Bill Frisell: In My Dreams (Streaming and Concert Review)

by Karl Nehring

Bill Frisell: In My Dreams. Frisell: Trapped in the Sky; When We Go; In My Dreams; Strayhorn/Ellington: Isfahan; Frisell: Give Me a Home (interpolation of "Home on the Range"); Why?; Curtis (A Year and a Day) [dedicated to Curtis Fowlkes]; Stephen Foster: Hard Times; Frisell: Again; Never Too Late; Brewster M. Higley/Daniel E. Kelley: Home on the Range. Bill Frisell, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, loops; Jenny Scheinman, violin; Eyvind Kang, viola; Hank Roberts, cello; Thomas Morgan, double bass; Rudy Royston, drums. Blue Note 8813766

The last time we reviewed an album featuring the American guitarist Bill Frisell (b.1951), he was contributing as part of a quartet led by the veteran drummer Andrew Cyrille (you can read our review of that compelling 2021 ECM release here). I had first become acquainted with Frisell’s playing four decades ago, from the 1986 album Bass Desires (ECM 1299) (Marc Johnson, double bass; Bill Frisell, guitar and guitar synthesizer; John Scofield, guitar; Peter Erkine, drums) and 1987’s Strange Meeting (Antilles New Directions 90627-2) by Power Tools (Frisell, electric guitar; Ronald Shannon Jackson, drums; Melving Gibbs, electric bass). Throughout the 1980s, Frisell played on numerous ECM albums both as sideman and leader, having originally been recommended to the label by Pat Metheny, who had found himself unable to make a recording gig and suggested that ECM founder Manfred Eicher consider Frisell as a worthy substitute. Frisell has gone on to make many fine recordings for other labels as well, most notably Nonesuch, some of my personal favorites being 1997’s country-tinged Nashville, 2001’s foggily mystical Blues Dream, and the extended live jams featured in 2005’s East/West. In 2019, he signed with the venerable Blue Note label, for which he has released several recordings, including the fascinating Orchestras (Blue Note 583733 2-CD) from 2024, which features his trio (Frisell, guitar; Thomas Morgan, double bass; Rudy Royston, drums) together with the Brussels Philharmonic and the Umbria Jazz Orchestra.

I must admit that that when I first auditioned his latest release, In My Dreams, I was a bit underwhelmed. I was expecting the music to be energetic, with some extended passages of virtuoso finesse; instead, what I discovered was something that struck me as laid back in the extreme. Part of my expectation stemmed from having seen the Bill Frisell Trio (Frisell, guitar and loops; Greg Tardy, clarinet and saxophone; Tim Angulon, drums and percussion) in 2024 perform a live show that was an amazing two hours of stunning musicianship. I shall never forget their opening number. With Tardy on clarinet, the three musicians played 45 minutes of music that had a classical feel about it, as though long passages could have been composed by – or at least inspired by – Debussy. They went on for more than another hour, playing music both fast and slow, tough and tender. Throughout the show, although Frisell never played fast and flashy – that’s never been his style – his playing was generally energetic and assertive. But what I heard when first I streamed In My Dreams seemed to border on the lethargic.

 

Some months before the release of the new album, some friends and I had purchased tickets to see Frisell and his band in concert. We were excited to see that he was going to be bringing Scheinman, Kang, Roberts, and crew; we anticipated a rollicking, high-energy evening. However, when the album came out featuring the same lineup, but sounding overly buttoned-down, at least as far as I was concerned, I found myself losing some of my initial enthusiasm for the upcoming concert, especially given that Frisell’s tour and concert likewise were titled In My Dreams. Still, because Frisell is one of my musical heroes and because live music is always rewarding, I figured that seeing the band play In My Dreams in the flesh would beat hearing it at home. As the musicians took the stage and Frisell introduced his bandmates, a large screen behind the stage began displaying a striking, colorful abstract art image, and as the musicians began to play, the image on the screen began to change, scrolling slowly from right to left as new art worked its way across the screen as the musicians played. What they played was of course similar to what I had heard on the album, but with more drama and depth. It was an amazing evening, one that exceeded my expectations. But what was especially gratifying is how seeing Frisell and company in concert changed my perception of the album, for when I went back and listened to it in the wake of my concert experience I was now able to hear it on its own terms, without preconceived notions of what I wanted it to sound like. Listening to it with fresh ears, I heard music that communicated in simple, direct ways, but was simultaneously subtle and sophisticated. In My Dreams is a remarkable amalgam of chamber music and jazz, easily and enthusiastically recommendable to fans of both genres.                                                                                                                                                                                                     

 

Winger: Violin Concerto “In the Language of Flowers”; Symphony of the Returning Light (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Peter Otto, violinist; Giancarlo Guerrero, conductor; Nashville Symphony. Naxos 8.559921

You know those early-18th-century violin concertos by second-tier composers that all sound almost indistinguishable? That’s how Kip Winger’s orchestral music might register when aired on classical channels in 2325. And it’s not because he comes from rock — it’s because, like most of his late Baroque forebears, he writes nice music that isn’t much more. Which would be fine, but there’s just one, typically 21st-century hangup: giving pieces flowery (literally in this case) titles the music itself scarcely justifies. This fare is no equivalent of The Four Seasons in its power of suggestion; it’s our era’s version of Giuseppe Interchangemoni’s umpteenth sinfonia, only with gaudier conceits. (I wish I could claim full credit for this joke, but it's partially borrowed from both Peter Schickele and Jim Svejda.)

 

The Violin Concerto is a case in point. It’s subtitled “In the Language of Flowers” and sports four such names ahead of their respective movements. The liner notes don’t really say why, except to mention general inspiration. But the piece works better without them. With simple tempo indications the listener wouldn’t be distracted into seeking connections between plants and content that are nowhere obvious. The work would more sensibly have been called Violin Concerto No. 1, with no botanical headings.

 

On a purely musical level, the concerto is pleasant rather than compelling. The truth is that Winger has modest compositional resources. He therefore relies on a small stock of templates to string together coherent movements: soloist passagework over ostinatos or driving rhythms, cadenza-like stretches, and tutti climaxes. The ostinatos do inject nice pep. At least you can bounce along rhythmically while you’re waiting for something to happen that never really does. These make decent claim on the listener’s attention, facile as they are. But the tutti portions are the biggest letdowns. Because he cannot merely noodle his way through them, Winger is weaker at these junctures. We need more effective perorations and memorable themes than he seems able to supply.

 

The Symphony better justifies its appellations. It employs a technique that provides a neat twist on the traditional “symphonic” ideal: use of the S.O.S. Morse code as a recurring motive and structural pillar. The “Symphony of the Returning Light” idea is thus fully discernible in the music. Winger’s craft here is also an upgrade from the Concerto. Bereft of a soloist to write for, and benefitting from his programmatic anchor, he can more effectively conceal his seams.

 

But even if the Symphony earns its title better than the Concerto, it’s limited by it, too. The intermittent Morse code (faithfully rendered in its signature electronic timbre) is easily its most memorable component. The jaunty motive that Winger overworks in the middle of the third movement (titled “Metamorphosis”) is almost an exception. But even here I had to listen once again to fully recall it; the return of S.O.S. immediately after effectively sapped what staying power it had. Something similar is true in the second movement (“Eleos”), where a simple gesture following a central hymn-like section augurs more interest but quickly sheds its promise. Without the overriding gimmick, this music is essentially boilerplate post-2000 American symphonism. We faintly discern Walter Piston, Paul Creston, and so on, but miss their heft. 

Having said all this, I have a lot of respect for Kip Winger. He’s more than some rock musician dabbling in classical composition. His music may be pleasant without being particularly distinctive, but that puts him on par with most formally trained composers. Actually, it places him ahead of too many. While excessively fanciful, he’s at least not a purveyor of loaded ugliness. If these works are unlikely to become your new favorites, I can nevertheless recommend them for a reasonably good time. 

William Mival: Vale – a pastoral symphony; Tristan – still; Pluen (Streaming Review)

by Karl Nehring

Philharmonia Orchestra; Martyn Brabbins, conductor. Signum Classics SIGCD977

This is another instance of a chance encounter with music by a composer previously unknown to me turning out to be pure serendipity. As it happens, one of the TV streaming services to which I subscribe is Amazon Music, and a couple of weeks or so ago, after watching either some British mystery or perhaps Mystery Science Theater 3000 late one night, I decided to switch to stream some music while getting ready for bed (I have a reasonably good sounding Roku Pro Soundbar – no longer manufactured, alas – with subwoofer and four surround speakers). Something that Amazon Music does that I enjoy is recommend new releases based on its perception of your listening preferences; on this fateful evening one of its suggestions was this new Signum release highlighting a work titled Vale – a pastoral symphony by William Mival. Who?! What? I had no idea who William Mival was or is, but I’m a sucker for pastoral symphonies ((Beethoven, RVW), so even though it was getting late, I fired it up to see what it was all about. Entranced, I wound up not getting to bed until a good hour later, having listened to the whole program and now excited to have stumbled across a fascinating new composer.

 

Of course, one of my first orders of business the next morning after downing my usual Rich Chocolate High Protein SlimFast for breakfast was to find out just who in the heck is this composer of the music that had so captivated me the night before. Naturally enough, as I began my quest, I started playing this music again to see whether it would still appeal to me. A quick web search yielded the information that William Mival (pictured left) is a composer, broadcaster, writer, and teacher who was born in Wales in 1959. From 2004 through 2022, he was Head of Composition at the Royal College of Music in London. As I continued to audition and enjoy his music, I was mildly surprised that a contemporary composer with such an academic background (one of his major publications, for example, is a book on Stockhausen, for instance) could write such accessible music. But that is not to say that his music is simple, shallow, least-common-denominator stuff; instead, what we encounter on this new Signum release is satisfying music of substance.

The program opens with Vale – a Pastoral Symphony, which consists of six relatively brief movements, for which I have indicated the timings: I. Senza ironia [4:39]; II. Fluido, bucolica e espressivo [2:48]; III. Fluido, bucolica e expressivo (cont.) [5:23]; IV. Lento [5:50]; V. Piu mosso, fluido [6:49]; VI. Meno messo – rubato e molto espressivo[1:47]. The CD booklet explains that Mival’s program notes for the symphony refer to the Vale of Clwyd, an area of great natural beauty in Wales. However, Mival goes on to explain that “there is nothing in the symphony that directly refers to the Vale of Clwyd. In fact, it’s far more German Romantic-centered in many places. Firstly, it’s symphonic; this was something I wanted to attempt for myself. I’d heard an especially moving performance of Vaughan Williams’s Fifth Symphony, which I think is an absolute masterpiece, and I wondered whether that language could somehow be revisited – the directness and apparent simplicity of it, and a quality that is unmistakably British.” From the opening measures, there is at once a sense of direct musical communication by subtle yet heartfelt means. Like nature itself, there is peace and calm coexisting with underlying energy and unrest, the music building momentum through the first three movements before the more tranquil, reflective Lento fourth movement, which is warmly welcoming. The fifth and longest movement begins peacefully, but about two minutes in, the energy level begins to increase, with Mival then bringing the symphony to a peaceful, if slightly enigmatic conclusion in the brief final movement. Although the six-movement structure is somewhat unusual for a symphony, Vale is still a deeply moving and appealing work, a worthy addition to the roster of pastoral symphonies.

 

Next on the program is Tristan – still, which is the earliest of the three compositions on this release, having first been performed early in 2003. It was commissioned by the BBC, with the original idea for it to serve as a counterpoint to a concert presentation of Act III of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde – thus the unusual title. The BBC requested that Mival use the same instrumentation that Wagner had used, which Mival did, adding only a bass drum. The resulting composition is much easier to listen to than to describe. It consists of four movements that grow progressively longer, with a total duration of nearly 19 minutes. The music has a ghostly Wagnerian presence about it, like hearing Wagner in a dream. If in Vale we were musically transported to the Vale of Clwyd, we are now being taken in some dark, mythical, enchanted forest. It’s a fascinating journey. 

 

For the composer, however, the road ahead was not so smooth. According to the liner notes, “Mival’s audacity in writing a large-scale romantic orchestral score in 2003 would trigger another creative crisis. ‘The audience loved it, he recalls – it went down incredibly well in the hall, and it was nominated for a British Composer Award. But it was either too much, or too little for some I think – the words “time travel” were used on several occasions. I was taken aback. A lot of things dried up for me after that. So I concentrated on my teaching, taking virtually a ten-year break from composition. The piece that going again was Correntandemente, an ensemble piece, in 2015, and then Pluen came along.”

 

Pluen (the Welsh term for “feather”) was commissioned by the Laurence Madiano Charitable Trust in celebration of the 70^th birthday of a noted British music lover, Prince Charles, now King Charles III. According to Mival’s official program note for its premier in 2019, the piece “is a meditation on a Welsh folksong, found in an arrangement for choir by Gustav Holst; Y Glomen, ‘The Dove.’ Barely recognizable fragments of the original melody are woven into three extended variations followed by a conclusion. The durations of each variation deriving from the relative proportions of the three feathers in the emblematic heraldic badge of Prince of Wales.” Mival goes on to explain how, “I’d originally met Laurence Madiano at a fundraiser for the RCM; I sent him a bootleg recording of Tristan – still and he immediately commissioned this little piece. I thought – let’s write a folk song, basically, and see where I can go with it. I’ve always had a huge interest in Mahler, as you can probably hear in places – I’m fascinated by the way that Mahler takes simple ideas and then moulds them into something more complex. So I had a go at that with Pluen, but at the same time, I wanted to make something direct. Aaron Copland said that as a composer you need to have a language in common with the people you’re writing for, so directness has always been a part of what I do.” Over four brief movements spanning a total of approximately 11 minutes, the music of Pluen exhibits a kind of pastoral charm and a warmly British ambience that is beguiling to the ear. 

 

I have lost count of how many times I have played this recording over the past couple of weeks, but I have no doubt that I have listened to it more often than any other recording thus far in 2026. And the more I listen to it, the more I have come to enjoy and appreciate it. William Mival may well be, in the final analysis, a relatively minor composer with a limited body of work; however, that does not mean that Mavil is not is possessed of a major compositional gift, for he, Maestro Brabbins, and the musicians of the Philharmonia Orchestra have produced a recording worthy of the very highest recommendation.