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Handel: Alexander's Feast, Hwv 75 / Lack, Concerto Stella Matutina
Fra Bernardo · Jan 2017CD$32.99 -
![Handel, G.F.: Alexander's Feast [Oratorio]](//arkivmusic.com/cdn/shop/files/1521664.jpg?v=1786726554&width=400)
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Scriabin: Piano Sonatas Vol 1 / Boris Berman
Music and Arts Programs of America · Aug 2013CD$19.99 -
Handel: Alexander’s Feast
Arcana
CD
$20.99
Sep 12, 2025
In London in 1736, the Baroque genius Handel celebrated the power of music with his oratorio about Alexander the Great, one of the greatest successes of his life. Covent Garden was never so full as on the evening of the premiere. For this original English version, Alfredo Bernardini unites the fantastic voices of the Arnold Schoenberg Choir with his lively Zefiro Baroque Orchestra. The three soloists Miriam Kutrowatz, Daniel Johannsen and Damien Gastl tell the ancient story of how the singer Timotheus was once able to change the mood of the great Alexander, evoking a whirlwind of diverse emotions, highlighting the power of music over politics and war.
Handel: Alexander's Feast, Hwv 75 / Lack, Concerto Stella Matutina
Fra Bernardo
CD
$32.99
Jan 20, 2017
“Alexander’s Feast or The Power of Musick. An ode wrote in honour of St. Cecilia” dates from 1736, a time when Handel was attempting to counter the dwindling interest in his Italian operas with oratorios in English. Indeed this work, which resembles an oratorio, found immediate popularity and was quickly counted alongside “Messiah” among his best-loved compositions. Only “Acis and Galatea” and “Messiah” were performed more frequently than “Alexander’s Feast” during Handel’s lifetime. This high-profile recording features the singers Miriam Feuersinger, Danial Johannsen and Matthias Helm, together with the Kammerchor Feldkirch and Concerto Stella Matutina under Benjamin Lack.
![Handel, G.F.: Alexander's Feast [Oratorio]](http://arkivmusic.com/cdn/shop/files/1521664.jpg?v=1786726554&width=400)
Handel: Alexander's Feast / Martini, Samann, Schoch, Mertens
Naxos
CD
$19.99
Feb 23, 2010
I came away from hearing this version with renewed enthusiasm for the work.
First, a confession. Much as I enjoy recordings of Handel’s operas in prospect, in practice by the end - and sometimes the start - of the third disc I am finding difficulty in paying full attention. Over-complex plots, lengthy secco recitatives and extended da capos all take their toll. Probably this reflects more on me than on the works, but maybe I am not alone and others too prefer Handel in shorter, more concentrated, bursts. For such people, if they have not encountered it before, I can confidently recommend “Alexander’s Feast”. It has great musical variety including choruses and arias of considerable imagination and beauty, not too many da capo arias, and a text derived from a splendid poem by John Dryden. The plot concerns a feast given by Alexander the Great after his defeat of Darius, King of Persia, at which Alexander is entertained by Timotheus who arouses various emotions before being replaced by St Cecilia.
This recording is of a live performance and despite some reservations about it as heard on this disc it clearly was a very enjoyable event to be at. It gets off to a good start with an alert performance of the Overture; indeed the orchestra and Joachim Carlos Martini’s direction are the strongest points about this disc. They play with verve and colour, and great rhythmic bite. The soloists are less satisfactory, all adopting a somewhat heavy style with an occasionally hectoring tone that does not suit Handel’s vocal writing. In addition it soon becomes clear that none are native speakers of English and there are a few curious pronunciations and accentuations from the men and an almost total lack of verbal clarity from the soprano.
There is however a much greater problem with this disc. It is the actual sound of the chorus as heard here. I use those words advisedly, as it may well be that heard live they sounded fine, but as heard here they appear to be in a quite different, and much less suitable, acoustic to the soloists and orchestra. This boxy sound has a depressing effect every time the chorus sing. Although this is only in parts of the work it is frequent enough to be more than a trivial irritation. There is however the practical virtue of managing to include the whole work on a single disc, even with a brief additional harp movement representing Timotheus’ skill on the lyre - but not the Concerto which Handel himself included. This is not mentioned in Keith Anderson’s otherwise admirable notes. I understand that the text and a German translation are available on the Naxos website.
There is strong competition for CDs of “Alexander’s Feast”, and even restricting it to those at bargain price fine recordings are available conducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Philip Ledger. The present version does nonetheless have solid virtues in terms of its general spirit and even, where necessary, verve. Despite my earlier comments, I was never bored listening to it and I did end with a renewed enthusiasm for the work. If you do not have a recording of it already this would certainly fill an important gap and give considerable pleasure, even if you may need to look elsewhere, possibly to the version by The Sixteen under Harry Christophers on two discs (but with extra material) to find fuller satisfaction.
-- John Sheppard, MusicWeb International
First, a confession. Much as I enjoy recordings of Handel’s operas in prospect, in practice by the end - and sometimes the start - of the third disc I am finding difficulty in paying full attention. Over-complex plots, lengthy secco recitatives and extended da capos all take their toll. Probably this reflects more on me than on the works, but maybe I am not alone and others too prefer Handel in shorter, more concentrated, bursts. For such people, if they have not encountered it before, I can confidently recommend “Alexander’s Feast”. It has great musical variety including choruses and arias of considerable imagination and beauty, not too many da capo arias, and a text derived from a splendid poem by John Dryden. The plot concerns a feast given by Alexander the Great after his defeat of Darius, King of Persia, at which Alexander is entertained by Timotheus who arouses various emotions before being replaced by St Cecilia.
This recording is of a live performance and despite some reservations about it as heard on this disc it clearly was a very enjoyable event to be at. It gets off to a good start with an alert performance of the Overture; indeed the orchestra and Joachim Carlos Martini’s direction are the strongest points about this disc. They play with verve and colour, and great rhythmic bite. The soloists are less satisfactory, all adopting a somewhat heavy style with an occasionally hectoring tone that does not suit Handel’s vocal writing. In addition it soon becomes clear that none are native speakers of English and there are a few curious pronunciations and accentuations from the men and an almost total lack of verbal clarity from the soprano.
There is however a much greater problem with this disc. It is the actual sound of the chorus as heard here. I use those words advisedly, as it may well be that heard live they sounded fine, but as heard here they appear to be in a quite different, and much less suitable, acoustic to the soloists and orchestra. This boxy sound has a depressing effect every time the chorus sing. Although this is only in parts of the work it is frequent enough to be more than a trivial irritation. There is however the practical virtue of managing to include the whole work on a single disc, even with a brief additional harp movement representing Timotheus’ skill on the lyre - but not the Concerto which Handel himself included. This is not mentioned in Keith Anderson’s otherwise admirable notes. I understand that the text and a German translation are available on the Naxos website.
There is strong competition for CDs of “Alexander’s Feast”, and even restricting it to those at bargain price fine recordings are available conducted by Nikolaus Harnoncourt and Philip Ledger. The present version does nonetheless have solid virtues in terms of its general spirit and even, where necessary, verve. Despite my earlier comments, I was never bored listening to it and I did end with a renewed enthusiasm for the work. If you do not have a recording of it already this would certainly fill an important gap and give considerable pleasure, even if you may need to look elsewhere, possibly to the version by The Sixteen under Harry Christophers on two discs (but with extra material) to find fuller satisfaction.
-- John Sheppard, MusicWeb International
Holst: The Planets / York2, Fiona York, John York, Piano - Four Hands
Nimbus
CD
$20.99
Feb 01, 2011
The coordination of the partners is marvelous, the variety of the sounds they produce is spectacular, and the feeling of the right sound at the right moment is priceless.
Gustav Holst was the Director of Music of St. Paul’s Girls’ School in London between the years 1905 and 1934. John York is currently the Senior Music Head of Department at the same school. It happened that in this school, in a cupboard of Holst’s room, John York found a leather-bound, engraved copy of Holst’s The Planets, arranged for 4 hands, one piano. The version was prepared with the help of two of Holst’s colleagues, Nora Day and Vally Lasker. Additional editing was done by John and Fiona York.
The 4-hand version is no substitute for the full orchestral one. This is probably most apparent in the opening number, Mars. The timbre of the heavy brass, like bellowing of battle elephants, colors this orchestral sound in violent dark red. Much of the musical progression is repetitive. In the full version this is concealed behind the constant change of color; the piano is not able match this ability completely. As a result, the music drags a bit. The final climax also loses much of its cosmic horror.
In the beginning of the static and mysterious Venus I get a feeling that a softer touch would have been better. But the further in the more I become enthralled by these impressionistic splashes, and the last minutes are magical. It’s possible that the performers deliberately avoided excessive softness, in order not to fall into the standard Debussian watercolors.
John York wrote in the liner-note that Mercury gave them the most trouble. Whatever their problems were, the pianists overcame them. The rhythmic precision is stunning. The silver glitter is dry and not too warm: the taste of Brut Champagne, exactly as needed.
Holst’s Jupiter is The Bringer of Jollity – and, surprisingly, that’s exactly what the music depicts: jollity, not solemnity, or grandeur, or other possible attributes of The Supreme One. This is Sir John Falstaff, dancing as he arrives, and humming the most hummable tunes! The music is not vulgar: there is much nobility in the Elgarian melodies, especially in the stately middle episode. This middle episode has the British imperial air around it, and the pianists play it with restraint. The performance is splendid, lively and bright, excellently conveying Holst’s humor. Music to raise your spirits!
Saturn is The Bringer of Old Age. Nothing is easy when you’re old, and the music breathes with an effort. Its steps are heavy. The middle episode quickens the tempo, and the tension grows. The climax is dark and heavy, though not as sinister as in the orchestral version. In the final part, the texture brightens and warms. There appear to be some good things in old age after all!
Uranus, the Magician seems to be a good pal of Dukas’s Sorcerer. In the orchestral version, the feeling of galloping power is created by mighty brass and colorful percussion. The piano version avoids being flat by using different registers. John and Fiona produce some spectacular fireworks here.
The soft shimmer and shine of the full-version of Neptune is painted by gentle woodwinds and by the mystic, wordless women’s choir, like voices of sea sirens coming through the fog. The Yorks manage to reproduce this misty atmosphere. Again, their piano does not sound for a single moment like Debussy: the sound is focused and well defined, and this only increases the depth and the mystery. Certainly, the finale of the original Neptune is unique, and there can’t be a substitute for that feeling of awe when the mesmerizing chorus enters. It’s out of this world, in all senses. But apart from this, frankly, I think that the Yorks hit the bull’s eye. The tempo, the dynamics, the viscid drift, the slowly swirling clouds – all is perfect.
It is very interesting to hear how such a rich orchestral score as The Planets can be rendered on a single piano. After listening to the entire suite, the conclusion has to be that the piano is a fantastic instrument! One should know all its psychology, but Fiona and John York don’t seem to lack anything here. Their sound is so different in each piece. My minor objections are mostly about Mars (I still find it drags after many listenings) and the beginning of Venus. But I understand that they can’t play much more than is in the notes, and the level of polish and attention that the composer devoted to this transcription certainly cannot compare to those that the orchestral version received.
As a fill-up we have some less familiar music: the Suite No.1 by York Bowen, to which the pianists added the Finale movement from the Suite No.2. This was a smart decision: the first suite, ending on the lyrical Nocturne, would sound incomplete, and with the added Finale it obtains a closed 4-movement structure, similar to Rachmaninov’s Second Suite. The Prelude has a wide Romantic flow, with rising and falling tides. It is warm and ecstatic, and sounds a lot like Rachmaninov, though with a simpler harmonic structure. The second part is entitled Dance, which does not seem to me a good description of its character. Its structure is tripartite. The outer parts are fast and cheerful, almost march-like. The middle episode is slower, more lyrical, and very songlike. The entire construction seems overlong for its contents. Nocturne again borrows some melodic and harmonic moves from Rachmaninov (or, through him, from Borodin). It is warm and sensual, and builds to a dramatic climax. The music has movement and depth. John and Fiona give it a beautiful and expressive – I’d even say, loving - performance. The Finale is mercurial and happy. It has some nice Lisztian waterplay, and ends just at the right moment.
This disc is a piano duo feast. The coordination of the partners is marvelous, the variety of the sounds they produce is spectacular, and the feeling of the right sound at the right moment is priceless. Regrettably, the music itself has a certain second-hand feeling, though for different reasons. The 4-hand version of The Planets is a faithful portrait of the full version, but much is lost. However excellent the playing, I doubt I’ll ever take it to listen when I have the orchestral version next to it on the shelf. And Bowen’s work could too easily be attributed to Rachmaninov. No doubt, another “Rach” piano suite is a good thing, but it’s not quite on the same level of inspiration.
Still – my standing applause to York2, who once again prove their reputation as a “duo with a difference”! Where can I get in line for their future discs? The recorded sound can be bettered in terms of depth and presence. It is clear, but somewhat two-dimensional. The booklet contains an excellent essay by John York about the history of creation of The Planets (both the original and the piano version), and more.
-- Oleg Ledeniov, MusicWeb International
Gustav Holst was the Director of Music of St. Paul’s Girls’ School in London between the years 1905 and 1934. John York is currently the Senior Music Head of Department at the same school. It happened that in this school, in a cupboard of Holst’s room, John York found a leather-bound, engraved copy of Holst’s The Planets, arranged for 4 hands, one piano. The version was prepared with the help of two of Holst’s colleagues, Nora Day and Vally Lasker. Additional editing was done by John and Fiona York.
The 4-hand version is no substitute for the full orchestral one. This is probably most apparent in the opening number, Mars. The timbre of the heavy brass, like bellowing of battle elephants, colors this orchestral sound in violent dark red. Much of the musical progression is repetitive. In the full version this is concealed behind the constant change of color; the piano is not able match this ability completely. As a result, the music drags a bit. The final climax also loses much of its cosmic horror.
In the beginning of the static and mysterious Venus I get a feeling that a softer touch would have been better. But the further in the more I become enthralled by these impressionistic splashes, and the last minutes are magical. It’s possible that the performers deliberately avoided excessive softness, in order not to fall into the standard Debussian watercolors.
John York wrote in the liner-note that Mercury gave them the most trouble. Whatever their problems were, the pianists overcame them. The rhythmic precision is stunning. The silver glitter is dry and not too warm: the taste of Brut Champagne, exactly as needed.
Holst’s Jupiter is The Bringer of Jollity – and, surprisingly, that’s exactly what the music depicts: jollity, not solemnity, or grandeur, or other possible attributes of The Supreme One. This is Sir John Falstaff, dancing as he arrives, and humming the most hummable tunes! The music is not vulgar: there is much nobility in the Elgarian melodies, especially in the stately middle episode. This middle episode has the British imperial air around it, and the pianists play it with restraint. The performance is splendid, lively and bright, excellently conveying Holst’s humor. Music to raise your spirits!
Saturn is The Bringer of Old Age. Nothing is easy when you’re old, and the music breathes with an effort. Its steps are heavy. The middle episode quickens the tempo, and the tension grows. The climax is dark and heavy, though not as sinister as in the orchestral version. In the final part, the texture brightens and warms. There appear to be some good things in old age after all!
Uranus, the Magician seems to be a good pal of Dukas’s Sorcerer. In the orchestral version, the feeling of galloping power is created by mighty brass and colorful percussion. The piano version avoids being flat by using different registers. John and Fiona produce some spectacular fireworks here.
The soft shimmer and shine of the full-version of Neptune is painted by gentle woodwinds and by the mystic, wordless women’s choir, like voices of sea sirens coming through the fog. The Yorks manage to reproduce this misty atmosphere. Again, their piano does not sound for a single moment like Debussy: the sound is focused and well defined, and this only increases the depth and the mystery. Certainly, the finale of the original Neptune is unique, and there can’t be a substitute for that feeling of awe when the mesmerizing chorus enters. It’s out of this world, in all senses. But apart from this, frankly, I think that the Yorks hit the bull’s eye. The tempo, the dynamics, the viscid drift, the slowly swirling clouds – all is perfect.
It is very interesting to hear how such a rich orchestral score as The Planets can be rendered on a single piano. After listening to the entire suite, the conclusion has to be that the piano is a fantastic instrument! One should know all its psychology, but Fiona and John York don’t seem to lack anything here. Their sound is so different in each piece. My minor objections are mostly about Mars (I still find it drags after many listenings) and the beginning of Venus. But I understand that they can’t play much more than is in the notes, and the level of polish and attention that the composer devoted to this transcription certainly cannot compare to those that the orchestral version received.
As a fill-up we have some less familiar music: the Suite No.1 by York Bowen, to which the pianists added the Finale movement from the Suite No.2. This was a smart decision: the first suite, ending on the lyrical Nocturne, would sound incomplete, and with the added Finale it obtains a closed 4-movement structure, similar to Rachmaninov’s Second Suite. The Prelude has a wide Romantic flow, with rising and falling tides. It is warm and ecstatic, and sounds a lot like Rachmaninov, though with a simpler harmonic structure. The second part is entitled Dance, which does not seem to me a good description of its character. Its structure is tripartite. The outer parts are fast and cheerful, almost march-like. The middle episode is slower, more lyrical, and very songlike. The entire construction seems overlong for its contents. Nocturne again borrows some melodic and harmonic moves from Rachmaninov (or, through him, from Borodin). It is warm and sensual, and builds to a dramatic climax. The music has movement and depth. John and Fiona give it a beautiful and expressive – I’d even say, loving - performance. The Finale is mercurial and happy. It has some nice Lisztian waterplay, and ends just at the right moment.
This disc is a piano duo feast. The coordination of the partners is marvelous, the variety of the sounds they produce is spectacular, and the feeling of the right sound at the right moment is priceless. Regrettably, the music itself has a certain second-hand feeling, though for different reasons. The 4-hand version of The Planets is a faithful portrait of the full version, but much is lost. However excellent the playing, I doubt I’ll ever take it to listen when I have the orchestral version next to it on the shelf. And Bowen’s work could too easily be attributed to Rachmaninov. No doubt, another “Rach” piano suite is a good thing, but it’s not quite on the same level of inspiration.
Still – my standing applause to York2, who once again prove their reputation as a “duo with a difference”! Where can I get in line for their future discs? The recorded sound can be bettered in terms of depth and presence. It is clear, but somewhat two-dimensional. The booklet contains an excellent essay by John York about the history of creation of The Planets (both the original and the piano version), and more.
-- Oleg Ledeniov, MusicWeb International
Scriabin: Piano Sonatas Vol 1 / Boris Berman
Music and Arts Programs of America
CD
$19.99
Aug 19, 2013
Nobody could call Scriabin a fussy man. All he asks of a pianist who would traverse his early sonatas is that he manage to be as sounding brass (Sonata No. 1), to walk on water (No. 2), to burn and be not consumed (No. 3), to fly (No. 4), and to dematerialize (No. 5). In that order. Oh yes, and stretch a twelfth.
Boris Berman, of Yale University by way of Moscow and Tel Aviv, is ready for this or any decathalon. Born and raised in the one country where Scriabin is as securely ensconced in the Pantheon as Bach or Beethoven, he believes in the music the way Sofronitsky did, the way Horowitz did, the way you will after you've heard him play. I must say his performances of the First and Second Sonatas were revelations to me. These are the sonatas one only encounters in integral recordings, and the other complete Scriabins I've heard (Szidon, Ponti) have not been satisfactory. In Berman's hands the first movement of the First, composed by a twenty-year-old just out of the Conservatory, is one of the great Scriabin experiences. It may be as yet conventional in form and only vaguely suggestive in its harmony of the composer's mature idiom. But it already has his inimitable rhythmic fluidity (yes, literally inimitable; God knows Stravinsky and Prokofiev tried) and his unique command of three- and four-handed pianistic textures. Berman sprouts as many hands as are required, and he has an ability to phrase in long periods—plus the pedal technique to support it—that keeps the music airborne despite its sequential construction. He also has his teacher Lev Oborin's famous way with inner voices; how many pianists could bring out the tenor in the chorale section of the funeral-march finale within an overall marking, scrupulously observed, of pppp?
When, beginning with Sonata No. 3, Berman hits the big-time competition, he more than holds his own. He knows the idiom to the extent that his eighth-note triplets are regularly distended, as Scriabin played them, with a hesitation on the second note and a correspondingly shorter third. His tempos are brisk and flexible, his touch remarkably like Scriabin's own, to the extent that we may judge it from the composer's Vorsetzer rolls and from verbal descriptions (e.g., that of Alexander Pasternak, the poet's brother: “I . . . had the impression that his fingers were producing the sound without touching the keys; his enemies liked to say it was not real piano playing, but a twittering of birds or a mewing of kittens“). This mercurial lightness is really indispensable in the Fourth Sonata, not only in the Prestissimo volando, but also toward the end of the Andante, where the right hand must caress a steady stream of high repeated chords while the left hand sings the tune. You will indeed have the impression that Berman's fingers are not touching the keys. When that main theme of the Andante comes back riding the crest of the Prestissimo in what James Baker (in truly excellent program notes) calls the first of Scriabin's many thematic apotheoses, Berman's effortless tone production is suitably glorious.
In fact, nowhere in this set is there the slightest sense of sweat or strain, even in the Fifth Sonata, so full of explicitly erotic gestures. (Yes, Scriabin appeals to forces mystérieuses, but we know very well what they are.) It's a very playful, aristocratic sort of ecstasy Scriabin summons up, the kind reflected in the Kama Sutra, far, oh very far from 42nd Street. Berman has the cosmic skittishness it takes to make what is often such a heavy harangue a tickly, spritzy delight. Porno-phony, perhaps, but definitely soft-core.
Volume 2, expected shortly, will require the pianist to cast spells, be like the sun, worship the devil, and ultimately become an insect. Can't wait.
-- Richard Taruskin, FANFARE [5/1990]
Boris Berman, of Yale University by way of Moscow and Tel Aviv, is ready for this or any decathalon. Born and raised in the one country where Scriabin is as securely ensconced in the Pantheon as Bach or Beethoven, he believes in the music the way Sofronitsky did, the way Horowitz did, the way you will after you've heard him play. I must say his performances of the First and Second Sonatas were revelations to me. These are the sonatas one only encounters in integral recordings, and the other complete Scriabins I've heard (Szidon, Ponti) have not been satisfactory. In Berman's hands the first movement of the First, composed by a twenty-year-old just out of the Conservatory, is one of the great Scriabin experiences. It may be as yet conventional in form and only vaguely suggestive in its harmony of the composer's mature idiom. But it already has his inimitable rhythmic fluidity (yes, literally inimitable; God knows Stravinsky and Prokofiev tried) and his unique command of three- and four-handed pianistic textures. Berman sprouts as many hands as are required, and he has an ability to phrase in long periods—plus the pedal technique to support it—that keeps the music airborne despite its sequential construction. He also has his teacher Lev Oborin's famous way with inner voices; how many pianists could bring out the tenor in the chorale section of the funeral-march finale within an overall marking, scrupulously observed, of pppp?
When, beginning with Sonata No. 3, Berman hits the big-time competition, he more than holds his own. He knows the idiom to the extent that his eighth-note triplets are regularly distended, as Scriabin played them, with a hesitation on the second note and a correspondingly shorter third. His tempos are brisk and flexible, his touch remarkably like Scriabin's own, to the extent that we may judge it from the composer's Vorsetzer rolls and from verbal descriptions (e.g., that of Alexander Pasternak, the poet's brother: “I . . . had the impression that his fingers were producing the sound without touching the keys; his enemies liked to say it was not real piano playing, but a twittering of birds or a mewing of kittens“). This mercurial lightness is really indispensable in the Fourth Sonata, not only in the Prestissimo volando, but also toward the end of the Andante, where the right hand must caress a steady stream of high repeated chords while the left hand sings the tune. You will indeed have the impression that Berman's fingers are not touching the keys. When that main theme of the Andante comes back riding the crest of the Prestissimo in what James Baker (in truly excellent program notes) calls the first of Scriabin's many thematic apotheoses, Berman's effortless tone production is suitably glorious.
In fact, nowhere in this set is there the slightest sense of sweat or strain, even in the Fifth Sonata, so full of explicitly erotic gestures. (Yes, Scriabin appeals to forces mystérieuses, but we know very well what they are.) It's a very playful, aristocratic sort of ecstasy Scriabin summons up, the kind reflected in the Kama Sutra, far, oh very far from 42nd Street. Berman has the cosmic skittishness it takes to make what is often such a heavy harangue a tickly, spritzy delight. Porno-phony, perhaps, but definitely soft-core.
Volume 2, expected shortly, will require the pianist to cast spells, be like the sun, worship the devil, and ultimately become an insect. Can't wait.
-- Richard Taruskin, FANFARE [5/1990]
Handel: Alexander's Feast / The Sixteen
Coro
CD
$29.99
May 01, 2005
The nature of 'Alexander's Feast' is perhaps better summoned up by its other title, 'The Power of Music'. It is a celebratory ode for St. Cecilia's Day, written by Dryden in 1697 for the City of London's traditional celebration of the patron saint of music, and set in celebratory style by Handel in 1736. At its first performance that year, he incorporated two delightful concertos, one for harp and the other for organ, and these are included on this recording.
