The Leipzig Autograph opens with a Fantasia on Komm, Heiliger Geist (Come, Holy Ghost), in organo pleno, il canto fermo nel pedale (for full organ, the chorale melody in the pedal part). The chorale itself is a German version of the antiphon Veni, Sancte Spiritus, devised by Martin Luther for congregational use. An imitative contrapuntal introduction, in which three upper voices enter in turn over a sustained pedal-note, leads to the chorale melody itself, in the lowest register, chorale phrases separated with passages of varying length for the manuals. A second treatment of the same chorale, for two manuals and pedals, is in triple metre, with a fugal subject derived from the chorale, the manuals preceding the pedal entry in each section. This extended composition ends with a particularly splendid coda. An Wasserflüssen Babylon (By the waters of Babylon), for two manuals and pedals, uses a fifteenth century chorale melody from Strasburg. .Here the chorale melody is first heard in the top part, imitated in the tenor, which itself introduces the continuation of the chorale theme. This is followed by Schmücke, dich, o liebe Seele (Deck thyself, beloved soul), much admired by Schumann and based on a mid-seventeenth century chorale, first suggested in the alto part in a contrapuntal introduction, before appearing in the soprano in augmentation, its notes prolonged. The Trio on Herr Jesu Christ, dich zu uns wend (Lord Jesus Christ, turn to us) is again based on a mid-seventeenth century chorale. Here the three contrapuntal parts interweave, the left hand entering in canonic imitation of the right over a pedal-part derived from the opening notes of the chorale. This opening figure brings, in conclusion, a pedal statement of the melody, accompanied by the continuing counterpoint of the two upper parts. O Lamm Gottes, unschuldig (O Lamb of God, guiltless, slaughtered on the Cross) is based on a Lutheran version of the Agnus Dei, O Lam Gades unschüldig, by Nikolaus Decius, an early follower of Luther. This, one of the earliest chorales, is itself derived from plainchant. The three sections of the Agnus Dei allow three different treatments of the cantus firmus, which appears first in the top part, then in the middle part and finally in the pedals. Nun danket alle Gott (Now thank we all our God) is based on a seventeenth century chorale. Counterpoint based on the melody precedes the entry of the chorale itself in the upper part, a procedure that is followed throughout, in the manner associated particularly with Bach's elder brother's teacher, Pachelbel. Von Gott will ich nicht lassen (From God I will not part) treats a sixteenth century chorale dating from 1572 in Erfurt. Here again each section of the melody, played on the pedals, is introduced by a preceding contrapuntal section derived from the hymn itself. The C major Toccata, Adagio and Fugue, striking not least in the distinctive nature of the three sections into which it falls, in form the counterpart of the three movement Italian concerto of the period. The work opens with a brilliant improvisatory prelude, display on the manuals followed by a passage for pedal solo, before more elaborate counterpoint involving manuals and pedals. There follows an Adagio aria, slowing in a concluding recitative, before a capricious fugue subject, interrupted by abrupt rests, a characteristic that naturally recurs, as the four parts enter, in descending order.

MONTEVERDI Madrigals, Book 7 • Marco Longhini, dir; Delitiae Musicae • NAXOS 8.555314 (3 CDs: 162:45 Text and Translation)


Following the first six books of madrigals (30:2, 31: 2), with the rest promised in due course, Longhini’s new Book 7 was recorded in a single week using his new critical edition, the first since Malapiero’s in 1932. This is only the fourth complete recorded set of the collection that was published in 1619 as “Concerto,” preceded by Raymond Leppard issued in 1977 (3:2), Roberto Gini in 1989 (14: 1), and Claudio Cavina in 1998 (26:4). While Leppard was working on his recordings, Michel Corboz made eight LPs of madrigals drawn from all the books, including 17 of Book 7’s 29 pieces. It is remarkable that the timings of the four sets have lengthened with each new version, though the two most nearly alike (Gini and Cavina) are less than a minute apart overall. For Longhini, this is not unexpected, for the tempos in all of his previous discs have been longer than most of the alternatives.


Book 7 was the last Leppard set to appear on Philips, and the LPs were not even issued in England, perhaps because the previous sets had been received less than enthusiastically. His six complete books, recorded for Philips from 1969 to 1975, were issued in a box of eight CDs only in 1998, although in the first year of the CD EMI had reissued the much older recordings that he had made for them. There is a connection between the other two sets, for Cavina had been a member of Gini’s group (he then joined Rinaldo Alessandrini’s group, which has still not recorded Book 7, before forming his own ensemble).


Book 7 was a remarkable advance over Monteverdi’s first six books, which were all set for five voices. The title page for this book made clear the break by specifying madrigals for one, two, three, four, and six voices together with other kinds of sung works. Longhini’s notes are illuminating, for he has learned much in preparing his own edition from the 1619 edition and four reprints, as well as from the original published texts of the poems. He cites Claudio Gallico’s statement that the pieces are arranged in a “carefully calculated and finely balanced” way, setting it against Cavina’s reordering of the pieces in his recording (the only one of the four to do so). He explains in detail the errors that he has corrected not only in Malapiero’s edition but also in the original.


Longhini’s ensemble consists of seven male voices (two countertenors on the top lines) with 15 players. Each track specifies the participants. He defends the use of a countertenor in “Lettera amorosa,” more often (but by no means always) sung by a woman, for the poet himself specified that the letter is being read by the impatient writer, not the recipient. Apart from what his group sings is the matter of how the group sings. As noted in previous reviews, Longhini’s tempos reflect a preference for expression and harmonic subtlety over speed and agility. His all-male ensemble requires downward transposition. His use of instruments, optional in most of the earlier works, is no longer an issue now in works that specify them, even calling for two flutes in “A quest’olmo.” A total timing more than 15 percent slower than the other two modern sets (even greater with respect to Leppard) seems enormous, but it is not. To be sure, “A quest’olmo” is the only piece that is not the slowest of the four versions, but only three or four pieces are notably slower than the competition. This is simply a more relaxed interpretation, made more obvious only because it spills over to a third disc.


The singers are remarkably fine, and the new edition deserves close attention. His current competition, of course, is Cavina, who doubtless defends the contrast that he provides by choosing a different order for the selections. He also has a splendid group of singers and a deluxe presentation, if slightly more expensive. There are clear differences between the interpretations of Cavina and Longhini, but each is worth a serious hearing.


FANFARE: J. F. Weber

As this second volume of overtures shows, there really is quite a bit of little-known Schubert orchestral music. Perhaps the biggest discovery for many listeners will be the turbulent Overture in E minor, but there are more than a few substantial pieces here. The two Overtures in the Italian Style are delightful, and so true to their models, and all of the music here is very well played and recorded. Benda and the Prague Sinfonia deliver a particularly vivacious account of the Rosamunde Overture, just the opposite of the thick and heavy "German" approach that we so often hear, while Fierabras also has plenty of energy. The sonics capture the players very naturally, with nicely present woodwinds and excellent balances between brass and strings. No qualms here: Go for it.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Gabriel Faure' chamber works, long overshadowed by his popular Requiem, are regaining their rightful place, as the success of his Violin Sonatas and Cello Sonatas attests. Dubbed the 'Master of Charm' by Debussy, Faure responded to the quasi-orchestra.

WITT Symphony in C, “Jena.” Symphony in A. Flute Concerto in G, op. 8 • Patrick Gallois (fl, cond); Sinfonia Finlandia Jyväskylä • NAXOS 8.572089 (69:37)


Born in the same year as Beethoven, the longer-lived Friedrich Witt (1770–1836) is acknowledged today, if a bit shamefacedly, as the composer of the so-called “Jena” Symphony once attributed to Beethoven. Not a single note of the score changed between the time it was believed to be by the great Ludwig Van and when it was discovered not to be; yet critical opinion of the work plummeted like the stock market on the report of bad news. Funny how that happens—yesterday buy, today sell, though nothing but the name of the note issuer of record has changed.


Recordings of Witt’s works represent but the tip of a sizeable iceberg; fewer than 10 of his works, as far as I can tell, have been recorded. Yet he is believed to have written as many as 23 symphonies, numerous concertos for various instruments, a considerable volume of chamber music, a number of operas, and an oratorio, Der leidende Heiland (The Suffering Savior), which secured him an appointment as Kapellmeister at the court of the Prince-Bishop of Würzburg in 1802.


Prior to this, however—sometime around 1792 or 1793—while Witt was serving as cellist at the court of Oettingen-Wallerstein and taking composition lessons from Antonio Rosetti, he laid eyes upon four of Haydn’s latest “London” Symphonies—Nos. 93, 96, 97, and 98—which Haydn had sent to Wallerstein. This, according to Keith Anderson’s booklet note, and other biographical sources I’ve come across, was Witt’s moment of dawning light, a light that, paradoxically, would eventually dim his own lamp in the pages of music history. Witt’s worst “crime,” it seems, was not simply imitating Haydn to the point of near plagiarism, but doing so at a time when Beethoven was busy “liberating music” from the strictures of classical content and style, if not quite yet classical form. In other words, Witt chose the path of the arch-conservative. History thereby ended up lumping him together with the lesser contemporaries of Haydn and Mozart instead of with the lesser contemporaries of Beethoven and Schubert, whom Witt outlived by the better part of a decade. Which lumping would have been better for Witt’s posthumous reputation I’m not sure; neither changes the music he wrote.


Witt’s G-Major Flute Concerto, newly recorded here, has been recorded before. It was included on an MDG Gold disc that also contained the composer’s Sixth, so-called “Turkish,” and Ninth symphonies. Johannes Moesus led the Hamburg Symphony Orchestra, and the concerto was played by flutist Susanne Barner. That release, which I happen to have, was reviewed by Barry Brenesal in Fanfare 29:2.


As for the “Jena” Symphony, don’t believe everything you find, or don’t find, at ArkivMusic. As of this writing, the site lists only the current Naxos recording. But the work has appeared on disc before as far back as the 1950s. An LP on the Concert Hall label with Walter Goehr conducting the Netherlands Philharmonic has been transferred to CD, and there is a downloadable Deutsche Grammophon version with Franz Konwitschny. Versions on Urania with Rolf Kleinert leading the Leipzig Philharmonic and with Wolfgang Hoffmann leading the Rhineland Philharmonia on Musical Heritage Society also exist.


In hindsight, it’s hard to imagine how Witt’s “Jena” Symphony, written sometime before 1796, could ever have been mistaken for a work by Beethoven. Even Beethoven’s earliest orchestral works, namely the first two piano concertos, present an entirely different sound world from Witt’s symphony. Beethoven’s melodic contours are different, as is his way of writing for winds and of extending and developing his thematic material. Witt’s symphony is pure Haydn. Listen to the first movement’s second theme beginning at 2:13. In shape and style, it’s close to a dead ringer for the first movement’s second theme in Haydn’s D-Major Symphony No. 93, which was one of the four “London” Symphonies that Witt had access to at Oettingen-Wallerstein.


The Adagio likewise proceeds in Haydnesque melodic phrases and harmonic gestures, while the Menuetto is big on formal flourishes, curtsies, and that big ballroom-band sound common to so many of Haydn’s minuet movements. It contains none of the sprinting, whiplash elements that, in Beethoven’s hands, would transform the minuet into a scherzo. The last movement, a spirited Allegro, would have brought a London audience to its feet, just as Haydn’s finales did. If you love Haydn (and who doesn’t?), and his 106 symphonies aren’t enough for you, you can listen to Witt’s “Jena” Symphony and pretend it’s Haydn’s 107th, or you can listen to it and appreciate it for what it is, the work of a master copycat.


The A-Major Symphony, written perhaps a year or two before the “Jena,” seems somehow lighter and fleeter of foot. A passage or two in the first movement sounds as if it’s about to lapse into the bubbly, scintillating passagework one hears in Mozart’s “Linz” Symphony. The one surprise Witt has in store for us is that he places his Menuetto in second position, before the Andante. Though not unprecedented—Haydn did it in his C-Major Symphony No. 32—the practice was uncommon before 1830. Beethoven, in fact, didn’t reverse the order of the two inner movements in any of his symphonies until the Ninth, though it’s arguable whether the Eighth even has a slow movement at all.


Though Haydn wrote close to four dozen concertos for various instruments, the medium was not his in the way it was Mozart’s, and Witt seemed instinctively to realize this, turning instead to Mozart’s concertos as the model for his own G-Major Flute Concerto of 1806. With so few of Witt’s works available on record, it would be rash to say that this concerto is his crowning achievement. I think it’s safe to say, however, that it displays a wealth of melodic invention, ample virtuosic challenges for the soloist, a richness of orchestral writing, and an originality of ideas that seemed lacking in the symphonies. With as fine a flute concerto as this, I’m surprised that flutists aren’t lining up to add it to their repertoires.


Until I received this recording, I thought that Susanne Barner on the aforementioned MDG disc was perfectly fine, but compared to renowned flutist Patrick Gallois on this new Naxos CD, she sounds rather laid-back and a bit mechanical in her delivery. Gallois sparkles and tosses off Witt’s arpeggios, runs, and roulades with panache. The Sinfonia Finlandia Jyväskylä, under Gallois’s direction, also sounds more spirited and alert, not to mention better recorded than the Hamburgers under Moesus.


Taking that into account, along with the fact that this, to my knowledge, is the only modern recording currently available of Witt’s “Jena” Symphony, Gallois becomes the entry of choice. A selling point of the MDG is that it contains two of Witt’s other symphonies not duplicated on the current disc. So, I shall be keeping both; but for those wanting to sample Witt’s work that has netted the most ink—the “Jena”—and what may be one of his most masterly works—the flute concerto—Naxos’s CD is a no-brainer and a bargain to boot.


FANFARE: Jerry Dubins


Hands up who has heard of Friedrich Witt. Not many probably, for Witt seldom even makes it to the footnotes of musical history books. His main claim to fame is that his Symphony in C major - which is the first work on this recording - was once mistakenly attributed to Beethoven. In the early 1900s musical researchers uncovered the score and found the master’s name written next to two parts of the manuscript. Remembering that Beethoven himself had intimated that he had once attempted a symphony in C, the researchers put two and two together and got it wrong. It was left to H.C. Robbins Landon to prove that the work was really by Witt, a cellist and composer from Wallerstein.

Nevertheless, the Naxos tradition of bringing the obscure to light has paid off in this recording. The three works presented give a fascinating insight into the kind of music that was being written in the tin-pot courts of Germany while the likes of Beethoven were developing revolutionary new means of expression in Vienna. This does not mean that the music is poor. Quite the opposite. It is bold and attractive stuff.

The C major symphony (nicknamed ‘Jena’ after the city’s university, where the manuscript was discovered in 1909) was composed in 1796 and is clearly influenced by Haydn. This is no coincidence. It is known that in 1792 or 1793 Haydn sent four of his London symphonies - Nos. 93, 96, 97 and 98 - to Wallerstein, where Witt must have seen them. The opening allegro is upbeat and playful, with a touch of Haydn wit. The ensuing ‘Adagio cantabile’ contains an attractive melody, while the finale is a fast-paced race to the finish that makes good use of the comparatively large orchestra at Witt’s disposal - including timpani and trumpets, as well as flute, oboes, bassoons, horns and strings.

The Symphony in A major is less riveting. Written about six years earlier, it lacks Haydn’s positive influence and is hemmed in by simple and rather restrictive sonata-form structures. The Flute Concerto in G is much more satisfying. This work was published in 1806 and benefits from a fuller, heavier, orchestral sound. Nevertheless, it still inhabits the sound-world of Haydn and Mozart rather than ‘Eroica’ Beethoven. Patrick Gallois ably tackles the tricky flute solos while simultaneously conducting the Sinfonia Finlandia Jyväskylä. There is a quasi-Romantic opening to the second movement, followed by a fine flute melody which is developed and decorated. But the final Rondo brings us safely back to the late eighteenth century.

-- John-Pierre Joyce, MusicWeb International

Thierry Lancino' vast Requiem is a challenging and eloquent contemplation on human mortality which the composer describes as 'both an epic fresco and sacred ceremony'. in a paradox which brings the Christian into dialogue with the Pagan, Lancino presents.

The places visited include St Petersburg, Peter the Great's new westward-looking capital, and the traditional capital, Moscow. In Ukraine we see Odessa with the famous Potemkin Steps and something of the surrounding countryside of a region that for long offered holiday resorts to those living in Moscow or St Petersburg.

Although his brief life prevented him from being particularly prolific (he died in 1950, aged 55), E.J. Moeran was a fine composer with a distinctive and very attractive voice. It’s odd that his music hasn’t received more acclaim. After all, there are plenty of French and Spanish composers, including Falla, Dukas, and Mompou, who wrote very little and yet get plenty of attention. Moeran certainly was in their league in his best work, and both the Cello Concerto and the Serenade belong in that category.

Composed for his wife, Peers Coetmore, the concerto is suffused with the spirit of Irish folk song, but also contains an edge to the harmony that places it far beyond the droopy musings of the English “cow pat” school. Guy Johnston’s playing here is as fine as in any version yet recorded; and with tempos marginally fleeter than the competition on Chandos, this version may well become the reference recording for the work. Credit for that certainly goes equally to JoAnn Falletta, who also offers the scintillating neo-classical Serenade in its original version containing eight movements instead of the usual six.

The program concludes with two charming miniatures, Whythorne’s Shadow, and Lonely Waters, the latter with its folk-song motto sung quite prettily at the end by Rebekah Coffey (there’s also a purely orchestral version). Excellent, well-balanced engineering completes this wholly recommendable release.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Wilhelm Friedmann Bach was significant in developing the relatively new keyboard sonata form between the baroque and classical periods. Combining stylistic elements from his father's generation and his own, the ambitious Sonata in D major was admired as "the most significant before Beethoven". The scale of the substantial Sonata in F for two keyboard instruments, one of WF Bach's best-known compositions, is such that it is sometimes referred to as a Concerto. Julia Brown's recordings give WF Bach's keyboard works "a liberty and sense of fun and engagement that make the music come alive".

Le Roi et le fermier made Pierre-Alexandre Monsigny famous in France and beyond. Set in an evocative and at times stormy Sherwood Forest it tells of a King's encounter with a humble farmer, blending comedy with serious issues. It's numerous innovations foreshadow Romanticism, making it a milestone in operatic history, with librettist Michel-Jean Sedaine admiring Monsigny's daring in taking "the risk of setting a new genre to music". "This production should be noted and remembered in the annals of Versailles, for the intelligence of it's staging, the beauty of it's sets, and it's high musical quality."

The music on this disc, which is unfailingly attractive, certainly communicates with the listener directly and strongly.

That communication with the listener is undoubtedly enhanced by the performances of Commotio. Their singing is technically excellent and they consistently demonstrate complete commitment to the music. I was very interested to see that the producer of this disc is Nigel Short, the conductor of Tenebrae and a former colleague of Bob Chilcott in The King’s Singers. If it was daunting for Matthew Berry and his choir to have two highly experienced singers and choral conductors… Short and his engineer Will Brown have ensured that the recorded sound is excellent: clear, atmospheric and beautifully balanced.

I think this delightful disc will enhance the musical side of Christmas for a lot of people.

– John Quinn, MusicWeb International

Edvard Grieg and his librettist Bjurnstjerne Bjurnson were both fascinated by a great period in Norway's past: The Viking Age, whose sagas, and fierce conflicts between Christianity and the old Norse religion, inspired all three of Grieg's works recorded here. Landkjenning depicts the moment when Olav Trygvason (960s-1000) and his men sight the Norwegian coast for the first time on their voyage from England to Norway. As King from 995 to 1000, Olav worked single-mindedly to Christianize Norway. Conceived as a true Norwegian national opera, but left unfinished, the three scenes from Olav Trygvason explore pagan rituals and tributes to the Norse gods in anticipation of King Olav's entrance into the pagan temple. Includes the world premiere recording of Edmund Neupert's Resignation orchestrated by Grieg.

As the excellently written notes to this release point out, Beck probably would be far more highly regarded today had he not give up symphonic composition in the mid 1760s, turning his attention instead to that black hole of musical ambition: opera. The three works that constitute his Op. 4 (and the six of Op. 3) are quite wonderful, full of imaginative ideas, shapely forms, and effective orchestration. Consider the finale of Op. 4 No. 3, with its unusual harmonic scheme, tricky rhythm, and dynamic contrasts. It was the ability to make his music interesting by characterizing multiple parameters simultaneously that gives Beck’s symphonies their special kick, and allows them to be compared favorably to middle-period Haydn.

The principal competition for this release comes from CPO, and its set of Op. 3/4 played by La Stagione Frankfurt. Those performances employ period instruments, and these do not, but they are every bit as good. The strings play with appropriate rhythmic verve and (typically) smoother timbre, while the harpsichord continuo remains happily where it belongs–in the background. The oboes have a sweet tone characteristic of the Czech school of woodwind playing, and the horns blend well with them. Czech horn playing tends to be softer and more mellow in sonority then most modern schools, and I have to wonder if this is not in fact more “authentic” than the brassy, brazen tone typical of so many period instrument groups.

Whatever the reality, conductor Marek Stilec leads with well-jedged tempos and brings plenty of life to the music–energy without crudeness. This release will give a great deal of pleasure to anyone interested in the best symphonic works of the early classical period.

-- David HurwitzClassicsToday.com

Much decorated by his native country, António Pinho Vargas, originally best known for his jazz performances, is now one of Portugal’s leading classical composers. His instrumental and film music has won numerous awards, and his chamber works have been performed by some of the world’s leading ensembles. In turning to the sacred, Pinho Vargas has crafted music of moving declamatory power. He has organized Judas into five specific scenes with an epilogue, whilst the Requiem is a very personal and powerful reply, in the composer’s words, ‘to a history of numerous works of the past’.

Dvorák’s Requiem seems to be making a comeback, with new recordings by Järvi, Jansons, and best of all, this one by Antoni Wit, featuring the excellent Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra and Choir and four first-class soloists. It’s not an easy work to bring off as far as requiems go. Less histrionic than the Berlioz, less operatic than the Verdi, the work is symphonic in conception and structure, with a chromatic “death” motive that runs through most of its movements, and tightly integrated textures requiring careful balances between the soloists, choir, and orchestra.

The work’s architecture is impressive: two parts, each containing a central pillar marked off by repetitions of a big chorus, the Dies irae in Part One, and the Quam olim Abrahae (the catchiest choral fugue in the entire 19th century) in Part Two. That Dvorák was clearly thinking in terms of balance and large-scale structure is shown by his placement of the Pie Jesu between the Sanctus and the Agnus Dei. Normally it forms part of the Dies irae sequence, but here it represents an island of repose before the large-scale, recapitulatory finale, while bringing the timing of the second part more in line with the first.

One of the most interesting things about the Requiem is that, unlike almost all of its predecessors, it does not end with a vision of consolation. In fact, the conclusion is remarkably unsentimental, even grim, with Dvorák returning to the “death” motive and staying in a minor key right up to the final bar. Conceptually it’s more like Mahler’s Sixth, with its “fate” motives, than virtually any other contemporary work, and this fact may account for the music’s comparative neglect. It is, without question, a masterpiece.

Hitherto there have been two great recordings: Ancerl’s on Supraphon, and Kertesz’s on Decca. This one effortlessly joins them. Wit just may be the best conductor around these days for big choral works such as this (remember his knockout Mahler Eighth). He finds more ear-catching detail in the music than anyone else has to date. Even the biggest climaxes of the Dies irae never turn thick and heavy. The flowing tempos certainly help, but there is throughout a remarkable clarity to the textures that reveals a real podium master directing a first-class ensemble.

The soloists, who have a lot to do, are also uniformly excellent. In Christiane Libor we have a soprano with plenty of heft to the voice without a hint of shrillness; tenor Daniel Kirch never sounds like he’s crooning; Janusz Monarcha is a real bass, with no trace of wobble anywhere in his tone, while Ewa Wolak never sounds like she’d be better off taking the contralto lead in Gilbert and Sullivan. They are marvelous both singly and as a group, particularly in the mostly solo Recordare. First class engineering makes this a wonderfully satisfying release that hopefully will win many new friends for this powerfully expressive and masterful work.

– David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

The works on this recording embrace a varied miscellany of Peter Maxwell Davies’ orchestraloutput from the early 1990s. The ‘choreographic poem’ The Beltane Fire pits the sternness of theReformation clergy against the pagan traditions of the Orkney Islands. Concerned withenvironmental pollution, The Turn of the Tide ultimately reaches “a triumphant dance of allcreation”, while the Threnody and Pavan are poignant memorial tributes for significant figuresin the composer’s life.

No, it’s not the title of new horror flick. Swanwhite and The Lizard remain two of Sibelius least known incidental scores, here played in their complete original versions. As is often the case with these works, the suite that Sibelius made from his Swanwhite music is far more satisfying then the original score. The augmented orchestration for the suite, especially the important part for harp, adds tremendously to the music’s appeal, especially in a piece where that instrument gets mentioned all over the place but had to be left out of the theatrical version for reasons of economy (the original used only thirteen instruments, but the strings are intelligently padded even here). Still, there are plenty of extended bits as initially conceived and the music itself is really, really lovely.

Sibelius never made a suite out of The Lizard, and for good reason. It would have been nearly impossible. The score consists of two movements: a three-minute Adagio followed by a twenty-two minute Grave, both scored for strings. There’s very little actual music here: it’s all atmosphere and repetition of brief melodic patterns. It is, in short, background music, probably perfect for its intended use, and pretty good at home too if you need something moody that never forces you to pay attention. And as always with Sibelius’ string writing, Segerstam’s performance is gorgeous. It’s not often recalled that Segerstam was himself a violinist of considerable ability in his youth, and he pays a great deal of attention to the orchestral string sections in all of his recordings, to excellent effect.

A Lonely Ski Trail and The Countess’ Portrait are both poetic recitations for narrator and strings. I truly loathe spoken text over music, but Riho Eklundh has a very pleasant, mellow voice, and I find Swedish fun to listen to because it sounds like it ought to be in English but, obviously, it isn’t and you’re left wondering why what you are hearing makes no sense. For example, the opening line of A Lonely Ski Trail, “Ett ensamt skidspar” (with a little circle thing over the “a” in “skidspar”), sounds just like someone saying in English “And in some cheap sport.” It’s fun. So is this beautifully played and recorded ongoing series more generally.

-- David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

Leif Segerstam directs all this material with unhurried authority, abundant perception and heaps of character. Likewise, his willing Turku colleagues are with him every step of the way. Admirable production values and useful notes, too. A job well done.

- Gramophone Magazine

One of the pioneers of the 20th-century resurrection of interest in the harpsichord was the great virtuoso Wanda Landowska who assisted in the development of a harpsichord built by Pleyel of Paris. Performing on a 1930s Pleyel harpsichord, Christopher Lewis has chosen a program of 20th-century works by French or French-based composers. Poulenc's colourful Suite française is followed by Françaix's exciting and previously unrecorded Deux Pièces. Martinu's lyricism and intensity of expression can be heard in the Sonata and other pieces while Louis Durey's piquant Dix Inventions is both a homage to Bach's Two-Part Inventions and a work whose compositional technique is firmly rooted in the modern era.

The great hit at Venice's San Moise theatre in the autumn season of 1810 was Pietro Generali's Adelina. This 'melodramma sentimentale' was the latest work by an important contemporary of Rossini, who enjoyed a vogue in early nineteenth-century Italy. The plot concerns the trials of a girl who is seduced and abandoned by her lover, Erneville, has a child out of wedlock, and is rejected by her father who, thanks to the intervention of a kindly friend, then forgives her after she marries Erneville. Brimming with vivacious writing, Adelina reflects powerful cultural attitudes in vogue in early nineteenth-century Italy.