Collated book, CD and DVD reviews 2005

Collected Book, CD and DVD recording reviews for Musicweb International 2005

Evan Dickerson

Alphabetical by composer Ludwig van BEETHOVEN (1770-1827) Sonata in F minor, nr. 23 "Appassionata" (op. 57) [21:37] Sonata in C major, nr. 21 "Waldstein/Aurora" (op. 53) [22:11] Sonata in D minor, nr.17 "Tempest" (opus 31, nr.2) [18:49] Fazil Say (piano) Rec. Studio Tibor Varga, Sion, Switzerland, June 2005.

DDD. NAÏVE V 5016 [62:37]

Comparative version of opp. 31, no.2 and 53: Maurizio Pollini on DG 427 642-2 This is a notable addition to Fazil Say’s slim discography for Naïve, showing that it is quality he’s interested in as an artist. Given his many commitments as a solo artist, chamber musician and composer it is unsurprising that his recordings are not more frequent.

The presentation of three mid-period Beethoven sonatas - though for some reason presented in reverse order to composition - brings Say into direct comparison with every great pianist that set these works down for posterity.

But what I love - yes, love – about his approach is that he is unafraid of any of them. So assured is his technique and interpretive skill that he is more than equal to taking on Beethoven on his own terms. Among those terms I surely have to count being a composer, as each work here smacks of being heard through a composer’s ears rather than just a pianist’s hands.

Appassionata sonata: The evocation of hesitant shadows before the stormy outburst is atmospherically caught, but when the brief storm comes you really feel it. Passagework is attacked often savagely, but even where this is not stated it remains implied. The piano is recorded with ample fullness of tone to represent the extremes to which Beethoven pushed the instrument. Unprepared listeners might be left reaching for the volume control, but I could not resist leaving it – perhaps a little too loud – the roller-coaster ride of emotions being too absorbing to care otherwise. Anyhow, it seemed to fit with Say’s robust and argumentative conception of Beethoven the man as seen through his music. The first movement, being fairly driven both in terms of tempo and tone benefits to a large extent from the fact that moments of inner-looking quiet register fully.

The central Andante con moto builds impressively through finely projected and clearly articulated tone. Say’s playing leaves the trace of music that means much to him, and this comes through his careful yet not over-studied sense of sonority, again allowing contrasts to be fully registered – the cloudy bass register with the bell like clarity of the treble register. The closing Allegro ma non troppo begins with true agitation, as it should – leading to a transition that is articulately handled to give a real sense of perspective to the movement’s development prior to the return of the first subject, full of punchy authority.

If the other two sonatas are cut from much the same cloth interpretively, and they are, I can see little wrong in this.

True, his interpretations of opp. 31, no.2 and 53 might not have Pollini’s individuality about them but they are resolutely mid-period Beethoven delivered with fire and enthusiasm allied with strength of technique. It says much for Fazil Say that where others might power on and ride slipshod over the details he takes care over them without neglecting the structure he works within. I found his finely wrought chiaroscuro opening to the Waldstein’s Allegro molto most sensitively handled, yet what followed possessed a strength that was apt and in place. The Tempest’s strength and destructive power might be slower to arrive with Say than Pollini, but from the first it is there. His way

of using the natural pauses in the written line gives the ensuing onslaught all the more energy, which contrasts with the Adagio’s poetry. The Allegretto brings it all to a clean and crisp conclusion. This is Beethoven with an edge from an assured artist still in his ascendancy, and it makes for a thrilling experience that I shall return to often with pleasure.

Ernest BLOCH (1880-1959): Concerto for violin and orchestra (1937) [33.06] (a) Concerto Grosso no. 1 (1925) [22.37] (b) Sherban Lupu (violin) (a) National Romanian Radio Orchestra/Ian Hobson (a) Romanian Radio Chamber Orchestra/Ian Hobson (piano and conductor) (b) Rec. Bucharest, Romania, June 2003. DDD. ZEPHYR Z131-04-01 [55.45]

There have been a number of recordings lately featuring Ernest Bloch’s music. This is positive as he is largely known for Schelomo, a Hebrew Rhapsody for cello and orchestra. One quickly discovers that the idiom flavouring Schelomo flavours almost everything else too, though not the violin concerto. Featuring two sizable works, this new recording clearly shows that Bloch felt he had something to say.

The Violin Concerto – once recorded by Menuhin – is likely to be anticipated as the more interesting work. Bloch trained as a violinist prior to turning to composition, and the work proves a curious mixture of North American sources and the Belgian violin and composition schools out of which he graduated.

The opening quotes at least eight themes, none of which is really developed that far, though one based on North American sources proves more memorable than the rest. For an allegro deciso of over 17 minutes, I was surprised how little deciso came through in performance. There are shortish bursts for tutti orchestra, and these are weightily given, but much of the opening movement seems strangely wayward. The andante is atmospheric in its lines for the wind instruments placed against Lupu’s finely strung violin solo. Here, as earlier, he steers a path that allows bite, beauty and body to his tone. Thematically though, the movement is slight.

The closing deciso opens with brass and strings against a jaunty solo line which Lupu uses to further display both quality and fluency. As with the first movement any impetus initially created is soon dispelled as Bloch moves from one textural colour to another. The orchestra captures these colours, and it is hard to imagine the homogenised sound of a western orchestra doing so with as much individuality. Hobson’s direction, for the most part unfussy, cannot disguise the shortcomings evident in the composer’s imagination. My main reservation concerns the recorded sound, as it’s somewhat distant. It does no favours to the performers who are capable of more than the recording really displays.

The Concerto Grosso (the first of two) opens with a short, rather four-square, prelude given forthrightly. Any problems with the recording have been corrected, as the performance is much more immediate. Hobson’s piano obbligato is made of sturdy stuff. The second movement dirge might have been more obviously depressing were it not for the orchestral weight and shading that frequently gives the performance a chamber music air. There are also plenty of opportunities for orchestral solos to come through: violin, viola and cello – all register keenly on the ear. The pastorale and rustic dances bring a refined view of the country to the proceedings, to which impetus is added by Hobson’s playing and the flexibility of tempi, to which the orchestra readily respond. The closing fugueallegro is the point at which any indebtedness to the Handelian concerto grosso is most noticeable. Bloch’s

orchestration announces it as something entirely of twentieth century origins without once endangering any tonal sensibilities.

David Z. Kushner’s six page booklet note makes the case for Bloch’s music in the face of narrow criticism. In the end though, it is the music that must convince, and it just does not quite do that. These might be works for occasional listening but they are given committed performances, and a pleasure to hear Romanian forces reaching a wider international audience. A great pity the recording ambience lets the violin concerto down.

Arrigo BOITO (1842-1918) Mefistofele: Opera in a prologue, four acts and an epilogue (1868) Mefistofele: Nicola Ghiuselev (bass) Faust: Kaloudi Kaloudov (tenor) Margherita: Stefka Evstatieva (soprano) Elena: Rumjana Bareva (soprano) Wagner: Mincho Popov (tenor) Sofia National Opera Chorus and Orchestra/Ivan Marinov Recording dates and location not provided. DDD. CAPRICCIO 51 186 [65.26 + 75.55]

George Bernard Shaw got there some time before me in summing up exactly my own feelings about Boito as a composer, and about Mefistofele in particular: it’s an example what can be achieved “in the operatic field by an excellent man of letters without actual musical talent but with ten times more taste and education than a musician of just ordinary extraordinariness”. Alright – perhaps ignore the last bit as a typical bit of GBS overstatement, but you get the picture. Boito’s chief weaknesses as an opera composer are some loose handling of the plot and an inability to develop his musical material, which alas shows itself in both the voices and orchestra. Verdi himself commented that he missed “spontaneity and melody” in the work – two factors that were never found lacking in his own works.

All this notwithstanding, there is a place for Mefistofele and perhaps enough reason to hear it occasionally. But does this recording adequately stand up to the task? I don’t think so – and there are several reasons for this.

From the opening Largo there is a sense of a rather cavernous acoustic plaguing proceedings – distant trumpets and adequately caught strings fight against raging thunder effects that seem places not a foot away from the left channel microphone. Consequently, you are left juggling the volume between what makes listening sufficiently audible and comfortable. Things are exacerbated with the entry of the chorus. This surely must be a live or ‘as live’ performance – although there is no applause or audience interruption to give the fact away: the choral ending to the prologue sounds so rough, pushed and ill-focused that I can’t imagine any producer anywhere sanctioning it for commercial release.

The soloists also immediately announce that this is far from an Italian cast at work. I’ve heard worse Italian pronunciation – but more often than not the singers suffer from one minute being close to and then away from the microphones – so the text lapses towards indistinctness. Of course the opera is a relative rarity in that it is built around a star bass (or bass-baritone) in the title role. Nicola Ghiuselev undoubtedly fulfilled the star bass criterion, having both the presence and the vocal ability to bring the role easily within his grasp – but even this is not enough were he to be placed beside a true Italian bass such as Ezio Pinza. Comparing the two in the Act I aria “Son lo spirito che nega”, Pinza brings a suavity to the role that makes Mefistofele more terrifying and Faust’s agreement to the pact not only more inevitable but more dramatically believable too.

Kaloudi Kaloudov’s tenor serves Faust in a well focused though slightly nasal way, in common with many Eastern European tenors – but there is little in it that will cause undue offence, and much the same can be said for Mincho Popov in the small role of Wagner. Whilst I’m on small roles, why does the booklet or case not list the singers taking the roles of Marta, Panatalis and Nerèo?

In productions and on recordings too the soprano roles of Margherita and Elena are often taken by the same singer: not so here. Stefka Evstatieva’s Margherita has the more extensive part and also the better music, even if one aria forms the basis of that view (“L’altra notte in fondo al mare”, Act III). She copes valiantly with it shading down to a well focused pianissimo when needed. Rumjana Bareva as Elena hardly has a character to get into, confined as she is to the 24 minutes of Act IV, but the voice is not well caught generally even if the high notes are thrown out with feeling. Overall I wished Evstatieva had taken on both roles.

Marinov keeps moving reasonably commendably without much individuality, but there’s little he can do to hide Boito’s shortcomings. Those of the accompanying notes however are another matter – barely a paragraph on the work, followed by a synopsis: a poor show when more could have been done.

Those desperate for a complete recording should look elsewhere, and there are a few to choose from. I would actually be tempted to skip them all and opt for the few highlights the work contains on one or two ‘recital’ discs – that way at least Boito still retains some dignity as a composer.

Benjamin BRITTEN (1913-1976) Folk Song Arrangements CD 1 Volume 1: British Isles: The Salley Gardens [2:36]; Little Sir William [3:01]; The Bonny Earl o' Moray [2:36]; O can ye sew cushions? [2:20]; The trees they grow so high [3:35]; The Ash Grove [2:35]; Oliver Cromwell [0:45] Tom Bowling and other song arrangements: Greensleeves [1:56]; I wonder as I wander [3:59]; The Crocodile [4:45] Volume 3: British Isles: The Plough Boy [1:57]; There's none to soothe [1:37]; Sweet Polly Oliver [2:15]; The Miller of Dee [1:56]; The foggy, foggy dew [2:34]; O Waly, Waly [4:03]; Come you not from Newcastle [1:10] Tom Bowling and other song arrangements: Pray Goody [0:47] Volume 5 British Isles: The Brisk Young Widow [2:07]; Sally in our Alley [4:09]; The Lincolnshire Poacher [2:09]; Early one morning [3:18]; Ca' the yowes [3:39] Tom Bowling and other song arrangements: The Holly and the Ivy [2:25]; Soldier, won't you marry me? [1:41]; The Deaf Woman's Courtship [1:19] CD 2 Volume 4: Moore's Irish Melodies: Avenging and bright [1:34]; Sail on, sail on [2:26]; How sweet the answer [1:57]; The Minstrel Boy [2:23]; At the mid hour of night [2:46]; Rich and rare [3:06]; Dear Harp of My Country [2:26]; Oft in the stilly night [2:47]; The last rose of summer [3:45]; O the sight entrancing [2:09] Volume 2 France: La Noel passé [3:51]; Voici le Printemps [1:46]; Fileuse [1:51]; Le roi s'en va-t'en

chasse [2:19]; La belle est au jardin d'amour [3:12]; Il est quelqu'un sur terre [4:56]; Eho! Eho! [1:56]; Quand j'étais chez mon père [2:00] Volume 6 England: I will give my love an apple [1:16]; Sailor-boy [1:54]; Master Kilby [1:59]; The Soldier and the Sailor [2:39]; Bonny at Morn [2:31]; The Shooting of his Dear [2:54] Tom Bowling and other song arrangements: German Folk Song: The Stream in the Valley [2:32] Unpublished folk song setting [3.35] Felicity Lott (soprano); Philip Langridge (tenor); Graham Johnson (piano); Carlos Bonell (guitar); Christopher Van Kampen (cello) Recorded at St Giles Cripplegate Church, London, March 1995 (disc 1, tracks 1-8 and 10-24, disc 2 tracks 1-24), at St. Paul’s Church, Knightsbridge, London in June 1995 (disc 1 track 9) and at Henry Wood Hall, London in March 1995 (disc 1 tracks 25 and 26 and disc 2 tracks 25 and 26) DDD NAXOS 8.557220-21 [65.34 + 67.03] It was the late, lamented Luciano Berio that claimed there must be something dubious about a country without folk music, but it could equally have been Benjamin Britten. Of all British composers there is none other who evokes such a close association with the native idiom or such intimate relationship with a sense of place. One of the first things that strikes you is just how wide Britten’s interest in folk material was, drawn as it was from all over the British Isles.

To better accommodate the six volumes on 2CDs from the 3CDs they originally occupied on their Collins Classics release, Naxos have omitted some other more minor material and reordered the tracks. For anyone wishing to take the sets in order a certain amount of track and disc shuffling must ensue, but this is far from essential to the overall enjoyment. Many individual songs may well be familiar to listeners, as they were to me, but this was my first encounter with the sets as a whole. It has been a richly rewarding experience.

All the artists recorded here have a long association with Britten’s music. Langridge’s stage assumptions of Britten’s key tenor roles have been among the glories of the opera world for many years. If his song recital activity has not received quite the same adulation, it is for no want of quality or insight as previous Naxos reissues have surely proven.

The point has been made before about the similarity in some respects between Langridge’s voice and that of Peter Pears, for whom so much of Britten’s music was written. Both bring a lively imagination to the word pointing of individual songs, coupled with excellent diction and superb intonation. But it is the intimacy and affection within the performances, matching that felt by Britten for the material in the first place, that proves infectious here. Listen to the playfulness in ‘The Crocodile’ (CD1, track 10) or the beautifully rapt rendition of ‘The Salley Gardens’ (CD 1, track 1), to give but two examples.

If Langridge carries the lion’s share of material, the contribution of Dame Felicity Lott is no less important. It is probably the closest thing to heresy in some quarters to admit this, but I have not always been totally convinced by her stage portrayals. But again it was the intimacy of tone that drew me in here. Some songs are more artful, others more earthy and characterful.

Given Dame Felicity’s prowess with French it is appropriate that she take the bulk of the Volume 2 songs, with Britten’s accompaniments being suitably Gallic in flavour. Langridge’s contributions, here as elsewhere, provide a piquant counterpoint.

The few duets work wonderfully: ‘The deaf woman’s courtship’ proving a particular highlight of interplay.

Throughout Graham Johnson proves a sensitive accompanist, crisp, articulate though not overly forward. The final set is of interest for the employment of guitar accompaniment, which Carlos Bonell takes well. However, there is

competition in the pairing of Pears and Julian Bream (BMG-RCA). The present collection ends most hauntingly with a German folk-song, and a wordless setting given to cello and piano. Pointing to a new direction in Britten’s concern with folk material, it is interesting to ponder where this would have taken him.

With succinct yet insightful notes, texts (though hardly needed due to the superb diction of both singers), and translations of the French, Naxos supports an excellent release admirably. Anyone wanting Britten’s folk-song arrangements can safely acquire this pleasurable set without fear of disappointment.

Niccolò CASTIGLIONI (1932-1996) Music for Piano: Cangianti (1959) [10:56] Tre Pezzi (1978) [18:16] Come io passo l’estate (1983) [9:31] Dulce Refrigerium (Sechs Geistliche Lieder) (1984) [9:28] Sonatina (1984) [7:21] HE (1990) [4:04] Sarah Nicolls (piano) rec. 13 June, 25 July 2004, Vestry Hall, London. DDD. METIER MSV CD92089 [59:50]

Niccolò Castiglioni’s entire solo piano output is covered on this Metier release. Like the late-lamented Luciano Berio, he studied with Giorgio Federico Ghedini, and his influence is most keenly heard in the “icy, glittering soundworld” (from Michael Finnissy) that the music for the most part inhabits. There is a tendency towards the extremes of the instrument’s register, particularly the upper; repeated percussive effects as opposed to the sustaining of melody, though this does fleetingly occur as does a brusqueness that can dominate an equally playful imagination.

Sarah Nicolls’ formidable technique and reputation for interpreting highly complex contemporary works precedes her. She is more than equal to any challenge thrown at her here. No doubt her experience in playing Berio (she gave the UK premiere of his piano sonata) and Dallapiccola have paid some dividends in helping her get inside Castiglioni’s works, if only through the contrast of the composer’s styles and idioms.

Cangianti in many ways sets the pattern for Castiglioni’s later piano output, characterized as it is by bursts of notes in the treble register. These have an edgy, nervous quality about them. At around 2:15 the work plunges with ferocious venom into the bass register, against which again a treble part is sustained. At 5:09 there is the appearance of a possible melody trying to emerge, but this already has a disjointed quality. The silences that punctuate the stabs of sound also prove telling in structuring and clarifying the notated sections. These too heighten the contrast and extended exaggeration within the work as a whole. It ends with a string of pianissimo statements, almost collapsing in upon themselves.

In her brief programme note, Nicolls states that she is drawn to the “childlike nature” of the music, and “would heartily recommend Come io passo l’estate for children as a fantastic set of varied, highly imaginative pieces.” Of all the works included here this is indeed the most obviously approachable and fun-filled – not least due to the relatively extended melodic lines that Castiglioni uses. As the title translates to ‘How I spent my summer’, the ten tracks are in effect a series of mini musical postcards. They reference forms such as the albumblatt perhaps, but never stoop to pastiche, though you might encounter the ghosts of Schoenberg or Satie. Nicolls expertly catches these aspects and plays it all unfussily, with a sense of wide-eyed wonder.

Dulce Refrigerium (Sechs Geistliche Lieder) – Chilled Sweetness (Six Religious Songs) – is a set that possesses a sense of inner repose. The first movement (Humility) and the second (Earth) show subdued signs of Cangianti’s influence.

Later movements include allusions to Beethoven or possibly Wagner: horn calls that are chord-based and of striking simplicity. Just as with the Sonatina there is a quiet yet growing insistence with repeated notes. Often it seems that this is as much at the will of the performer as the instruction of the composer.

The final work, HE, is marked ‘to be played as loud and as fast as possible’. Nicolls reports that this corresponds to qualities she heard in Castiglioni’s own playing. It displays again much of Cangianti’s flamboyance, although there is an even more brittle quality than before. Yet there is also a certain balance and poise that Nicolls brings out, indicating perhaps a distant reference to classical ideals not formally stated in the music. Above all Nicolls demonstrates fearlessness in delivering a full-on performance; precisely the quality of “playful intellectuality” that, as Michael Finnissy notes, is so central to Castiglioni’s output.

In the end, this disc’s appeal will depend more on your liking of Castiglioni’s works than Nicolls’ advocacy of them. I found them a touch hard going on repeated hearings, and preferred to take individual works in isolation. But this is only my opinion, and there will be many for whom Nicolls’ debut disc will prove a richly rewarding experience.

Leoš JANÁČEK (1854–1928): The Eternal Gospel, Legend for soprano, tenor, chorus and orchestra (1913) [18.45] The Ballad of Blaník (1919) [8.02] The Fiddler’s Child, Ballad for solo violin and orchestra (1913) [11.46] The Excursions of Mr Brouček, Suite for orchestra (1908-17) [20.58] Gwyneth-Ann Jeffers (soprano: Angel), Adrian Thompson (tenor: Joachim of Fiore), Edinburgh Festival Chorus (The Eternal Gospel) - sung in Czech Elizabeth Layton (violin) (The Fiddler’s Child) BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra/Ilan Volkov rec. 5-6 June 2004 and 7–8 January 2005, Caird Hall, Dundee. DDD. HYPERION CDA 67517 [59.54]

There are several reasons to give this disc an unqualified welcome. All Janáček fans should be acquiring it without delay, and those as yet unconverted should seriously consider it. Sixty minutes may be slightly short measure for some but it is quality all the way.

My understanding of Janáček’s output is more biased towards his symphonic and choral output. Anyone with a similar understanding can rejoice in the presentation of three lesser-known works - this is the first reason for welcome. The Eternal Gospel stands with ease alongside the Glagolitic Mass in terms of impact and form, as The Ballad of Blaník might alongside Taras Bulba and The Fiddler’s Child alongside the Concertino. Operatic Janáčekians have the prospect of the orchestral suite from the deeply wacky The Excursions of Mr Brouček for entertainment – and boy is it entertaining!

The common thread here is the spirit of Czech nationalism that Janáček with which imbued each of the works, and Nigel Simeone’s booklet note brings out the salient points readily enough.

The second reason is undoubtedly the performance that each work receives.

The Eternal Gospel opens things with tremendous presence, strong - though not overly so - in the strings and brass.

It carries the feeling of a stage work beginning in media res though within the gravitas of a timeless frame – a statement of the eternal, which is of course what Janáček was after. Much of the sung duration falls to Adrian

Thompson as Joachim of Fiore and his slightly piquant tenor catches the edge present in Janáček’s vocal line, though that is not to suggest anything distasteful in the execution. Gwyneth-Ann Jeffers’ part may not be as large but dramatically it is important, and is delivered with assurance and in full-toned voice. The contribution of the Edinburgh Festival Chorus registers keenly too through impressive vocal weight and texturing, though perhaps, as with the soloists, it might lack slightly the instinctive linguistic response of a Czech choir.

A great mini tone poem is how I would characterise The Ballad of Blaník. The heft and hue of the orchestra reign free under Volkov’s spirited direction, which is the case throughout and, surely Volkov is the third reason to investigate this release. It’s amazing to think that this is Volkov’s first commercial release, such has been the assiduousness with which the BBC have recorded him and the BBCSSO in recent years. Talented undoubtedly beyond his years (29) his music-making has about it the wide-eyed wonder of youth; long may this blissful union remain in place, so rarely does it happen. To my mind it is precisely this union of qualities that any performance of Brouček needs. Other qualities that make this particularly memorable are Volkov’s keen ear for orchestral sonority in Moon Waltz and the contrast inherent in The Song of the Hussites. I am sure it is Volkov’s youth that gives much of the fire he finds within the internal dynamics and pacing of the works.

Of all the works included here the most haunting is The Fiddler’s Child, with the orchestra’s leader Elizabeth Layton stepping forward for the solo part. Having read the story upon which the ballad was based prior to hearing it, I found it all nigh impossible not to feel anguish for the poor child. Layton’s delivery, like Volkov’s, is both artful and direct to befit a tale of such seriousness.

The fourth reason is Hyperion themselves. Through much publicised difficulties of late they continue to offer recordings that maintain high production standards, promote genuine talent and challenge the serious listener in repertoire of real worth; if that doesn’t deserve support, what does?

Christian LINDBERG (b. 1958) A Composer’s Portrait Helikon Wasp (2003) for conducting trombonist and orchestra [16'31”] (a) The World of Montuagretta (2001-2002). Concerto for Flute and Chamber Orchestra [20’50”] (b) Condon Canyon (2000) for trombone and brass quintet [11'21”] (c) ´...Ty solen är uppe!´ (1999) for trombone and malevoice choir [9'26”] (d) Behac Munroh (2004) for trumpet, trombone and orchestra [16'35”] (e) (a) Sao Paulo Symphony Orchestra (OSESP)/Christian Lindberg (trombone/conductor/ voice) (b) Sharon Bezaly (flutes)/Svenska Kammarorkestern/Christian Lindberg (c) Stockholms Kammarbrass/Christian Lindberg (trombone) (d) Christian Lindberg (trombone)/Orphei Drängar/Robert Sund (e) Ole Edvard Antonsen (trumpet)/Christian Lindberg (trombone)/Basque National Orchestra/Cristian Mandeal Rec. 2003/2004 in Brazil, Sweden and Spain. Notes and texts included. DDD. BIS BIS-CD-1428 [76’29”] A composer’s portrait – but it could so easily be called “a performer’s portrait” given the number of other roles Lindberg takes on here. He serves as trombonist, conductor, vocalist, librettist even, and often several simultaneously. Alongside these multifarious roles there are a wide range of compositional influences to be spotted,

also highlighted in Lindberg’s own sleeve-note. Indeed spreading the net even wider to look at his early memories of recordings, the field includes Dixieland band music, Louis Armstrong, Jack Teagarden, the Beatles, Coltrane, Jimi Hendrix, Stockhausen, Mozart …

You quickly get the picture: an eclectic in every sense. This has most definitely fed Lindberg’s creative path. One admires the fact that it has driven him to expand the repertoire for his own instrument. Also a sense of irrepressibility comes though – boundless energy and, on my part, bafflement (or maybe slight envy, were I a composer) at how he manages to fit in composing alongside an already packed international schedule as performer. Lindberg acknowledges the hyperactivity within himself from a young age, and that music has helped him channel his energies.

Quite how long he studied composition for, and how seriously, he does not say. He acknowledges a compositional coach, Jan Sandström, but omits any mention of ‘hands-on’ assistance with the works presented here. Not that it would overly trouble me if there was any, providing it’s acknowledged.

Unlike, say, Maazel with his ‘opera’ 1984, Lindberg does not make high claims for his compositions. Helikon Wasp and Behac Munroh are both reactions against the empty intellectualism that Lindberg sees infiltrating the music world – and here I would agree particularly with regard to contemporary composition. Like it or dislike it, Lindberg is his own man, and if there is any vanity herein it is not distastefully paraded.

So do I like it? Well, as one likes a curate’s egg, has to be my answer. I will not be returning to Helikon Wasp on a regular basis, its structure is too cut about for my liking. Condor Canyon and ‘…Ty solen äre uppe!’ display a keen ear for sonorities in brass or voice. His treatment of both is quite similar - not unsurprising for a brass player. The latter work’s setting of Strindberg for the choir is audacious, but brought off with atmosphere, and the trombone line adds an ominous, or otherworldly, feel at times.

From a performance point of view, and nearly the melodic one as well, it is Behac Munroh that comes off the best.

Recorded after a series of live performances with these forces, the Basque National Orchestra shows itself far superior to the OSESP used for the Helikon Wasp recording. The experience and ear of conductor Cristian Mandeal shows over that of Lindberg himself in pushing the musical line to its limits, with the crucial percussive roles and held chords nicely captured. Jazzy passages are entered into with élan and come as welcome relief from the mounting static sonorities in strings and brass, that help frame the interplay between the soloists.

Alongside Behac Munroh it is The World of Montuagretta, concerto for flute and chamber orchestra, that is for me of greatest musical importance – should I choose to think in those terms for a moment. The general characteristics you will by now be familiar with, although you might well be startled in retrospect by realizing that Lindberg did not write this work for his own instrument, such is the staying power and beauty of some passages. Sharon Bezaly’s flute line is fluid and captivatingly thrown across the orchestral textures.

There are things here to interest and amuse, though maybe not for the long term. For some pieces one hearing will suffice, whilst others prove more resilient in the musical memory: take them at face value and nothing more. That BIS records, and orchestras continually commission, new works from him should be cause enough for Lindberg, and others, to raise a smile at the virtues of music for its own sake.

Jules MASSENET (1842-1912) Werther (1892) Andrea Bocelli (tenor) – Werther; Natale de Carolis (baritone) – Albert; Giorgio Giuseppini (baritone) – The Bailiff; Julia Gertseva (mezzo-soprano) – Charlotte; Magali Léger (soprano) – Sophie; Pierre Lefebvre (tenor) – Schmidt); Armando Ariostini (bass) – Johann; Diana Bertini (soprano) – Kätchen; Vittorio Prato (tenor) – Bruhlmann; Coro di voci bianche del Teatro Communale di Bologna, Orchestra del Teatro Comunale di Bologna/Yves Abel Recorded in the Teatro Manzoni, Bologna, 30 January – 5 February 2004, following live performances at the Teatro Comunale DECCA 475 6557 [73:06 + 56:33]

I might be in the minority, but it is my opinion that Massenet in general and Werther in particular is far from easy to bring off with total success in the theatre. However under the right conditions and with suitable forces many of the challenges can be overcome, as proved by the production at Covent Garden earlier this season. The same goes for recordings, and there are many complete versions to choose from. Any newcomer faces extremely stiff competition on all fronts from many existing recordings. So to impress at anything beyond surface level a new recording will have to be something special.

What are the specific challenges of Werther and, therefore, the criteria in approaching any recording:1. scaling and balance within the orchestral playing: the beauty of Massenet’s orchestration is to be found in the winds set as against the strings.

2. allied to this is the sympathy of the conductor to the true French idiom – a generic sound or approach will not do, nor will a lack of dynamism in the production as a whole.

3. the long, taxing tenor part requires a complete palette of mood and expression throughout the range.

4. the balancing of the female leads (do you balance Sophie, a soprano role, with a mezzo Charlotte or another soprano – and if so of what vocal size and timbre, so they are distinct?).

5. subsidiary roles should draw out sufficient character beyond their vocally limited parts.

The essential point with orchestral scaling and balance within Werther is that it matches the onstage drama, which is to say that it is essentially domestic in scale, although larger emotions are contained within that setting. Yves Abel leads a reading that is large in structure, meaty in tone and, therefore, neglects the essence of the drama. Winds, although prominent, do not take on character in the way they might under a more insightful conductor. To my ears at least the orchestra is not sufficiently in the French vein, being too heavy and forward.

So to Werther himself. Bocelli’s tone comes across as firm with a slight vibrato throughout. The text is by and large decently delivered – there are some problems in faster passages (this applies to all the singers on this set), higher vocal range can appear strained too, but importantly depth of character seems largely absent. I could perhaps live with all the former more if depth of character was present in spadefulls. Here interplay with the conductor’s bland interpretation must be mentioned – it hardly inspires depth of character or emotion in what is a setting of one of Goethe’s most emotional narratives.

My major concern about Bocelli’s voice is its size and its true dynamic range. I said earlier the voice ‘comes across’because here I question the recording of it rather than the voice itself – there is virtually no scaling down from a uniform mezzo-forte. Brief fortissimi are delivered, but not with the greatest comfort. Listen to virtually any other tenor in performance or recording and you get true dynamic range, appropriate (hopefully) to the mood of the

moment. Massenet is careful about his indications, so why for large parts of the work, ignore them? My only conclusion is that no matter how much recording hocus-pocus is used to cover the fact, Bocelli may be a tenor trying on a role that is a size too large for him. As this is his fourth complete opera recording with large demanding roles, an artistic path seems set. The recording followed a production with this cast at the Teatro Comunale, Bologna in 2004. Quite how he coped with the role on stage I cannot say. If he wants to keep a voice in the long term, I hope he knows best, and I say no more.

Julia Gertseva, a St Petersburg-born mezzo, is a singer making a name for herself apparently. I say apparently because no notes are included on the singers, so I resorted to the internet to find out something. Where other Charlottes (Gheorghiu and de los Angeles in particular) are more girlish, Gertseva is at times a touch matronly.

For a character that is so emotionally immersed in the action, she seems curiously detached from it all. Act III scene 1 is Charlotte’s solo scene, loaded with emotion as she pours out her feelings for Werther: Gertseva delivers it as if anything but this, albeit with technical accuracy. Again, balance against the orchestra does her few favours in places.

I would cast a mezzo of smaller scale than Gertseva in the role, but that is my preference, although my preferred versions listed below all have sopranos as Charlotte.

Regarding subsidiary parts, Magali Leger as Sophie is characterful, but not to match others on disc. Others are adequate, though in truth Massenet gives them precious little of substance to work with.

I started by mentioning the recent Covent Garden production. From this recording I get little sense of ‘a production’, with emotional involvement from all concerned. Pappano’s recording is positively full of it, despite not having followed a production – a result no doubt of his infectious love of this work connecting with the orchestra and soloists. This version exists primarily to satisfy Bocelli’s fanbase, and document the accent of Gertseva in the opera world. But as a Werther to set beside the best it is wanting on many counts, averagely to decently sung and played though it is. Prime recommendations must remain Pappano or Prêtre, depending on your casting of Charlotte, (both on EMI), with the live recording featuring Kraus and Zeani forming a supplement to that choice.

It is some, perhaps small, consolation for singers recording the role that the commercial recording with Kraus caught him slightly too late to be vocally comfortable with all aspects when heard against earlier live assumptions. But Kraus is still a well-nigh impossible benchmark to match. The innate understanding of the role, the sense of style both in man and music are there. Indeed these elements were there until the very end of his life, as I heard at his last UK orchestral concert at the Barbican - the whole evening built inexorably towards a rendition of ‘Pourquoi me reveiller…?’ – given straight, no star tenor histrionics, no distortion of the vocal line.

An ideal Werther? Mix together Pappano conducting an orchestra with whom he has a long-standing association, Alfredo Kraus (c.1979) as Werther, Vesselina Kasarova or Ruxandra Donose as Charlotte, Patricia Petibon or Sally Matthews as Sophie and you have the main ingredients for a real night at the opera. Alas, only in my dreams; a sentiment Werther himself could well agree with.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756 – 1791) Don Giovanni Don Giovanni – Benjamin Luxon (baritone) Leporello – Stafford Dean (baritone) Donna Anna – Horiana Branisteanu (soprano) Donna Elvira – Rachel Yakar (soprano) Don Ottavio – Leo Geoke (tenor) Zerlina – Elizabeth Gale (soprano) Masetto – John Rawnsley (baritone) Commendatore – Pierre Thau (bass) The Glyndebourne Chorus London Philharmonic Orchestra/Bernard Haitink Rec. Glyndebourne Festival Opera/Southern Television Production, 1977.

DVD Region 0 ARTHAUS MUSIK EUROARTS 101 087 [168’00"] This 1977 performance of Don Giovanni at Glyndebourne has long been held to be a classic staging. Peter Hall’s direction does nothing that works against the plot or da Ponte’s libretto, and is generally sensitive to the music too.

John Bury’s sets present the opera in a somewhat gloomy atmosphere but this works to underline the darker side of human behaviour portrayed by the character of the Don, and thus never far removed from civilised society.

But this is not a production for those seeking deep psychological insights into the characters, their actions or the motivations behind them. The closest the cast comes to insightful acting is the Leporello of Stafford Dean. The graveyard scene for example shows Leporello genuinely not wanting to be there addressing the Commendatore’s statue and showing real shock at the fact that it speaks. Don Giovanni not so much as lifts an eyebrow at this momentous event, although he remarks on the strangeness of it. For a singer that sends that cold shiver down the spine, and makes you feel it too, you should look elsewhere; for example to Thomas Allen’s portrayal conducted by Muti, now available as part of the La Scala DVD edition (OALS3001D). What you do get is a well-sung production, though perhaps not an outstanding one all round.

The opera throws up notorious problems in relation to casting which are highlighted by the choices made.

Benjamin Luxon is hardly the first baritone who springs to mind as a suitable Don, in terms of appearance at least.

Tall, thin and with a handlebar moustache he is most definitely not your generic slick, fresh-faced wideboy who uses nothing more than good looks and charm to make petticoats ruffle. Instead he delivers a performance that is all the more creditable because he uses the genuine assets he has as man, musician and actor to win over his conquests. He is a Don of age, experience and presence approaching his latter years, yet still excited by the adding of conquests to the list to prove his pulling power has not yet deserted him. As such, the running scorecard, if you will, that is Leporello’s list seems not totally beyond the bounds of physical possibility, yet still beyond the measure of most men.

The voice is finely focused, phrasing delivered with experience and care. Rarely has ‘Deh vieni alla finestra’ seemed so right, or indeed so moving. The character is weaker though when it comes to the more exuberant moments – the ‘champagne aria’, for example – these do not convince me nearly as much. But it is still a fine reminder of Luxon in his vocal prime.

Stafford Dean as Leporello continually brings Rembrandt’s ‘Wide Eyed’ self portrait etching (1630) to mind, so involved and animated are his facial expressions throughout. However, there are moments when these are missed slightly due to the camera angles or edits, and this is a pity. He finds genuine and mocking humour, cowardice, compliance against his will and many of the other requisite facets of the character to contrast with Luxon’s Don, combined with a generally excellently sung rendition of the role.

Donna Anna is a problematic character to cast. Do you go for the dramatic soprano to bring out the thirst for vengeance in her arias and portray her as a fire-eating battleaxe of a wife, or a more lyrical soprano to show more genuine humanly emotions? Horiana Branisteanu’s portrayal is most definitely the latter – indeed, with the

possible exception of Joan Sutherland on the Giulini CD set, she is one of the few I have heard who can both declaim her big moments without harshness and scale down the voice to observe the markings as written ... and appear distraught. Though like others her face lacks obvious emotion, her eyes say much with their smouldering dark powerful stare.

Leo Geoke (Don Ottavio) moves efficiently through the role, though he is easily superseded by many a tenor in terms of technique, finesse and acting skill. The late Gösta Winbergh on the Karajan CD set (one of that set’s few out-and-out successes) comes to mind. Even without seeing Winbergh you can imagine stage action, and occasionally even when seeing Geoke it is difficult to place him in the action.

Rachel Yakar has the dramatic measure of Elvira I feel and vocally too is capable of meeting the task, but suffers somewhat by appearing constrained by the direction she has received. If left more to her own dramatic inclinations the results might have had greater visual impact.

The pairing of Elizabeth Gale’s Zerlina and John Rawnsley’s Masetto is a pleasing one – both are full of character.

Pierre Thau’s Commendatore is no match for that of Gottlob Frick for Giulini, but then who is? His contribution is steady within the confines of the part, but more could have been made of it.

The London Philharmonic play with obvious experience of both score and house; though at times I felt the winds a little recessed. Haitink’s Mozart opera experience, as he freely admits, was at that time only beginning, and relative to later achievements this is evident. However, there is nothing that is unmusical or overtly out of place – it just lacks the depth of insight he was to achieve later on, or indeed the driving inevitability achieved by Furtwängler in his Salzburg staging (now available on DVD).

So in summation, this is a set that tends to wear its qualities lightly in relation to others. For me, largely because of the voices (Luxon, Dean and Branisteanu in particular), this set will serve as an appendix to other interpretations I have mentioned, most of which take priority due to their interpretational qualities.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Le Nozze di Figaro – opera in four acts Libretto by Lorenzo Da Ponte after Beaumarchais Count Almaviva – Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau (baritone) Countess – Kiri te Kanawa (soprano) Susanna – Mirella Freni (soprano) Figaro – Hermann Prey (baritone) Cherubino – Maria Ewing (soprano) Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/Karl Böhm Staged and directed by Jean-Pierre Ponnelle Rec. Sofiensaal, Vienna, Dec. 1975; filming Shepperton Studios, London, June 1976.

DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON UNITEL 00440 073 4034 [2 DVDs: 181:00]

Everything about this production proclaims quality. The cast, orchestra and conductor are all beyond reproach.

Collectively they bring a wealth of experience and affection to Mozart’s eternal masterpiece.

I could end there, and you would have sufficient reason to invest in one of the greatest Mozart opera films ever made. But stay a while – for it takes a while consciously to absorb just how right this production is, not just in the broad sweep, but also in the details. A few days after watching this, I turned to Vittorio Gui’s classic Glyndebourne account (EMI Classics for Pleasure CD-CFPD 4724), an amazing bargain-priced recording every Mozart lover should own. Not wishing to say I found things missing from Gui’s account, rather I found extra facets of characterisation in the Böhm, and largely because of the visual interaction on-screen.

As was the case during the era in which this production was made, filming took place separately from the audio recording, with the cast miming to the final edited version of the tape. The audio dates from December 1975, the film was shot at Shepperton Studios some seven months later. Those that know other productions made in this way (the Böhm Salome with Teresa Stratas springs to mind) will know that any tiny imperfections are greatly outweighed by the musicality of the whole. Both sound and visuals are in a crisp state, and wear their age lightly.

Fischer-Dieskau’s Count plays all with an observant eye, truly master of his household in more ways than one. He steers that fine line between aristocrat and philanderer, superbly acted, with words telling as only they can from the lieder singer sans pareil. As his wife, Kiri Te Kanawa gives one of her most touching portrayals, luxuriantly voiced and absolutely believable.

Likewise the pairing of Hermann Prey and Mirella Freni as Figaro and Susanna provides a wonderful reminder of two treasured artists captured in their prime. Watching them, I could think of no other assumption of these roles, vocally or in terms of acted performance. Pure delight! And what a masterclass of interaction: more outward maybe than Fischer-Dieskau and Te Kanawa – but a perfect foil, illustrating contrasting circles of society. Cherubino in the hands of a young Maria Ewing is fully hot-headed and emotional.

Under Böhm the Vienna Philharmonic play like angels; affection and vitality in every bar. But then the Maestro would not have expected otherwise. I don’t know how many times they played this score - between them a fair few times - but it feels like the first. Jean-Pierre Ponnelle’s production might be roundly termed traditional - he mercifully tries no interpretation that is outside what is inherent in the libretto and score – and in doing so he allows a crumbling ancien régime to be adroitly captured.

The presentation serves the purpose, with two acts to a DVD, copious cueing points and documentation including a synopsis and a short interview with Jean-Pierre Ponnelle about making films of opera.

If you are not convinced now, the chances are you may never be. For my part, I would not want to be without it. It really is that simple.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1971) Complete piano works for four hands CD 1: Sonata in D major, K. 448 [23.44] Fugue in G minor, K.401 [3.26] Variations in G major, K.501: Andante [7.57] Sonata in F major, K.497 [34.41] CD 2: Adagio and Fugue in C minor, K. 426 [6.56] Sonata in B-flat major, K. 358 [16.47] Sonata in C major, K. 19d [11.30] Fantasia in F minor for musical clockwork, K. 608 (arr.

Busoni) [8.51] CD 3: Fantasia in F minor, K.594 [8.31] Sonata in C major, K. 521 [23.19] Sonata in D major, K. 381 [17.41] Sonata in C major, K. 545 (arr. Grieg) [12.12] Misha and Cipa Dichter (piano) Recording dates and locations unspecified. DDD. MUSICAL HERITAGE SOCIETY 5379317 [3CDs: 69.48 + 44.04 + 61.49] Big-name pianists have regularly joined forces on disc to perform a selection of these Mozart works - Lupu and Perahia on Sony, Cooper and Queffelec on Ottavo, and Lortie and Mercier on Chandos, to name just three pianistic pairings. More often than not the couplings have been Schubert works for four hands.

As far as concerns us here these works can be traced like a leitmotif through three pairs of lives: Mozart and his sister Maria Anna (‘Nannerl’), Rosina and Joseph Lhevinne (*), and their pupils Misha and Cipa Dichter. Perhaps the Dichters are not as well known as the other pairings listed above, but this set holds out the potential of several advantages. Firstly, the completeness of the set, as opposed to one or two works in isolation; secondly, perhaps a special intimacy brought to the playing; and thirdly, the presentation of a couple of curiosities.

I chose to listen to these works in strict order of K number. Anyone wanting a sense of Mozart’s compositional development within the four-handed medium using this set should get used to juggling the discs: the dexterity pays off with a rewarding musical journey. Mozart used the form for a variety of reasons: to capture different aspects of his musical personality, written to be showpieces performed during his youthful tours accompanied by father Leopold and sister Nannerl, as teaching pieces (!) and, not least, as a medium to stretch his imagination.

The Sonata in C major, K. 19d composed in London in 1765 shows the youthful Mozart working within the accepted notions of the form, no doubt under Leopold’s guidance, and, some have claimed, editorship in terms of preserving these early works for posterity. But the Dichters’ performance of it announces several important characteristics of the work and set as a whole. Closely though naturally recorded, the parts are nicely set off against one another and display interplay as a key ingredient. Also immediately apparent, particularly in the Menuetto-trio, is a rapt intimacy that fits the quiet understated brilliance of Mozart’s writing - a good sign of things to come. The closing Rondo sees skilled negotiation of tempo changes; further revealing Mozart’s already advanced assimilation of the need for dramatic contrast within the composition.

If from here on in I pick out those aspects of each work that particularly attracted attention, it is not that the rest lacks merit, because it doesn’t.

The Sonata in B-flat major, K. 358 displays again a real sense of equality in the pianistic partnership. Tempi, particularly for the charming rippling middle adagio, are well chosen. They speak of practise and experience, but have not lost the fun behind the writing. Sonata in D major, K. 381 is notable for the crispness and clarity of the finger-work from the start, and the sense of balance the parts give the music internally.

The Fugue in G minor, K.401 appears as a miniature exercise, and one can well imagine it being used for teaching purposes to instruct variously in technique and as an example of fugal structure. Likewise, with the Adagio and Fugue in C minor, K. 426. In the Dichters’ hands they spring full of life from the page, even the more outwardly serious passages, so that - whatever their humble teaching origins might have been - a sense of invention within the confines of musical form is felt ... even to the edge of chaos in the fugue of K. 426.

The remaining items are all major works, and show Mozart’s style at its mature zenith. Sonata in D major, K. 448 is an intricate piece full of imagination and brilliance. The Dichters’ playing retains the jewel-like clarity from earlier works and remains ever alert to both structure and idiom. I particularly enjoyed the hushed, almost vocal quality of the andante.

Sonata in F major, K.497, the longest work included, continues in many ways the path begun with K. 448. The major difference outwardly is the less showy nature of the piece – but I recall Sir Clifford Curzon saying how hearing another pianist pull off a Mozart slow movement really successfully inspired his admiration more than any amount of showy fireworks. The intricacy of the work is made to sound disarmingly simple, which of course is anything but the case in reality. And what a flood of ideas there is to contend with, order and balance! Just one example: the nuance the performance has is the way at around 6’50" in the closing allegro the line is effortlessly slimmed to a simple run to lead into the most understated yet totally apt ending imaginable.

Sonata in C major, K. 521 is given such fluency in the Dichters’ playing that it immediately draws you into the piece.

Perhaps more so than elsewhere the voices of each piano remain distinct from the other and this is fully brought out in the playing. There are plenty of opportunities to catch the intimate side in dappled half-light, as these alternate with brightly-lit sparkling passages, and the sensitivity to inner dynamism is absolutely as it should be. It’s worth getting the set for the sonatas K. 448, 497 and/or 521 alone.

Now to the curiosities – the arrangements by Busoni and Grieg. Quite what prompted Grieg to keep Mozart’s sonata in C major, K.545, intact, assign it to one piano, and write a whole other part to fit alongside, is not known. The effect though is strange, as the work moves gradually from something distinctly Mozartian to abstract

Norwegian impressionism. Busoni, for his part, creates a serious virtuoso display from Mozart’s clockwork composition that is dispatched with suitable precision and flair by the Dichters.

This goes on my ‘Discs of the Year’ list without hesitation. Seminal listening in every respect. [(*)

A recording of the Lhevinnes playing K.448 is available on Naxos Historical.

Josef Lhevinne’s short but classic text "Basic Principles of Pianoforte Playing" (Pub. Dover, ISBN 0486228207) is currently available from Amazon at the ridiculous price of £2.70.]

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Piano concerto no. 6 in B flat major, K.238 [20.03] Piano concerto no. 15 in B flat major, K.450 [24.55] Piano concerto no. 27 in B flat major, K.595 [31.35] Chamber Orchestra of Europe/Pierre-Laurent Aimard (piano and director) Recorded live at the Stefaniensaal, Graz, on 5-6 July 2005. DDD WARNER CLASSICS 2564 62259-2 [76.48]

As Lindsay Kemp points out in his accompanying notes to this release the key of B flat major was for Mozart one of happiness. This is readily reflected in the readings given here by Aimard and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe of three of the four Mozart wrote in this key.

As ever with Aimard there is scrupulous preparation and intelligence in the phrasing of the piano part, but not having heard him in the role of director before I was interested in how he might approach this. Wisely, perhaps, the COE was chosen as Aimard has previously worked with them (Beethoven concerti with Harnoncourt), so at least there was some common ground to work from. The COE also have a history on disc and in concert of working soloistdirectors, a key point as these recordings derive from live performances. My findings were that his direction, whilst not standing out for the wrong reasons, made its points gently felt. He feels the genial wit within the works and does not make them into something they are not. All three concerti fare well orchestrally: with K.238 the opening is full, however things almost immediately get turned down a notch or two. In fact, my one real complaint about the orchestra can be attributed to the recording that makes them at times a little too distant. Whilst there are nice things particularly in the brass and woodwind phrasing, overall I could have done with the merest touch more presence and body throughout.

All of which might leave the impression that these are performances in which the piano takes centre stage, which it does, yet it never hogs the limelight unduly. The articulation is lithe, crisp and makes much in an understated way of the internal dynamics that the soloist’s part contains in all three works. Aimard, whilst not averse to letting the music have its natural flow, pushes things along reasonably with resolutely modern ears without sacrificing the role of dynamic pauses. That said he too has the sense to let Mozart’s ability to surprise emerge – the minor key episode of the K.238 opening movement development, for example.

Where timings are concerned K.595 comes in mid way between Haskil and Fricsay’s 29’24” and Gilels and Böhm’s 32’59”, and as a whole the performance might be taken as a medium course between the two other styles of

interpretations. Only in the Larghetto does Aimard suggest anything like as much “nostalgic introspection” (Kemp’s phrase) as Gilels, but he is not as indulgent about it.

Whatever your preferences when it comes to Mozart concerti, these are intelligent performances well given and are sure to offer pleasure. Now I think of it, has Aimard ever recorded a disc that didn’t offer ample rewards for the listener? Not that I am aware of.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Mozart - Piano Concertos: Vol. 8 Piano Concerto No.16 in D major KV 451 (1784) [23.34] Piano Concerto No.24 in C minor KV 491 (1786) [31.20] Matthias Kirschnereit (piano) Bamberg Symphony Orchestra/Frank Beermann rec. Sinfonie an der Regnitz, Bamberg; 6-8 Jan 2004 (K.491), 3-5 Oct 2004 (K.451). DDD. ARTE NOVA 82876 64011 2 [55.54]

Though the pianist and conductor here are new to me the orchestra is not, as of late the Bambergers are being recorded with increased frequency. Financially I’m sure it is good news for them, and they might count themselves lucky given the state of the recording industry. Artistically too, they’ve been gathering critical laurels from most quarters for their activities under Jonathan Nott. Their Mozart piano concerto series seems to have made somewhat less of a splash.

The reasons why are not hard to work out. The interpretation of both works is considered rather than impetuous, pleasant rather than wholly engaging. Beerman’s way with the works is plain, unadorned and down to business. In this he misses much of the inner workings of the orchestrations, making things less interesting than they might have been. The booklet note waxes lyrically about his experience and qualities – a pity that imagination seems to be short on the list, but this might develop slightly with age. In my experience though musical imagination is something you either have or you don’t. However, nothing he does is distasteful, vulgar or anti-Mozartian, so things might be worse.

That goes for the other chief areas of interest too: orchestra and soloist.

Kirschnereit has been doing the rounds of Continental musical centres too. I would agree with the opinion quoted from Neue Zürcher Zeitung on his “technical assuredness and transparency” of playing, but not with that of Süddeutsche Zeitung in calling him a “Mozart interpreter of the highest rank”. For me in both concertos too many phrases go for nothing, and whilst the playing has a polish and evenness appropriate for Mozart, it is hardly more special than a decent graduate fresh from any self-respecting conservatoire might produce. He goes through the motions rather than deliver any special insights, which ultimately makes for an unmemorable experience – something I never enjoy saying in connection with Mozart.

All of this is a shame, because reading the fairly enthusiastic booklet note on the works one is fired up for a first rate performance that delivers everything these do not. It’s averagely recorded to my ears; the sound being clean and homogenised in a natural acoustic, yet not particularly distinctive in any way.

Then there’s the competition – any first rate recording and interpretation would blow this down in a second. Given that more recordings of Mozart concerti exist than I could wave a baton at, an industry that once again is celebrating

the arrival of the Mozart cash cow must do better than this. Whereas other companies have back catalogue riches to exploit, Arte Nova’s no doubt well intentioned alternative is likely ever to remain a mere also-ran, exemplifying the more miss than hit results they have often achieved. Nice try, but no cigar.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756 – 1791): Symphony No. 25 in G minor, K.183 [22:33] Symphony No. 29 in A major, K. 201 [22:09] Symphony No. 35 in D major, K. 385 ‘Haffner’ [17:54] Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra/István Kertész Rec. Sofiensaal, Vienna, November 1972 ADD DECCA ELOQUENCE 476 7401 [62:54]

The loss of a musician like Kertész is something felt even today, over thirty years after his untimely death at the age of 43. These recordings, made a year or so beforehand as part of a Mozart cycle, demonstrate just what a fine musician he was. They also show up today’s genuine shortage of conducting talent on this level.

True, Kertész is greatly assisted by an unparalleled orchestra (for me at least the VPO is preferable to the harderedged Berliners in Mozart), the fabulous acoustic of the Sofiensaal and the Decca engineering team of Christopher Raeburn and James Lock. In the early 1970s this production team probably knew the orchestra and hall better than anyone as far as recordings are concerned. There is no doubt that all deserve credit for their part in the results.

But listen to what Kertész delivers. Finely paced readings – many do that – but with a clear sense of the inner relationship of the parts, textures and therefore the drama that results. All of this is delivered in a manner that seems unpushed beyond what is needed by or natural to the music. It’s almost as if the conductor is not there, that the music plays itself. Well, Kertész is there, just not his ego. This, according to a friend of mine who knew Kertész in Hungary, was typical of the man and his approach to conducting.

Given that the Vienna Philharmonic have Mozart in their very being, the approach pays off. Tempi at first seem nothing beyond the ordinary, but combine them with the natural weight of the orchestra and the balance of the works is clearly established. This assists voicing, articulation and emphasis to deploy all with great style.

Strings are immediate, nicely so in the lower registers, illustrating the keen sense Kertész had of building orchestral sound. Winds have great character and presence. The brass placed in context to the whole, with bite, yet never drowning out the rest.

So, amazingly, I have reviewed the performance of three symphonies without mentioning a single one specifically.

However I believe that in listening to this recording, you will be able to identify the characteristics in each as they progress. I was particularly glad to reacquaint myself with the Haffner, a favourite performance that I had on tape around twenty years ago, that was played to self-destruction. But the discovery was the immensely distinguished account of Symphony 29. A finer account I do not think I have ever heard.

Quite a bargain too at the prices charged through the buywell website, so why not pick up a few other Kertész volumes while you’re at it. You can hardly go far wrong.

Sergei PROKOFIEV (1891-1953)/Mikhail CHULAKI Ivan the Terrible, ballet in two acts.

Principal dancers: Ivan IV – Irek Mukhamedov Anastasia – Natalya Bessmertnova Prince Kurbsky – Gedminas Turanda The Bolshoi Ballet The Bolshoi Theatre Orchestra and Children’s Choir/Algis Zhuraitis Rec. Bolshoi Theatre, 1990. DVD Region 0.

ARTHAUS MUSIK 101 107 [114’00"]

I came to this release much more interested in the musical aspect of its contents, and indeed there is a reasonable amount of interest in that respect. However, let’s get one thing straight from the start: this is not a score solely from Prokofiev’s hand, as the cover might lead you to believe. Some have termed Mikhail Chulaki’s involvement as that of a musical arranger, but it is actually far more extensive. True, he arranged and adapted Prokofiev’s work, but he also added much material of his own composition in the process; hence I have chosen to list him equally with Prokofiev in the heading above.

Prokofiev’s involvement with the Ivan project relates to the film by Sergei Eisenstein. The director had been commissioned by Stalin to immortalise his view of Ivan IV, whom he held as a personal role model, by inference legitimising Stalin and his actions.

Chulaki’s role was to gather from Prokofiev enough material from which a ballet might be made. This explains to a large extent the posthumous work created here. There was in fact an oratorio version arranged by Abram Stasevich in 1962. Prokofiev himself expressed interest in the idea of a ballet but never acted on it.

All in all Chulaki uses some 377 fragments of the score from Eisenstein’s film together with other Prokofiev works as his building blocks. "Thinking of Ivan" corresponds to the sixth movement of the Ivan cantata, "Ivan’s fortune" (start of Act II) with the Andante of the Third Symphony and "Kurbsky’s Escape" to the Russian Overture, op. 72.

Add to this the obvious changes that Chulaki makes and you begin to hear what a sound soup this is, particularly if you know your Prokofiev. However, those that don’t are not likely to be so worried by such a tangled web of sources. The orchestra, though sounding a little thin in the top strings, acquit themselves well. The decent though hardly demonstration quality recording favours the lower registers and Zhuraitis conducts straightforwardly. The audience is, for the most part, unobtrusive.

The dance aspect provides a unifying factor and it is a mark of its success that the stage action pulls ones attention away from the purely musical. Choreographer Yuri Grigorovich conceived the outline for the work with Chulaki, so was well placed to direct things with a sense of pacing and contrast that relates well in dancing terms. This, I assume, is what Simon Virsaladze has based his choreography on for the present production.

Of the three principals Turanda’s Prince Kurbsky is to my mind the most expressive ("Kurbsky’s despair"), though Bessmertnova’s Anastasia (a role she created) is also affecting because of its inward and reflective portrayal. In many ways that gives the key to the work as a whole, concerned as it is with the emotions and psychology of the characters and Ivan’s development into the person he became. This Mukhamedov’s portrayal captures, with signs of the later Ivan noticeable from the start. By the end of Act I Ivan’s character is fully formed.

The presentation has depth and intelligence, with booklet notes covering the Eisenstein film, Stalin, the making of the ballet score, dramatic structure and symbolism in the work, together with brief notes on the dancers. This much is bound to enhance the viewing experience and place it in a variety of contexts. The video direction favours

whole stage shots rather than close-ups, which might have been used more often. On the whole though the atmosphere in which the action takes place is well conveyed.

For lovers of ballet this will no doubt be of interest. However for those whose passion is Prokofiev’s music in its pure form this is a work to approach with caution.

Henry PURCELL (1659-1695) A Purcell Songbook Hark! Hark! How all things [1.43] Crown the altar, deck the shrine [2.28] If music be the food of love [3.25] Not all my torments [1.58] O, O let me weep [6.32] I attempt from love's sickness to fly [1.20] Olinda in the shades unseen [1.03] Urge me no more [3.17] Bess of Bedlam [3.43] Lovely, lovely Albina [2.10] Sweeter than roses [3.12] Dear pretty youth [1.55] When first Amintas sued for a kiss [1.55] The cares of lovers [1.47] Ye gentle spirits of the air [1.50] An evening Hymn [4.17] Emma Kirkby (soprano); Christopher Hogwood (organ and spinet); Richard Campbell (viola da gamba); Catherine Mackintosh (violin); Anthony Rooley (lute) Rec. Forde Abbey, October 1982. DDD DECCA ELOQUENCE 476 7467 [46.09] Purcell’s contribution to English music is one of the greatest there has ever been, the natural successor to Weelkes, Tomkins and Gibbons, and perhaps unsurpassed in terms of individuality and responsiveness to text until Britten.

That goes some way to explain the latter’s attraction to performing the music of his great compatriot.

It says much for Purcell’s strength of writing that even with different forces at work he comes across as newly minted and wearing the years lightly. Rather unsurprisingly, these are qualities that shine out of this release. Kirkby’s crystalclear tones catch the words so effortlessly as to immediately beguile the ear, with incisiveness or long-floated crispness, as for example in “Crown the altar, deck the shrine”.

The inclusion of such Purcellian sweetmeats as “If music be the food of love” or “I attempt from love’s sickness to fly” will bring this release into direct competition with the recordings of Alfred Deller in the affections of many collectors. Kirkby, ably supported by husband Rooley and co., more than hold their own. Whilst they may not displace Deller they do provide an insightful alternative, should Deller not be to your taste.

I was particularly struck by the sensitive intimacy brought to “O, O let me weep” – truly a plaint if ever there was.

Richard Campbell’s viola da gamba contrasting with the brighter though refined tone of Catherine Mackintosh’s violin provides as fine a wrought backdrop to Kirkby’s voice as one is likely to hear. More upbeat items such as “Dear pretty youth” find a somewhat boyish tone and fine piano singing adopted to pleasing effect.

The recording, typical of Decca’s early eighties style, is faithful and unobtrusive. The notes – lacking texts – provide a useful guide. This is classic Kirkby and Purcell, and quality (if not quantity) from first note to last.

Domenico SCARLATTI (1685-1757) Sonatas: K.545, K.466, K.365, K.435, K.87, K.487, K.448, K.492, K.30, K.455, K.20, K.429, K.426, K.427, K.197, K.27, K.24, G minor Yevgeny Sudbin (piano) rec. Vasteras Concert Hall, Sweden, 10-12 October 2004 BIS BIS-CD-1508 [75:45]

"Reader […] show yourself more human than critical and then your pleasure will increase." With these words as preface to the publication of his sonatas in 1738, Scarlatti provided a timely reminder to anyone – particularly a critic – of the perils of over-criticism. Such is the constant invention shown within the sinews of the 555 sonatas he penned that he need not have worried, having held the constant attention of players and audience alike.

I have much anticipated this recording since hearing Yevgeny Sudbin in recital at Wigmore Hall earlier this year.

(There is a review of this recital on the Seen and Heard site. It is the first of three under his new contract with BIS. Saint Petersburg born Sudbin is clearly a young artist with a formidable technique and enquiring mind.

The task of showing a cross-section of Scarlatti’s sonata output is not easy. Sudbin’s choice of eighteen favours the later sonatas, whilst taking in examples that cover a range of forms (including the fugue), wide variety of moods from savage to refined, and effects inherent within the writing: brass, woodwind, drums and bells. The recital starts in gloriously upbeat fashion – the bright and well focussed piano has just enough bloom in the middle register, and slight (though appealing) edge to the top register bring a harpsichord to mind, fittingly so in this repertoire.

In contrast the second sonata presented (K. 466) is more reflective and inward looking, caught as most are here with a good sense of space around the notes that allows inner thoughts to come through. Throughout the sequence mixes the works to play off one against another to bring out a different facet of a jewel within a setting.

The ease with which Sudbin throws off the technical demands of the works does not overshadow his musical instinct, or those inherent within sonatas. Rhythmically alive, each holds the attention from the first. Periodically textures in the lower register faster passages become slightly muddied – caused more I suspect by the writing than the playing – prompting one to question how they might sound on a harpsichord. Sudbin’s suggestion that Scarlatti anticipated the modern piano is interesting, as is the reticence of harpsichordists in taking up this repertoire today.

As I have suggested, Sudbin’s booklet note adds further to the pleasure of the recording, describing in detail the Spanish court that gave birth this unique harvest of fruit, and a brief reflection on the revival of interest in the sonatas, mentioning Sudbin’s most prominent rivals on disc: Michelangeli, Haskil and Lipatti. Whilst I would not be without any of these illustrious pianists’ recordings, Sudbin provides his own insights, although he does not perhaps "seemingly do nothing and in so doing do everything" (to quote Lipatti on Haskil’s Scarlatti playing). Amongst pianists of the younger generation that have taken on Scarlatti - Artur Pizarro or Joanna MacGregor (originally on Collins Classics, hopefully to be soon reissued) or Mihaela Ursuleasa - Sudbin also holds his own. Just occasionally do I wish that Sudbin had found more touches of wit within individual sonatas.

In summation then, a pianist to watch out for, and a recording that need not fear critical listening, for it certainly has much pleasure to give to anyone wishing to discover or extend their appreciation of this rich vein of keyboard writing.

Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Symphony No. 1 in D major, D 82 [25.35] Symphony No. 3 in D major, D 200 [24.32] Symphony No. 8 in B minor, D 759 “Unfinished” [28.17] Bamberg Symphony Orchestra/Jonathan Nott Rec. Joseph-Keilberth-Saal, Bamberg; Symphonies 1, 3: March 2003, Symphony 8: December 2003. Coproduction with Bavarian Radio, Munich. DDD. TUDOR 7141 [79.25]

Many will have found Jonathan Nott’s all but total musical exile from his homeland a source of frustration based on previous recordings that largely focus on contemporary music. In these he shows that he has skill and things to say.

However, being stuck in Germany - rarely a thing to be suffered musically - he has experience of Rattle’s Berlin Phil (if rumours of the malaise are true, would they tempted to swap one Englishman for another when the time comes?), and amongst others the Bamberg Symphony. It’s good to have the opportunity to hear the Bambergers on disc again: their heyday was with Jonel Perlea in the 1960s and 1970s, and Horst Stein in the 1980s, when they were also experienced Schubert players.

Nott has claimed that Schubert’s First Symphony has something Mozartian about it. If this is the case he does not bring it out successfully enough. The whole thing is too four-square for my taste, with overly emphasised rhythms.

That is not to say there are not nice things in the playing; there are. The brass are well caught at the very opening, the second movement has nice wind textures at work (c. 2.30 onwards) but the strings underneath are too selfconscious. Things are continued and improved somewhat in the Menuetto, though I still feel the strings are too hard, despite a generally well judged tempo.

It’s as if things have to be stated rather than suggested in this interpretation, though perhaps some of what I find could be down to the precision of the recording too. The same feeling pervades the third symphony to a large extent.

The opening Adagio maestoso is spacious, with impressive unison, though weaknesses are exposed when the music reduces to one or two lines. There are again pleasing textures in the winds, but Nott again proves he is not a natural Schubert conductor by his phrasing and failing to make the movement gel. Being the most conventionally classical of all the symphonies, this feeling does come across well in the Allegretto, which contrary to the opening movement is convincingly paced and voiced. However it is maybe lacking in some spontaneity in the playing that orchestras such as the Vienna Philharmonic would naturally bring to the movement.

The Menuetto again suffers slightly from the forward timpani, leading rhythms to be emphasised more than they might need. The closing Presto vivace is taken at a genuine presto tempo with some lightness of touch that gains character with the brass entries. More than elsewhere in this symphony the building of dynamic and texture seems natural and relatively unforced.

Moving to the later unfinished symphony, this is the work that most listeners will be familiar with. Naturally the main draw too, it understandable for Tudor to include it in volume one of this already recorded complete cycle. The Allegro moderato is darkly announced by the basses, although the transition to the main theme is taken too literally and the contrasting chords seem less abrupt than I had expected Nott to make them given his style with the earlier works.

He still has difficulty in making the contrasting music seem entirely natural to him, and where any dynamic emphasis is marked this can be overdone, which means that the lower strings take longer to ‘bite’ on their entries. Where chords are held these might have been less held, more a comma in the argument than a full stop placed midsentence.

The Andante con moto starts averagely and degenerates at times to near crudeness in the tone of the strings when under pressure, added to as ever by over-emphasised timpani and forceful brass. In quieter passages the music is in danger of losing its thread, partially due to the extreme pianissimo it is played at, and from there the movement never really recovers.

The fragmentary Allegro that follows should be treated as a curiosity. Cutting out after 22 seconds, this rather uninspired Ländler goes against the previous two movements. Despite working on it further in piano reduction, Schubert’s instinct that it would not work was well-founded. I hope that the trend does not develop, as it did with Bruckner’s 9th, of giving us probable orchestrated endings to the work.

It’s a release for me that does not deliver. This is despite a conductor of interest (in other repertoire) and an orchestra on decent form. Having listened and thought about this long and hard, I conclude that this is Schubert playing for 2005, and as such is almost as bad as the worst of the authentic brigade. What is lacking is an understanding of Schubert as a composer of his time in innate stylistic and musical terms.

To make the music something it is not, to push against the grain, is the huge error that mistakes emphasis for interpretation. The responsibility rests primarily with Nott, though as suggested, the recording could have contributed slightly to this view. A controversial statement I know. I await the outcry of disapproval, given their much anticipated August residency in Edinburgh. There at least the repertoire plays more to Nott’s forte of the contemporary. Might, I wonder, the simultaneous release ‘Schubert Epilogue’ be more successful somehow because of the contemporary input?

As for what is to follow, I shall be steering well clear, though no doubt others will eagerly snap it up. Having heard this a few of times, I rather fancy silence, and therein to anticipate a return to Böhm or anyone with Schubert in their being and the ability to draw playing accordingly. It is strange for me to feel this way, but the high art of music arouses strong emotions.

Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Schubert arranged for cello and piano Sonata for arpeggione and piano in A minor D.821 (1824) [25:29] Sonatina for violin and piano in D major op. 137, n°1, D.384 (1816) [13:31]; Lieder: Ständchen [3:53]; An die musik [2:06]; Litanei auf des fest aller seelen, D.343 (1816) [2:54]; Die Forelle, D.550 (1817) [2:13]; Der Doppelgänger (from Schwanengesang, D.957 n° 13) (1828) [4:44]; Auf dem wasser zu singen: op.72, D.774 (1823) [3:25]; Täuschung (from Winterreise op. 89, n°19, D.911 (1827) [1:25]; Der müller und der bach (from Die Schöne Müllerin, op.25 n°19, D.759) (1823) [3:28] Anne Gastinel (cello, Testore 1690) Claire Désert (piano) Rec. Studio Tibor Varga, Sion Switzerland; June 2005.

DDD. NAÏVE V 5021 [63.12] People such as myself often refer to the ‘voice’ or ‘singing tone’ of an instrument when writing about music. In respect of the cello the present recording might on one level be seen as the embodiment of this, given that cello transcriptions of lieder form a sizable part of the programme. The reason Gastinel gives for the appropriation of material written for others is to ‘find myself alone in (Schubert’s) arms’. Whilst one cannot help but admire her devotion to Schubert, I had initial misgivings about how successful the results might be given that all the chosen lieder are so well known in their original form.

The programme opens with the sonata for arpeggione and piano now usually played on the cello. The arpeggione was short-lived as a practical instrument, and were it not for this work it might have sunk entirely without trace. One of Gastinel’s main rivals here is Pierre Fournier, to my ears the aristocrat of the French cello sound. His reading for DG (on a 2CD set, 447 349-2) differs notably from Gastinel’s in the tempi taken and the final timings achieved.

Fournier comes in at a shade under 20 minutes compared to Gastinel’s distinctly leisurely 25.5 minutes. Fournier may be the more incisive and offer more contrast between movements, but Gastinel does not disgrace herself when it comes to tone. But seeing as they offer such divergent views of the work, you can take your pick as to which you prefer. Mine is slightly for Fournier overall.

The Sonatina, transposed down from the violin register, sounds reasonably effective on the cello. Its three short movements provide many memorable moments of interplay and wit that are happily caught in this recording. Here as elsewhere Gastinel’s full bodied tone (not too closely mircophoned) impresses.

As in the two properly instrumental works, when it comes to the lieder I often feel that the piano playing of Claire Désert carries the performances to a reasonable extent. Schubert is ever a challenge for the pianist – being technically demanding in Der Doppelgänger or disarmingly simple in An die Musik. Désert covers the gamut of demands with ease, and reinforces the favourable impression she recently made accompanying Philippe Graffin in works by Enescu, Debussy and Ravel (Avie AV2059).

Gastinel’s cello word-line takes each lied and plays the vocal part straight. Only on a few occasions is the line taken up an octave in mid-song. Where this does occur it is done to best exploit the instrument’s range and expressive capabilities. Ständchen is given somewhat plainly, and An die musik in much the same way. There’s nothing wrong with the approach per se but after the word-pointing of a Fischer-Dieskau or Baker it takes a bit of adjusting to. For most of the other lieder the same feeling pervaded my reaction – both immediate and more long term – however well played they are, and they are played with skill. Gastinel seems more at ease in the more outgoing lieder – all except Der Doppelgänger – but it is precisely this one she pulls off best, finding in it the fear and fragility that make it such haunting music. Also the contrast with the preceding Die Forelle could not be much greater. As a whole the programme might have benefited from more contrasts of mood, and in the playing too at times.

Songs after all have that special intimacy of words and music combined that Schubert’s genius caught with greater success than most. To take away the very thing that prompted his sublime word-settings is somehow nonsensical.

It’s strange then that the booklet should include the texts with translations – in addition to useful notes by Duncan Druce and some rather superfluous ones by Didier van Cauwelaert. If one thing does come through though it is the strength of Schubert’s writing. That in the end is the only thing that really matters apart from interpretation, and secures this disc a warmly appreciative if qualified welcome.

Arnold SCHOENBERG (1874-1951) Gurre-Lieder (chamber music arrangement by Hopffgarten and Kroger) Martin van Hopffgarten (cello and piano) Clemens Kroger (piano) Michael Ransburg (speaker) Rec. Hamburg, September 2003 and March 2004, DDD BELLA MUSICA ANTES EDITION BM-CD 14.9006 [63:39 + 52:52]

Yes, you did read the heading correctly, though you might not believe it. To be honest I thought someone was having me on until I played the CDs, when I discovered they were not. So, forget Schoenberg's opulent lateromantic scoring for vast orchestra, three four-part men's choir and an eight-part mixed choir, five soloists and speaker, as you know it. This is a somewhat slimmer version and one that is mercifully less taxing on a recording company's budget. What we have here is something that raises questions - principally along the 'why' and 'what' line; how successfully it answers them will be down to individual tastes and preferences.

Why arrange Schoenberg? Well, to be fair, this is not the first time Gurre-Lieder has been reduced, by which I do not mean arranged. Alban Berg produced a piano reduction, which would in itself be interesting to hear and was consulted in producing this arrangement. My view is that arrangements usually prove unsuccessful in some crucial respect. There are exceptions though. This does not mean that listening to such a vast behemoth of a work in bare bones form cannot be interesting. It aims to get back to the essence of the thing, which presumably was the aim here.

It is interesting that the performers note their inspiration for the project as a visual source, the Schoenberg etchings of Ernst von Hopffgarten (spot the connection here). One of those etchings is reproduced in part on the cover - suitably elemental and sparse. Schoenberg as a painter himself - a fact not often recognized; this aspect of his creative work remains under-explored - might well have approved of the intervention of the visual stimulus in such a project. However his musical intelligence would have turned at once to the outcome.

The outcome we have is a scoring for one piano, cello (occasionally doubling as second piano) and a speaker. The booklet states that performing difficult arrangements such as this has become the trademark of the performers. It is easier to see how it might work on recording, where edits and takes are possible, than in live performance. One of the pianos at least is prepared to give additional sonorities and effects where required.

All of this I have so far surmised from the notes - fulsome on the plot of the original Gurre-Lieder and thin on the arrangement. Why so? Surely a vocal work with the words stripped from it has little need for a plot synopsis? I see this not so much as an attempt to reduce the work but as divorced from it, a gargantuan cello and piano duet (largely), whose thematic material draws upon Schoenberg as a reference. Pointing out in the notes the fact that compromises had to be made is like stating that it is warm when the sun shines.

What of the lack of voices, and choirs? What of the orchestral parts, for that matter? To be honest, it was the voices I missed most. Assigning the parts mostly to the cello proved only partially successful. I missed the text, obviously, the interplay of registers and the passion associated with the thing as a whole. Even an instrument like a cello, as vocal as it can be, registers its limitations all too readily here. As for the piano taking on everything else, seemingly with an interest in effect and prominence of parts within the structure, the result can become dense and overtly solid. To be fair though, the recording is somewhat to blame, along with pianist and instrument.

What of the one voice we do get - the speaker? This is, in any performance of Gurre-Lieder, one of the great moments to be looked forward too. Having heard Hans Hotter, Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau and Ernst Haefliger live in

this part, I have a sense of how it can be deployed musically to aid the impact of the words. Michael Ransburg takes a very actorly approach, ignoring musicality altogether. To my ears he misses the heart of the matter.

Whilst all three performers bring enthusiasm to their endeavour they fall some way short in convincing me of the validity of the outcome, or of satisfactorily answering the questions the recording sets up for itself.

One final question though, and it's a tough one: why buy this recording? If it's another distinct take on a great work you are after - like Hans Zender's arrangement of Schubert's Winterreise - then this is self-recommending.

However, for most this will probably be at best a curiosity, seldom, if ever revisited. With the competition for full versions of Gurre-Lieder tougher than ever these days, there seems little point in avoiding the real thing. Take your pick of Chailly, Ozawa, Boulez, Rattle and co; for me it is Robert Craft's keen yet caring reading that hits all the right buttons. With Naxos now offering it for around ten quid you can hardly go wrong.

Franz SCHREKER (1878-1934) Christophorus, der "Die Vision einer Oper" in two acts (three scenes), prelude and postlude (1924-27) [112’28"] Meister Johann: Hans Georg Ahrens (bass) Lisa, his daughter: Susanne Bernhard (soprano) Christoph: Jorg Sabrowski (baritone) Anselm: Robert Chafin (tenor) Kiel Philharmonic Orchestra and Opera Chorus/Ulrich Windfuhr Sung in German rec. live Opernhaus Kiel, June 2002-March 2003. DDD CPO 999 903-2 [62’51" + 39’37"]

If the name Franz Schreker has you reaching for the reference books, then searching for references to Christophorus will leave you delving deep into their pages. Schreker receives scant coverage in my references of choice (Grove dictionary and the New Penguin Opera Guide), so it is just as well that the supporting booklet to this recording is as fully informed as it is.

There are a great number of personal associations that Schreker drew upon to influence his own compositional output. These include teacher, Robert Fuchs, Richard Strauss, Schoenberg, Zemlinsky, Mahler and Pfitzner. Despite this he decidedly remains his own man.

In describing Schreker to someone recently I found their assumption was that he has a mix of neo-Hindemith and Pfitzner – earnest, dry and perhaps at times dull. But this for the most part is not the case: across his work, one might also draw parallels with Wagner’s opulence, Wolf’s chromaticism, a Brahmsian folk-style, or even Fauré’s tonal palette. Indeed, considering his lieder for a moment, it will come as no surprise that he shared the concerns of his era that prompted many of his contemporaries to set the same texts as he did. An excellent cross-section of his song output can be found on Arte Nova (74321 72126 2).

Operatically however, few of his works have reached wide-spread attention outside Germany, where for many years his reputation suffered as a result of the Nazi’s branding him a ‘degenerate’. Clearly this recording, typical of the CPO label, is aimed at redressing the balance. It completes a trio of Schreker opera releases drawn from live performances in 2002/2003 at the Kiel Opera under Ulrich Windfuhr. Marco Polo have also released operas by Schreker: Der Ferne Klang (8.223270-271) and Flammen (8.223422) – not to be confused with Schulhoff’s work of the same name.

Christophorus, or "the vision of an opera" – the sub-title is significant, and gives perhaps the easiest ‘way in’ to the work, whose subject is a composer writing an opera. At a deeper level is the concern of artist as man (or vice versa), hypersensitivity about his condition, the degeneration of artists and artistry and ‘Germanity’ in modern

music: all familiar concerns of the period. There is a temptation to see the work as autobiographical, which to a certain extent it might be, but the composer Anselm’s world view is more strongly formed by Nietzsche and Thomas Mann than by things that can be directly taken from Schreker.

As to the performance, firstly you should realize this is no ordinary opera – a point the composer himself reinforced in his foreword. With bells prefacing the foreword and interspersing the two acts, a quasi-liturgical feel is achieved.

Windfuhr keeps things moving generally speaking, and indeed shows remarkable affinity with the idiom of the work. After repeated listening, I came to wish for greater presence in a few of the lead roles, though all – particularly Sabrowski and Chafin – are well taken. It sounds like an involving evening at the opera was had by all.

Would I return to Schreker’s work quickly? The lieder, yes; the operas less so. As Beecham once remarked after conducting Elektra – the superb performance with Erna Schluter and Ljuba Welitsch in London 1947 (Myto 981.H004),"All I want to hear is Mozart for a month!" Although from weightier times, the Schreker idiom eventually becomes oppressive, and not a little tedious – facts this performance cannot quite hide. I must have listened to the whole thing ten times to fully get my ears round it – this is resolutely a work for those wishing to sign up to Schreker’s cause, or plumb the already well explored depths of German composition in the early 1930s.

Clara SCHUMANN (1819-1896) Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 7 (1834) [23:36] Piano Trio in G minor, Op. 17 (1846) [30:24] Francesco Nicolosi (piano) Alma Mahler Sinfonietta/Stefania Rinaldi Rodolfo Bonucci (violin); Andrea Noferini (cello) Rec. Naples, May, September 2004. DDD NAXOS 8.557552 [54:00]

Make no mistake, Clara was her own woman; much like Fanny Mendelssohn or Alma Mahler. In all three cases their compositions have long been lost in the shadows cast by those of their husbands or brother. Clara’s case has been further complicated due to her reputation as a virtuoso pianist and that endures to this day. Happily in recent years record companies have realized the potential in this repertoire, even though live performances continue to be comparatively rare.

Of the three ladies I mentioned Clara is the one with the widest compositional grasp. Along with Fanny and Alma, there was a lively concern with lieder (27 songs in total; versions on cpo and Arte Nova labels), as well as a clutch of solo piano (also on cpo) and chamber works. The concerto is Clara’s only existing orchestral work.

The concerto encompasses “enthusiasm, restraint, delicacy, turmoil – the whole world characteristic of the time and place where it was born”, to quote pianist Dana Protopopescu, who has recorded the work with the Romanian National Radio Orchestra under Horia Andreescu for Electrecord – unfortunately a company and artists are too little known, and so far without UK distribution, taking this interesting version out of the running as a rival.

The opening Allegro maestoso ushers in the soloist with passages of flourish, demonstrating the need for a highly accomplished soloist. One can imagine Clara setting herself up a challenge, but also accommodating strengths in her own technique and style. Francesco Nicolosi rises to the task with clarity and command of the part, matched by the Alma Mahler Sinfonietta under Stefania Rinaldi. The inner Romanze contains the heart of the piece, with contrasting

inward-looking mood. The marking is Allegro non troppo con grazia, and it is the last part that seems key here, and is caught superbly in the recording.

As with Chopin – that other great pianist-composer of the time – there is perhaps the tendency to expect the orchestration to be an afterthought; merely an unimaginative context to the pianistic fireworks being unleashed. This view could not be further from the truth as the finale - indeed the whole work - confirms. There is something akin to Chopin’s concerti here, in the opening passages particularly.

The Piano Trio partners Nicolosi with Rodolfo Bonucci and Andrea Noferini, who together make an elegant fist of the piece. There are compositional problems with the piece, principally in the last movement, which is not as thematically strong as the rest. It is emphatically fugal in character. The three instruments blend well, and the playing is unforced – capturing the mood of a nineteenth century drawing room. The piano takes a more equal role with violin and cello in a Brahmsian vein. Like the concerto, this is a work that grows on you with repeated hearings.

Fifty-four minutes is rather short measure these days, but these are works of quality, ably performed with feeling and atmosphere, and as ever at Naxos’s enticing price of five pounds. Definitely worth immediate investigation.

Richard STRAUSS (1864-1949) Elektra, Tragedy in one act (1906) Gwyneth Jones (soprano) - Elektra Leonie Rysanek (soprano) - Clytemnestra Anne Evans (soprano) - Chrysothemis Ronald Hamilton (tenor) - Aegisth Wolfgang Schöne (baritone) - Orest Michael Pavlu (bass) - Orest’s tutor Janeen Franz (mezzo) - the confidante Antoinette Faes (soprano) - the train-bearer Chœur du Grand Théâtre de Genève/Jean Laforge Orchestre de la Suisse Romande/Jeffrey Tate rec. live, Grand Théâtre, Geneva, 10 March 1990. ADD. CLAVES CD 50-2514/15 [53’51 + 47’57]

Sacred monsters, be praised! Some time ago I gave up hope of ever hearing an Elektra with these singers on disc, having chalked it up as yet another missed opportunity due to the short-sightedness of record companies. But Claves in publishing this Radio Suisse Romande recording of a live performance has arguably achieved better results than any studio recording with this cast might have produced. My reasoning is simple – both Dame Gwyneth and Leonie Rysanek gave of their best when live, feeding like voracious lionesses on the impulse of the moment. To my ears, Elektra fares best as a work when live too because it feeds from the same impulse, leading it to simultaneously enthral and disgust.

Usually people point to Der Rosenkavalier as the example of Strauss’s love of the soprano voice, and there’s nothing wrong with that – but so too is Elektra: different kinds of soprano for an altogether more illicit and dangerous love affair from his youth, that followed hot on the heals of Salome.

This is unashamedly a set for the devoted – to the singers or to the work: Alain Perroux’s notes enthusiastically document the event with little more than a paragraph on the work itself. No libretto is included. So you better either know the work or find supporting documentation elsewhere, but that’s hardly a problem if one is committed enough to Elektra’s cause.

Dame Gwyneth’s voice has of course long attracted super-critical comment (see the recent review of her Wagner arias disc as an example review). I can understand the reasons why some have those views, but I equally know that many find her way with music so forceful, that after hearing her in a role there is no other to even come close. The

point being that she gets absolutely to the core of the character and becomes its total embodiment - and in a role such as this vocal beauty to the exclusion of all else would be to the ruin of the work. I strongly urge you to put any preconceptions aside – this is singing of power (and not just in the decibel sense, that she also was capable of) drive, integrity, logicality and one of the most gripping interpretations I can recall from her. And the voice: I defy you tell me seriously that it’s not in superb shape and absolutely 100% up to the task. The Recognition scene blisters with white-hot intensity from first note to last, but so too does the whole role in this gloriously persuasive assumption.

Leonie Rysanek, also heard here as another age-defying soprano – is one of the few who actually sings the fearsome role of Clytemnestra, as opposed to barking it like so many before her. It’s understandable I feel that Alain Perroux’s recollection of the production is built around these two ‘Dames’ – he does not include Anne Evans in the Dame ‘club’, though by that stage she had every right to be. To be honest, in listening to the performance as we have it, Dame Anne’s performance, although assured and musical, does seem somewhat flatly characterised when placed beside such fearsome stage animals as Jones and Rysanek. I get the same feeling with her Wagner too – there’s something that doesn’t induce that 1000 volt jolt of electricity down the spine every time.

After the women come the men, and they have a tough act to follow even if they are to stamp some authority here. Ronald Hamilton, a tenor new to me, coped gainfully on the evening, though in the long-run remains outsung by Paul Schöffler (Beecham – see below) and others found elsewhere on disc. Wolfgang Schöne’s Orest is obviously sung by one that has great experience with works such as Berg’s Lulu, and his performance fares well though his careful characterisation.

Jeffrey Tate for whatever reason never really struck me as a significant Straussian before hearing this recording – and although the evidence of one recording is a slim body to readjust such an opinion by, this is an interpretation that encompasses much of what the work requires with its interweaving of savagery and delicacy. The pacing works well too as he takes the one-acter single-mindedly through its course.

Orchestra and chorus turn in rather more than creditable performances, being well drilled but also aware that on stage something special is occurring, giving their performances too that extra spark. The recording is clear enough for a live performance, full-toned and thankfully not over-burdened by stage movements or audience. How wild the audience went at the end though - said to have been the longest standing ovation in the history of the Grand Théâtre.

Marc Bridle’s excellent article on the opera (article) sings the praises of Beecham’s live account from 1947 (Myto 981.H004), and I would go along with this – though there are other fine accounts around too. If one is after a studio Elektra, I would seriously consider the new recording from Semyon Bychkov (Profil Medien PH05022) that has an interesting cast: Felicity Palmer as Clytemnestra and Anne Schwanewilms as Chrysothemis. Only Deborah Polaski’s Elektra palls for me – though some I know have suggested she’s better here than in her assumption for Barenboim (Teldec 4509-99175-2), but I am in no position to comment.

Yes, Bychkov and Beecham might well be versions of choice for particular aspects of the work or the realisation of it. But for me this will be the Elektra that I will return to most often, therein to venerate sacred monsters heard at their best, but also to celebrate remarkable music-making of a work that maintains as firm a grip as ever. Having just submitted my selections for Recordings of the Year 2005, I’ll put this down already for 2006: it simply is great drama that demands to be heard.

Richard STRAUSS (1864-1949) Don Juan, op 20 (1888) [18’27”] Die Heiligen drei Königen, op 56, no.6 [6’10”] Waldseligkeit, op 49, no 1 [3’06”] Wiegenlied, op 41, no 1 [4’46”] Morgen!, op 27, no 4 [4’03”] Das Rosenband, op 36, no 1 [3’07”] Meinem Kinde, op 37, no 3 [2’40”] Befreit, op 39, no 4 [5’20”] Macbeth, op 23 (1887) [19’48”] Anne Schwanewilms (soprano) (Lieder) Hallé/Mark Elder Rec. BBC Studio 7, New Broadcasting House, Manchester: 12-13 July 2004 (Macbeth), 22-23 September 2004 (Don Juan and lieder). Texts and translations included. DDD. HALLE CD HLL 7508 [67’31”] What a march the once derided, undervalued and under-funded regional orchestras have stolen on London-based bands over the last few years!

There can be few remaining doubts that Bournemouth and Manchester play host to two of the most dynamic groups around, whereas London orchestras almost without exception suffer dull programming and faceless non-entity permanent or guest conductors whose supposed 'reputation' goes before them. Worse still, they suffer both at once with astounding regularity. But I was careful to say almost without exception - and where exceptions exist we, the music-loving public, should be grateful and give them our whole-hearted support.

In the case of Manchester, the Hallé has re-captured its glory days once again under Mark Elder’s committed and inspired leadership. The sense of the orchestra riding the crest of a wave comes through when hearing them live, as indeed it does on their recordings.

Richard Strauss under Elder’s leadership promises much. Both are after all men of the theatre and this is felt in their respective handlings of orchestral works. What more theatrical works could one have than those inspired by Don Juan and Macbeth?

Elder’s opening flourish to Don Juan immediately sets the broader scene for this disc: rhythmically alert, nicely blooming brass, firm bass lines and characterful woodwind solos. But there is a problem too. Given that these are studio recordings I was surprised by the relative lack of upper strings presence – at times they almost disappear.

Hopefully this is an issue that will not persist in future recordings.

My comparisons were the classic accounts of both works by the Staatskapelle Dresden under Rudolf Kempe (on EMI as part of a 9CD box set 5 73614 2, also available separately). With Elder adopting a marginally swifter tempo in Don Juan, the action is kept moving, and the tension taut – not that Kempe was ever one to sound plodding or overly loose in his drawing of the music. Kempe scores for me by a narrow margin due to the extra expression you get through his violins, but there is little between the two in terms of heroic effort and vision. Both pick out the internal contrasts wonderfully and achieve identification with Don Juan’s labours.

Regarding Strauss lieder there are those, myself included, that prefer them with piano accompaniment as opposed to their later orchestral incarnations. The intimacy that is achievable between piano and voice adds to their impact and emotionality. Set against the larger orchestral canvas these aspects can become lost. Unlike some, I do not hold Strauss lieder to be the sole preserve of sopranos: hear the likes of Anders, Keenlyside, Winberg or Wunderlich and you will find how convincing they are. But inevitably, Strauss’s special association with the soprano voice always draws you back to soprano versions from other illicit encounters, no matter what their merits.

Soprano Anne Schwanewilms has taken Strauss to the core of her repertoire on stage and in recital. Clearly she does not think of Strauss’s lieder as opera, as Christine Brewer does (re. her recording with piano for the Strauss lieder edition on Hyperion). Schwanewilms scales the vocal line accordingly, often catching an edge in it that aids the word-

painting of the texts. In comparison to Elizabeth Schwarzkopf’s recordings with George Szell of orchestral lieder (EMI 5 66908 2) Schwanewilms never acquires the air of technical self-consciousness in the voice that can mar the Schwarzkopf readings on repeated listening. Elder holds the orchestra in proportion, not that the orchestrations are particularly large-scale and encourages playing of real support and feeling. Indeed they are of a similar mould, and it is a pity that seven more contrasting songs were not chosen. And why only seven songs given the spare disc space and potential material? But as things are they are more than a mere interlude, making a welcome and absorbing contrast to the tone poems.

The tone poem Macbeth, which concludes this release, could well be unfamiliar to listeners, even lovers of Richard Strauss’ music. It predates Don Juan, despite carrying a later opus number, and was Strauss’s first essay in the tone poem genre begun at the age of 22. Strauss’s mentor, conductor Hans von Bülow, criticized the work – in particular the triumphal march ending for Macduff. This led to two revisions before the piece achieved its final form, although too many ‘inner parts’ and dissonances remained for Bülow’s liking.

True, this is a work that at times displays the inexperience of the composer – contrast it with Don Juan written just one year later to see how quickly Strauss’s dramatic sensitivity developed – but this in no way should be held as the reason for the work’s relative obscurity. There are elements here that point to Strauss’s later stage and orchestral directions, and knowledge of the work greatly increases your appreciation of Strauss as a whole.

Elder’s reading is informed by his understanding of later works and the Straussian idiom in general. It clearly draws out the musical lines used to paint the characters, though presents the whole less starkly than Kempe. Kempe is apt to emphasise the rough edges of the fatal flaws that control the destiny of the Macbeths. Elder could be said to be romantic in some respects, though the music never falls to syrupy mush, which would be totally misplaced. If the music is not quite so at the Hallé’s fingertips they hide it valiantly, and bring it off creditably. For those not wanting the expense of Kempe’s 9CD set, but wanting to sample a rewarding lesser-known work, then this disc answers the problem.

Amply documented too, this issue covers all in glory (some technical issues with the recording aside), and leaves the sense of discovering something new, even in well known works. I can only encourage the Hallé to continue, and perhaps it will not be too long before we have their Sinfonia Domestica, a work Elder has long championed.

Richard STRAUSS (1864-1949) Complete Welte recordings of 1906: Salome – fragments [3.37] Salome – Dance of the Seven Veils [8.54] Ein Heldenleben – Love Scene [3.51] Feuersnot – Love Scene [5.37] Stimmungsbilder (Mood Pictures) Op 9: No.1 [4.01]; No,2 [3.10]; No.3 [3.40]; No.4 [2.38] Cäcilie Op.27 No.2 Heimliche Aufforderung Op.27 No.3 [2.32] Richard Strauss (piano) Recorded for Welte-Mignon in 1906; played for CD recording in 2004.

TACET 137 [40.27]

People often say that music can transport you to another time and place. More than a bit of that has been going on here, being entertained as I have by Dr Richard Strauss’s piano playing for the past couple of nights. The question of whether he travelled forward to my time or I back to his is still something up for debate. The much brandished booklet claim that "This is not an historical recording" is of course only partially true – but it’s no doubt there to make you realise that this isn’t 40 minutes worth of hiss and distortion accompanied by the occasionally audible note.

Tacet is not the only CD label to have reissued recordings made for the company of M. Welte and Sons in Frieburg between the years of 1904 and 1932. Naxos has issued a couple of discs on their Historical label, but up to now the most interesting has been an Intercord release: INT 860.855, recorded in 1985. This featured composers playing their own works: Grieg, Mahler (who has to be heard to be believed!), Skriabin, Saint-Saëns, Reger, Ravel, Debussy – and Strauss, there playing the Dance of the Seven Veils and the Mood Picture no. 3. The Intercord disc has long ceased to be available, but it is interesting to note that the same team is responsible for this Tacet release – to a great extent reproducing the same liner notes, with one or two additions to bring things up to date. Also worth noting is a release on the Dal Segno label (DSPRCD 010) issued this month (November 2005) that features a few of the recordings that occur here (Salome items and Mood Picture no. 1).

Tacet’s claim that this release improves somewhat upon the results achieved by earlier competitors, notably Intercord, can be borne out when hearing the two in comparison. Tacet’s does indeed seem steadier in terms of holding the tempo throughout the piece, but in the end there is little in it.

To today’s ears the selection of recorded pieces could seem strange, but the choices most likely came out of what was popular at the time. The Salome extracts are curious, the Dance of the Seven Veils too also because of a slight leaden quality that creeps into the left hand playing that cannot be truly indicative of Strauss’s true skills.

The Heldenleben extract is moderately more successful in playing terms as is the one drawn from Feuersnot, although I don’t care for the music itself that much in the latter case. The two songs are surprising in the perfunctory performances they receive. Too indulgent a singer would get a rude awakening with Strauss as accompanist – although here his playing inevitably weaves between both parts. Most successful by far are the Mood Pictures, played here with real feeling – so that one might imagine being On The Silent Forest Path (no.1), or beside The Lonely Waters (no. 2). The piano used throughout I found perfectly acceptable, as is the recording.

As a complete presentation of Strauss’s available Welte-Mignon recordings this is an important document that should sit alongside his recordings as a conductor. Good too that a lesser known quartet of works outshines bleeding chunks drawn from larger musical canvases. Most enthusiastically recommended.

Richard STRAUSS (1864 - 1949): Four Last Songs, op. posth.: (Frühling [4.10]; September [4.21]; Beim Schlafengehen [5.31], Im Abendrot [7.42]) Zueignung, op 10, no 1 [2.01] Cäcilie, op 27, no 2 [2.27] Morgen, op 27, no 1 [3.35] Liebeshymnus, op 32, no 3 [2.21] Hymne an die Liebe, op 71 [8.08] Don Juan, symphonic poem, op 20 [19.40] Georgina von Benza (soprano) Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Saarbrücken/Marco de Prosperis Rec. 17-22 February 2003. DDD TADE CD 002 [60:10] You have to give them credit for guts and trying at least. For the second time this month I have the pairing of von Benza and de Prosperis taking on much-recorded mainstream repertoire. In fact, by reading the Verdi arias review you could probably shortcut this one and have a fair idea of what to expect. However, this time there is a significant difference in the format: the inclusion of a major orchestral work.

The Four Last Songs can never be given a single definitive performance. There’s so much packed into it that any combination of singer, inflection of text, orchestra and conductor will tell you something different from the next one. And maybe, if you’re lucky, something new about it too. But inevitably, one develops a liking for a particular reading or readings over others. For review purposes I find Schwarzkopf and Szell (EMI 5 66908 2) a safe comparison, though after a while Dame Elizabeth’s self-conscious vocal production tires and you want something more direct.

To an extent that’s what you get here. The last of the four songs shows the rendition at its best. Von Benza’s diction is as clear as it gets, though sometimes, as in the earlier songs, she produces generalised vowel sounds that make it hard to follow her even with the text. Her tone for the most part is acceptable, though she’s a little cautious in her singing, which begs the question how well she knows the music or how often she’s sung it. And what about having the sound placed more forward in the mouth, so it can really be heard? Occasionally she sounds placed in a different acoustic from the orchestra too. All of these points cannot be raised against Schwarzkopf. As with the Verdi, it’s the details that let it down.

The orchestra, though not as lusciously recorded as Szell’s Berlin RSO, do turn in atmospheric performances that feature nicely phrased violin solos (Im Abendrot) and brass (Frühling).

In the orchestral songs that follow, the orchestra’s contribution is decisive throughout Hymne an die Liebe, the least known of the group presented here. There, at last, is some real passion in the conducting by de Prosperis, as he underlines textual references to ‘the wide sea’ and lust-filled infinity. Zueignung is notable for using Strauss’ own orchestration, rather than that of Robert Heger, as on Schwarzkopf’s recording.

Would that the account of Don Juan were notable in any way. De Prosperis takes a somewhat spacious view, emphasising pauses to the point where they become breaks in the music rather than integral to the overall structure. The playing is decent, though not on a par with that achieved by the Dresden Staatskapelle under Kempe or, more recently, the Hallé under Mark Elder (review). Both alternative versions carry greater purpose and inner awareness of structure, offering a more rewarding experience as a result.

Were I putting this release together, I’d be tempted to change the track ordering. Don Juan, with its ebullient opening makes for a natural starter; and the Four Last Songs naturally go, well, last. This would also have conveyed the progression from youth to death ... or am I the only one that sees it that way…?

Tade have yet to arrive at consistency in their booklet presentation – we have texts and translations this time, with more notes from de Prosperis. Looking at the company website, they have two signed artists - no prizes for guessing who. Might Tade also be run by them? It would seem to make sense. Given recording industry economics these days it’s hard to think of another scenario that adds up. Anyhow, whatever the situation, they have a Puccini album ‘in the can’ awaiting release. I wonder how long they might keep this formula up, and make money from it when all’s said and done. Some truly amazing artistic results would help, but sadly I don’t hold out much hope of their materialisation.

Igor STRAVINSKY (1882-1971) The Rite of Spring (1912) [31.58] The Nightingale, opera in one act (1914) [44.30] The Nightingale: Olga Trifonova (soprano) The Fisherman: Robert Tear (tenor) The Cook: Pippa Longworth (soprano) The Emperor of China: Paul Whelan (bass-baritone) The Chamberlain: Stephen Richardson (bass) The Bonze, Chaplain to the Emperor: Andrew Greenan (baritone) Death: Sally Burgess (alto) Japanese Envoys 1 and 3: Peter Hall (tenor) Japanese Envoy 2: Simon Preece (bass) Courtiers: London Voices, prepared by Terry Edwards The Rite: London Symphony Orchestra/Robert Craft The Nightingale: Philharmonia Orchestra/Robert Craft rec. Abbey Road Studio 1, 1-4 July 1995 (Rite); 14-17 Aug 1997 (Nightingale). DDD. NAXOS 8.557501 [76.28] The inherent contrast between the works presented here appeals to me: The Rite of Spring, cause of the most notorious musical riots in history and The Nightingale taking as its subject the seductive power of music. Original programming at least, even if the contrast was unintentional on Naxos’s part.

I can take or leave The Rite of Spring to be honest – it’s one of those works that I know is a turning-point in music, but it just does not move me. Stravinsky might have been “the vessel through which The Rite passed”, but I don’t particularly revere him because of it. There are other works that stimulate those feelings to a far greater extent: Symphony of Psalms, for instance. But stuck with The Rite we are.

Naxos has done fine service in reissuing important recordings by Robert Craft of late. Many, like myself, may well have invested in the Petrushka and Firebird pairing, so might be tempted by this Rite to complete the trio of great Stravinskian ballets on a shoestring budget.

Craft’s conducting is obviously experienced and direct, his flow more angular than jazzy and he lays bare the structure of the work reasonably well. In this last point he is no doubt aided by the clear and suitably close and analytical recording, originally made for Koch International. Throughout, the LSO bring weight and full-blooded vigour to a performance that doesn’t pull many punches. Particularly impressive are the brass and percussion in Ritual of the Rival Tribes (track 5) in building dense and dark sonorities. A resounding climax is reached in the Sacrificial Dance (track 12), which for some may seem a trifle well mannered. For all the noise I missed slightly the element of reckless abandon that should come into things.

As a complete contrast comes the wholly lyrical Nightingale, which is not to deny that it contains episodes founded on rhythmic interplay and emotional outburst. Through the orchestration’s rich colouring, which Craft patiently brings out, it should be recognised that this is an opera where the accompaniment carries almost equal weight to the voices. More than before I noticed the extent to which Stravinsky treats the two in parallel – scaling and texturing according to the nature of the drama.

Craft’s direction is dramatic too where it is needed, incisive and reflects obvious affection for the score – responding, I would think, as much to the subject as the music itself. The recorded acoustic is natural, and nicely reverberant around the basses and percussion whilst allowing the brass to have their due presence. Woodwinds too, oboes particularly, are atmospherically caught.

The cast is without a weak link: Trifonova takes the title role with an admirable mix of precision and feeling. Robert Tear uses his nasal tenor to good effect as the fisherman, and Paul Whelan’s Emperor exudes a real otherworldly presence (scene 3, backed by the chorus of the ghosts) which contrasts well with his more commanding tone earlier

on. Sally Burgess has a strong grip as Death, and all others are well executed. The London Voices may be counted as luxuriously responsive casting for the chorus parts.

When it’s realised to this artistic level The Nightingale shows itself to be without doubt one of the few twentieth century one-acters deserving of a place in the repertoire. Many works could be overshadowed by The Rite of Spring but not this opera. Backed as this performance is by Craft’s notes, singer biographies and the complete text in Russian and English this release is a strong contender for any collection. Whichever work you buy it for this is another Naxos bargain – and long may they continue coming.

Igor STRAVINSKY (1882-1971) The Rake’s Progress (1948-51) Tom Rakewell: Leo Goeke (soprano) Anne: Felicity Lott (tenor) Nick Shadow: Samuel Ramey (bass-baritone) Trulove, Anne’s father: Richard Van Allan (bass) Baba the Turk: Rosalind Elias (mezzo) Glyndebourne Chorus and London Philharmonic Orchestra/Bernard Haitink Stage production: John Cox Set design: David Hockney Rec. Glyndebourne Festival Opera 1975 by Southern Television. DVD Region 0.

ARTHAUS MUSIK 101 093 [146:00]

Having just reviewed a book listing recordings of music inspired by art (review), a seminal interpretation of a major twentieth century opera arrives for my consideration. Had the book run to DVD listings, no doubt this present release would have been ripe for inclusion. The book also omits, because of its terms of reference rather than carelessness) the now available recording of the La Fenice world premiere in 1951 (Gala CD), conducted by the composer. His later studio recording is listed (Sony SM2K 46299); and there are others from Chailly, Ozawa, Nagano, Gardiner, and two from Robert Craft.

There is perhaps more urgency to see as well as hear this work than there is with most, so close is the impact of the visual inspiration upon it. It prompts questions regarding influence, inspiration and even interpretation of the work to which, more than any other, version, this release is able to offer a response. And with this production there is a double circle of inspiration at work: in the music and the production design. The inspirational circle of the music is drawn from Hogarth through Mozart to Stravinsky, whilst that of the design is more directly from Hogarth to Hockney, though taking full account of Stravinsky en route. Curious interweavings are at work.

To my eyes and ears one of the keys to the success this production enjoyed is to be found in the premiere at La Fenice. Stravinsky, normally money conscious whatever the opportunity, worked on the score for three years without commission with the promise that La Fenice would stage it. The reason? The relatively chamber-sized proportions of the old house perfectly suited his intentions for the scheme. The translation from one house to another could appear almost seamless with the intimate Mozartian heritage the old Glyndebourne had about it further playing into the bargain.

The forms employed are more Mozart-indebted than might initially be realised - secco or accompagnato recitatives, solos, duets, trios, interludes – even the telling of a moral story that has parallels with Don Giovanni: both deal with man’s downfall. But Stravinsky’s music is original, rather than mere pastiche. So too is the plot itself, cunningly engineered by the composer, Aldous Huxley and Chester Kallman to end up at a staged depiction of Hogarth’s Bedlam, perhaps the most famous engraving in The Rake’s Progress (1732/33), which Stravinsky saw in Chicago.

Having recently re-read John Jolliffe’s excellent Glyndebourne: An Operatic Miracle (Pub. John Murray), I was aware that Hockney’s influence upon the production was more than that of a mere designer. John Cox, the director, even commented afterwards on Hockney’s definite views about the performances. One contemporary critic opined that the design had ‘completely absorb[ed] the music, producing a true marriage of the arts’. Watching the production now it is nigh impossible to disagree.

What is apparent is the clarity of line in all senses. Visually, Hockney’s employment of hatched lines on a white ground not only recalls in spirit the engraving process, but emphasises the essential elements of his conception, which in itself owes much to historical accuracy for the Bedlam scene particularly. Although the designs are Hockney’s the precise point where they depart from Hogarth’s influence can at times be hard to identify; they demonstrate Hockney’s life-long interest in earlier English art.

Musical line plays its part too. As other DVDs have demonstrated (such as the Don Giovanni from two years later – see review), Haitink had still to grasp the full depth of Mozart; but his understanding was such that he brings forth the impulses to Stravinsky’s writing. The conducting, like much of Haitink’s early work, appears lacking in emotional emphasis, but this serves to increase the work’s power. Orchestra and chorus show commitment and often refinement too, taking 1970s TV sound recording into account.

Many will buy the DVD for the singers alone, and this is a justifiable reason. Felicity Lott’s portrayal of Anne was loved at the time, and is well preserved here. But Flott in Stravinsky, some might think? Recall that Elizabeth Schwarzkopf created the role at La Fenice - great Straussian lyricists both of them – and both negotiate the spiky contours of vocal line with honour. And to look at Flott you know Tom Rakewell must be mad – how could any sane man turn her away? Richard Van Allen, as Trulove, manages the role valiantly, though its confines are rather tight given his abilities.

Perusing the Don Giovanni review, you might think my comments about Leo Goeke to be predictable here. To an extent, yes; but in one crucial respect I find him a compelling advocate. The voice is lean and reasonably evenly produced, though I still find his acting a little lacking early on. But he comes into his own in the Bedlam scene, with nothing but the delusional belief he is Adonis for company. His tanned wide-jawed all-American looks may to many appear godly – a mask the delusion just manages to crack.

Rosalind Elias’s bearded Baba the Turk is probably not the most extreme interpretation available, but she carries all before her with facial gestures and an exploration of the voice that shows wit and intelligent characterisation at work. There is a marked contrast to the other singers’ purity of production, which is of requisite suitability.

What to say of Sam Ramey’s Nick Shadow, the devil incarnate, a concept believed in by Stravinsky all his life? The devil comes in a kindly shape for sure, sly, brooding and menacing even with a single glance. The smile sends shivers down the spine. Then the voice, whose richness and suppleness might beguile anyone to accept imminent ruin with the cavalier ease of a Tom Rakewell. This is as strongly acted a Stravinskian protagonist as one could wish for, Perhaps some on CD get a shade more from the text, but as a live performance this is hard to beat.

An entirely self-recommending classic that’s not to be missed, whether you want the cerebral pleasures of tracing artistic influences or simply a cracking all-round operatic experience.

Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901) Don Carlo (1871) - Opera in four acts. Libretto revised by du Locle, translated to Italian by Zandarini, based on Schiller’s “Don Carlos, Infant von Spanien” and Cormon’s “Philippe II, roi d’Espagne”.

Philip II - Robert Lloyd (bass) Don Carlo - Rolando Villazón (tenor) Elizabeth of Valois - Amanda Roocroft (soprano) Rodrigo, Marquis of Posa - Dwayne Croft (baritone) The Grand Inquisitor - Jaakko Ryhänen (bass) Princess Eboli - Violeta Urmana (mezzo) A monk - Giorgio Giuseppini (bass) De Nederlandse Opera Chorus Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra/Riccardo Chailly Stage Director: Willy Decker Rec. live at Het Muziektheatre Amsterdam, 2004 all regions OPUS ARTE OA0932 D

[2 DVDs: 199:00]

Certainly no other Verdi opera has had such a complicated performance history as Don Carlo. Eight distinct versions can be identified, of which the three main ones are the original 1867 five act French ‘Don Carlos’, the 1884 four act Italian (the one we have here), and the 1886 ‘Modena’ version that basically reinstates the French Act I in Italian to the 1884 version. The 1884 Italian version offers a tighter plot and musical framework than the others.

The field is already crowded for anyone wanting Don Carlo in Italian on DVD. Alternatives include Pavarotti at La Scala Milan cond. Muti; Luis Lima at Covent Garden, cond. Haitink; Domingo at the Metropolitan Opera, cond. Levine and finally Carreras with the Berlin Philharmonic, cond. Karajan. Even without making comparisons, going by names and reputations alone this new version has to deliver the goods in no uncertain terms to become an automatic recommendation.

A stark few hours await anyone encountering the opera. Oppression, ruthlessness, death and an unrealised longing for freedom pervade this production from first to last. So too does the rule of law. At every level society is governed by a higher law: Carlo by his father Philip’s iron rule, and Philip himself by God, made flesh in the Grand Inquisitor.

God’s law and sacrifice is further underscored by the presence of a vast cross that is periodically lowered into the scene.

Visually, the scenery is marble grey to represent a stylised mausoleum, loosely based on the one the actual Philip II created at Escorial as a museum of his royal predecessors and saintly relics. The majority of the costumes are of similar marble grey tones, thus underlining the message that in life man is but a heartbeat away from the tomb, that the cold everlasting repose is inevitable, which it is. To strive to break free from such suffocating tyranny, as Carlo tries to do, is futile and brings but one result – death.

Familiar though I am with the opera, I nonetheless started with the extras this set includes (illustrated synopsis, cast gallery and introduction to the opera featuring interviews with Lloyd, Villazón, Roocroft, Urmana, Chailly and Decker).

The introduction is by far the most interesting and extensive, lasting some 25 minutes, and provides a suitable way into the production. Snatches of orchestral and stage rehearsals are caught amongst explanation of the concepts Decker brings to the piece.

Robert Lloyd has perhaps the most illuminating comments to make on the nature of Italian opera’s emphasis on the music vs. German opera’s emphasis on the text. In Don Carlo there are elements of both, as the libretto was partially derived from Schiller, whose directness Verdi readily reflects in the composition. The emphasis on the music comes through here in the recording too, with the orchestra much more forward than the voices. This is a pity, as the text suffers, and sound engineers would do well to remember that voices are integral to the fabric of opera. More than

once I wished there was a greater balance between the pit and the on-stage protagonists, as it would have strengthened the impression left by all concerned.

Also commented upon is Chailly’s conducting. Lloyd points to his dramatic sense of conducting, whilst Chailly himself points out that his approach is that of other Italian maestri, Votto and Serafin in particular. It’s true, he has the measure of internal dynamicism within the work but at times the sound he gets from the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra lacks beauty. Chailly’s wish for a “charcoal black” sound to accompany the entry of the Grand Inquisitor seems largely unrealised to me when compared against that achieved by Karajan. There was a true master at plumbing orchestral depths whilst still maintaining a beauty of tone.

Rolando Villazón delivers a forthright, anguished performance as Don Carlo. As he astutely comments in the introduction, the role is one to be acted and sung in the extremes of emotion from the start, and this he achieves wonderfully. Vocally there are few problems for him, having more the ringing burnish of a young Carreras or heroicism of Domingo, but like Pavarotti he too has the ability to capture pianissimi tellingly with the head voice. In terms of an all-round Don Carlo Villazón has all that could be desired, and demonstrates fine duet singing too.

Dwayne Croft’s Rodrigo too is strongly characterised and excellently sung. The strength of it is that his evil remains largely under wraps, observed and commented upon by the Grand Inquisitor.

The most problematic I found to be Jaakko Ryhänen’s Grand Inquisitor. Well acted, and somewhat encumbered by the lengthy cross that doubles as his staff, vocally he lacks impact. Perhaps to an extent this is due to the recording imbalance, but the result is that one of the opera’s great scenes (indeed, of all opera) fails to register with the sheer might that it could do. All the more is the pity as dramatically there could be nothing greater than the confrontation between Philip and the Inquisitor taking place over Philip’s waiting coffin.

Robert Lloyd’s Philip II bears the benefit of his long and varied experience with the opera, having also often assumed the Grand Inquisitor, as captured on Haitink’s Covent Garden DVD. Vocally perhaps the tone is dryer than it was, but that can be seen as positively reflecting a world-weary man deploring what his lot amounts to: a loveless marriage, a rebellious son, a terrified kingdom. The subtlety of Lloyd’s acting is also noteworthy.

Not to be outdone by the men, Violeta Urmana and Amanda Roocroft hold their own as Eboli and Elizabeth respectively. Urmana brings a voluminous presence as Eboli and delivers “O don fatale” in fire-eating style. Yet one wonders how Carlo could mistake her for Elizabeth, seeing as the two are so different. Roocroft’s voice has grown in stature over the years to become a fine Verdian instrument, as the splendid rendition of “Tu che le vanità” shows.

But for both ladies, their roles come across as being much more than their big numbers – which is as it should be.

The slight tremble in Roocroft’s voice added much to her reaction when confronted with Philip’s accusations of love for Carlo and also her distressed encounters with Carlo himself.

The live filming of this production brings added immediacy to your involvement with the action, but also distractions in the form of occasional ‘noises off’. The film direction is there or thereabouts – but does occasionally omit or fail to capture some aspects or reactions carefully enough. Inevitably decisions had to be made, but why does Giorgio Giuseppini’s monk go unseen during the opera, yet get a lingering curtain call shot?

An automatic recommendation? On the whole, yes. Certainly so for the contributions of Robert Lloyd, Rolando Villazón, Amanda Roocroft and Dwayne Croft. It’s a fine call I would suspect between Urmana and Baltsa (for Karajan) as Eboli, with Baltsa coming out on top for me. There are greater Grand Inquisitors - if only it were possible to have Lloyd singing the role against his own Philip. Should clarity of text be your thing, then opt for Karajan – he presents a thoroughly Germanic view of the work, but that’s not to say it’s a better view when all is said and done. Chailly loses out on insight to Muti, but provides greater impetus than Levine. But what clinches this version for me is Decker’s production – the cage it creates for the drama to inhabit is at once abhorrent, claustrophobic and yet so totally appropriate: it is really great drama.

Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901) Macbeth – opera in four acts after Shakespeare Libretto by Francesco Maria Piave Macbeth – Kostas Paskalis (bar) Lady Macbeth – Josephine Barstow (sop) Banquo – James Morris (bass-bar) Macduff – Keith Erwen (ten) Malcolm – Ian Cales The Glyndebourne Ballet London Philharmonic Orchestra/Glyndebourne Chorus/John Pritchard Rec. live Glyndebourne, 1972 Region 0 ARTHAUS MUSIK DVD 101 095

[126’00”]

I suspect two names will stand out for you in this cast: Josephine Barstow and James Morris. Others you might have heard of, and wondered what became of them – Kostas Paskalis, a Greek baritone who had Macbeth at the centre of his repertoire, and Keith Erwen, a British tenor who had an unfortunately short career. This DVD (taken from a Southern Television live relay) allows the opportunity to witness all in their prime.

As the accompanying booklet points out, Macbeth played an important part in the Glyndebourne repertoire pre- and post- 1945. This production by Bulgarian director Michael Hadjimischev is somber and austere, and implies that the fate of Scotland under the Macbeths is somehow inevitable. The whole is a traditional interpretation.

The image quality is a little dated perhaps, but this mainly aids the sense of depression and undoing that pervades the opera. Dave Heather’s television direction adroitly mixes the overall scene with facial close-ups, whilst not ignoring minor roles.

The prelude reveals a sound picture that is reasonably brightly lit. The strings have a slight edge on the attack, winds and brass are forward and provide solo passages of individuality. As one might expect, John Pritchard’s conducting is tasteful and refined rather than impetuous or risk-taking. The chorus are forthright in their contribution.

As to the soloists, it is Josephine Barstow that makes strongest impression. Verdi’s oft-quoted remark about Lady Macbeth needing an ‘ugly’ voice plainly does not apply here, the part being easily within Barstow’s grasp. Indeed it is refreshing to hear a young singer, rather than a great declining one, tackle it. Where the stage direction is limited – it is of the ‘stand and deliver’ type – the voice is urgent, demanding, searching and touching by turns. The sleepwalking scene in particular is a tour de force of inner drama, as it should be, but so too are the some of the exchanges with Macbeth.

Paskalis’s Macbeth and Morris’s Banquo are well matched vocally. The former occasionally lets key phrases slip in significance, while Morris shows an already advanced understanding of his role. Paskalis comes into his own however in the latter stages, where he too is favoured by forward placing on the stage. His delivery of ‘Pieta, rispetto, amore’ is nicely legato yet full of dramatic conviction.

Altogether an impressive evening at the opera that does bear revisiting; with a production that grows on you over time. Above all though Josephine Barstow’s fine Lady Macbeth will be welcomed by her admirers, and should be experienced by others too.

Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901) Il Trovatore - Tacea la notte placida [5.45], D’amor sull’ali rosee [6.10] Nabucco - Ben io t’invenni [8.10] Aida - Ritorna vincitor [7.05], O cieli azzurri [7.03] La Forza del destino - Pace, pace [6.00] Un Ballo in Maschera - Ecco l’orrido campo [10.10] Otello - Ave Maria [5.46] Don Carlo - Tu che le vanitá [11.23] La Traviata - E’strano, e’strano [9.51] Georgina von Benza (soprano) Xavier Rivadeneira (tenor) (La Traviata) Slovak Radio Symphony Orchestra/Marco de Prosperis Rec. Slovak Radio Bratislava, May 2003. DDD. TADE CD001 [78.09] Comparative versions: Maria Callas - Verdi Arias vol.1 EMI CDC 7 47730 2 Maria Callas - Verdi Arias vol 2 EMI CDC 7 47943 2 Gwyneth Jones MDC 461 5912 If you’re ‘discovering’ Verdi opera for the first time and want a collection of soprano sweetmeats, as it were, then you are unlikely to find this distasteful. However, if, like me, you delve deeper into each aria and want more than mere surface pleasure, any disc of this kind has its work cut out.

In general terms von Benza’s voice is attractive, powerful with an edgy tone in forte, and capable of hushed sensitivity in piano. The range is useful (over two octaves), the attack on note for the most part accurate. The booklet note recounts, a little pretentiously perhaps, the main points of her career to date – from training in Kiev and Budapest via competition successes in Vienna and Salzburg to houses around Europe and the Far East. So we are faced with an experienced stage performer.

That brings me to my first reservation about the disc in general: it has too little sense of the stage about it.

Listening to Ben io t’invenni, I wondered who was following who? The voice seemed almost self-conscious in its cautiously floated line and de Prosperis did not keep up the dynamic to the extent one would hope for. Elsewhere (Ritorna vincitor, for example) promise of dynamism is shown but lost or dashed later in the performance, which demonstrates that the conductor has little of individuality to say. The same, sadly, can be said of his brief booklet synopses of the arias. The orchestra is averagely recorded, perhaps too thinly in the violins. Solo lines from woodwind are present, though somewhat lacking in character for the most part.

That leaves von Benza to carry the show, which she does not manage to do: attention to detail ultimately lets her down.

In Tacea la notte placida, the opening track, von Benza’s voice does not really catch the ear until the word ‘placida’ – by which time it is obvious that the words might not always get the care they deserve. Of course, it’s tough on singers these days having to sing in maybe four or more languages and be understood in them. In a live performance one is more willing to let it pass, but a recording is forever – and the competition substantial.

Ecco l’orrido campo, like much else here, will in the minds of many collectors be associated with the interpretation set down by Maria Callas in Paris under Nicola Rescigno. Where Callas gets between the notes to the core of the drama, despite all her vocal ‘problems’, von Benza tries but never is a real rival. Yes there is a nice lower chest voice, but throughout the range she fails to cut convincingly to the chase. Where’s the shock, the horror, the urgency?

The two Callas CDs of Verdi arias cover much the same ground, and also take in arias from Aroldo, Il Corsaro, Ernarni, Macbeth, I vespri siciliani and I Lombardi along the way. Plus they attack all with greater insight and dramatic conviction. Alternatively, take Gwyneth Jones, in her youth a fine Verdian, indeed had Wagner not dominated her career no doubt her Verdian prowess would be better known. Even early on hers was an unruly

instrument, but the reading she offers of Tu che le vanitá, like Callas, shows how much is left wanting in von Benza’s assumption. So to does Jones’ Ave Maria, and it’s the most sensitive on disc that I know.

Of course, Callas assumed Violetta, and for many her Covent Garden reading from 1958 remains unsurpassed.

There are others of note: Cotrubas or Gheorghiu, would head my list. All offer more than von Benza. There are signs though that her voice is already too heavy for the music.

Although von Benza turns in generally decent performances, go for more incisive alternatives.

Jan Václav VOŘÍŠEK (1791-1825) Six Impromptus, op.7 (c.1820): no.1 in C (Allegro) [4.36], no.2 in C (Allegro moderato) [4.25], no.3 in D (Allegretto) [4.41], no.4 in A (Allegretto) [6.36], no.5 in E (Allegretto) [9.01], no.6 in B (Allegretto) [8.02] Fantasie, op.12 (Andante – allegro con brio) [11.06] Variations in B flat, op.19 (1824-5) [9.11] Piano sonata in B flat minor, op.20 (1820) [14.05] Radoslav Kvapil (piano) rec. Unicorn-Kanchana at the Rudolfinum Studio, 19 June 1993. DDD. REGIS RRC 1224 [71.56]

Alternative releases: Regis Czech Piano Anthology (4 CDs in each volume) volume 1 (RRC 4005): Kvapil plays Dvořák, Janáček, Smetana and Suk volume 2 (RRC 4006): Kvapil plays Fibich, Martinů, more Smetana and this disc Supraphon (SU37472): Kvapil plays Voříšek complete piano works (3 CDs) Jan Václav Voříšek may now be a name consigned to the sidelines of music history as far as the general listener is concerned. However within the Czech Republic his music still has a reasonable following. This was the case during his life and immediately following his death too – admired by Beethoven and Schubert, no less. Indeed, he held the post of conductor of the Gesellschaft für Musikfreunde in Vienna and that of a court organist there.

Compositionally one can hear - without too much effort - Voříšek’s Impromptus as a model for Schubert’s own.

Throughout all the works here Voříšek’s natural gift for a catchy melody is on display. Thanks to the fact that oftentimes they recur during the course of a work, they can work their way into your musical consciousness, but not really for the long term.

The Impromptus are lively, atmospheric and almost have a true improvisatory feel about them. They display a confidence within their composer of his gifts – though they remain free of any nationalistic sentiments. Kvapil’s performance - on a well recorded piano - is full of fervour and enthusiasm for each of the six. My only regret was that so many of them are marked Allegretto: a greater variety in the tempi would have given each more individuality within the set.

The Fantasie, op.12, cast in two parts, is something of a Janus-faced work. Here one senses perhaps the composer’s acquaintance with baroque organ music coming through in the writing. Yet also one can hear a voice ahead of its time perhaps anticipating the likes of Chopin and Schumann. The op. 19 Variations have much in common with Mozart’s compositions in the genre, written as they were for teaching purposes or for provincial amateur pianists to tackle. To it all Kvapil brings a fluency and understanding of approach that never makes the pieces into something more than they are.

Undoubtedly the major work on this disc is the piano sonata in B flat minor, op.20. It falls squarely under Beethoven’s influence and the course of its three movements contains much material that contrasts and links one another thematically. Kvapil delivers a forthright performance full of nuance but also one that impresses through fluency of idiom. I was also conscious of the mark this work in particular might have left on other Bohemian composers of the era.

As the list of alternatives above indicates, Kvapil has an impressive range of Czech piano music represented on CD. If Voříšek is what you are after, you can get this release as part of the Regis anthology, but the choice is complicated by Supraphon’s three-disc offering of earlier recordings. I suspect that many will opt for some or all of Regis’s offering – preferring a broader spread of composers, though this should not prevent the enthusiastic from dipping more than a toe into Voříšek’s output with Supraphon. Whatever your decision, on current evidence Kvapil is an able guide to this modest yet not unrewarding composer whose music falls easily on the ear.

Multi-composer recordings Johann Sebastian BACH (1685-1750) Partita No. 2 in D minor, BWV 1002 [33.01] Eugene YSAŸE (1858-1931) Sonata No. 1 in G minor, Op. 27/1 [17.23] Bela BARTÓK (1881-1945) Sonata for Violin solo (1944) [27.37] Baiba Skride (violin, "Huggins" Stradivari, 1708) Recorded at Studio 10, DeutschlandRadio Berlin, 3-6 May 2005. DDD. SONY CLASSICAL SK92938 [78.03]

The booklet proclaims these works to be ‘solo manifestos’ not only for Baiba Skride in establishing her credentials on disc but also for the composers themselves. Indeed there is a tidy connection that links the three composers, Bach being the bedrock that both Ysaÿe and Bartók acknowledge through their works.

Skride hails from Riga in the Latvian Republic, and this I suspect will lead many to initially mention her name in the same breath as Gidon Kremer and maybe compare and contrast her playing with his. But Kremer is far from her only rival on disc in these pieces. In fact it seems that any fresh-faced young violinist these days wants to jump headlong into Bach’s solo works – Julia Fischer, Hilary Hahn et al – but my hope is that they keep the works in their repertoire, even if they might not get the opportunity to re-record them as Kremer and Menuhin notably have after deepening their understanding of them.

The opening of the second partita is immediately bold, the violin being closely recorded so that you have the feeling of sitting a few feet away from the assured performance that is taking place. Kremer’s second recording for ECM is similarly caught, but his playing throughout has an altogether rougher edge to it that some have seen as "searching for the truth within the music", others see it just as rough tone. With Skride the Allemanda alternates passages of near declamation (not too insistently given) with more reflectively voiced phrases. Although Skride’s tempi may not be the fastest around, but she does not give the sense of dawdling her way through the music.

The Corrente picks up the tempo nicely and, like the fourth movement Giga, carries a pleasing zest about it. The third movement Sarabanda is notable here for its use of pared down tone and finely drawn pianissimo that sacrifice little in the way of tonal substance. The final movement Ciaccona appears, like the rest of the work, to be of deceptive simplicity that actually hides technical challenges galore (leading one to understand why Kremer refers to the Sonatas and Partitas as the "Himalayas of the violin repertoire"). Skride takes the challenge presented in her stride with a thoroughly youthful precociousness, and achieves a convincing result.

The "Huggins" Stradivari is an instrument in fine form with several nuances to its palette. The top register is clean, bright and supple, though never hard or metallic as one often experiences with lesser instruments. The middle range is warm and links beautifully to a rich and deep bottom register. All of these are important aspects in each work given here, but it seems to me particularly so in Ysaÿe’s first sonata. Skride’s reading of it does bear similarities to that of the Bach – a relatively expansive view taken, likeness of tone. But when placed alongside a reading like that by Ilya Kaler on Naxos welcome differences of approach and results become apparent. Kaler’s reading, though forthright in approach, suffers in my view from being too resonantly recorded, leading to a muddied sound in faster passages. Skride’s slower tempi and cleanness of recording neatly avoid this problem, and therefore might be preferable to many as a result. But some might also counter that she sacrifices something of getting beneath the skin of the work for the sake of showy virtuosity. However Ysaÿe’s composition in my view is undoubtedly strong enough to withstand both views, and like the other two works there is never likely to be a single definitive reading.

Bartók’s solo sonata will be ever linked with its commissioner and dedicatee, Yehudi Menuhin. More recent readings too show their performers’ Bartókian credentials to good effect – Isabelle Faust on Harmonia Mundi in particular. Skride’s vision of the work is somewhat more urgent than Faust’s – even in the Fuga and Melodia – that leads to a greater sense of cohesion in the reading as a whole. Indeed one can hear most clearly in the Fuga Bartók’s acknowledgement of Bach, as Skride’s playing seems intent on emphasising this. But one should also be conscious that the opening Tempo di ciaccona derives directly in form out of Bach’s fearsome Ciaccona, heard earlier. This tying together of works does much to strengthen the appeal of the disc as a whole. Even the Bartók exhibits a sameness of tonal production, and musically nutritious though the tone and use of it is, it can be like a meal of the finest ingredients that sits a little heavily on you when eaten at a single sitting.

One thing’s for sure though, this disc is no turkey and hooray for that! We’ve all had enough of those by now haven’t we?

In The Shade of Forests George ENESCU (1881-1955) Impressions d’enfance Op.28 (1940) [22.01] Maurice RAVEL (1875-1937) Tzigane – Rapsodie de concert for violin and luthéal (original version) (1924) [10.41] Sonata Op. posthumous (1897) [12.37] Claude DEBUSSY (1862-1918) Violin Sonata (1916-17) [13.14] Nocturne et Scherzo (1882) – re-adaptation by Phillipe Graffin [4.11] Il pleure dans mon Coeur – transcribed Arthur Hartmann in 1908 and 1943 [3.04] La fille aux cheveux de lin - transcribed Arthur Hartmann in 1910 [2.27] Minstrels - transcribed by Claude Debussy in 1914 [2.22] Beau Soir - transcribed Arthur Hartmann in 1941 [2.14] Philippe Graffin (violin) Claire Désert (piano and luthéal) Recorded at Doopsegezinde Kerk, Deventer and Musical Instrument Museum (Tzigane) September 2004 AVIE AV2059 [73.11] Given that two of my colleagues were fortunate enough to receive this release around a month before I did, there seems little that I could add to their perceptive reviews. Indeed, I could make short work of this and simply echo their recommendation of it, which I do.

Readers of Part 1 of my anniversary tribute to Enescu last month will be only too aware of my views on the competition faced by this recording of Impressions d’enfance, which perhaps explains why I jumped straight to the Ravel Tzigane.

Another reason was my curiosity about the luthéal. The history of music is littered with instruments whose active lives have long since ceased and now find themselves consigned to museums – how wonderful therefore that this one emerges to make such a strong impression and fully justifying the reasoning for its use. True, a large part of the credit must be shared by Graffin and Désert, whose partnership and single vision of the work are immediately apparent. But the instrument itself makes just as instant a claim on the ear. Had I not read the excellent note on it, I would have been convinced that at least four keyboard instruments, though maybe not all pianos, of various ages and states of repair were used. Any other recording of the Tzigane will seem somewhat approximate next to this – it pulls you in to the gypsy-flavoured world so completely, and hauntingly afterwards lives on in the imagination.

With Ravel’s posthumous sonata, and indeed the rest of the disc, we continue most definitely in the company of a true violin and piano partnership. Each reading is persuasive by turns of its merits, large or small. The Debussy tracks, his complete works for violin and piano, succeed in giving an amazingly broad picture within the space of a mere six works. There is the sense here that not a single one could be left out without missing an essential aspect of the composer. The placing of the sonata after four shorter pieces helps to ensure that these are not overshadowed by the sun-dappled impression it leaves. As with other Debussy tracks, ending with Hartmann’s transcription of Beau Soir is a gentle nod from one violinist to another, and one that is not out of place.

So, what of the Enescu? Those that have invested in the Sherban Lupu (my personal favourite), Leonidas Kavakos, Menuhin or Mihaela Martin can still be happy with their choices. But such is Enescu’s strength that yet again in Graffin’s reading of the score I found new things to absorb me. He gainfully gets inside the idiomatic maze that Enescu lays before him, takes technical hurdles in his stride, and to a large degree succeeds in making these delightful reflections of an imaginary childhood deep in Romania spring to life. Désert gives her all it seems to the piano part and projects it assuredly, full of half colours and sonorities.

If my final preference is still for Sherban Lupu and Valentin Gheorghiu on Electrecord, then it is by a slim margin.

This version nonetheless does valiant service to Enescu’s cause and provides rich rewards indeed, as it does in respect of Ravel and Debussy. The Avie success story continues apace, and long may it continue.

George ENESCU (1881-1955) Violin Sonata No. 3 "dans le caractère populaire Roumain", Op. 25 (1926) [28.15] Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Sonata for violin and piano in A minor, D.385, op.posth. 137, No. 2 (1816) [23.18] Arnold SCHOENBERG (1874-1951) Phantasy for violin with piano accompaniment, op.47 (1949) [10.00] Hans Werner HENZE (b. 1926) Fünf nachtstücke für Violine und Klavier (1990) [9.20] Barbara Doll (violin) Cristina Marton (piano) rec. May 2005, Martinů Hall, Lichtenstein Palace, Prague. DDD. ARCODIVA UP 0083-2 131 [71.16] Thankfully George Enescu’s music is no longer as rarely performed or recorded as Barbara Doll’s accompanying programme note might make you believe. There are at least seven other recordings of the third violin sonata on my CD shelf, each with its own distinct claim to attention. From Enescu’s own with Lipatti – of historic interest – via Menuhin and Haendel (Enescu’s pupils) to current Romanian violinists Martin, Sirbu and Lupu or the alternative view presented by Kavakos, one might think that most interpretive angles were covered. This current version by Doll and Marton proves how wrong that assumption can be. Little could have prepared me for it.

The one outward clue is in the overall time taken. At 28’15" it is the most expansive view around, with the others coming in at anything between 22 and 25 minutes. The opening of the first movement (moderato malinconico) appears rather coolly conceived – in fact I’d go so far as to say detached from the music, its impetus and essence.

The emphases of dynamic and bowing techniques that violinists usually fling themselves into with abandon are somewhat underplayed compared to the norm. But then there are times too when the music springs to life, and often this happens without the slightest warning. Hear the second movement again at around 5’18" where across the course of not more than two bow strokes all hell is seemingly unleashed in the two instruments.

At times like that I wrote in my listening notes, "should I like this?" If I were honest to the spirit of Enescu, my reaction would be "probably not", but of itself this unique view has momentary things to commend it. It is well known that when Menuhin studied with Enescu in Romania he fell - by his own admission - perhaps too strongly under the influence of the gypsy fiddlers around Sinaia, which is why Enescu packed him off for the corrective

influence of Adolf Busch. If anything is misplaced in this performance it is that it remains too artful rather than submitting to the true caractère populaire Roumain: the bowing and tone is at all times a little too studied and contemplated where it should be instinctual. I would have thought being a pianist of Romanian birth Cristina Marton might have brought stronger feelings to show against Barbara Doll’s approach.

The third movement too left me with the feeling of a performance more aware of itself – little things: edgy tone produced too cleanly and the music at times taken too much in bite size chunks rather than a unified whole. When it comes alive (c. 6’21") the results can be gripping – and not for the first time though I wondered as to the amount of engineering manipulation taking place behind the scenes to give the piano bass presence that seemed a touch lacking moments before.

However, it’s not only the Enescu that is individual here: the rest of the programme presents three other approaches to the violin and piano duet that amply reflect their composers’ concerns. The Schubert is altogether more natural and the performance shows qualities that were lacking at times in the Enescu. It is lithe and beautifully shaped and affords both players opportunities to show what they can produce when not under the pressure of having to realise effects for their own sake. The work has a flow all of its own and in this element of the performance Cristina Marton emerges as a rather sensitive accompanist.

The Schoenberg is an altogether edgier affair, with the violin definitely taking the lead and exhibiting a palpable hardness of tone. But it’s not that the piano part - composed shortly after the violin one - is shy in coming forward either. Throughout their performance Doll and Marton allow Schoenberg’s Viennese side to show itself within his twelve-tone frame, with glimpses of the waltz and Schubert - perhaps less distinctly - but this is the only discernable link between the composers included here.

Henze is in most senses worlds away from Enescu, but in one crucial sense their two works here share a kindred interest in the evocation of the night, albeit I sense Enescu’s is more fleeting. Henze’s self-professed aim is to "satisfy the human longing for peace, calm and harmony, or at least to understand it". This work, whilst not especially outwardly calming, does arrive at a moment that might be described as ‘resolution’. Here I don’t mean to imply the harmonic sense though this does have a bearing upon the work’s searching character. "Moods, atmospheres, conditions", Henze too quotes among his concerns and throughout the short span of the five movements he brings to bear his own journey through personal and political upheavals.

Unsurprisingly the work and performance end this disc with more of a question mark than any more definite punctuation. And the question is what’s the question? That’s for the listener to decide depending on their reaction, not only to Henze’s work, but the disc as a whole: a varied programme given through provocative playing.

Recommended most strongly if provocation is what you’re after, though those seeking authentic Enescu as their first encounter should look at alternative versions.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Violin concerto No. 3 in G major, KV 216 (1775) [25.17]; Rondo Nr. 2 in C major, K. 373 (1781) [5.42] Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828) Rondo in A major, D 438 (1816) [13.44] Michael HAYDN (1737-1806) Violin concerto in B flat major, Perger 53 (1760) [21.47] Baiba Skride (violin) Kammerorchester C.P.E.Bach/Hartmut Haenchen Recorded at Studio 10, DeutschlandRadio Berlin, June 24-27 2004. SACD. DDD. SONY CLASSICAL SK92939 [66.55]

This, the second disc featuring Latvian violinist Baiba Skride to have come my way demonstrates her commitment to concertos on record. Both discs feature the same violin, the "Huggins" Stradivarius dating from 1708. Both were recorded in the same Berlin studio.

A recap of her qualities in solo violin works should give some idea of what to expect here ( review) The immediacy of the Mozart concerto’s opening movement makes you aware of an orchestra that has true chamber proportions yet does not suffer from a lack of presence. For a variety of reasons, but foremost due to a certain similarity of approach, I listened to this recording alongside that of Pamela Frank and Tonhalle Orchestra Zurich under David Zinman (Arte Nova 74321 72104 2). In the playoff of orchestral body and tone this new Sony recording comes out a clear front-runner. Not only are they more warmly recorded and also have a slightly richer sound overall, the bass line is just that more noticeable, giving a bit of extra punch to the rhythms.

Where Zinman is happy to deliver a fleet-footed performance that is pared down to the basics, Haenchen’s approach though similar does not take things quite so quickly. This extra space for the music to breathe and establish itself is beneficial to the work as a whole. So too is the presence of the woodwinds and brass – helping in large measure to form an integrated orchestral sound as a dialogue partner for Skride’s solo line.

So what of Skride’s playing? Well, it is marked by precision, and although not being as forwardly recorded as in her debut album, she does stand out well against the orchestra. Much of her playing has an entirely natural flow to it, with fluctuations of dynamics registering but not really seeming overly self-consciously produced. Placed against Pamela Frank’s reading one is immediately aware of how much harder Frank’s tone is – something that in the end works against the spirit of the music. Another area of difference is the cadenzas: Frank plays ones written by Zinman that seem a little over-long for my taste, Skride’s offering being more natural and more subtly phrased into the bargain.

There is here a sweetness of tone, often given at a shaded pianissimo, and a sense of singing line. There are notable contributions from the flutes, bringing an appropriate sense of reflection. The closing Rondeau: Allegro is an altogether sprightlier affair, as one would hope, giving Skride the opportunity to deliver variations in tonal colouring to make this the most remarkable of the concerto’s three movements.

In keeping with the rondo form and major key a neat link is formed to the second Mozart work which is delivered in much the same style as the concerto. However, with a greater lightness of touch and transparency in the orchestration Skride’s solo line is if anything more prominent in this rondo.

The symmetry of the disc is preserved with a further rondo and another concerto. Guido Fischer in his accompanying note calls Mozart, Schubert and Michael Haydn key exponents of "the Austrian violin axis".

Schubert’s contribution is forward looking anticipating the character of his future works. In their playing the Kammerorchester C.P.E.Bach show subtle differences in style and articulation from the Mozart works. Skride too allows the work a touch less opulence in tone, though she maintains a clearly articulated singing line that is always sensitively played.

It’s comparatively rare these days that a concerto by Michael Haydn (the younger brother of Joseph) is recorded.

Known as the ‘Salzburg Haydn’, Michael took over the position of Salzburg cathedral organist from Mozart in 1781.

Based largely on Baroque models the concerto at times points directly towards Mozart’s third concerto, penned some fifteen years later. Outward simplicity of form and structure contains notable technical challenges, particularly for the soloist, in the triplet runs of both the opening Allegro moderato and the closing Allegro molto. Skride copes well with the challenges, and succeeds in large measure in keeping the listener’s concentration on the music rather than the difficulty of the task she meets head on. The middle Adagio lends the concerto a much needed intimacy, which is impressively put across.

This is on the whole an impressive concerto debut disc. True, Skride might not have the personal tonal stamp of violinists from yesteryear, but what she does have is a sense of style allied to a modern attitude and approach to these most Austrian of works. I can think of many today that don’t have that. With a second concerto disc (Shostakovich 1st and Janáček) already released in Germany, Sony would do well release internationally soon.

Reportedly she takes a dim view of the crossover market. Looks as if we might have a serious artist on our hands.

The first two discs certainly make it seem so.

Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791): Fantasia in C minor, K.396 (1781/2) [8.04] Fantasia in D minor, K.397 (1781/2) [6.12] Fantasia in C minor, K.475 (1785) [13.36] Franz SCHUBERT (1797-1828): Fantasia in C minor, D.993 (1813) [7.26] "Wanderer" Fantasy in C major, D.760 (1822) [22.08] Daniel Blanch (piano) Recorded at the Fundación Juan March, Madrid, June 2004. DDD. ARS HARMONICA AH140 [57.26]

The fistful of fantasies presented here contains one work of major importance, Schubert's Wanderer. The rest, although of moderate interest individually, must be taken as mere chippings from the composers' workbenches.

Daniel Blanch is a young pianist with a sound technique that suits these works well. The piano is recorded perhaps a little distantly, giving the sound a touch of frailty, and for the most part this is not too displeasing or distracting.

But those that prefer or are used to a fuller Steinway sound might find it a little under-powered.

Where the minor works are concerned Blanch copes not badly at all. He brings a crispness to Mozart that is pleasing enough. With the Mozart fantasias it is immediately apparent though that K.475 is the most developed of the given trio, and here Blanch brings out elements of melancholy, tenderness and tragedy that are to be found within its pages. Schubert’s C minor fantasia (D.993) uses material from Mozart’s K.475 as the basis of homage from the 14 year old composer. Blanch’s interpretation draws out the Mozartian source without undue attention to create a contrast of sufficient interest.

However, I suspect that the majority of your interest, like mine, would be centred on Blanch’s reading of Schubert's Wanderer. It's a work in which Blanch is not short of rivals - and I compared his reading to Maurizio Pollini’s classic recording. Like throwing Daniel to a mighty lion you might be thinking, and indeed this had occurred to me.

The encounter shows decisively in Pollini’s favour overall; no surprises there then – his is after all a reading I would place amongst the most persuasive ever recorded. There are a number of points that I identified as contributing to this: Pollini’s instrument has greater presence and cohesion and the sound aids his already superior playing skills.

Blanch’s passagework appears somewhat under-projected and although he brings pace to the work he does not

drive it from inside in the same sense that Pollini does. Blanch’s shading is not as daringly played nor does he make as much logical sense of the contrasts as Pollini. Perhaps too late in the day for comparison, I turned to Sviatoslav Richter’s recording – another lion roaring in Schubert’s service – and it too proved dominant over Blanch’s reading.

Overall I would say – by other standards – Blanch’s is an averagely decent performance. Perhaps in the concert hall, with the impetus of an audience and the adrenalin flow of the moment behind him the playing would grip more than it does here. But for anyone wanting a recording of the Wanderer Fantasy great experiences are to be found elsewhere and Blanch’s valiant efforts are no challenge to them.

Igor STRAVINSKY (1882-1971) Duo Concertant (1932) Suite Italienne (1933) Johann Sebastian BACH (1685-1750) Partita No.1 in B minor (BWV 1002) Sonata No.1 in G minor (BWV 1001) Leonidas Kavakos (violin) Péter Nagy (piano) (Stravinsky) Rec. Radio Studio DRS, Zurich, October 2002 ECM NEW SERIES ECM 1885 [75’00"]

Stravinsky and Bach – unusual bedfellows you might think, and particularly in that order. Well, yes and no. This is after all an ECM New Series release, where nothing is run of the mill.

I recently heard Kavakos interviewed on the subject of violin tone – very pertinent as the composers in question here inhabited such different times and sound worlds. Kavakos was adamant that tone had to be "true" to the work at hand, as in his view there is no single ideal violin tone that suits all works.

The Duo Concertant (1932) gets off to an edgy start – as is should – with Kavakos immediately showing his willingness to shade and pare down the violin line as required. Nagy’s accompaniment is as impressive for its responsiveness, with the sound of both instruments set off against each other well. The relative sparseness of movements such as Eglogue II and the Gigue allow some space for the more pastoral elements to come through.

Here, as elsewhere, Kavakos shows his liking of the finely spun and fading line, in contrast to the catchy rhythmic bounce of brisker movements.

Bach next, the first partita and not the sonata as you might expect. The move to solo violin, after the strong impression made by the Stravinsky I felt was always going to take playing and interpretation of a high order. Having played this disc as programmed, and also so the sonata follows the Duo Concertant, there does indeed seem some logic to the choice made where this programme is concerned. With emphasis on sweetness and evenness of tone even at faster tempi - and on the whole his tempi are slower than most - this is an individual reading of the partita, although a pleasing one.

Stravinsky’s Suite Italienne, from 1933, derived some of its thematic material from the ballet Pulcinella, and therefore has influences from Pergolesi and others. So strong is the pre-classical feel of the reading that it seems at first it is Pergolesi, and not Stravinsky, who is being brought into contrast with Bach. Nagy makes a welcome return to the discourse, with playing that has a harpsichordal pluckiness to it. Stravinsky’s voice comes through though and the playing becomes more consciously ‘modern’ to suit.

Kavakos’ reading of the Bach sonata is in the same mould as the partita. I suspect most record buyers will have or want one or more complete sets of the sonatas and partitas. I listened to Kavakos in comparison to Enescu, Menuhin, Haendel and Sherban Lupu – all with their own things to say, and all confirm the impression that no one violinist can entirely plumb the depths of these absorbing works.

Is this the start of a complete Bach set from Kavakos? If so, it should be an interesting reading. But does Kavakos succeed in bringing off the sonata? Almost – for me the tempi seem almost too consciously slow at times. The Fugue – the emotional climax of the work – is beautiful but misses some element of otherworldly mystery that others listed above grasp to greater effect.

The booklet note is densely worded and, to my mind, largely void of meaning in any language, adding little to the listening experience. Kavakos and Nagy remain their own strongest advocates.

Anyone that sensibly invested in the excellent pairing of Enescu and Ravel by these artists will need no further musical encouragement to explore this latest ECM disc, depending largely on whether or not you want this combination of repertoire.

Romanian Trombone Concertos Călin IOACHIMESCU (b. 1949) Concerto for Trombone, Double Bass and Orchestra (1986) [13:49] (a) Sorin LERESCU (b. 1953) Side Show (1997) [14:31] (b) Fred POPOVICI (b. 1948) to Traiect for Barrie (1997) [13:54] (b) Liviu DANCEANU (b. 1948) Şapte Zile – Concerto for Trombone and Orchestra (1991) [24:03] (c) Barrie Webb (trombone) (a) Dorin Marc (double bass) Mihail Jora Philharmonic Orchestra, Bacău/Ovidiu Bălan; (b) Traiect Ensemble / Sorin Lerescu; (c) Romanian Radio Chamber Orchestra/Cristian Brâncuşi Rec. SMEI Studio, Bucharest, 2001. DDD. METIER MSV CD92021 [66:23] Aside from Christian Lindberg, there is probably no one as active in commissioning and performing new works for the trombone today as Barrie Webb. Certainly none is as active in maintaining a commitment to the contemporary music scene in Romania. MPS have published a CD (MPSCD007) devoted to Doina Rotaru’s compositions, featuring Webb as conductor.

‘Romanian Concertos’ sees Webb as the soloist throughout, in four works that were written for him by leading compositional names in Romania. Webb’s useful booklet note does much to offer short biographical sketches of the composers, his own connections with them, and some analysis of the works themselves.

All four composers graduated from the Bucharest University of Music, and all display the distinct influence of attending the Darmstadt Internationale Ferienkurse für Neue Musik, not in the 1950s when Boulez, Cage and co. were there, but the late 1980s and early 1990s. The dominant influences then were Brian Ferneyhough and Morton Feldman, along with figures like the spectral composer Tristan Murail. The issues that these composers raised are still the stuff of musical currency in Romania, whereas the West has moved on somewhat. Intended only as a comment on composition in Romania, it is perhaps a little refreshing that issues are deliberated at a slower pace, though the avant-garde is catching up fast.

There is no doubt that the disc benefits from the involvement of two of the featured composers, Lerescu appears as a conductor and Ioachimescu acted as sound engineer, in which role he has been active for Romanian Radio since 1980.

Ioachimescu captures the sound of each ensemble with something of an edge. In itself this does something to emphasize any problems in the ensemble or quality of playing. Over recent years Romanian orchestras have raised in overall standard becoming more homogenized in sound and losing a lot of their hard, ungiving tone, with the strings retaining their famed edge and mercurial fluency. If the brass and woodwinds have become more characterful, the results are not yet what a western audience might be used to. But still the sound is distinctive, which is more than can be said for most western orchestras.

Ioachimescu’s concerto is finely paced by Ovidiu Bălan, although for the most part the two soloists develop their own line against a minimal orchestral background. The opening monolithic tutti however does set a rather dour scene, if not entirely ‘majestic’ as Webb suggests it could be. The work is largely spectrally-based and proceeds through superimposition and paring down of material until middle C and D remain along with a handful of harmonics.

Sorin Lerescu’s work, Side Show, is in the tradition of the trombone as theatre performance; being comic, yet sad and hiding a deeply felt seriousness. You might think, as I did, of Berio’s Sequenza V. Movement and interaction come through as you hear soloist move from left to right audio channels, and seemingly leading the development of the music in a quasi-improvisatory nature. In the end a drum theme, present almost throughout, is given to the soloist – the trombonist turns percussionist. Dissatisfaction with the instrument, the material? Who knows, and frankly what does it matter?

Fred Popovici’s work uses the ensemble to amplify and distort the solo line, or as the composer says to produce “permanent feedback (dialogue) of sounding information”. The first movement also provides the material for the latter two that elongate and fractalise the sound line. The imposition of mathematical and geometrical concepts upon sound have long dominated Popovici’s output.

Liviu Danceanu’s concerto Şapte Zile (Seven Days) takes the form of a suite, and outwardly is classical in structure.

The first five days / movements build upon one another, exploring different techniques and timbres in the solo part often influenced by synthesizer produced effects present throughout the work. The sixth day / movement is a cadenza, and the seventh a kind of summation, though not – to my ears – a resolution.

Given my little previous involvement with the sound world of these composers (Popovici and Lerescu’s chamber works featured in a single chamber music concert I attended in Bucharest last spring), I do to a large extent have to take these performances on trust that they achieve something close to the composers’ wishes. In terms of commitment they want for nothing, and are to be recommended to those in search of distinctive if sometimes unremitting voices that can reward attentive listening.

Trumpet masterpieces Paul HINDEMITH (1895-1963) Sonata for trumpet and piano [16.48] Bohuslav MARTINŮ (1890-1959) Sonatine for trumpet and piano [7.16] Maurice RAVEL (1875-1937) Kaddisch [4.14] George ENESCU (1881-1955) Légende [6.14] Thorvald HANSEN (1847-1915) Sonata for trumpet and piano [9.48] Karl PILSS (1902-1979) Sonata for trumpet and piano [15.52] James Watson (trumpet) Simon Wright (piano) Rec. Duke’s Hall, Royal Academy of Music, London, 2005. DDD. DEUX-ELLES DXL 1109 [60.10] I am not usually partial to trumpet music in large doses; however in this case the choice of repertoire attracted me.

In his booklet note Watson, Head of Brass at the Royal Academy of Music, tells of his belief in the trumpet’s ability to carry a melodic line and stir passions. I am used to stirring orchestral brass holding a tune, so a reduction in scale struck me as not that hard to get to grips with, providing the execution proved to be more than just technical excellence and academic correctness.

The Hindemith sonata is at once upbeat and somewhat dry, typical of the composer’s style. Both instruments have nice presence and a sense of interplay is maintained, with Watson reducing his line down to a pianissimo without overt thinning of the tone. The final movement ‘trauermusik’ brings out the best of these qualities. The finely judged performance prevents the music from becoming overly bleak, yet maintains a sense of tension throughout despite the finely wrought trumpet line. Indeed, as with Enescu’s writing (see later) one is impressed by the piano part; other composers might have been tempted to let the trumpet have all the glory.

By way of contrast, Martinů’s sonatine proves a lively jazzy piece, which lightens the mood, with - yet again - a sizeable load carried by the piano. Against this, Watson’s finely strung and subtly inflected solo line is thrown. And then Ravel - on the trumpet? Well, I wouldn’t have thought it a natural marriage, but Watson proves somewhat persuasive. The performance sees the mood darken slightly with the work being inward looking. He writes of using it as a prelude to the Enescu; in my view not necessary, but certainly passable in this capacity. Ravel though is more than capable of being his own person.

If the Ravel is inward then the Enescu is a glance towards the eternal, encapsulated in barely six minutes. Légende has several previous recordings, and both those on EMI by John Wallace (the one to hunt down if you can) and Hakan Hardenberger, capture key aspects of the work. If Watson does not match either it is not for want of trying.

Wallace proves more ‘timeless’ in his view, Hardenberger has a shade more character in the playing than Watson.

Yet his is a decent account, coping well with the flutter-tongue passages and the seamless legato. The piano part is a glory in itself, and more than competently played. However, whatever Enescu’s enigmatic Légende is, I am not totally made to believe in it.

Then two composers I had never heard of before: Hansen and Pilss. I suspect unless you are a brass aficionado this might be the case with you too. To be honest, I found both of mild interest; the playing was pleasing enough and, as far as I could tell, competent. I found the lift in spirits and mood that the Hansen provided some relief from the generally sombre tone that wove throughout the majority of this disc.

For me, despite obviously competent performances this was a pleasing rather than seminal release that might be revisited occasionally; though trumpet lovers may find it of more lasting value.

Artist recitals and compilations

New French Song - new settings of French words by British composers (2003-2004) Tarik O'REGAN (b. 1972) Sainte (Mallarmè) [3.39] Sadie HARRISON (b. 1965) ..issu stellaire.. (Mallarmé) [6.12] Will TODD (b. 1970) Le Pont Mirabeau (Apollinaire) [5.09] Edwared COWIE (b. 1943) Les Hiboux (Baudelaire) [4.12] Bob CHILCOTT (b. 1955) L'enfant dort (Hugo) [1.42] John CASKEN (b. 1949) Colloque Sentimental (Verlaine) [6.12] Laurence CRANE (b. 1961) Tour de France Statistics 1903 – 2003 (Crane) [4.47] Adam GORB (b. 1958) La Cloche Fêlée (Baudelaire) [6.27] Gabriel JACKSON (b. 1962) A la Mémoire de Claude Debussy (Cocteau) [3.24] Michael FINNISSY (b. 1946) Salomé (Laforgue) [3.09] Andrew KEELING (b. 1955) Artémis (de Nerval) [4.31] Hugh WOOD (b. 1932) Alicante (Prévert) [1.47] Diana BURRELL (b. 1948) Longtemps ce fut l'été (Bonnefoy) [2.15] Helen ROE (b. 1955) Pourquoi? (Verlaine) [5.48] Nicola LEFANU (b. 1947) Billet à Whistler (Mallarmè) [6.38] Edward MCGUIRE (b. 1948) Rêves de la Bonne Heure (McGuire) [4.52] Judith BINGHAM (b. 1952) La Jeune Morte (Heredia) [2.31] Roger REDGATE (b. 1958) Mirlitonnades (Beckett) [1.57] Howard SKEMPTON (b. 1947) Le Pont Mirabeau (Apollinaire) [1.34] Graham FITKIN (b. 1963) Les Aliments Blancs (Satie) [1.44] Alison Smart (soprano) Katharine Durran (piano) Recorded at the Turner Sims Concert Hall, 1-3 April 2005. DDD. MSV CD 92100 [79.36]

Any release that broadens the range of art song before the public immediately arouses my interest. The idea of getting twenty British composers to set French texts might initially raise fears about the love-hate relationship that supposedly exists between the two nations. Nothing could be further from the truth, and this disc is much the stronger for it.

The listening experience is interesting too; indeed one could think of this as the musical equivalent of twenty miniature images displayed in a row. With each track you’re moved along the line to something new. Each is by its very nature a concentrated experience as there’s no growing accustomed to a continuity of style or technique.

What is each composer’s sensitivity and approach to text like and which takes primacy in performance, text or music?

Then there’s the texts ... and the range of poets covered. Here in this case are some of the true greats. In one case there’s the opportunity to compare two settings of the same text.

The excellent booklet includes full texts with translations accompanied by composer and poet mini profiles. We are told how the project was borne out of the experience of these artists performing Poulenc and Fauré in 1999. Whilst only a couple of the works presented here have anything approaching the subtlety of response that those great Frenchmen exhibit in their chansons, they nonetheless offer adventure and amusement that is amply rewarding.

Indeed it is often the more off-beat texts that have the staying power: Beckett, Crane and Satie - who else could make a list of white foods bring a smile to your face?

There is a tendency here to explore vocal extremes, be it in terms of range (Redgate) or intensity of attack (Gorb).

However, this is balanced by the inner calm and reflectiveness that others achieve. Tarik O’Regan’s Mallarmé setting hasn’t failed yet to draw me in and make me stop everything to listen, so too McGuire and Jackson. Others instil different reactions. Harrison appears extract-like. Redgate takes the song to the point of vocal abstraction.

Bingham has a slight indifference to the text perhaps. Then there are the gentle nods from one composer to another artist: Jackson to Debussy and LeFanu to Whistler.

Listening to the whole disc at one sitting might be a touch wearing, and quickly I adopted the pattern of listening to smaller groups. As with most intricately created miniatures inevitably there were facets that revealed themselves only on repeated visits. Gradually preferred individual songs and groups emerged. Groups of poets, groups of tempi – alike and contrasting – allowed for the creation of mini-recitals drawn from the overall pool. For example, I found the following particularly effective: the contrast between Todd and Cowie or the suitably questioning Roe against Skempton’s lilting rhythms and natural linguistic feeling.

Whilst Alison Smart is set a tall order by the composers, to my ears she makes a strong case for these songs.

Perhaps here and there one regrets that a feel for the inner music of the French language is sacrificed a little so that a vocal high wire act can be pulled off. But then that maybe shows a composer’s lack of innate linguistic affinity too. Katharine Durran offers solid support throughout, her instrument being recorded closely, but allowing for a nice atmosphere to develop around it – though it too can be insistent when required by the likes of Bingham or Fitkin.

Artistically enterprising and uncompromising, with excellent production values too, this Metier release is well worth exploring.

Martial Singher – French opera arias Jean-Baptiste LULLY (1632-1687) Amadis - Bois épais, redouble ton ombre [4:03] André GRÉTRY (1741-1813) Richard, Coeur de Lion - Blondel's Air [4:11] Hector BERLIOZ (1803-1869) The Damnation of Faust - Mephistopheles' Air [2:17]; Serenade [1:48]; Song of the Flea [1:39] Charles GOUNOD (1818-1893) Roméo et Juliette - Ballad of Queen Mab [2:55] Ambroise THOMAS (1811-1896) Hamlet - Chanson Bachique [3:50] Jules MASSENET (1842-1912) Herodiade - Vision Fugitive [4:14] Jacques OFFENBACH (1819-1880) The Tales of Hoffmann - Dapertutto's Air "Scintille diamant" [4:04] Georges BIZET (1838-1875) Carmen - Toreador Song [3:34] Martial Singher (baritone) Metropolitan Opera Orchestra/Paul Breisach Recorded in 1945, released as Columbia Masterworks Set M-578 (71678-D - 71681-D) PRISTINE AUDIO MP3 Format download [32'40"] The French baritone Martial Singher (1904-1990) first came to my attention around a decade ago in recordings of Ravel’s Don Quichotte à Dulcinée and Ronsard à son âme. Those were the works’ premiere recordings and were made in 1934 in Ravel’s presence. The orchestra was conducted by Piero Coppola. They are available on EMI Classics 7243 5 65499 2 0. These gave me a firm impression of Singher’s affinity with the French repertoire.

Other recordings include Stravinsky’s L' Histoire du Soldat under Stokowski (Artemis) and Debussy’s Pelléas et Mélisande under Emil Cooper (Naxos Historical). Also of interest is Singher’s book, “An Interpretive Guide to Operatic Arias: A Handbook for Singers and Coaches” (Pennsylvania State University Press), which succeeds in capturing the inner business of singing and interpretation to a remarkable degree.

This MP3 download of ten recordings made in 1945 is of great significance for aficionados of singing and French repertoire alike. It adds greatly to the range of Singher’s available recordings, and in the space of half an hour offers a thoroughly absorbing traversal of arias ranging from the all but forgotten Lully and Grétry operas to more familiar items by Berlioz, Offenbach and Bizet. Throughout Singher’s affection for the music is evident, as is his seemingly effortless and beautifully sonorous vocal production, here matched by insight and idiomatic delivery. I defy anyone to play these tracks through once and not do so immediately again. Singher’s approach is so obviously right, and these recordings are benchmark references in this repertoire.

Some might think twice about obtaining recordings by download, although a growing number of source websites are available, not least those dedicated to young and established artists of today. But concerns over legality, security of download or sound quality may remain. In my experience the reservations need not concern you here. The Pristine Audio Direct website is one of the few offering historical recordings from a reputable source, backed by full documentation and guidance on the download process. Helpful notes are also available on transferring the recordings to a CD-R for playing on a standard CD player, which is much to be preferred to computer-based listening.

For those that prefer buying a CD version to producing their own, this option is available too.

Andrew Rose, the man behind Pristine Audio, has done a fantastic job with the transfer and digital restoration of the tracks. Most notable is the almost total lack of hiss, achieved without noticeable dulling down or sacrifice of the top register as is so often the case. Singher’s voice is full and immediate. So too is the sound of the orchestra, their playing subtly coloured, attractive and attentive to Breisach’s straightforward direction.

I firmly hope that Andrew Rose will keep bringing such interesting artists and repertoire into the twenty-first century.

I urge you strongly to visit and keep a close eye on the website (http://www.pristineaudiodirect.com/) as your MP3/CD player will wait a long time to have it so good again.

Richard Tauber: Opera Arias, Volume 2 Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Die Entführung aus dem Serail (1781/2) – Konstanze, Konstanze … O wie angstlich [4’17"] Die Zauberflöte (1791) - Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön (rec.1938) [3’51"]; (rec.1946) [3’53"] Don Giovanni (1787) – Dalla sua pace (a) [4’10"]; Il mio tesoro (a) [4’14"] Carl Maria von WEBER (1786-1826) Der Freischütz (1821) – Nein, langer trag’ ich nicht …

Durch die Walder [6’21"] MÉHUL Joseph – Vaterland ich musst’ dich fruh lassen [4’39"] Friedrich von FLOTOW (1812-1883) Martha (1847) – Ach so fromm [2’49"] GODARD Jocelyn – Berceuse [3’10"] Jacques OFFENBACH (1819-1880) Les contes d’Hoffmann (1880) – Il était une fois a la cour d’Eisenach [4’13"]; Ha, wie in meiner Seele [2’44"] Georges BIZET (1838-1875) Carmen (1845) – La fleur que tu m’avais jetée [3’33"] Nikolai RIMSKY-KORSAKOV (1844-1908) Sadko (1896) – Hindulied [3’12"] Richard WAGNER (1813-1883) Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg (1867) – Am stillen Herd [3’39"]; Morgenlich leuchtend [3’33"] NESSLER Trompeter von Sakkingen – Behut dich Gott [3’40"] Wilhelm KIENZL (1857-1941) Der Evangelimann (1894) – Selig sind die Verfolgung leiden [2’49"] Eugen D’ALBERT (1864-1932) Tiefland (1902/5) – Wie ich nun gestern Abend [3’51"]; Mein Leben wagt’ ich drum [3’21"] Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) Turandot (1924) – O weine nicht, Liu [2’47"]; Keiner schlafe [3’01"] All tracks sung in German, except (a) sung in Italian; (b) sung in French (c) with Dajos Bela, violin and Mischa Spoliansky, piano Recorded 1926-1946, British Parlophone, French Odeon and German Odeon. ADD. NAXOS HISTORICAL GREAT SINGERS 8.111001 [77’48"] This issue follows what has become the standard format for Naxos Historical releases: great musicians of the past presented in extracts from their core repertoire in well restored recordings, but supported with minimal

documentation. However, this disc would merit some departures from this approach, and in so doing I suspect increase the appeal to wider public.

Tauber was, and for many still remains, one of the supreme stylists of the tenor voice. Often in listening to these recordings one is struck by the tonal quality, breath control, not to mention that Tauber specialism – the floated head voice, so essential in any tenor embarking upon the Viennese repertoire. Young singers of today should listen and learn from a master when it comes to that.

There are reminders of many Tauber stage assumptions, and Mozart held a special place in his repertoire. The items from Die Zauberflöte and particularly Don Giovanni display a fine sense of line and proportion. The opportunity to compare two recordings of ‘Die Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön’ reveals how consistent the tone was over an interval of eight years. True, the later version is slightly leaner and slower, but no less beautiful for that.

The words are handled just as tellingly. Listening to Tauber in comparison to Helge Roswaenge, for example, in Flotow and Wagner shows Tauber’s ability to scale down the voice as opposed to Roswaenge’s occasional forcing of the tone – though this too is thrilling.

Aside from the voice, the chief interest is the repertoire presented. The lack of documentation about operas or extracts should present few problems in relation to the standard repertoire. However, there are at least seven tracks (Méhul, Flotow, Godard, Rimsky-Korsakov, Nessler, Kienzl, and D’Albert) that are likely to send you scurrying to the reference books for information, but even these will be little help when it comes to following the specifics of particular arias. Peter Dempsey’s otherwise informative sleeve note outline of Tauber’s career could have been usefully extended in this respect, beyond cursory mentions of ‘Opera X was first presented in year Y’, that adds little to the understanding of most listeners. The recordings themselves offer insights to repertoire that has been victim to changes in taste, but surely does not fully deserve the oblivion it finds itself languishing in today.

Personally, I am not worried by the fact that some tracks are sung in German translations. Tauber is a strong enough advocate to make you willingly ignore the fact; anyhow it follows the practice of the day when many ‘foreign’ works were presented in translation.

By and large Ward Marston’s audio restorations are clearly preferable to other re-issues of this material. The voice is forward, and the unnamed studio orchestras sound good for their age.

Highly recommended then, aside from some deficiency in documentation, with readers urged strongly also to consider the preceding volume and that of operetta recordings. Hopefully, Naxos will follow this up by reissuing Tauber’s 1926 recording of Das Deutsche Volkslied, and so offer a fully rounded portrait of his art.

Ernest Tilkin Servais: Arias and Songs Gaetano DONIZETTI (1797-1848) La Favorite – Leonore viens [3:31] Gioachino ROSSINI (1792-1868) Guillaume Tell – Reste immobile [4:29] Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901) Rigoletto – Tous deux egaux [4:13]; Au temple ou ma priere [4:23] (a); Vengeance eclatante [2:13] (a) Le Trouvère – Tout est desert, et l’hymne accoutumée...

Son regard, son doux sourire [4:37]; C’est l’ordre! Que le fils soit puni [4:32] (b); Sauvé! Sauvé! Bonheur divin [2:41] (b) La Traviata – Lorsqu’a des folles amours [4:19] La Bal masqué – Et c’est toi qui déchire mo name [3:52] Ruggero LEONCAVALLO (1857-1919) Paillasse – Prologue: Bonjour, c’est moi [4:31]; Prologue: Pardon, pardon [4:14] Giuseppe GIORDANI (1744-1798) Chère beauté (Caro mio ben) [3:35] Edouardo di CAPUA (1865-1917) Maria Mari [2:24] Richard BARTHELEMY (?-?)

Chi se ne scorda [o]cchiu [2:36] Giacomo MEYERBEER (1791-1864) L’Africaine – Adamastor, roi des vagues profondes [3:42]; L’avoir tant adorée [4:02] Hector BERLIOZ (1803-1869) La Damnation de Faust – Chanson de la puce [2:55]; Esprit des flammes [2:22]; Devant la maison [2:07] Georges BIZET (1838-1975) Carmen – Je suis Escamillo, torero [3:24] (c) Leo DELIBES (1836-1891) Lakmé – Lakmé, ton doux regard se voile [4:02] Ambroise THOMAS (1811-1896) Hamlet – O vin, dissipé la tristesse [3:58] Robert SCHUMANN (1810-1856) Dichterliebe – J’ai pardonné (no. 7) [2:29] Piotr Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893) Pourquoi, Six romances, op 6, no 5 [2:37] Charles BOHM (1844-1920) Comme la nuit [2:20] H J WOOD (?-?)

Resignation [4:08] Gaston KNOSP (1874-1953) La Kahena – L’Emir d’amour [3:05] Fernand GOEYENS (1892-1965) Maitresse aimée [2:59]; Pecheur napolitain [2:25] Daniel-Francois-Esprit AUBER (1782-1871) La muette de Portici – Amour sacré de la patrie [3:24] (c, d) Robert PLANQUETTE (1848-1903) La Régiment de Sambre et Meuse [2:32] Francois-Auguste GEVAERT (1828-1908) Vers l’Avenir [2:40] Ernest Tilkin Servais (baritone) with anonymous orchestras and

Yvonne Brothier (soprano); Marguerite Roger (soprano); Fernand Ansseau (tenor); Piero Coppola (conductor) Original recordings made 1920-1931. DDD MUSIQUE EN WALLONIE MEW 0419-20 [56:59 + 56:12] Among the teachers of the Belgian baritone Ernest Tilkin Servais (1888-1961) was Richard Barthelémy whose other pupils included Enrico Caruso, Tito Ruffo and Mary Garden. I now have not the slightest doubt that Tilkin Servais belongs to this select group and deserves the wider recognition that posterity has cruelly denied him. A bold claim for a name you most likely are unfamiliar with. Truth told, it was the same for me until a few weeks ago when I started reading up on Meyerbeer’s ‘Les Huguenots’, in advance of attending a performance in Liège later this year.

Tilkin Servais’ name resounded in reviews of the performances he gave.

Following competition victories in 1911 his career was launched, and continued until 1945. You would be wrong to assume that Tilkin Servais had a career solely within Belgium. International successes were had at Covent Garden, in Amsterdam, Paris, Monte Carlo and Buenos Aires, with repertoire that included the major French and Italian composers of the eighteenth, nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. German repertoire included Richard Strauss (Der Rosenkavalier and Salome), and all the major Wagner baritone roles.

There is no better ‘way in’ to a voice, its size, tone, the singer’s technique, etc. than through the Arie Antiche that Niccolo Vacchai advocated as vocal exercises, and this issue includes Giordano’s ‘Caro mio ben’ (CD1, track 13). This shows Tilkin Servais at the age of 32 in ringing voice, expressive throughout the range.

Intending to listen to the tracks and make instructive comparisons, I quickly abandoned the idea and took Tilkin Servais on his own terms. As one contemporary notice put it, the "big, beautiful baritone voice, so ample, sonorous and richly coloured, produced with an admirable technique allows him the subtlest of nuances and most brilliant outbursts." In forte passages there is not the slightest hint of hardening in the tone. Add to this a fine sense of style throughout, and you have a superbly formed baritone of the old Italian school. And, yes, despite singing in French, he is alive to the Italian feel of the works.

The recordings date from 1920 to 1931, the years of his exclusive contract with HMV. What we have here is all that is known to have survived. The two renditions of the prologue to I Pagliacci shows his vocal consistency and deepening awareness of a role. I suspect he would have been far from a rigid, ‘stand and deliver’ type of singer. If booklet photographs are anything to go by, then this image of singers of this time is nicely countered by his superb facial expressions as Tonio. I am prompted to wonder what his renditions of Scarpia and Amfortas would have been like, two stage roles he never recorded.

The duet recordings show Tilkin Servais’ ability to blend his voice with that of his partner, although Marguerite Roger is a little unsteady of tone. The patriotic duet from Auber’s La Muette de Portici, said to have sparked the Belgian Revolution for independence, and recorded on the centenary of that event, has a special place in the Tilkin Servais discography. Both he and Fernand Ansseau imbue it with feeling, significance and instill the regret that such works have slipped from the repertoire.

I care not one jot about the fact that practically all material is sung in French translations. Most collectors will probably have a reasonable idea of the repertoire sung, so the lack of texts or translations should matter little.

Where the items are unknown then the solution is simple – admire great singing for its own sake. Indeed, where we have it, what a joy it is to turn to original French repertoire so magnificently performed. It is a pity that more of his French mélodies on record have not survived. The Schumann, Tchaikovsky and two Neapolitan songs are some compensation.

Nor does the process used to transfer recordings from 78 to CD worry me. The shellac sides were rerecorded digitally as they were played. As most tracks last no longer than one side on 78 original there is no issue with matching tunings, speeds, etc. to mask the side breaks. Background interference is minimal and, where present, adds to the atmosphere of listening to period recordings. The voice is always forward, and only in the early recordings does the accompaniment sound like a rusty squeezebox.

Thank God for independent companies that bring artists from ages past to our attention, supported with excellent documentation. Frederic Lemmers’ booklet note is an insightful model of its kind. Tilkin Servais emerges as the vocal equal of Tito Gobbi, and I mean that in all seriousness. Without hesitation, a seminal release to be urgently acquired by anyone with a passion for the best singing from any age.

Tzigane: a treasury of Gypsy-inspired music Zoltán KODÁLY (1882-1967) arr. Anthony Goldstone: Dances of Galánta [16.07] * Joseph HAYDN (1732-1809) arr. Anthony Goldstone: ‘Gypsy rondo’ – Rondo all’ongarese (presto) from Trio in G major, Hob. XV:25, with a cadenza by Franz Schubert [3.30] * Franz LISZT (1811-1886): Hungarian Rhapsody no. 6 [7.15] Ferruccio BUSONI (1866-1924): Chamber Fantasy on Bizet’s Carmen [7.51] Johannes BRAHMS (1833-1897) arr. Anthony Goldstone: Hungarian Dance no. 11 [3.07] * Johannes BRAHMS (1833-1897): Hungarian Dance no.

2 [3.02] Ernst von DOHNÁNYI (1877-1960): Rhapsody in F sharp minor, op.11, no. 2 [6.54] Manuel de FALLA (1876-1946): Fantasia bætica (Andalusian Fantasy) [12.12] Augusta HOLMÈS (1847-1903): Rêverie tzigane [4.09] * George ENESCU (1881-1955): Romanian Rhapsody no.

1, in the composer’s concert transcription [12.23] Anthony Goldstone (piano) Recorded in St John the Baptist church, Alkborough, 2005. DDD. * = first recording DIVINE ART 25033 [77.30] Looking at this disc one might be forgiven for thinking that most gypsy-inspired art music emerged from Hungary and the surrounding territories. Certainly a lot has, but it is good having some Spanish material and French too in Augusta Holmès. Featuring eleven composers’ (counting Bizet and Schubert) individual takes on gypsy idioms is either likely to appeal a great deal or not much at all. In his lucid eight page accompanying note Goldstone makes the case for acknowledging more openly the Gypsy influence on western art music and draws out the threads between the works. His playing makes the case with equal eloquence and his instrument is recorded within a tightly focused frame.

A strength of this disc is that it places cheek by jowl the familiar in unfamiliar form, a few works commonly known in their present form and some lesser known repertoire. Goldstone’s own arrangements show his affection for the works whilst affording him the opportunity to showcase his talent. Those of the other arrangers (Busoni and Enescu) set him similarly daunting fences to hurdle, but more on them later.

Goldstone opens with his own ‘translation’ of Kodály’s Dances of Galánta, a veritable rush of high-powered pianism that would challenge many a keyboard artist. The result though is a thoroughly enjoyable and faithful account of Kodály’s orchestral score made naturally at home on the piano. The Haydn finds Goldstone momentarily more relaxed and reflecting with ease upon the vague Hungarian influence that permeates the work – the purpose of which is a means to an end in colouring the piece.

To my ears the Liszt and Brahms works were perhaps a little too similar in vein, undoubted showpieces though they are and delivered with all the sweep and verve that one could require for such late romantic repertoire. The sheer audaciousness of Busoni’s Chamber Fantasy on Bizet’s "Carmen" provided exactly the kind of change in terms of mood and material that was needed. Like much else here, it’s unashamedly virtuosic and played with sensitivity,

passion and technique equal to the task. Some may pall at the thought of Busoni or Liszt’s opera paraphrases – but they form a rich stream of piano literature that could bear more frequent airings.

Dohnányi returns us firmly to Hungarian soil in one of his most inventive rhapsodies – and here Goldstone captures a lilt and sway to the rhythms that I had not before picked up on, and in so doing effectively communicates the gypsy influence within the work. The fluid quality Dohnányi’s flowing writing calls for might not be as outwardly ambitious with regard to technique as the Busoni, but it is no less impressive for that.

The works by de Falla and Holmès may not count amongst the disc’s first recordings, but they do effectively serve to diversify the musical diet at this point in the disc. The former provides authentic Spanish inflections to neatly counter those arranged by Busoni. If Arthur Rubinstein, its commissioner, found the work "too long and complicated" there are elements that interest; and also extend knowledge of de Falla’s piano writing beyond the oft-heard Fire Dance and Nights in the Gardens of Spain.

Holmès would seem a composer, rather like Amy Beach, whose music has inner strength and worth but has never found an audience willing to regularly receive it seriously. Her idiom steers a course between Franck and devotion to Wagner yet captures a certain personal edge (indeed, one might understand why Saint-Saëns called her "untamed"!)

For the finale we come to Enescu’s Romanian Rhapsody no. 1 – in his own concert arrangement. Goldstone describes it "well night unplayable". Over the past few years I have listened to all of Enescu’s output in great depth – one might expect a violinist to write strong string parts, but more and more for me it is his piano writing that impresses. Whilst Goldstone captures the quirky playfulness of the work, unlike many orchestral conductors he also pays careful attention to metronome markings with their fluctuating tempi that accompany unequal bar lengths. It ends in a thunderously resounding battery of chords.

A pianistic tour de force without a doubt, and most warmly recommended.

Eva Urbanova: Italian Operatic Arias Vincenzo BELLINI (1801-1835) Norma – Casta Diva [6:39] Francesco CILEA (1866-1950) Adriana Lecouvreur – Ecco: respiro appena [3:41] (a); Poveri fiori [3:00] Jules MASSENET (1842-1912) Thais – Intermezzo [5:28]* (a) Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) Edgar – Addio, addio, mio dolce amor! [3:38] Turandot – In questa reggia [6:06] Manon Lescaut – Intermezzo [5:13]*; Sola, perduta, abbandonata [4:59] Alfredo CATALANI (1854-1893) La Wally – Ebben? Ne andro lontana… [4:18] Pietro MASCAGNI (1863-1945) Cavalleria rusticana – Intermezzo [3:33]*; Inneggiamo, il Signor non e morto [4:15]; Voi lo sapete [4:03] Giuseppe VERDI (1813-1901) La forza del destino – La Vergine degli angeli [3:15] Don Carlo – O don fatale [5:13] Eva Urbanova (soprano) all tracks except * (a) Lucie Svehlova (violin) Prague Philharmonic Choir and Prague National Theatre Orchestra/Ondrej Lenard Rec. live Smetana Hall, Prague, 30 May 2003. DDD SUPRAPHON SU 3763-2 631 [63:48]

This disc most definitely has a recital feel about it. I say that not solely because it was recorded live at the Smetana Hall in Prague, where thankfully the audience was silent throughout until breaking into wild applause at the end of each item. The chief cause for the recital feel is structural – groups of arias interspersed by three intermezzi – two Italian, one French – thus providing a good framework for the whole. Having composers similarly grouped and arias given in sequence within each opera is also beneficial to the listener.

Up until listening to this disc I had only heard Eva Urbanova in Czech repertoire; unsurprisingly an area in which she is both excellent and widely recorded. I was curious to hear her in Italian arias. The results reveal the differences in vocal palette required between the Czech and Italian schools and also Urbanova’s difficulty in totally adjusting to the task. You can instantly tell that these are not performances from an Italian soprano.

It is, to my mind at least, daring to open a recital with ‘Casta Diva’. To bring it off and deflect inevitable comparisons with Callas takes quite something. Urbanova does not quite succeed. Diction is a problem initially – it is “Caata diva” rather than “Casta diva” at the very opening. Nerves at the start of a live concert perhaps, but she fails to make you fully believe what she sings, no matter how it is pronounced.

Technical issues prove problematic at times too: passage work is not perfect and the sound itself is not always beautiful per se. Callas showed how bel canto could be brilliantly sung despite supposed vocal problems and even, dare I say it, an ugly sound. What made it work for Callas was in my opinion an unrivalled awareness of her voice, a lifetime’s experience with the music and that special something, the ‘x factor’.

It sounds as if I am damning Urbanova’s efforts in holding them up for comparison against the high altar of operatic art. Well, I would not go that far; I merely intend to show what divides a worthy and at times quite successful recital from the truly great. There are nice touches to Urbanova’s portrayals in shading the voice, but too often she hits the edge of the note, rather than securely, confidently and full on. Again, this is a sign of a performance caught live.

Under studio conditions I feel sure there would have been retakes. ‘In questa reggia’ is a case in point: it just does not stand up to repeated home listening.

It is welcome to hear an aria from Puccini’s Edgar, one of the most musically successful items on this disc. So too must be counted the Cilea and Catalani arias together with one of the Verdi. I should draw your attention briefly to the atmospheric reading of the Massenet Intermezzo from Thaïs, sensitively played by Lucie Svehlova, and enhanced by the wordless contribution of the choir.

Although the Prague National Theatre Orchestra and Philharmonic Choir play and sing well, bringing experience to their part in the proceedings, Ondrej Lenard’s tempi are sometimes a little staid. This is a surprise considering the drama of most of the arias. The opening of ‘O don fatale’ suffers particularly. This is a shame, because here in the dying minutes, Urbanova suddenly catches fire. The mezzo timbre of her lower voice is well formed, whilst she excites in the higher reaches, in a way not managed earlier in the programme.

With documentation consisting only of notes on Urbanova’s career to date, this further adds to my view that this is a release largely for her admirers. Those after more convincing interpretations and/or more involved, cleanly sung, performances should look elsewhere for a first recommendation of selected Italian arias.

Madeleine de Valmalète: Rediscovered master Wolfgang Amadeus MOZART (1756-1791) Fantasia in D minor, K.397* [4‘57"]; Sonata in D, K. 576 * [14‘01"] Maurice RAVEL (1875-1937) Le Tombeau de Couperin [19‘57"]; Jeux d’eau [4‘53"] Franz LISZT (1811-1886) Hungarian Rhapsody no.

11 [5‘17"] Aleksandr LABIEFF arr. LISZT L’Alouette [3‘40"] Modest MUSSORGSKY (1839-1881) Gopak [1‘23"] Manuel de FALLA (1876-1946) Ritual Fire Dance [3‘06"] Sergei PROKOFIEV (1891-1953) March from Love of Three Oranges [1‘28"] Sergei RACHMANINOV (1873-1943) Barcarolle, op.

10/3 [4‘08"] Claude DEBUSSY (1862-1918) Feux d' artifice (Preludes Bk. II) [3‘36"] Gabriel FAURÉ (1845-1924) Nocturne in E flat, op. 36* [6‘14"]; Impromptu in F minor, op. 31* [3‘25"] Madeleine de Valmalète - piano Rec. Berlin 1928, except Fauré (Dec, 1961) and Mozart (Grenoble, Feb. 1992). *first commercial release ADD/DDD ARBITER 144 [77:01] Madeleine de Valmalète (1899–1999), pianist.

‘Never heard of her’, you might be thinking and I can’t really blame you for that. She’s hardly a household name today; more a connoisseur’s pianist. But barely six years after her death some wider recognition of her art and reputation is urgently in order.

Born to the rank of marquise, her family moved in artistic circles – her mother was a painter, her brother a musician’s agent. She was nothing if not an independent spirit: an athlete, cyclist and the second woman in France to gain a driver’s licence. This energy and enthusiasm imbued her playing, even in the most trying of situations during the World Wars, or giving a recital in an igloo during a tour of Finland!

One might assume hers to have been an average talent; chiefly an occupier of teaching positions at reputable conservatoires rather than of major salons across France and Europe. Well, yes – she did indeed teach prolifically in Paris, Grenoble and Marseilles – but was, in her day, admired by many for her art. Fauré, Saint-Saens, Ravel and Busoni - she played for them all. She was partnered by true greats in her music-making: Toscanini, Furtwängler, Paray and Menuhin to name but four.

She firmly belonged to that curious genre of French musicians in the early twentieth century: lady pianists with great technique and superb interpretational skill who never quite made it to the lofty heights they should rightly have occupied. This group includes, in my opinion, the likes of Yvonne Lefébure, Marcelle Meyer, and above all Germaine Thyssens-Valentin. But dismiss any idea of de Valmalète being a feminine pianist just of decorum. She is probing yet honest, stylistically noble yet appropriate, amazingly modern and thoroughly absorbing.

During a life that fully spanned a century, there is little pianistically speaking she might not have heard. In later years she was known to keep an open mind, though her approach to playing was very much that formed decades earlier at the Paris Conservatoire. She graduated aged 14 with a grand prix personally presented by Fauré, the Conservatoire’s director. Her maître, Joseph Morpain, whom she revered greatly also taught Clara Haskil.

If she had watchwords they could well have been fidelity to the score, integrity of interpretation and impeccable technique. Though modern, as I have suggested, she remained only too aware of the history of her instrument, being an accomplished clavichord player and much admired in this regard by Cortot. This keyboard history is something to which she was almost a living monument, given her long active career.

The recordings presented here span the 64 years from 1928 to 1992. We are taken on a journey from the first ever recording of Le Tombeau de Couperin, about which Ravel expressed his appreciation, to a fantaisie and sonata, recorded at the age of 93, when de Valmalète wanted to "treat herself to some Mozart".

True, the Mussorgsky and Labieff might seem strange choices today, but they are idiomatically played. The Debussy and Fauré could hardly be bettered, even by starrier names whose reputations are founded on these composers.

Liszt’s B minor sonata was by all accounts stunning in de Valmalète’s hands, so all the more pity that a reading of it has not survived. The Hungarian Rhapsody however provides some idea of her prowess with Liszt.

Her first recordings were from 1928 and were made for Polydor and include Ravel, Prokofiev and de Falla. Listen and realize just how daring this was for a pianist at the time: contemporary music! Yet they are played with all the seriousness and devotion one might give to Bach or Beethoven, who also featured in her repertoire. Of course, there is a fair amount of hiss to listen through, but the music is worth every second of effort.

Which makes me think just how effortless the Mozart seems. The chords are rich, the fingering fluent and crisp.

One can think of several pianists half de Valmalète’s age who would struggle to reach a similar result, but time shall not wither the validity of her approach, nor age the execution of it.

Hopefully having sold you on investigating this release, what else is there of hers on record? Alas there is so much that never made it to the studio, and much of what we have (more Rachmaninov, Stravinsky, Milhaud and Albéniz) comes from private recordings of lesser sound quality. Arbiter could hardly do better than follow this current release by issuing her Chopin Ballades. These were made for EMI in 1975 and unaccountably never commercially released. There’s also the three other Mozart sonatas she treated herself to in 1992. In all reality the treat will be ours.

Alexia Voulgaridou: A Portrait Gaetano DONIZETTI (1797-1848) Don Pasquale – Quel guardo… So anch’io [5:48] Giacomo PUCCINI (1858-1924) La Boheme – Donde lieta usci… [3:04]; Si, mi chiamano Mimi…[5:04] La Rondine – Chi il bel sogno di Doretta [3:11] Turandot – Signore ascolta…[2:23]; Tu che di gel sei cinta…[2:22] Gianni Schicchi – O mio babbino caro…[2:21] Vincenzo BELLINI (1801-1835) I Capuleti e i Montecchi - Eccomi in lieta vesta…Oh quante volte [9:11] Jules MASSENET (1842-1912) Manon – Adieu notre petite table… [3:48] Charles GOUNOD (1818-1893) Romeo et Juliette – Je veux vivre… [3:38] Faust – Je voudrais bien savoir…Il etait un roi…Ah, je ris…[11:40] Alexia Voulgaridou (soprano) Munchner Rundfunkorchester/Nicola Luisotti Rec. 24-29 May 2004, Munich. DDD. ARTE NOVA VOICES 82876 57832 2 [60:15] Those that follow the fortunes of record companies will know that the BMG subsidiary label Arte Nova has suffered mixed fortunes. There have been a few out and out successes (Zinman’s Zurich-based Beethoven, Schumann and Richard Strauss cycles). Sadly, more often than not, there has been one element or other that has let the side down.

Uneven distribution and availability has taken its toll, whilst interesting repertoire has been let down by the quality of execution (e.g. the Furtwängler symphony cycle). On occasions where repertoire and artists were up to the task

(Mandeal’s Enescu and Brahms sets), the quality of the recordings worked against the success of the end result in some critical quarters.

Of all Arte Nova releases, the Voices series has been amongst the most interesting, with young singers being given their first recording opportunities, in repertoire that occasionally strayed beyond the standard. Releases featuring Sergij Larin, Laura Brioli, Deon van der Walt, Elena Zaremba, Anda-Louise Bogza and Elena Mosuc, amongst others, are all worth hearing. More often than not though the weak point has been the reliance on Slovak or Hungarian forces as orchestral support, leading to average rather than distinguished results.

There are signs however, with this current release that things could be improving. Voulgaridou is a Greek-born soprano now resident in Munich, so it is entirely appropriate that she be partnered here by that city’s radio symphony orchestra. Though the voice is on the light side it has conviction, and is used tellingly to capture emotion, with Voulgaridou unafraid to go to her limits: pushing the tone almost to the edge of a note in Donizetti, or employing the merest thread of voice in Bellini.

What comes across is not so much the fire-eating Greek temperament that you get with say Agnes Baltsa or Maria Callas, both very different voices from Voulgaridou’s, but the believability of her interpretations and identification with the roles. Her already wide stage experience plays into the recording, as she captures facets of each role. There are no examples of her Mozart, Verdi, Offenbach, Richard Strauss, Bernstein or other contemporary composers she has performed live on stage. I hope that some of these may follow if Arte Nova decides to take things beyond this initial recording, which it should consider doing. Comparisons with other singers in this repertoire would lead to endless lists of qualities. Were this a complete recording of a single work this might be instructive, but as things stand in giving an impression of a developing artist Voulgaridou creates an immediately favourable impression.

Conductor Nicola Luisotti was not a name known to me, however he proves fully idiomatic throughout, offering dynamic and sensitive readings. With experience in a wide range of European and American centres, his too is a name to look out for. His Covent Garden debut in the 2007 season with Il Trovatore is an event to await with interest. I hope that it will not be too long before Voulgaridou makes it to the UK as well.

The Munich Radio orchestra acquit themselves with spirited and keen playing, thereby proving my point that it is worth record labels investing in orchestras above the bargain basement level, even for bargain price releases. With this release you get more than you pay for on all fronts except documentation – biographies but no texts or translations. Nevertheless, recommended without hesitation.

Johannes Vermeer: Music of His Time William BYRD (c.1540-1623) Mass for Four Voices – Kyrie (a) [2’25”] Pavan (b) [3’01”] Johann NAUWACH (c.1595-c.1630) Ach Liebste laβ uns eilen (c) [1’54”] Thomas SELLE (1599-1663) Sag mir doch, liebes Echo mein (c) [1’50”] Heinrich SCHEIDEMANN (c.1595-1663) Praeambulum in C (d) [2’19”] Louis COUPERIN (c.1626-1661) Prelude in C (e) [2’29”]; Allemande in C (e) [3’13”]; Prelude in A (e) [2’04”]; Pavane in F sharp minor (e) [6’32”]; Prelude in F (f) [2’12”]; Allemande grave in F (f) [3’27”]; Prelude a l’imitation de M. Froberger (f) [6’27”] William LAWES (1602-1645) Concert Set a 5 in C – Fantazy; Paven; Aire (b, g) [9’46”] Marc-Antoine CHARPENTIER (1643-1704) Laudate pueri (h) [6’20”]; Salve regina (h) [6’26”] Christoph BERNHARD (1628-1692) Scheiden bringt Leiden (c) [2’51”] Andreas HAMMERSCHMIDT (1611/12-1675) Wie er wolle gekusset seyn (c) [2’11”] Dietrich BUXTEHUDE (c.1637-1707) Membra Jesu nostril III: Ad manus (i) [9’30”] (a) Oxford Camerata / Jeremy Summerly; (b) Rose Consort of Viols; (c) Martin Hummel (baritone) / KarlErnst Schroder (lute); (d) Pieter van Dijk (organ); (e) Glen Wilson (harpsichord); (f) Laurence Cummings (harpsichord); (g) Timothy Roberts (lute); (h) Le Concert Spirituel / Herve Niquet (i) Choir of Radio Svizzera, Lugano / Sonatori de la Giocosa Marca, Treviso / Accademia Strumentale Italiana, Verona / Diego Fasolis.

NAXOS EDUCATIONAL ART AND MUSIC 8.558159 [75:51] Over the past few years CDs have increasingly found their way into the gift shops of museums to accompany major exhibitions as a struggling classical music industry seeks an ever wider market. This series clearly aims to fit such a niche and also address other potential audiences. So, what then is the target audience for such a CD? Art lovers wanting to discover music, or vice versa? Someone with a non-specialist interest in both areas? Your kids? Granny at Christmas?

These questions led me to consider the points from another angle – what actually is more important here – the art or the music? The work of the artist, Vermeer, is more widely known and his work more easily identifiable than that of Nauwach, Scheidemann or Hammerschmidt, to name but three composers included here. In this respect Naxos have approached the selection of artists in this series with a degree of good judgement and market awareness.

The booklet note is a little short on substance to be as educational as Naxos might wish, but it does try within the confines of eight pages to outline the nature of reality and painting – you could fill the space with this alone – and provide something about Vermeer, the associated composers and their music. There are also five decently reproduced Vermeer paintings that show the concern with depicting amateur musicians and keyboard instruments in his work. The chronology and sung texts / translations are useful additions to assist in getting your bearings.

What of the recordings themselves? Well, they are extracts for the most part, which leads to the inevitable frustrations inherent with hearing ‘bleeding chunks’ out of context. Composers of this era (1632-1675: Vermeer’s lifespan) tend to be occasional rather than essential listening for me. I was prepared for decent performances but on the whole not much more.

Funny how having low expectations can lead to some rich rewards. A highlight for me was Heinrich Scheidemann’s ‘Praeambulum in C’, played on a rich-toned and nicely voiced organ. Martin Hummel’s baritone is well suited to the music sung. He is an artist I would like to hear more of now but perhaps in more diversified repertoire. The choral works, although well performed with pleasing solo voices, merely confirmed the fact that Byrd, Charpentier and Buxtehude are not exactly for me. I am sure others will warm to the works more than I did.

The two sets of harpsichord music by Louis Couperin illustrate the difference that can be made by matching an appropriate instrument to the music. Glen Wilson’s harpsichord, although of decent sound, shows up a slight lack of crispness in his playing, compared to that of Laurence Cummings. His instrument, recorded slightly more forward and brighter of tone is also more appealing.

An interesting release if you want a taster of mid-seventeenth century music, but the knowledgeable should go straight to the complete recordings.

Books The Cambridge Companion to the Concerto, edited by Simon P. Keefe Pub: Cambridge University Press, 2005 (1st ed.) 309 pp.

Paperback: ISBN 052154257X £17.99 Hardback: ISBN 052183483X £45.00 Contents: The concerto: a chronology Introduction - Simon P. Keefe Part I: Contexts Theories of the concerto from the eighteenth century to the present day - Simon P. Keefe The concerto and society - Tia DeNora Part II: The works The Italian concerto in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries - Michael Talbot The concerto in northern Europe to c.1770 - David Yearsley The concerto from Mozart to Beethoven: aesthetic and stylistic perspectives - Simon P. Keefe The nineteenth-century piano concerto - Stephan D. Lindeman Nineteenth-century concertos for strings and winds - R. Larry Todd Contrasts and common concerns in the concerto 1900– 1945 - David E. Schneider The concerto since 1945 - Arnold Whittall Part III: Performance The rise (and fall) of the concerto virtuoso in the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries - Cliff Eisen Performance practice in the eighteenth-century concerto - Robin Stowell Performance practice in the nineteenth-century concerto - David Rowland The concerto in the age of recording - Timothy Day Notes and suggested further reading There have of course been many books dedicated to the concerto before, and there will hardly be a music lover around who cannot have some understanding of what a concerto is. Whilst the majority of other books have concentrated on delivering essays on specific works or the best known works of specific composers, this volume takes a very different approach: it examines works within the wider views of contexts and performance issues. The aim is to expand the reader’s understanding of the concerto as a musical form, social entity and consumed cultural entity.

The cover blurb proclaims that "No musical genre has had a more chequered critical history than the concerto…"

My feeling is that this book’s coverage for the general reader might be a little chequered too, though with a good prior knowledge of musical terminology and with a basic stylistic understanding of composition from c. 1700 to the present one could get a lot from it. It is far more likely to be used as a primer text for students, to point them in the direction of authors and texts for subsequent investigation. The tone and style is suitably academic ("As Keefe observes…") and the text is inevitably peppered with brief quotations, the sources of which are only identified in the endnotes, which along with the recommended further reading lists account for some 35 pages.

The book starts with a useful chronology of concerti – should you want at a glance to know who produced what when – but this in itself points up two slight niggles: inevitably selections were made of major works and several minor ones, but even a more extensive list would have been useful. It also shows up the main geographical ‘catchment areas’ that the book concerns itself with: Western Europe, Russia and the USA - anywhere else simply falls off the map.

Simon Keefe’s introduction makes heavy weather – I must assume for the benefit of a non-UK reader – of the Morecambe and Wise Grieg piano concerto ‘performance’ with ‘Mr. Andrew Preview’ by means of illustrating the interactions at work within a concerto. His subsequent chapter on theories of the concerto from 18th century to the present inevitably takes the form of a brief survey that can appear hurried when reading, and highly referenced too. It does however wear better than Tia DeNora’s section that includes a case study on ‘gendering the piano concerto’ which frankly left me cold. Interested though sociologists might be in the percentages of male and female pianists performing Beethoven’s concerti between 1793 and 1810, it did not impact one jot on my understanding of the works themselves, which would ostensibly be my reason for investing in such a book. Others may think differently and indeed have other motivations for reading.

The most interesting section in my view focused on actual concerti, though here one must be prepared often for the thinnest references to specific works, as a tight fabric of associations is woven across the seven chapters of Part II. By way of randomly chosen example, pp. 95–100 take the reader rapidly through Dussek, Johann Baptist Cramer, Hummel, John Field, Ries, Weber, Moscheles and Schubert via mentions of Mozart and Beethoven’s influence, along with a score of other names.

Reading this though inevitably led to frustrations – wanting to know more than was given in thumbnail sketch available – which I suppose is where another volume or volumes centring on specific works or composers would enter the frame. More than once I reached for my Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians just to put some more meat on the bones. But this book creates the associations between composers adequately enough to start you off.

However, I suggest that pointers the book gives for many will only really be useful when applied in listening, either in the concert hall or more likely utilising recordings. Hyperion’s Romantic Piano / Violin / Cello Series would seem made for the purpose – though each series is more wide-ranging in coverage than this volume. These series are referred to also in Timothy Day’s chapter on concerto recordings, which charts the fortunes of the form across the history of recorded performances. Good though to see the difficult area of twentieth and twenty-first century concerti getting a reasonable amount of attention across two chapters. It remains to be seen exactly how many of the more recent works stand the test of time.

Cliff Eisen opens the third part that focuses on performance issues effectively with a discussion around the terms ‘virtuoso’ and ‘virtuosity’ in the 18th and 19th centuries, and with it the idea of the virtuoso as artistic conservator by dint of their expert skills. His comments about the disapproval of virtuosos that fail to enter the "spirit of the composer" (already critics were concerned by 1799) led me to wish perhaps that the chapter were extended to the present day to include comment on the current situation. But I fear that were such comments included lawsuits might have ensued. Better therefore to let each reader form their individual and private views on the matter.

The two chapters that follow focusing on performance practice in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries cover their ground efficiently, each having sections that examine topics such as the use of period instruments, instrumental techniques, the role of continuo, national styles, expression, tempo, orchestras, arrangements, etc. All these matters are of interest in tracing changing attitudes towards performance, and the discussion gains from referencing contemporary sources to support the arguments put forward.

In summation, despite occasional unevenness, a book that has the potential to be informative in the right hands, and one that serves as the springboard for further reading on this absorbing musical genre.

Music Inspired by Art: A guide to recordings

By Gary Evans Pub. Scarecrow Press, Inc., 2002 ISBN 0-8108-4509-1 [317 pages, hard cover]

There are many possibilities open to writers when dealing with the influence of the visual arts (2D and 3D), as well as the built environment, upon musical composition. This book is more compiled than written in the conventional sense, as it lists visual artists by name and then the musical composers and works they inspired, giving minimal elaboration upon the relationship between the two. The majority of the listing is straightforwardly A-Z by artist surname, irrespective of art form, media, or dimensionality.

The key to one aspect of the book lies in the subtitle: A guide to recordings. From this you can infer that the book is aimed largely at archivists, librarians and the like who deal on a regular basis with requests for obscure works and have to track down recordings. Similarly too musicologists and students might find it of use. But I would envisage a body of employers larger than just the academic community. Anyone sufficiently interested in the wider arts, and wanting to trace influences through available recordings will find this invaluable. Imagine working in the museum world, having to maybe programme or outline a varied series of events to accompany an exhibition. A book of this kind would be a useful reference.

Then of course there’s always the stunned silence you’ll get when calling your trusty second-hand dealer saying, “If you get a copy of Leonid Grabovsky’s “Ukranian Frescoes” on Melodiya LP CM 03833-34, let me know”… I picked the work at random, but it could be a useful and authorative source book in the right hands.

Take an artist, Bramante (Italian painter, 1444-1514), one of whose Resurrections inspired Edmund Rubbra’s Symphony no. 9. The next listed, Constantin Brancusi (Romanian sculptor, 1876-1957) has inspired eleven composers from five countries: Antheil, Mazurek, Perera, Patti Smith, Ward-Steinman (USA), Terenyi, Stroe, Olah (Romania), Baley (Ukraine), Holt (England) and Ligeti (Hungary).

More provoking perhaps is the short index listing composers alphabetically: Hindemith is listed against Giotto, Grunewald and Raphael; Poulenc against Benozzo, Braque, Chagall, Gris, Klee, Miro, Picasso, Villon and Watteau.

There is no index for individual artworks or compositions: to do this would have doubled the work in length.

This book is impressive in its coverage in terms of artists, composers, geographical spread, timeframe, recorded media (LP, cassette and CD) and musical genres (jazz, punk and rock co-habit cordially with the classical).

If there are shortcomings, one is that it only lists recording released up to and including 1999, making this already a reference work over five years behind the times. Perhaps not a major worry should you be researching details of a long deleted item, but useless for anything remotely recent. (I overheard a dealer last week seriously refer to a 2002 CD release as ‘ancient’ – if so, where does that place LPs?) It’s not as if I can see regular updates to this being published, this is the product of painstaking research as it is.

The other shortcoming might be in the listings of common repertory works, such as Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, inspired by Viktor Hartman as we in the West call him. The book lists him under Gartman, his birth name, and refers you to this if you look up Hartman. But the crux of the matter is made obvious when it comes to the listed recordings (the book’s raison d’être): “Many recordings in all formats. Numerous orchestrations are recorded.”

Might it have been an idea to list, say, one or two mainstream recommendations in cases such as this? And the listing of ‘many recordings’ occurs quite frequently. This at least would give students, researchers, discographers, etc. some starting point for their activities. That said it is interesting to note the various recorded arrangements of Mussorgsky’s work for wind band, wind quintet, organ, rock band, brass quintet, guitar, synthesizer and jazz ensemble that exist, should one ever need them.

The natural home for this book would on balance be the performance library or research-centred institution rather than the individual, a point underlined by the cost of £46.00.

Still, it is remarkable that a book founded on inspiration should reduce it all to a list. The more I delved into this book I became fascinated by the questions it plainly doesn’t attempt at answering: the whys and wherefores of inspiration.

Why might it be that some composers respond more to artists and works of another time and place, while others remain responsive essentially to their contemporaries and the places they know? Something far more inspired in itself, fitting an altogether different purpose, is required for that task.

Wars, Dictators and the Gramophone 1898-1945

By Eric Charles Blake Sessions of York, ISBN 1 185072 29 0 [306 pages]

Some titles are inadequate for the book they announce. Such is the case here. Far from being, as one might expect, a dry descriptive text, painstakingly researched and written out of enthusiasm, Blake mixes his enthusiasm with a highly readable and lively style.

The book has a wide remit: to capture not only the spirit of the times discussed, place historical events in context, explore economic and political factors, but also to capture the domestic and propagandistic role of the gramophone in the heyday of the development of acoustic, cylinder, 78, 45 and up to early LP formats. You get a real sense of the gramophone at the very heart of things, held in high esteem by parties of all political and social persuasions to spread the message, boost morale, yet provide solid entertainment catering to public demand.

Whilst each of these concerns is dealt with in turn, in addition a sense of the personalities both on and behind the recordings comes through. Extracts from diaries and memoirs aid Blake’s task here, particularly with regard to Fred Gaisberg of HMV.

Naturally depth of coverage is an issue in a book of this kind. Earlier sections on the Spanish-American War and Boer War are comparatively slim. They are interesting as a preface to the major topics of the Great and Second World Wars.

When it comes to these two great conflicts and flanking events, Blake comes into his own. There is a thoroughness and authority about his writing, dispatching a tightly-woven and intricate narrative. There have been other volumes in German and French that have explored the role of the Gramophone during this time, but these have been restricted by presentation of documentary material in the original language, divorced from context or commentary.

There are small points that might be debated and queried, but these are matched by the excitement of factual discovery and the piecing together of cause and effect as regards the use of the Gramophone. Blake’s own reminiscences complete an already full account.

What is impressive is the inclusiveness of the volume when it comes to the recorded materials discussed, or more accurately, as they are described – classical and lighter music, jazz, military music, opera and operetta, speech and war reporting. Each is treated as seriously as the next. Rightly, Blake allows little room for derisory distinction. For someone with an overwhelming interest in classical music, I came away from the book with a desire to get better acquainted with some non-classical materials that were discussed, if only this were possible.

There are useful supporting illustrations. I particularly like the one of a concentrating Lenin before an acoustic recording horn in 1919. I recommend this volume without hesitation to anyone wanting to get a wider picture of the times. It will be of value to social historians, researchers, music-lovers, followers of the gramophone’s fortunes, and many more besides. They will find much to interest and indeed entertain them.