic-fatalistic poem, Afterwards. The poem registers with even more depth. It is clothed with Jon Lord’s piano line which provides a symbiotic modest commentary.

This is a well presented, recorded and annotated album and one that will please those who respond to Finzian pastoral melancholy. Quite an achievement.

-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International

The playing throughout is sensitive and glowing in this meditative and glistening work that recalls Vaughan Williams and Hovhaness.

The composer Jon Lord rose to fame in the 1970s as a member of Deep Purple. Celebrity collaborations between the group and Malcolm Arnold included Concerto for Group and Orchestra written and scored by John Lord and conducted by Malcolm Arnold. Lord has over the intervening years increasingly extended his reputation into the classical field. The Durham Concerto is the latest and most ambitious example to date. In this he is not alone, witness the various classical pieces by Paul McCartney - the latest being Ecce Cor Meum and the orchestral work Seven by Tony Banks of Genesis – a work recorded on Naxos. All are individual in their own way but a sign that some musicians with a rock-popular reputation felt the siren call of classical eternity even if we ignore the blurring of ‘boundaries’ represented by the work of Frank Zappa, Soft Machine and Tangerine Dream.

At the most meagre level this is a beautifully packaged delightful musical souvenir of Durham University's 175th anniversary in 2007. The concept might remind you of John Scott’s Colchester Symphony but this is in fact a seriously-intentioned extended orchestral suite of six movements grouped in pairs.

At the start long-held Tallis-like string chords speak out of the mists of antiquity. This is music that takes a slow-shifting shading from Hovhaness. The glistening murmur forms a backdrop to meditative solos from the wind instruments. Then at 3.10 comes Ruth Palmer's Lark-like violin solo speaking as a fragile human voice against the downward remorseless tread of time. Given the accent of this first movement it is some surprise that Lord was not among those pop-contemporary world musicians interviewed for Tony Palmer’s recent RVW film-biography. As this movement, entitled Cathedral at Dawn, rises to its peak it is the notable ecstasy of Vaughan Williams that is most closely echoed.

The composer's Hammond organ is featured in four of the six movements. It ushers in the second (Durham Awakes) with its atmospheric solo for Northumbrian Pipes. The pipes are played by that doyenne of the instrument Kathryn Tickell. Matthew Barley's solo cello acts as orator and encourager in this Copland-inflected music but ancient and melancholically serene voices from the Pipes – unable to escape celtic connections - and the solo violin are there too. The Hammond also intercedes at several points. This movement proves a fine example of the successful interweave of pipes, cello and violin.

Those first two movements form Part 1: Morning. Then comes Afternoon in the shape of another two movements. The first reflects the spiritual journey of St Cuthbert and the physical journey of his mortal remains to interment in the Cathedral. It communicates as a slow revelatory sunset much in the same atmosphere as the Dawn. This is followed by the equally introspective, cello-led From Prebends Bridge. Here the composer had in mind the view from the Bridge and the innumerable people who have stood and taken in that view down a thousand years.

The cello solo once or twice seems rather meandering before it gathers itself for a more direct and emotionally hard-hitting address. The music here reminded me of the Elgar concerto, Rubbra's Soliloquy and Holst's Invocation. Then comes a much needed rowdy movement in which students on a rag day and a miners gala meet head on. The brassy whoops here reminded me of Arnold. Again Lord's Hammond is to the fore, lending dynamism to its usual watery discourse - it's the nature of the instrument. There's plenty of forward pulse here and the orchestra have fun with the pizzicato writing. The Arnold accent appears strongly at 4:12 onwards with something of the Commonwealth Christmas Overture to be heard as well as a nicely burred and brassy Gaudeamus Igitur at 6:21. History takes hold again at the end of the movement and those sustained string chords reassert the long view. The Pipes invoke the sorrowing melancholy of heritage morphing without break into the long meditative finale: Durham Nocturne.

I hope we will hear more of Lord's classical compositions including the suite for strings, Disguises (2004) and the piano concerto Boom of the Tingling Strings (2003). Both are due out from EMI later in 2008. What else remains to be recorded?

The concept of the present piece and the use of an 'ethnic' instrument recall, as an idea, Shaun Davey's works – especially The Relief of Derry Symphony and The Brendan Voyage.

The playing throughout the Durham Concerto is sensitive and glowing with much accomplished and thoughtful work for the solo instruments. The recording produces an almost tangible effect without embracing an in-your-face pop balance.

Here is an extended work of continuity across six substantial movements. The predominant meditative character will instantly mesh with those who love John Barry’s Beyondness of Things, Tavener and Vaughan Williams.

-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International

British composer Peter Racine Fricker was one of the first to be heavily influenced by the early 20th century masters Bartok, Stravinsky, and Schoenberg, and his style is an assimilation of these influences combined with his own very distinct musical voice. Fricker’s compositional catalog exceeds 160 works, and includes all genres except for staged opera.

The Vision of Judgement performance presented here is conducted by Charles Groves, and features the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. It was broadcast on BBC on October 14, 1980. Symphony No. 5 for Organ and Orchestra features Gillian Weir on organ, as well as the BBC Symphony Orchestra conducted by Colin Davis. It aired on the BBC on May 5, 1976, and was performed live from the festival hall.