Founded in 1951, the Orchestra Sinfonica Siciliana has been directed by charismatic maestros of international renown from the Romanian Sergiu Celibidache in the 60s to the Venezuelan Diego Matheuz and Duncan Ward in the present era. Now Gianna Fratta joins their ranks with a unique showcase of 20th-century orchestral masterpieces. Gianna Fratta opened the 2021-22 season of the OSS in Palermo with a concert featuring Martha Argerich as soloist in Schumann’s Piano Concerto; she has herself won acclaim as a pianist, and now conducts leading ensembles across Italy. That program concluded with an explosive account of the suite from Stravinsky’s Firebird ballet. Fratta likewise draws a full palette of orchestral color from the Sicilian orchestra in this studio account of the Rite of Spring, Stravinsky’s radical sequel to the Firebird.

Completed in 1908, Scriabin’s Poem of Ecstasy makes such an instructive companion on disc that it is surprising to find the pairing is almost unique. Where Stravinsky uses jarring rhythmic dislocation and his command of an orchestra to paint tableaux in sound of a pagan rite, Scriabin places a no less quintessentially French-Russian harmonic palette in the service of sensual pleasure, building wave upon wave of melodic intensity to crash over the listener and ultimately overwhelm them. Both contrasting styles owe much to the innovations of Debussy, whose rhythmic suppleness in the evocation of wind and water would come to have a profound influence over 20th-century composers in the orchestral seascapes which punctuate his first opera, Peter Grimes. In the years after its premiere in 1945, Grimes established a place on the world’s lyric stages for British opera thanks to the universal power of its storytelling, not only through the ordinary characters at its heart, but through the translation of their complex feelings into surging orchestral textures.

Living Language is pianist Jacob Greenberg’s consideration of musical style and evolving cultural legacy, across a broad range of pieces. This disc explores how composers build on their history with a highly personal creative vocabulary, bringing their work forward into the present; these artists give thoughtful tribute while also seeking renewal. The program features Béla Bartók’s virtuosic Improvisations on Hungarian Peasant Songs, the boogie-woogie and stride piano-inspired Endless Shout by George Lewis, Chopin’s patriotic and wistful op. 41 Mazurkas, Wang Lu’s modernized guqin music titled Constellations Apart (a premiere recording), and Leoš Janáček’s kaleidoscopic suite In the Mists, rooted in the rhythms of spoken Czech and marked by profound grief.

October 29, 1923 - a date steeped in history. In the midst of a year of political and economic crisis, the age of public radio in Germany was ushered in with the first broadcast of the "Berliner Funkstunde", from the attic of an office building on Potsdamer Platz. The composers assembled on this album not only profited from these developments, but also, in part, actively shaped them.

The composer Ernst Toch experienced the crisis year of 1923 in Mannheim, where his "Dance Suite" op. 30 was premiered on with great success. In this work, Toch was able to realize his interest in cross-disciplinary collaboration and new forms of expression. His imaginative use of instruments is one of the most fascinating aspects of the suite.

The "Frauentanz" for soprano, flute, viola, clarinet, horn and bassoon op. 10 by Kurt Weill, written in the summer of 1923, reflects the interest in chamber music line-ups typical of the time. The decisive factor was not only a new ideal of sound and expression, but also the experience that in times of crisis, pieces with small ensembles had better chances of being performed.

Ernst Krenek had found essential impulses for his work in Berlin; when the crisis came to a head in the summer of 1923 he composed the "Three Mixed Choirs" a cappella op. 22 on poems by Matthias Claudius. Krenek designed these folksong-like works written by a lyricist from the epoch of Empfindsamkeit as parables.

For the festive concert celebrating the 50th anniversary of the unification of the cities of Buda and Pest to form the capital and residence city of Budapest in the autumn of 1923, Béla Bartók created his "Dance Suite" for orchestra - a "rather touchy issue", as the internationalist-minded composer explained in a private note.

REVIEWS:

Given [the events of 1923 in central Europe], you might imagine a CD of mostly German music entitled 1923: Wild Sound of the 1920s might sound a bit, well, wild. Far from it. If anything, it shows the opposite: surrounded by violence and the threat of chaos, the four composers represented here by works they composed in 1923 responded by raising their art to the nth degree of refinement and subtlety. Take Ernst Krenek, a composer who nowadays is remembered for a smash hit opera about a Black jazz musician, and for writing later in life some of the most fearsomely intellectualized, complex works in the entire history of music. He’s represented on this disc by three settings for choir of the 18th-century poet Matthias Claudius, of a ravishing otherworldly beauty caught to perfection in these performances.

Kurt Weill, known to the world for his bitingly satirical music dramas, appears as the composer of seven exquisitely allusive, bittersweet songs based on medieval German poems. Ernst Toch’s Dance Suite is a brilliantly imagined set of six “character” pieces for just a handful of instruments, with titles like The Red Whirling Dance and Idyll. Standing somewhat to one side of all this German romantic/modernist intensity and compression is the Dance Suite by the Hungarian composer Béla Bartók, with its rumbustious evocations of Balkan and North African Music.

The occasional whiff of expressionist harshness or a gently satirical distortion of a waltz shows these composers were not completely cocooned in their composing studios. They were alert to the jarring, shifting currents outside. But what the CD reveals most strongly is how much these composers were focused on their own internal, imaginative world – and how much they cared about craftsmanship. Every bar in all four pieces is exquisitely made, and that quality is caught in the performances, which are all of enormous refinement.

-- The Telegraph

The year 1923 was a year of crisis in Germany; inflation was heating up and far right-wing parties were jockeying for power. In October, the first broadcast of public radio in Germany took place from the “Berliner Funkstunde” station on Potsdamer Platz. This provocative new disc from the Choir and Symphony of Bavarian Radio includes four works written a hundred years ago by a group of innovative composers who all made use of the new, disruptive technology of radio.

Kurt Weill’s Frauentanz is a suite of seven medieval songs, scored for soprano, flute, viola, clarinet, horn and bassoon. Weill helped to create the familiar soundtrack for Weimar Berlin, and this performance by Anna-Maria Palii and the fine instrumentalists of the Bayerischen Rundfunks orchestra provides the authentic feel of a society that was becoming increasingly decadent and hysterical in 1923 and beyond.

Ernst Toch’s Dance Suite is another clever and imaginative piece with interesting orchestration: flute, clarinet, violin, viola, double bass and percussion. The Berlin sound is also evident here, something a bit harsh and raw, in contrast with the softer-focused, more lyrical and pastoral modernism of Paris.

The Ernst Krenek work is a bit of a surprise: his 3 Choruses for a cappella choir . The ‘antique’ sound of these pieces remind me of two of my favorite works: Vaughan Williams’ G minor Mass, from 1921, and Heitor Villa-Lobos’s Missa São Sebastião, from 1937. All three provide old wine in new bottles: ancient cadences with a modernist twist.

The final work on the disc is probably the best known: Bela Bartok’s Dance Suite for Orchestra. This is an orchestral showpiece, a kind of try-out for his Concerto for Orchestra written more than two decades later. Both pieces treat orchestral instruments in a solistic, virtuosic way. The source material might be folkloric, but this is definitely written in a modernist idiom.

Inflation, far right-wing agitation, disruptive technology: yes, we’re talking about 1923, not 2023. And the music on this disc is as fresh and forward-looking as some of the best music written today.

-- Music for Several Instruments (Dean Frey)

Véronique Gens’s version of La Voix humaine has been eagerly awaited! This ‘lyric tragedy in one act’ might have been written for her, so ideally suited are her feeling for language and her dramatic intensity to Poulenc’s monologue on a text by Jean Cocteau, composed in 1958. This is a far cry from the ‘light’ Poulenc of the 1920s. Cocteau paid him the highest compliment: ‘Dear Francis, you have fixed, once and for all, the way to speak my text.’ Véronique Gens confesses that she had always wanted to perform and record this piece; now she has achieved her ambition, in close partnership with the Orchestre National de Lille under its music director Alexandre Bloch. Also featured on the album is the Sinfonietta: this is in fact a genuine symphony, but, as Nicolas Southon writes, ‘there is no denying that the work – commissioned by the BBC in 1947 – has a freshness and a freedom of tone that justify its title’.

REVIEW:

La voix humaine is a monodrama. Gens had long wished to sing and record the piece, and was asked to perform it many times. She waited till she was ready for such a demanding piece, a work she must carry for forty minutes of, at times, very intense solo singing. Poulenc’s favourite soprano Denise Duval performed it first. She almost co-composed the piece.

It is clear that Madame Gens has really thought through the work and what it requires. Her decision to wait to be certain before she was ready to tackle this piece would seem to have paid off handsomely. This is an outstanding interpretation, the right artist recording the right work at the right time. That top C is nailed alright, and at the few other moments of “real singing” her familiar sound and line are as eloquent as usual. But the rest, the ‘heightened talking’, is equally persuasive, realistic and moving. Of course, that realism is also distressing, as we eavesdrop on deep personal anguish. At one point, Elle confesses to a suicide attempt. Some listeners will surely find the work rather harrowing, not one for everyday listening. But if one of the duties of art is to portray life in all its grimness as well as all its glory, then La voix humaine should be heard.

-- MusicWeb International

Ursula Mamlok’s Three Bagatelles are miniatures characterized by a free application of serial technique, courting expressionist parallels with rhetorical, concentrated gestures. In Tumbáo, Tania Leon uses a string bass pattern from her native Cuba without being confined to a specifically Latin style in its development. Graciane Finzi’s Espressivo evokes Romanticism (the period when the harpsichord almost disappeared from view) and could even be heard as an evocation of Chopin, but for a complementary tape part featuring a second, detuned harpsichord. Karola Obermüller composed the Suite des femmages as a set of tributes to both the composer Ruth Crawford Seeger and Obermüller's own mother, Barbara, and they are accordingly imbued with a ferocity and a bracing power which reflects her admiration for both the women and their accomplishments. Errolyn Wallen dedicated Louis’s Loops to her infant godson, and there is a playful quality to the juxtaposition of frenetic activity with oases of peace, where echoes of the past resurface poetically and sometimes with subtle irony.

Santa Ratniece took inspiration from the world of astronomy for Mira, which is named after a kind of pulsing star: with every pulse cycle, Mira increases in luminosity and strength. The Mobius-Ring of Misato Mochizuki describes an earthly scientific phenomenon, looping like Wallen’s and Ratniece’s works through evolving pulsations of the same material. Sofia Gubaidulina organized the Ritorno Perpetuo along complementary principles of varied repetition, determined in part by numerology and the Fibonacci sequence. This is the most extensive work on the album, but every piece here has something distinctive to say, and gains from its contrast with the others.

REVIEW:

Harpsichordist Luca Quintavalle's aim with this album is not simply to improve representation for female composers: he wants to eschew masculine perspectives entirely to allow feminine art to create a language of its own.

What this means in practice is that we are presented with a program of highly contrasting works that highlight the sheer breadth of music written by female composers for the harpsichord. Nearly all the pieces featured here are debut recordings, whether that’s of the piece as a whole, a new harpsichord arrangement by Quintavalle himself or the first recording on a Baroque instrument.

Gubaidulina’s Ritorno perpetuo and Mochizuki’s Moebius-Ring are the two substantial works on this album, each built on mathematical concepts and numerological elements. Just like his programming choices, there is nothing shy or retiring about Quintavalle’s playing. His bold efforts are matched by an exposed, clear acoustic, which brings out the intensity of the frenetic moments and the violent harmonic clashes. The hard edges are at the fore, with the harpsichord’s plucking effect utilised to its full powers.

Whether or not Quintavalle’s academic approach to gender parity in classical music has been successful is a slightly moot point: here we see the rich ways the writing of these composers can enlighten and work alongside one another to bring out new perspectives on an instrument that has enjoyed a contemporary resurgence over the last century.

-- BBC Music Magazine

Born in Liège, Belgium, in 1873, Joseph Jongen showed an outstanding precocity for music from a very early age, and was admitted to the Liège Conservatoire at the extraordinarily young age of seven. He won a First Prize for fugue in 1895 and honors diplomas in piano and organ the next year. In 1897, he won the Belgian Prix de Rome, which allowed him to travel to Italy, Germany, and France, where he experienced the music of Brahms and Richard Strauss, Fauré, Debussy, and Ravel, all of which would exert an influence on the young composer. Although he composed in numerous genres, including the symphony and concerto, as well as chamber music, instrumental pieces, and choral works, it is his output for the organ for which he is now best known.

The Serbian-American pianist Ivan Ilić helps to redress the balance with this new recording of two of Jongen’s substantial sets of Préludes for piano. The 13 Préludes, Op. 69 are expansive in nature and extremely poetic – each bears an evocative title. They are dedicated to Émile Bosquet who gave their première, in 1923. The 24 Petits Préludes dans tous les tons were begun in 1940 and (like Bach’s preludes and fugues) circle through each and every key, major and minor. Arranged in twelve pairs, the minor key following the major on the same tonic note, these works reflect Jongen’s affinity for (and mastery of) their free form, as well as demonstrating his mature compositional style.

REVIEW:

The reputation of Belgian composer, organist, and educator Joseph Jongen (1873-1953) basically rests upon one work, his Symphonie concertante for organ and orchestra. However, he composed prolifically in many genres. His solo piano works fall between Franck’s burnished chromaticism and young Scriabin’s sensuous textures while flirting with Debussy and Ravel. Such a style works best when served up in small doses, such as in the Preludes Op. 69.

Jongen may not be a memorable tunesmith, and his phraseology tends to be square, but his exquisite harmonic sense and idiomatic, well-crafted handling of the keyboard more than compensates. In the Op. 60 group, you have, on one hand, Eau tranquille’s gently persistent double notes that contrast to Appassionato’s hammered-out chords that step right out of the finale of Scriabin’s Third sonata.

The 24 Petits Preludes in all of the major and minor keys are less ambitious technically and more conservative, even academic in style. The purity of the contrapuntal writing in slower pieces like Preludes Nos. 10 and 20 smacks of organ technique, while No. 22’s imitative writing suggests a Passepied from a Bach suite in slightly updated modern dress. The pieces fuse charm and seriousness in equal portions, and say what they need to say without overstaying their welcome.

The music’s workmanship mirrors Ivan Ilić’s caringly detailed interpretations. For example, he shapes No. 18’s cascading patterns into cogent melodic arcs, while imparting subtle shadings of timbre to No. 11’s unassumingly beautiful chords. He scales Op. 69 No. 13’s dynamics with care, ensuring that the motoric build-ups do not get too loud too soon, and thereby generating steady momentum. Tempo choices similarly appear to be judicious.

While one might prefer Diane Andersen’s gaunter and more scintillating reading of Papillons noirs (Op. 69 No. 11) in her complete Jongen piano music cycle for the Pavane label, Ilić’s deliberation better allows you to absorb the harmonic motion, together with extra breathing room for the dancing right-hand triplets. In short, Ilić’s mindful virtuosity serves the music first and foremost throughout this highly recommendable and well-engineered release.

-- ClassicsToday.com

Ever since Pablo Casals awakened Johann Sebastian Bach’s cello suites from a slumber of over 150 years back in 1900, they have fascinated and inspired composers, performers, and audiences alike. They are a mountain range with six peaks, which cellist Felix Vogelsang is now releasing on GENUIN on three albums. Complementing them are six additional works for solo cello, five of which Felix Vogelsang commissioned especially for this production. In addition to Ernest Bloch’s dark, much too rarely played Suite in C minor, we hear works by Jérémie Rhorer, Gerhard Gemke, Carl Theodor Hütterott, and Paul Glass. Vogelsang works out the relationships of the works to each other with richly nuanced and precise cello playing - repertoire additions to Bach’s beautiful suites that are worth listening to!

Andreas Ihlebæk follows up his two solo piano albums with a musical fairytale, adding voices and careful instrumentation to his beloved, melodic pieces. His new album Nowhere Everything contains 12 brand new pieces written for piano, voices and strings with a touch of electronic ambience when suited. Pianist and composer Andreas Ihlebæk was born in Oslo, Norway, and grew up in Hamburg, Germany and San Francisco, California. His unique blend of soul and Norwegian folk music is the sound that have shaped him over the years. Andreas Ihlebæk is the rising star in modern classical and an innovator in jazz, soul and in folk music.

The name of Cor de Groot (1914-1993) adorned the cover of many LPs of canonic concertos and sonatas throughout the 1950s, when his qualities were summed up in High Fidelity magazine in a review of the first two concertos of Beethoven: ‘De Groot is a solid and sympathetic interpreter in the Central European tradition... His playing impresses with its substance and authority rather than with ostentation and glitter.’ Some of those recordings have received modern reissues on album, but his own compositions have received comparatively little attention. An early Sonatina pokes fun at serial technique, before an Old Holland Suite deftly sketches a sequence of 11 Dutch landscapes and portraits. A sequence of five Homenajes documents his fondness for Spain, played here by its dedicatee Jacob Bogaart.

Folke Nauta likewise became a friend and colleague of de Groot, making him an ideal pianist to record the repertoire for left-hand piano which the composer wrote once a long term injury to his right hand had derailed his career at the end of the 1950s. Eastern European influences such as Bartók can be found in most of the seven movements of Apparitions, while a trio of later miniatures such as Cloches dans le matin (1979) makes a virtue of simplicity. Between them, Nauta has made an imaginative selection of music written for de Groot, as a left-handed pianist, by friends and colleagues including Willem, Juuriaan and Louis Andriessen, allreceiving their first recordings here. The collection ends on a note of personal homage and affection with EnCor, which Jacob Bogaart wrote in 2013 as a reminiscence of his improvisation and practice sessions with de Groot. Both pianists contribute substantial essays to the booklet, which is further enhanced by a memoir of the pianist by the curator, musicologist and producer Frits Zwart.

Archibald Joyce was known as ‘The English Waltz King’. The composer of delectable vignettes directed his own dance band which, depending on the size of the venue, sometimes numbered a hundred. Convinced that the Viennese waltz was not to British tastes he wrote smoother examples that included Dreaming, his most famous work, which sold over a million copies, and is a perfect example of the ‘hesitation’ waltz. His evocative music also included theatrical numbers, dramatic suites and the ‘concert valse’, designed for the silver screen.

Mari Kodama presents New Paths, exploring the young Johannes Brahms and his fascinating friendship with Clara and Robert Schumann. The album derives its title from Robert Schumann’s famous essay “Neue Bahnen”, in which he heralded the young Brahms as the most eminent musical voice of the future. The program brings together Brahms’s first piano sonata, his Variations on a Theme by Robert Schumann, Op. 9, as well as his Theme And Variations, Op. 18B, made at Clara Schumann’s request. The final word is given to Clara’s arrangement of Robert’s song Widmung.

New Paths not only explores the unique bond of these three remarkable composers, but also shows the energetic self-confidence of the young Brahms, so different from his later melancholia. Kodama performs these works on a brand new Yamaha piano that almost sounds like a period instrument, coming much closer to Brahms’s sound ideal. Mari Kodama is one of the most extraordinary pianists of our age, and has an impressive Pentatone discography, featuring Beethoven’s complete piano sonatas (2003-2014), piano concertos of Loewe and Chopin (2003), Tchaikovsky Ballet Suites for Piano Duo (2016), De Falla’s Nights in the Gardens of Spain (2017), Martinu’s Concerto for Two Pianos (2018), Kaleidoscope, Beethoven Transcriptions and MON AMI Mon amour (both 2020).

The Russian composer Nikolai Kapustin (1937-2020), who died at the beginning of the pandemic-related cultural hiatus which has been unique with regard to world history, was able to experience considerable appreciation in his last two decades, which recently gained more and more momentum. Coming from an aristocracy of piano teaching - Kapustin was a pupil of a pupil of Horowitz's teacher Blumenfeld and then studied with the great Alexander Goldenweiser until 1961 - he was denied great recognition in the Soviet Union. As with many great piano composers since Chopin, the cycle of concert etudes from the middle of his life is particularly suitable for an introduction to this world of works. Kapustin's typical reference to jazz, which probably kept him from greater success in the Soviet years, is based on the highly individual, deliberate adaptation of stylistic elements. He got to know jazz greats such as Ellington, Basie, Cole, Garner, Peterson and others through records and the radio and picked out what suited him.

The extremely sensitive, not monotonously hammering as is so often the case, approach of the Chinese pianist A Bu, who is also trained in jazz, is pleasing with regard to interpretation, and he demonstrates his affinity for Kapustin's music through two samples of his own work. An affectionate and valuable addition to the recording is the story of his acquaintance with Kapustin in Moscow told by the young A Bu in the accompanying booklet, illustrated with photos.

After Máximo Diego Pujol (born 1957) discovered a guitar in a closet at his parents’ home in Buenos Aires, Argentina, the eight-year-old Máximo took his first lessons from Don Gaspar Navarro, neighbor, and friend, as well as a fine tango and milonga player who taught all the children in the neighborhood. Later he studied with various authorities of the guitar including Alfredo Vicente Gascón, Abel Carlevaro and Leo Brouwer, graduating from the Juan José Castro Conservatory with the Superior Professor of Guitar diploma. In a place where tango was constantly floating in the air, he honed his skills as a performer by playing at Buenos Aires night clubs, both as a soloist and as an accompanist. He also played in a number of duos, trios, and quartets, immersing himself fully in every aspect of tango music. Since his earliest days as a professional musician and composer, Pujol has strived for a fusion of traditional Argentine tango and formal academic concepts. This musical quest stems from a thorough study of the works of Heitor Villa-Lobos and Leo Brouwer, who revolutionized guitar music by incorporating the instrument and its particular musical vocabulary in their own works. Máximo Diego Pujol’s music is the guitar testimony of such a complex country as Argentina, but it is also, and above all, the expression of a universal lyricism, feeding on eternal feelings like melancholy, nostalgia, sensuality, passion, anger, and love. This new recording contains the Variaciones sobre un tema de Atahualpa Yupanqui, Elegia por la muerte de un tanguero, Sonatina, and Suite del Plata, no. 1.

Playwright Luise Gottsched, née Kulmus, in 1732 wrote a letter to her future husband, the writer Johann Christoph Gottsched: ‘The keyboard pieces sent over by Bach… are as difficult as they are beautiful. Even after playing them ten times, they still seem new to me.’ A few years later polymath and Bach’s former pupil Lorenz Christoph Mizler offered the following advice regarding these Clavier-Übung I partitas: ‘Anyone who has difficulties with keyboard fingering will find it difficult to learn the keyboard pieces written by the famous Mr. Bach in Leipzig’.

The name Sinfonia for the first movement in the Partita in C minor is redolent of opening cantata movements and the dotted rhythm of a French overture. The Grave adagio however, is not followed by the fugal fast section you would expect here. This approach was carried out more consistently and stylistically in the Partita in D major, although there the fast section approaches the form of a concerto. Instead, the Grave adagio of the Partita in C minor is followed by a sonata-like movement with an arabesque effect in the upper voice, followed by a lively fugato. As a result, the piece appears in three parts. In contrast, the opening Fantasia in the Partita in A minor is more akin to an invention, showing similarities with the opening section of the second English Suite of the same key. Moreover, since the 17th century, the distinction between the terms ‘Praeludium’ and ‘Praeambulum’ was insignificant. Yet Bach’s delicately sculpted Praeludium in the B flat major Partita, is stylistically very different from the concerto-like Praeambulum of the Partita in G major. Lastly, the Toccata in the Partita in E minor offers rhapsodic-improvisatory sections framing a fugue after the style of Froberg, whose works for keyboard instruments must have been known to Bach.

Bearing in mind the special pedagogical value of suites, Bach, already a kapellmeister in Köthen, in 1722, began to write Suites pour le Clavessin into his second wife’s private musical notebook, entitled Clavier-Büchlein für Anna Magdalena Bach. These were five suites, marked with BWV numbers 812–816, now known as French Suites. There is no certainty as to whether the composer intended to create a cycle of suites or whether he rather wrote them successively for the purpose of improving the harpsichord performance of the young wife.

Johann Sebastian Bach would never use the very name French Suites. It first appeared only in 1762, in the notes of Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg (1718–1795), who described the sequence of six suites as a collection under the title "VI. franz. Suiten von reel Herrn Capellm. Bach." In the second half of the 18th century, the name became common in the Berlin circle. In 1802, Johann Nicolaus Forkel (1749–1818) called the cycle French Suites, because, in his opinion, they were composed in the French style. They are performed beautifully here by Ewa Mrowca.