The five works that make up this recording were all inspired by Cervantes' masterpiece Don Quijote de la Mancha. Barbieri' incidental music was composed as part of the first official commemoration, in 1861, of the anniversary of Cervantes' death.

Polish by birth, Alexandre Tansman settled in France, a major influence on his composition. He was a close associate of Stravinsky, particularly during his war-time exile in America. Tansman favored the clarinet, in particular, among wind instruments.

STRAVINSKY Violin Concerto. 1 Zvezdolikiy. 2 Symphonies of Wind Instruments. 3 Le sacre du printemps (1911-1913; 1947/1967) 4 • Robert Craft, cond; Jennifer Frautschi (vn); 1 Gregg Smith Singers; 2 O of St. Luke’s; 2 20th Century Classics Ens; 3 Philharmonia O • NAXOS 8.557508 (67:42)


The first thing that strikes one about this disc is the marvelous sound of the orchestra; Craft achieves a balance of chamber and orchestral character that fits the Violin Concerto perfectly. Of course the musicians and engineering team deserve credit, too, but it is Craft’s vision, understanding, and ability to get exactly what he wants that make the difference. The composer’s 1960 stereo recording with Isaac Stern is rhythmically square (and Stern’s energetic playing is sabotaged by ugly recorded sound), whereas Craft swings nicely. Stravinsky’s 1930s performance with Samuel Dushkin is closer to this one. If I seem to be favoring Craft over Stravinsky as an interpreter and conductor of the latter’s music, so be it. Now in his eighties, Craft is surpassing most of his former efforts, and many of these Naxos recordings stand as the finest of all. I am reminded of the truism that Schoenberg’s works suffered from being so badly played for half a century: well, so did many of Stravinsky’s, beginning with the works immediately following the big three ballets. Craft’s recent Les noces , for example, is superior to any earlier recording.


Getting back to the Violin Concerto, Frautschi is a superb young violinist who has specialized in 20th- and 21st-century music. She plays the bright yet silky “ex-Cadiz” Stradivarius, which stands out from the ensemble or fits right in, as required. Whether Frautschi or Craft is driving this performance doesn’t matter; the results are wonderful: savory, clean, punchy, and yet light. I am thoroughly beguiled by Itzhak Perlman’s beautiful playing of this Concerto on DG, and by the Boston Symphony’s eloquent accompaniment, but this performance does the piece more justice.


Zvezdolikiy is better known by its French title, Le roi des étoiles (“King of the Stars”), but Craft translates it as “The Star-Faced One.” I think I’ve encountered this recording before, but I can’t place it—this series petered out on two other labels (MusicMasters, Koch International) before Naxos came to its rescue. No matter: this is a fine reading by excellent forces, very well recorded. The booklet offers an English text. Craft plays the original score of Symphonies of Wind Instruments (the composer led the simplified 1947 version in Sony’s “The Recorded Legacy”) and makes it sound surprisingly mellow, at one point almost jolly.


Stravinsky was always touching up his music, every time he performed anything. My Boosey & Hawkes score of Le sacre says “Revised 1947, Re-engraved edition 1967,” which I think means only that this 1990s publication duplicates a 1967 one. Of course a Stravinsky- or Craft-led performance needn’t be limited by a published score. Oh well, thought I, Craft’s always brilliant, always fascinating program notes will explain all. But Craft writes only a “chronicle” of the composition and early performances, never getting past April 6, 1914. Whatever “1911–1913; 1947/1967” means, this performance sounds as if most of the awkward moments have been cleaned up, but the baby has been thrown out with the bath water. The orchestral playing is less vibrant than that of the London Symphony in Craft’s 1995 Koch recording, which later appeared on Naxos ( Fanfare 29:3). A too-warm recording doesn’t help; timpani and bass drums are a bit distant and muffled, which will never do in this music. In the final Sacrificial Dance, the playing becomes a bit sloppy. I note that this performance lasts 33:41, the earlier one 31:58; the difference is certainly noticeable. Both performances were recorded at Abbey Road Studio 1, this one in 2006. Perhaps the revised score explains why modern performances seldom thrill the way early ones did (and still do), in particular Salonen’s recent Los Angeles Philharmonic SACD spectacular being less satisfying than Stravinsky’s cramped, monaural 1940 recording with the New York Philharmonic.


At Naxos prices, you can afford to buy this CD just for the Concerto.


FANFARE: James H. North

A top-quality conclusion to a series which has given some brilliant and idiosyncratic music.

This disc is announced as the final instalment of Gilbert Rowland’s Naxos cycle of the complete Sonatas for Harpsichord by Padre Antonio Soler. I haven’t heard all of the earlier volumes, so I won’t attempt any kind of comprehensive statement about the project as a whole, but my impression, for what it’s worth, is that the series has got better and better as it has gone on. I agree with Patrick Waller (see his review of Volume 12) that the recorded sound has improved in later volumes; it was rather clattery and echoing on some of the early discs, but there are certainly no problems with the sound on this final volume. My sense is also that Gilbert Rowland has come to sound more and more at home with the music, his playing increasingly relaxed, his phrasing more flexible and his range of tonal colours more various. Whether or not these (remembered) impressions are correct, what I can say with some confidence is that this final disc is full of exciting and exhilarating music, played with considerable panache.

Spanish musical traditions are, of course, a central element in Soler’s harpsichord music; traditional Spanish dance rhythms are very clearly audible in the almost seven minutes of the central allegro (marked ‘assai spiritoso’) of Sonata 66, played here with sympathetic (and technically assured) flair; Spanish idioms are also very much to the fore in the opening Cantabile of Sonata 60. At times (as in Sonata 76) the influence of Domenico Scarlatti, Soler’s erstwhile teacher is evident. But Soler clearly listened rather more widely - at times the music prompts one to think of C.P.E. Bach.

Elsewhere, Soler’s fugues would satisfy all but the most pedantically rigorous of Germanic theorists. The fugal third movement of Sonata 66 is a delight, though some of its modulations might perhaps upset that hypothetical pedantic theorist; surely even he (or she?) would find little to complain about in the ‘intento a 4’ which closes Sonata 68, beautifully worked out and technically very accomplished.

But if Soler could be ‘correct’, he could also be somewhat shocking. The allegro in 6/8 of Sonata 60 is full of unexpected leaps and begins with some unconventional harmonies (“almost Bartókian” says Rowland in his characteristically useful booklet notes) that even now retain some of their power to startle.

Rowland responds to the range of this music and, on this disc at any rate, plays it with real innerness. At times here, as on some of the earlier volumes, I wondered whether one or two of the pieces might not work better still on the organ, but that is a quibble which shouldn’t detract from our gratitude to Rowland and to Naxos for the completion of this substantial project. I believe that the only sonatas by Soler which were ever published during the Eighteenth Century were those which appeared as XXVII Sonatas para clave, published around 1796 by Richard Birchall of London. So there is an aptness in the choice of a British (Rowland was born in Glasgow) harpsichordist as the protagonist for this series. In this final disc he plays a two manual instrument by Andrew Wooderson, made in 2005 and modelled on 1750 instrument from the Goermans workshop in Paris – and with its bright (but not excessively so) sound and clear articulation it enables Rowland to do something like full justice to this engaging music.

-- Glyn Pursglove, MusicWeb International

Interpretative excellence once again from Koukl.

The third volume of Giorgio Koukl’s survey of Martin?’s piano music is as successful as the previous two. In my review of the second disc of the series I described some of the differences between Koukl’s approach and that of Emil Leichner, whose Supraphon set of the piano music (not quite the complete piano music) has been something of a benchmark set for many years now. Koukl tends to etch rhythms with greater incision and Leichner tends to a greater sense of reflectiveness. This is certainly a crudely suggestive way of approaching these two important readings of the piano music but for the purposes of this review it does indicate the divergences of approach that both men bring to bear. It may also help direct you if you wish to follow one or the other – though of course there are a number of other discs by other pianists worthy of note.

The Sonata is the most important work here. Koukl is sensitive to the Poco allegro marking here whilst Leichner prefers to emphasise the Allegro rather at the expense of the poco. I suspect this is to mitigate what Leichner may have detected as structural problems and to vest the opening with a powerful drive so as to balance the concluding Adagio. Leichner certainly makes the most of the contrasts here, despite the relative speed, and though his overall timing is very similar to Koukl’s the distribution amongst the three individual movements is very different. Though Leichner manages to find light and shade in his opening movement Koukl’s greater deliberation pays dividends. And he finds just the right sense of starkness and deliberation in that powerful Adagio finale which he plays with gravity and singular intensity.

The depth of Koukl’s bass is palpable in the Fantasie et Toccata. Its immediacy is arresting and stresses the abrupt dynamism of the writing. Koukl’s playing here locates the imperturbable violence and threat in the writing – it was written in 1940 after all. This is a more intensive and tensile approach than Leichner’s rather more skittish neo-classicism, though one wouldn’t want to underestimate Leichner’s determined commitment to the bellicose writing. Koukl certainly brings the edginess and brittle attacks of the Toccata very much to the fore. This is valiant and perceptive playing indeed, emphasised by the very immediate nature of the studio recording.

After these two powerful and important statements we turn to the Etudes and Polkas – lighter fare written in 1945. These brief and expert pieces – none lasting longer than three minutes - bring out Koukl’s instinct for rhythmic vivacity and alluring tone. As one might expect he’s generally – not always but usually – faster than Leichner and this brings advantages in terms of terpsichorean vitality. Curiously Leichner feels the Pastorale of the First Volume rather faster than Koukl – I thought it would be the other way around. The three Czech Dances round off the programme and Koukl, Prague born, knows all about them. He can do the Obkro?ák with the best of them.

Interpretative excellence once again from Koukl - and so volume four is awaited with anticipation.

-- Jonathan Woolf, MusicWeb International

A golden opportunity to make the acquaintance of some of the most spirited music of the late 18th century.

Domenico Cimarosa is regarded as one of the foremost Italian opera composers during the second part of the 18th century. He vied with Salieri and Paisiello, the latter said to have been intriguing against Cimarosa, just as there is said to have been animosity between Mozart and Salieri. Cimarosa grew up near Naples, where his family later moved. There he was able to get a good education, not only in music. When he was 23 he got his first commission to write an opera, a buffa entitled Le stravaganze del conte, the overture to which is on this disc. It was a success, as was his next essay in the genre. Soon he was sought after throughout Italy. In the mid-1780s he moved to Florence and in 1787 received an invitation from Empress Catherine II of Russia to come to St Petersburg, where he stayed four years. In 1792 he moved to Vienna on an invitation from Emperor Leopold II and there produced his masterpiece, Il matrimonio segreto, which is regarded as one of the best buffa operas ever. Today his reputation rests practically only on this work, which is still performed. It is also famous in the history books for being so appreciated by the Emperor that the company had to reprise the whole work the same evening. This disc presents the overture in a world premiere recording of the Vienna version which is longer than the established version.

Cimarosa later returned to Naples, where he was politically active in the liberal party and was condemned to death. Through influential friends this sentence was commuted to banishment. He planned to go back to St Petersburg but his health deteriorated quickly and he died in Venice in 1801.

His list of works is impressive and only his operas, most of them in the buffa genre, come to close to one hundred. Even though most of them are forgotten today there are occasional revivals. I was lucky enough to catch a performance of Il mereato di Malmantile in Dubrovnik more than thirty years ago. There I also heard and saw the short intermezzo giocoso Il maestro di cappella for bass-baritone and orchestra, hilariously sung and acted by the great Sesto Bruscantini.

Cimarosa’s music is light and melodic, very often with a joyous atmosphere. He was a skilled orchestrator, even though he lacked the individuality and the psychological insight of Mozart. On the surface the two are rather similar and Mozart lovers should find Cimarosa to their liking.

The twelve overtures on this disc – and there is obviously more to come since this one is marked ‘vol. 1’ – are mainly lively and energetic and make a good evening’s listen. It is not wall-paper music, since there are always attractive things to keep the listener alert. It can be an unexpected turn of a phrase here or a sudden general pause. It is no wonder, to judge from the overture, that his debut opera Le stravaganze del conte, became a success, since it is truly infectious, fizzing along at rollicking speed. The Matrimonio segreto overture starts surprisingly solemn for a buffa with the first chords sounding almost like Die Zauberflöte, but then Cimarosa lets his hair down in his accustomed manner. This Vienna version differs in several ways from what we normally hear: among other things there is an oboe solo as the second theme which was omitted later. For a good recording of that version – and a superb reading of the complete opera – I strongly recommend Barenboim’s recording on DG (review).

For Il ritorno di Don Calendrino Cimarosa composed an extra long overture, partly through recycling the overture from L’Armida imaginara and adding two new movements, a beautiful Andantino and a spirited concluding Allegro.

There is enough variation in the music to allow the disc to spin until the end without the need for a pause – partly of course since it spans a period of twenty years, during which the composer undoubtedly developed. High-spirited most of it is but he also writes a slow mid-section in the Il convito overture, where there is a fine French horn solo.

Alessandro Amoretti is well versed in the music of this period and Esterházy Sinfonia is a splendid modern instrument ensemble. The producer/engineer couple Ibolya Tóth and János Bohus have also done a good job with the sonics.

Since there is probably little chance to hear these overtures live and since other recordings are in short supply this is a golden opportunity to make the acquaintance of some of the most spirited music of the late 18th century.

-- Göran Forsling, MusicWeb International

The Naxos Deutsche Schubert-Lied-Edition: Schubert set the poetry of over 115 writers to music. He selected poems from classical Greece, the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, from eighteenthcentury German authors, early Romantics and Biedermeier poets.

With his Four Seasons, Antonio Vivaldi created perhaps the most famous and influential work of late Baroque music. Even today, his imaginative solutions to the challenges of depicting the seasons in music are completely compelling in their evocative power. Recorded in the Concert Hall of the State Chamber Orchestra, Zilina.

SCHOENBERG 6 Songs, op. 8. 1 Friede auf Erden. 2 6 Pieces, op. 35. 3 Ei, du Lütte. 4 Kol Nidre. 5 Moses und Aron: act II, sc. 3 excerpts 6 • Robert Craft, cond; Jennifer Welch-Babidge (sop); 1,6 David Wilson-Johnson (rabbi-narr); 5 Simon Joly Chorale; 2–6 Philharmonia O 1,5,6 • NAXOS 8.557525 (78:31)


It’s our job to listen carefully to every recording, but I sometimes put on a disc—for its first hearing—while doing something else, just to let its music seep into my (un?) consciousness. My immediate response was: This is Schoenberg ? Most of the Six Songs, op. 8, of 1903–04 have somehow escaped this Schoenberg-lover; they are all flat-out gorgeous. The Brahms-loving composer leaned more on Wagner here, the rich harmonies only a touch more adventurous than his. The vocal writing is thoroughly operatic; these could be six dramatic arias, each with an orchestral prelude and postlude. The orchestrations are varied and colorful, hinting at Zemlinsky and even Tchaikovsky, as well as The Ring . The results are closer to Gurrelieder than to anything else of Schoenberg. Perhaps the popularity of these songs has been limited because they are not a united song cycle but six separate works, or perhaps it’s because no one has sung them like Welch-Babidge (there are recordings by Anya Silya and by Eva Marton). I was not particularly impressed by her Marzelline in the Met’s Fidelio , but she is magnificent here, displaying full, rounded tones over a wide register and dynamic range, consistently landing on pitch across many leaps. Her voice recalls a young Phyllis Bryn-Julson, although I never heard the latter tackle dramatic writing with such a high tessitura. Each song is a major piece; they vary in length from one-and-a-half to nearly six minutes, spanning over 25 minutes altogether.


This is the a cappella original of Friede auf Erden (“Peace on Earth”), written in 1907 when Schoenberg was searching for new ways but hadn’t yet settled on any. Craft’s chorus manages the difficult music well, but the piece still fails to make much of an effect. The Six Pieces for male chorus (“Inhibitions,” “The Law,” “Expression,” “Happiness,” “Mercenaries,” and “Obligation”) are no more successful. Schoenberg wrote his own texts, which are poorly expressed pieces of vague social and religious philosophy—at least in English translation; it’s difficult to imagine what he had in mind. The music may be more interesting to analyze than to hear; Craft does so at length in his always-educational program notes. Ei, du Lütte (“Oh, you little one”) is a brief, charming chorus written when Schoenberg was 21.


With Kol Nidre (1938) we return to top-notch Schoenberg—the return of the orchestra is equally welcome. The Kol Nidre is a Jewish liturgy; Schoenberg—writing in English—had objections to the historical text, but his modifications merely served to get his piece banned from use in synagogues. This performance is sensational, putting all others I have heard to shame. Craft and the Philharmonia realize all of the music’s oddly moving details, and Wilson-Johnson, who is a singer rather than an actor, gives a superb reading of the extensive, dramatic narration, a no-holds-barred emoting which works perfectly in this wild piece.


Three excerpts from “The Golden Calf at the Altar” scene of Moses und Aron are an odd filler, as there are several top-notch presentations of the opera on disc (and a superlative one on DVD; see Fanfare 31:2, page 344). Craft matches any of them but does not offer any special insight, nor does Welch-Babidge singing the Young Girl. The best part may be Craft’s notes: “An orgy follows, but at this point the excerpt ends.” And so does the disc.


The generally excellent recordings come from six sessions held from 2003 to 2006, all at Abbey Road Studio One. The orchestral songs are very well balanced; Welch-Babidge remains in front of the orchestra, yet instrumental details are always clear, and the whole has beauty and life. An awkward splice at 1:29 of the opening song is unfortunate. A major handicap to appreciating this all-vocal disc is the lack of texts. They are available, but only in German, at www.naxos.com/libretti/557525.htm. Sony’s two-CD set of Schoenberg choral music under Boulez (44571) has German and English texts for much of this music, but not the songs for soprano.


For the orchestral songs and Kol Nidre , a Want List candidate.


FANFARE: James H. North

Patrick Gallois' contributions to Naxos' Haydn series have been some of the best, and this latest release is no exception. Symphonies 9-12 are a nicely varied lot, and rare enough on disc to make this release very useful to collectors looking to plug a gap in their Haydn discographies. The first and last have three movements (No. 9 ending with a minuet); No. 10 has the traditional four movements, and so does No. 11, but it begins with an Adagio (so-called "church-sonata form"). No. 12 features a very impressive, dramatic, minor-key Adagio that lasts some eight minutes, and has more than enough musical substance to justify its length, and the repeats.

The performances are stylish, lively, and perfectly played by the Sinfonia Finlandia, and my only criticism (once again) concerns the excessively obtrusive continuo part. Haydn didn't ask for it, the music doesn't need it, and the problem with modern performances, even purportedly "authentic" ones, is that the harpsichord player is always tempted to do too much, to fill out the part like a genuine Baroque figured bass, whereas we pretty much know that by this time any keyboard participation was likely limited to occasional bits of harmonic filler or stiffening of rhythm for ensemble purposes. This is very much a matter of individual taste, and certainly the problem, if it be such, isn't serious enough to undermine enjoyment of these well-recorded performances.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

The suites offered here present the intimate, domestic aspect of Buxtehude’s keyboard art. In each case, the allemande is the weightiest element, “the proposition in a musical suite, from which the corrente, sarabande and gique [sic] flow as parts”, in the words of Buxtehude’s grandstudent Martin Heinrich Fuhrmann. Indeed, the openings of Buxtehude’s correnti often follow the melodic contour of the allemande, and in the case of the Suite in F major, BuxWV 238, the corrente approaches an actual variation of it. The Ryge manuscript usually spells this movement “Courent” in a curious mixture of French and Italian; in fact Buxtehude usually follows the Italian corrente, with its lightly running quaver motion, rather than the more subtle French courante. Fuhrmann characterizes the sarabande as an “instrumental aria, usually eight measures, going slowly in triple”, and this is the shortest and simplest movement of a Buxtehude suite. Two of the present suites (BuxWV 226 and 233) offer a second sarabande that is not a double, or variation, of the first. The second sarabande of BuxWV 233 has a distinctly vocal quality, as opposed to the more instrumental stile brisé of the first. The gigues in Buxtehude’s suites have a more contrapuntal texture than the other movements, but they are not strictly fugal, usually dissolving into homophony after a few entrances. It is through the gigue, however, that the dance makes itself most strongly felt in the other genres of Buxtehude’s keyboard music.

The set of three variations named simply Aria, BuxWV 249, are based on the sarabande. Its second and third variations contain written-out varied repetitions of each of the sections of the binary form, demonstrating how Buxtehude might actually have performed those repetitions that he normally indicated only with repeat marks.

Buxtehude’s chorale settings for keyboard are preserved mainly in manuscripts compiled by Johann Gottfried Walther, organist in Weimar and cousin of J. S. Bach. Although most of them require two manuals and pedal, a few do not, and there is no reason why they should be confined to the church organ. One in particular seems appropriate for performance on the harpsichord: the Partita: Auf meinen lieben Gott, BuxWV 179. Here Buxtehude combines three genres, the dance suite, the variation set, and the chorale setting, to produce an unusual hybrid form, consisting of Allemande (unnamed), Double, Courante, Sarabande, and Gigue. Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, BuxWV 223, belongs to the genre of the chorale fantasy, in which each phrase of a chorale melody is developed rather extensively in a different manner. Here too the gigue makes a prominent appearance, concluding the work in a fugal treatment of the entire melody.

Buxtehude’s free keyboard works - those independent of a preexisting melody or dance pattern - are mainly transmitted in manuscripts that include both pedaliter and manualiter works. Among these, his most original and justly famous works are praeludia and toccatas in the stylus phantasticus, which intermingles highly unpredictable free sections in virtuosic and idiomatic keyboard styles with more structured fugal sections. Since organists naturally prefer the pedaliter works, those for manuals alone are much less frequently performed, thus offering rich opportunities to adventurous harpsichordists. Even in these free works one can find elements of dance and variation. In place of a second fugue, the Toccata in G major, BuxWV 165, contains a brief passage of ostinato variations that are faintly reminiscent of Pachelbel’s famous canon. Buxtehude may have conceived his canzonas as teaching pieces; they are all manualiter works, and students most often practised on the clavichord or harpsichord. They are variously titled canzon, canzonet, or fuga and consist either of a single fugue (BuxWV 225) or of three related fugues (BuxWV 166 and 176) in the manner of the variation canzona inherited from Frescobaldi and Froberger. The gigue makes an appearance yet again as the second fugue of BuxWV 166.

Kerala Snyder

Haydn’s keyboard music was at first written for the harpsichord, with later works clearly intended for the pianoforte, as dynamic markings show. His career coincided with changes in the standard keyboard instrument, as the fortepiano and then the pianoforte, with their hammer action and dynamic possibilities, gradually replaced the harpsichord and clavichord. At the same time there was a parallel change in instrumental forms, as the structure that has come to be known, among other titles, as sonata-allegro form, developed.

Unlike Mozart, a virtuoso soloist in his own piano concertos, Haydn had the usual competence of a successful professional musician of his time, able to lead the orchestras he directed from the violin, or, more commonly, from the keyboard. The demands on each composer were very different, with Mozart, particularly in the last decade of his life in Vienna, relying on his reputation as a performer and arranging his own subscription concerts, and Haydn, employed by a princely patron, with an orchestra and a theatre at his disposal, with the concomitant duties and relative security.

Before entering the service of the Esterházys Haydn had written works designed for keyboard, either harpsichord or organ, and a simple string ensemble. These now generally bear the title Concertino. The three concertos, the Concerto in F major, Hob.XVIII:3, Concerto in G major, Hob.XVIII:4 and Concerto in D major, Hob.XVIII:11, belong to a later period in Haydn’s career, a time when he was established at the palace of Eszterháza. The first of these, the Concerto in F major, was written before 1771, even as early as 1766, the date assigned to it in Haydn’s work catalogue, and the second, the Concerto in G major, Hob.XVIII:4, about 1770. Both concertos were originally scored for strings, with the horn parts in the outer movements of the Concerto in F major an apparently contemporary addition. The Concerto in G major was played in Paris in 1784 by the blind pianist Maria Theresia Paradis and was published there by Boyer, with revisions seemingly by the publisher, accretions now removed. It is scored for the usual orchestra of two oboes, two horns and strings.

The Concerto in D major, Hob.XVIII:11, similarly scored and now with the title Concerto per il clavicembalo o fortepiano, as opposed the designation ‘Oper il clavicembalo’ of the other two concertos, was once thought to be of doubtful authorship, its authenticity eventually confirmed by the discovery of a letter by Haydn to the French publisher Boyer, written in November 1784. An announcement of the new concerto by Boyer on 6th July 1784 provides a terminus ante quem non, and it was published in that year by Artaria in Vienna, by Boyer and Le Menu in Paris, by Hummel in Berlin and Amsterdam, and by Longman and Broderip in London. The work obviously enjoyed wide popularity, judging by the surviving copies from the period and its wide published dissemination. Particularly effective is the last movement, with its Hungarian Rondo. It might be added that the appearance of the Concerto in G major and the Concerto in D major aroused some contemporary scepticism, at a time when the attribution of lesser works to the famous Joseph Haydn had become too frequent.

The authenticity of the Concerto in G major, Hob.XVIII:9, has been doubted with greater justification. No original sources survive and the work was not entered into Haydn’s work-list, it is listed, however, in the Breitkopf catalogue of 1767, which at least provides a possible date before which it might have been composed. The relatively long minor key slow movement is an unusual feature for Haydn, and the concerto is scored, like the concertinos of Haydn, for harpsichord, two violins and bass.

The cadenzas for Concertos Hob.XVIII:3, 4 and 9 played here are by Sebastian Knauer, and those for Concerto Hob.XVIII:11 by Paul Badura-Skoda.

Keith Anderson

Finzi’s melancholy, rapture and nobility articulated with fidelity.

The lynchpin here is Dies Natalis. It’s the work by which many discovered Finzi in the 1960s and 1970s courtesy of Wilfred Brown’s perfect recording. There the orchestra was the English Chamber Orchestra conducted by the composer’s son Christopher Finzi. You can hear it on EMI Classics (CDM7 63372 and CDM 565588 2) keeping company with Howells’ Hymnus Paradisi.

Dies Natalis is quintessential Finzi, marrying limpid serenity of musical expression with an ecstatic-philosophical text. The theme of the poems spoke directly to Finzi: childhood as a transcendent religious experience. We can trace Wilfred Brown’s stylistic lineage back, by repute, to Eric Greene (are there any recordings?) and forwards to Ian Partridge who never recorded Dies Natalis and onwards now to James Gilchrist. Their ‘DNA’ is identifiable by intelligent and emotional engagement with the words, sharply delineated syllabic enunciation even at volume, wondrous breath control and steady tonal production. Not everyone likes these qualities; some may find the results too white and mannered. If you prefer other approaches there is no shortage of alternatives. For myself the Brown-Partridge school represents the ideal in Finzi. This disc rates very highly indeed although Gilchrist and Hill have not shaken my recommendation of Partridge and Handley (Lyrita) in the Two Sonnets and Farewell to Arms. This gently breathed Dies Natalis lovingly catches the Tallis hush and wonder of the piece. Taking one example: listen to “the corn was orient and immortal wheat” with gentle breath of the fragile violins as backdrop and played close to silence. The buoyancy and bounce of the playing is spot-on in the more exuberant passages and elsewhere the soloistic violin writing provides a silvery tracery.

Similarly compelling although more modest are the purely orchestral pieces from the warm murmur of the Nocturne to the caressingly shaped Prelude and the autumnal shiver of The Fall of the Leaf (what a title!).

I have a great affection for the two tenor and orchestra diptychs. Finding a home for them in concerts is a challenge but they subsist happily and bestow their blessings on record. Gilchrist is extremely good here but does not supplant Partridge who is softer-toned than Gilchrist when singing at pressurised volume. His identification with the words is never in doubt – listen to the way he tremulously shapes the words ‘I fondly ask’ in When I consider (the first Sonnet) but also how he rises to operatic climax at the end of How soon hath time. Also strongly and subtly done are the songs in Farewell to Arms. The words ‘rustic spade’ are fondly sung and a smile of recognition will come when Gilchrist sings ‘the ventriloquous drum’ – surely a Stanford souvenir. The unison string writing in Aria looks back with affection at Dies Natalis. The piercing ecstasy of transience returns to Finzi campground in the words “Oh time too swift / Oh swiftness never ceasing” with which the piece ends.

As for the liner notes we are in the safe and lucid hands of Andrew Burn. The sung words are not in the booklet but are available at a page on the Naxos website.

There is no direct competition for this particular combination of works on CD. You might consider mixing and matching various Lyritas (SRCD237 and SRCD239) but note that Lyrita never recorded Dies Natalis. Do not forget the Wilfred Brown on EMI.

What do I see in the far distance – is that a Finzi boxed set from Naxos?

-- Rob Barnett, MusicWeb International

Handel' oratorio Semele was composed in 1743 and tells of a beautiful mortal, whose short but spectacular love affair with Jupiter. King of the Gods, comes to a terrifying end in consequence of both her own vanity and the scheming of Jupiter' insanely.

This first volume in a projected series of Freitas Branco orchestral works nicely outlines his three principal styles. First, in the symphony, there is the influence of Franck and his school. This is so pronounced, particularly in the finale, that the result risks caricature. There is no need to describe the music in any further detail: if you love Franck's Symphony in D minor, then you'll also enjoy this work. It's a very, very good copy, closer to its model in sound and structure than many of the works of Franck's immediate contemporaries (Chausson, for example, or Dukas). If you forget the fact that the symphony was composed in 1924, you certainly would think you are hearing a French piece from the 1890s.

The Scherzo fantasque also betrays a French influence, this time of the impressionists, or perhaps Dukas, in its piquant use of a smallish orchestra with plenty of colorful percussion. Suite Alentejana No. 1 reveals Freitas Branco as an ethnic nationalist, recalling Falla, particularly in the ebullient concluding Fandango. It's a lovely work--but then all of this music is certainly worth getting to know, especially when the performances are this sympathetic and well recorded. Álvaro Cassuto is of course familiar to collectors from his series of orchestral works by Joly Braga Santos (one that I hope is ongoing--there's still come good stuff there). He's not only an authority on the Portuguese school, but he projects his knowledge of the composers and their various idioms with unfailing enthusiasm and stylishness, making this latest release an easy recommendation.

--David Hurwitz, ClassicsToday.com

While Max Reger's A minor String Trio and D minor Piano Quartet offer little in the way of truly memorable tunes, their restless harmonic density consistently holds your attention and keeps you guessing. The Aperto players favor the musical equivalent of broad-brush strokes in the Trio by way of frequent dynamic swells and emphatic inflections of phrase. This creates a diverse and intensified tonal palette that wonderfully suits the slow movement's overcast mood and spacious time scale, as well as emphasizing the Allegro con moto finale's frequently unpredictable modulations. Yet the latter movement benefits more from the Manheimmer Quartet members' lighter, suppler bow work and greater expressive economy. Similarly, the Aperto's slower, earthier Scherzo significantly differs from the Mannheimer's brisk, conversational interpretation.

Close-up engineering underlines the big D minor Piano Quartet's symphonic dimensions, as well as creating a kind of aural fatigue that allows little textural variety. Moreover, the ensemble's frequent ritards at cadences (in addition to those that Reger indicates) impedes the outer movements' flow. This does not take anything away from each musician's obvious mastery, to say nothing of the physical and psychic stamina needed to get through any major Reger opus all in one piece. As such, Reger fans will welcome a chance to sample, and perhaps savor, these fascinating, seldom-heard works.

--Jed Distler, ClassisToday.com

Will appeal strongly to all interested in Tippett’s chamber music.

There are only two recordings of the complete Michael Tippett String Quartets currently available. The Lindsays concluded their cycle in 1992, with the first three having been recorded in 1975. For many years, apart from the odd chamber concert or private hearing, their cycle has been the only medium for exploring these seminal works. And excellent they are too. However, all Tippett enthusiasts will be delighted that the eponymous Quartet has been selected by Naxos to make a new reading of these superb pieces.

The Tippett Quartet, which was formed a decade ago, has rapidly become one of Britain’s leading string quartets. Their ‘mission statement’ is to combine so-called mainstream repertoire with contemporary works. They have recently made recordings for Dutton Epoch of music by Cecilia McDowall and Stephen Dodgson. These have been well received. Naturally, as their name implies, they have a ‘soft spot’ for Tippett’s music.

Since hearing the first three Quartets way back in 1975, I have agreed with commentators that these works are critical to an understanding of Tippett. The Fourth and Fifth Quartets chart the composer’s progress into a different soundscape, but remain essential to an appreciation of his career.

The first volume of this Naxos release contrasts the first two ‘lyrical’ Quartets with the much more dissonant Fourth, which was written in 1977-78.

The programme notes point out that Michael Tippett, as a student, was ‘invincibly’ drawn to the quartet medium after hearing performances in London by the Busch and the Lener ensembles. He is known to have written a number of unpublished quartets in the late 1920s. However it was the Quartet in A major that was the first work in the genre to be accepted as part of Tippett’s canon. It appeared in its original form in 1935. In 1943 it was revised, being reduced from four movements to three. The composer had felt that the first two were unsuccessful. He composed a new ‘allegro appassionato’, which clearly reflects the composer’s admiration of Beethoven. The slow movement is truly beautiful. It is ‘cast in the form of an Elizabethan Pavane’ and Tippett describes this music as being ‘almost unbroken lines of lyric song for all the instruments in harmony’. The final movement is an enthusiastic allegro which is really a fugue – although without the pedantic overtones that such a form may suggest. This fugue is perhaps more redolent of Beethoven than J.S. Bach.

The Second String Quartet builds on the success of the first and once again owes much of its ethos to Beethoven. It has been well described as being ‘lithe and dancing’. Certainly lyricism is one of the hallmarks of this work. One reviewer suggested that the key designation of F# major should not put off atonalists from enjoying this quartet. Contrariwise, those who enjoy traditional key relationships should not assume that Tippett will oblige them: certainly the work begins in F# minor and concludes in the tonic major, as does the second movement fugue. However, a better impression is gained if it is assumed that Tippett has designed a work that hovers around the ‘noted’ key rather than using it as a part of the work’s tonal structure. Yet the composer himself states that this quartet is the most classically balanced of the first three. At first glance it would appear to be written in standard four-movement form. However the composer insists that the “standard is juggled with and moved around.”

This work ought to rank as one of the finest examples of a twentieth century string quartet. It seems unbelievable that there are only two or three recordings of this currently available. The Second Quartet was first performed in 1943.

The first time I heard the Fourth Quartet, I admit that I was not impressed. Its style seemed a million miles away from the Tippett that I knew and loved. This included the Double Concerto, the first two Quartets, the A Midsummer Marriage and A Child of our Time. I realised that there was a more complex and dissonant side to Tippett’s art – having ploughed my way through a recording of the Vision of St Augustine. I remember hearing the first performance of the Fourth Symphony at the Royal Albert Hall and feeling it was just not what I imagined or hoped what it would be like. It was harder to come to terms with than the blues-influenced Third Symphony. That was all a very long time ago: music, like life, sorts itself out. What was difficult listening for me in 1978 now seems quite reasonable and even enjoyable. Moreover, the same can be said of the Fourth Quartet. Listening to this work for the first time in many years I was impressed by both the sound-world and its formal balance. Tippett has written many, to my mind, obscure and obtuse words about his compositional ethos. Sometimes this can be of help, but more often that not it is a hindrance to an appreciation of the music. The programme notes point out that in this present work Tippett was exploring “the compositional potential of one-movement form, using it a metaphor for the cycle of life.” Here, this life is a specifically human one, and that of a certain individual. Over and above this emotional programme, the composer was attempting to attain the ‘purity and tenderness’ of Beethoven.

The sleeve-notes gives quite a long analysis of this work – which deserves study. However the key thing to note is that there is much beauty in this work – in spite of the reputation this work has for dissonance. And finally, the work is really conceived as being in one movement – as opposed to the earlier works. The Quartet has a number of sections, which contrast tempi, and to a certain extent harmonic language, but is played without a break. Finally the listener will surely note that the third section is truly lyrical: the music here is beautiful and lacks the acerbic sound of earlier pages.

This CD will appeal strongly to all interested in the chamber music of Michael Tippett. The three works as performed with great technical skill, articulation and sheer understanding of the music. Naturally there is a hiatus in style between the first two Quartets and the last. Yet the Tippett Quartet are equally at home with the lyrical demands of the earlier works as they are with the more complex, dissonant and involved structures of the last. However, if the listener needs a sample of the sheer perfection of this recording, they only need to listen to the Lento cantabile of the A major Quartet. This is surely one of the most beautiful and moving pieces of music in Tippett’s catalogue in particular and in English music in general.

-- John France, MusicWeb International