Michael Kurek: Symphony No. 3 “English” (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Robin Fountain, conductor; European Recording Orchestra. Navona NV6700 

Well, look what we have here: a four-movement Third Symphony with the subtitle “English,” complete with descriptive movement headings mostly relating to the eponymous countryside. Of what does this remind us? Perhaps Ralph Vaughan Williams’s own Third Symphony, itself subtitled “Pastoral”? Okay, Vaughan Williams’s movements do not have such headings. But while Mr. Kurek does not own up to it in this recording’s liner notes, it is difficult to listen to his Third and not think of the Englishman’s masterpiece as a model. A certain consistency in contemplative mood marks both. In a now-infamous critique of the RVW score (from a rather spicy book titled Music Ho!), Constant Lambert writes of “a particular type of grey, reflective, English-landscape mood” and of a “monotony of texture and lack of form.” Recent critical and academic opinion has revised Lambert’s somewhat wrongheaded descriptions. But what made me think of them is how the word “monotony” more unavoidably describes Kurek’s bland and overlong Third.

Let’s be frank: Kurek is a deft orchestrator and craftsman, but he doesn’t have anywhere near Vaughan Williams’s level of individuality. He can do little more than come up with short, nice-ish, but ultimately forgettable ideas, and repeat them with insufficient variation or contrast for stretches of 10-15 minutes. Worse still, there is not enough differentiation between his four movements at large to provide much relief at all. The result is a 50-minute symphony that wears out its welcome by the end of the first movement. This is notwithstanding the aforementioned colorful headings such as “Upon a Walk in the English Countryside.” Indeed, they rhetorically only accentuate the problem. In this regard I was strongly reminded of Romantic-era symphonies by Joachim Raff and Rued Langgaard, which sport similar disparities between lofty intent and actual realization.

 

In other words, the music here, while certainly not “bad,” feebly supports its work’s pretensions. A more suitable setting that kept coming to my mind is the nature documentary. Some properly distilled version of this content would have worked out beautifully as the soundtrack for a film narrated by whomever has taken over from the signature voice of Sir David Attenborough. As it stands now, however, there is just not enough interesting musical material here to constitute an extended, mood-consistent symphony. 

Anouar Brahem: After the Last Sky (CD Review)

 by Karl Nehring

Remembering Hind; After the Last Sky; Endless Wandering; The Eternal Olive Tree; Awake; In the Shade of Your Eyes; Dancing Under the Meteorites; The Sweet Oranges of Jaffa; Never Forget;Edward Said’s Reverie; Vague. Anouar Brahem, oud; Anja Lechner, cello; Django Bates, piano; Dave Holland, double bass. ECM 2838

 

Over the past decade or so I have grown into an admirer of the music of the Tunisian oud player and composer Anouar Brahem (b.1957). In preparing to write this review of his most recent release, I thought I would do a quick search of the archives to see whether I had ever previously reviewed any recordings by this remarkable musician. I felt as though I had, but could not remember which recording it would have been – The Astounding Eyes of Rita (ECM 2075), perhaps? Or maybe Souvenance (ECM 2423/24)?  As it turned out, my search revealed that much to my surprise, I never have reviewed any of his albums here at Classical Candor. However, my search did not come up blank; happily enough, it revealed that four years ago I had reviewed an album (Lontano, ECM 2682) by one of the musicians here, German cellist Anja Lechner (b. 1961), in which along with pianist François Couturier she plays among other things some music composed by Brahem (you can find that review here). Now Lechner finds herself in Brahem’s quartet alongside with veteran members British pianist Django Bates (b. 1960), who appeared on Brahem’s Blue Maqams album (ECM 2580)  from 2017 along with legendary Chicago-born drummer Jack DeJohnette (b. 1942) and the bassist on this album, the equally legendary British musician Dave Holland (b. 1946), who first recorded with Brahem on the former’sThimar album (ECM 1641) from 1998.

The CD booklet offers an essay on the music that Brahem briefly introduces by writing: “While preparing the music for this album, the tragedy of Gaza was very much on my mind. After reading author Adam Shatz’s previous writing on the subject, I invited him to contribute this essay.”  In his essay, Shatz, who is the American editor for the London Review of Books, assures prospective listeners who might be put off by Brahem’s reference to Gaza that “the glory of music, formalists teach us, lies precisely in its pristine, non-referential nature, its transcendence of politics and history. Rest assured, formalists: After the Last Sky stands on its own as music.”

 

All the compositions are by Brahem except for The Eternal Olive Tree, which is by Brahem and Holland. The interplay among the four musicians flows naturally and unforced, the music coming across as an amalgam of chamber and world music. The opening track, for example, Remembering Hind, is a brief duet for cello and piano that sounds as if it could be an excerpt from a cello sonata. The mood throughout the album is generally restrained, reflexive, at times – as in the track Endless Wandering – bordering on somber. The Eternal Olive Tree livens things up a bit, however, as Holland and Brahem engage in an energetic exchange. The penultimate track, Edward Said’s Revenge, is a melancholy reverie played, as was the opening track, by Lechner and Bates alone. The closing track, Vague, brings back the full quartet, with Lechner’s cello weaving a melancholy spell echoed and augmented by the other three players. Shatz points out in his notes that Brahem had long hoped to work with Lechner; he had never before featured a cello on one of his albums. The end result is an album of extraordinary beauty, the four musicians combining to produce an album of breathtaking beauty, chamber music of haunting emotional subtlety. The warm, natural, spacious ECM engineering makes this just adds to the luster of this sparkling gem. 

Liszt: Via Crucis & Solo Piano Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Liszt: Via Crucis; Consolations; Harmonies poétiques et religieuses (Nos. 8-9). Øystein Stensheim, tenor; Olle Holmgren, bass-baritone; Ditte Marie Bræin & Magnhild Korsvik, sopranos; Mari Askvik, mezzo-soprano; The Norwegian Soloists’ Choir; Grete Pedersen, conductor; Leif Ove Andsnes, pianist. Sony 19802856672

 

“During his Weimar years,” writes Malcom Hayes in the liner notes, “Liszt revised for publication many of his earlier piano works. Among these were Consolations and Harmonies poétiques et religieuses – two cycles differing in many ways, but both showing how an anti-virtuosic aspect of his piano style was there from the start. Consolations, especially, has the feeling of music imagined almost as a conscious antidote to the world of the spectacular virtuoso performer.” 

It is understandable to promote this disc’s music as embodying another aspect of Liszt apart from the virtuosic one. But “anti-virtuosic”? “A conscious antidote to the world of the spectacular virtuoso performer”? Hayes comes across as apologetic. One senses behind his words the sentiment of “I get that some don’t like Liszt’s virtuosic music, but they should try this stuff instead!” Thus do these offerings get deployed in opposition to the virtuosic works, couched in an antagonism that doesn’t actually exist. And for what? To placate a longstanding snobbery that really ought to be confronted and shamed instead? True, the included works show another side to Liszt, but can’t something be non-virtuosic rather than anti-virtuosic? Much more apt is pianist Leif Ove Andsnes’s shorter statement on a preceding page. As someone who has successfully performed and recorded Liszt’s virtuosic music (check out the fine EMI 724355700223), Andsnes thankfully avoids Hayes’s ‘self-own.’  

 

All of that aside, here is a splendid project that shows Andsnes’s pianism at its best. It begins with him serving as accompanist in the version of Via Crucis Liszt arranged for vocal soloists, choir, and piano. While all of the music on this recording might be called “introspective,” Via Crucis radiates a pious austerity that may surprise those accustomed to the composer’s more famous works. Absent is the flair of the first Mephisto Waltz, or the rollicking fun of some of the Hungarian Rhapsodies. The seriousness suggested by the subject matter (the 14 “Stations,” or meditations, relating to Christ’s suffering and death during Good Friday) is alleviated slightly only by some lyrical tenderness in the final two numbers. Andsnes plays his part with a gentle strength that fits the atmosphere perfectly. It’s not music I’d listen to every day, but I don’t know how it could be done much better.

I’m a longtime devotee of the six Consolations, having played most of them myself. I find this music every bit as comforting as the title suggests. Good interpreters are plenty, including Sandrine Erdely-Sayo on a recording issued just last summer (Navona NV6632). But Andsnes applies a skill and conviction that are difficult to match. Although Hayes is correct insofar as this is not the most technically demanding fare by Liszt, I doubt any novice would be able to replicate Andsnes’s animating sweep. In his hands these pieces seem to have life and breath of their own; in the hands of someone like me they merely tinkle along pleasantly (if I’m lucky). Virtuosity doesn’t only manifest itself in the fast, loud, and notey.

What the two included selections from Harmonies poétiques et religieuses reinforce for me is that Liszt knew how to reconcile the numinous with ordinary human experience better than almost everyone else. He did this in his introspective and virtuosic music alike. The Andante lagrimoso may lack the technical brilliance of its collection-mate, Funérailles, but the outpouring of grief is no less affecting. It speaks as directly as anything Liszt wrote, enriched by his distinctive character and imagination. With the Miserere, d’après Palestrina we start to veer back toward the virtuosic with rapid arpeggios later surrounding a hymn-like tune presented at the outset. It’s a short piece, but just the right length to match the plaintive prayer for mercy inscribed on the score. Andsnes gives wonderful renditions of both pieces.

In his book The Romantic Generation, Charles Rosen tackles the perennial charge of vulgarity against Liszt and seems to suggest that this vulgarity somewhat paradoxically comprises part of the composer’s unique greatness as a Romantic artist. But maybe Liszt’s willingness to indulge the popular impulse is not so much vulgarity as it is a valid wish to connect with listeners on an immediate level. Maybe what many haughtily see as bad taste in Liszt is instead an incomparably big-hearted artist embracing the visceral as part of music that is both exhilarating and poignant. In the end Liszt’s “introspective” works aren’t anti-virtuosic; they’re just different corners of the vibrant world that he invites us to inhabit with him. 

Fernande Decruck: Concertante Works Volume 2 (CD Review)

Decruck: Concerto for Cello and Orchestra; The Trianons: Suite for Harpsichord (or Piano) and Orchestra; Sonata in C# for Alto Saxophone (or Viola) and Orchestra; The Bells of Vienna: Suite of Waltzes. Jeremy Crosmer, cello; Mahan Esfahani, harpsichord; Mitsuru Kubo, viola; Jackson Symphony Orchestra; Matthew Aubin, conductor. Claves 50-3108

From time to time in past reviews I have remarked about how delightful it is to come across a recording of some music by a composer whom I have never encountered previously and find it to be a rewarding musical experience that makes me glad I took a chance on someone new and different. The excitement of discovering “new” music from a “new” composer and my subsequent eagerness to pass my discovery along to others makes those reviews the ones that are especially exciting to write. Well, grab your garters, Gertie, and hold on to your hat, Harry, because what we have here is a release where I’m willing to bet that you’ll discover just like I did that not only is the composer featured on this new release unfamiliar to you, but so are the conductor, the orchestra, and -- with the possible exception of harpsichordist Mahan Esfahani – so are the soloists. And come to think of it, although the Claves label sounds vaguely familiar to me, if I ever purchased any of their previous releases, it was a long time ago – i.e., at least a decade – if at all. Truly, this is all fresh, new, unfamiliar, stimulating stuff.

According to Wikipedia, the composer Fernande Decruck (1896-1954), whose maiden name was Breilh, was born in France and began piano lessons at the age of eight. Later, she studied organ and composition at the Paris Conservatory. She traveled to America to give recitals, and in 1928 moved there with her family. Her husband, Maurice Decruck, whom she had married in 1924, played both saxophone and bass with the New York Philharmonic. In 1932, Maurice returned to Paris and started a publishing company that would go on to publish Fernande’s compositions. She returned to France in 1933, but resided in Toulouse, where she began teaching at the Toulouse Conservatory.  In 1942 she moved back to Paris and many of her works were premiered between 1943 and 1947. She and her husband divorced in 1950. According to the liner notes, during her time at the Paris Conservatory, she served as an assistant professor of harmony; one of her students went on to become quite famous and in fact went on later in his own career to dedicate a score to her, “To Fernande Decruck, with all the gratitude and fond memories of the author – O. Messiaen.”

 

Conductor Matthew Aubin (right) is the foremost scholar devoted to the music of Fernande Decruck. He has earned multiple research grants that have enabled him to study her life and compositions. As Music Director of the Jackson (Michigan) Symphony Orchestra, this is the second recording he has been able to oversee, the first having been released in 2022. Note that the engineering on this recording is by Soundmirror, Inc., one of the best in the business. This is a fine sounding CD.

The program opens with Decruck’s Concerto for Cello and Orchestra, which is in the typical three movements. Composed in New York in 1932, it is her first known concerto as well as her first large-scale orchestral composition. The opening movement, marked Andantino non troppo, could be mistaken for a lost work in the pastoral mode by an English composer such as Vaughan Williams. Cello soloist Jeremy Crosmer is given no virtuoso passages to wow the listener; rather, he weaves some lovely melodic lines in harmony with the orchestra for a touch over 10 minutes – the longest movement of the concerto. The briefer (6:15) second movement, marked Adagietto, molto tranquillo, maintains the peaceful mood, with Crosmer continuing to provide meaning through warmth of expression rather than speedy playing. Even the faster (5:19) finale, marked Allegro energico, does not devolve into virtuosic display for the sake of display but remains nicely balanced and in keeping with the previous two movements. Between Decruck being virtually unknown and the solo cello part lacking in showstopper passages to appeal to guest cellists, the chances of hearing this lovely work performed in concert are almost certainly nil (unless perhaps you happen to live in the Jackson, MI area). Thank goodness for recordings!

 

Grand Trianon

Next up is Les Trianons: Suite for Harpsichord (or Piano) and Orchestra, which dates from 1946, making it the latest of the pieces on this recording. Decruck dedicated it to Marcelle de Lacour, who later became a distinguished professor of harpsichord at the Paris Conservatory. And in case you might be wondering what “Les Trianons” might be, the liner notes inform us that “the suite is named after the Grand Trianon and Petit Trianon, two opulent royal buildings in Versailles which serve as an evocative backdrop to the music.” (Confession time: Prior to reading that explanation, I assumed that between the “Tri” in Trianons and the fact that the suite had three movements, there must have been three of those Amigos – er, Musketeers.) It’s a bit of a strange piece, straddling Baroque and 20th-Century instruments and styles. We have a harpsichord, at times struggling to be heard over the sound of its accompaniment; on the other hand, we have modern instruments such as saxophone, celesta, and concert toms. Its three brief movements (4:06, 6:41, 6:25) follow a fast-slow-fast pattern. In the opening movement, Esfahani does his best to make his harpsichord compete with the orchestra, but one can’t help but wonder whether a piano would have worked better. The second movement seems much more suited to the harpsichord, with Esfahani given more opportunity to be heard. The use of the saxophone in this movement is especially fascinating. Esfahani’s harpsichord kicks off the finale and is given some sonic space throughout; again, however – and with no disrespect to Mr. Esfahani, a master of his instrument – I can’t help but wonder whether a piano would be better suited here. Overall, it’s an interesting piece, but it would be most interesting to hear the piano version. (In a future Volume 3, perhaps?)

Petit Trianon

Next on the docket is what is said to be Decruck’s most widely known work, her Sonata in C# for Alto Saxophone (or Viola), which dates from 1946. She composed the work in two versions, one for solo instrument (saxophone or viola) and piano, the other for solo instrument and orchestra, which is the version played here. The opening measures from the orchestra have such weight to them that one wonders what the piano version would sound like. As in the Cello Concerto, the solo instrument – in this case the viola of Ms. Kubo – plays primarily lyrically rather than in an intensely virtuosic style. The four movements are relatively brief, especially the two inner movements, the timings being 6:05, 3:34, 3:05, and 5:30 respectively. The orchestral accompaniment is colorful and varied; overall, it’s an engaging composition. The sound of the solo viola tends to blend in well with the orchestra; the alto saxophone might stand out more as a solo instrument. No, I’ve not heard them both, but my guess is that this might well be the more balanced and thus aesthetically pleasing version of the two.

The program closes with the lively The Bells of Vienna: Suite of Waltzes, which dates from 1935 and was performed in concert as well as broadcast in France at the time. It is easy to see why it was popular, as its colorful scoring and lively waltz rhythm make it hard to resist. Despite its initial popularity, the piece was nearly lost to posterity; Aubin had to do some rigorous detective work to reassemble it from parts he pulled together from the Decruck family, the music library at a Portuguese radio station, and some final missing parts that a friend found for him in a conservatory library in France. Aubin’s dedication and diligence was well worth it, for the restored score as performed by these Jackson forces and recorded by the fine folks at Soundmirror is just the sort of music that may get you out of your listening seat and onto your waltzing feet. 

 

The physical package is sturdy, the liner notes are informative and include photographs, and the sound quality is first-rate. This is not just another good recording of music with which you are already familiar, it’s an excellent recording of excellent music that you’ve never heard before but would most likely enjoy if you did – and is thus most enthusiastically recommended.

Wynton Marsalis: Blues Symphony (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Wynton Marsalis: Blues Symphony. Detroit Symphony Orchestra; Jader Bignamini, conductor. PENTATONE PTC 5187 232

Wynton Marsalis (b. 1961) is a well-known figure in jazz circles. He is a member of a prominent New Orleans musical family. His late father, Ellis Marsalis (1934-2020) was a prominent jazz pianist and educator (for a real treat, try his album Twelve’s It). Ellis and his wife Dolores had six sons, four of whom – Branford (saxophone), Wynton (trumpet), Delfeayo (trombone), and Jason (drums, vibraphone) – became jazz musicians themselves. Of the four musician sons, Wynton and Branford especially have gone on to become major figures in the world of jazz; moreover, both have also released classical recordings as well. To date, Wynton Marsalis has received 32 Grammy nominations and has won nine times (he is the only musician ever to win in both the jazz and classical categories in the same year); in addition, he is the first jazz musician ever to win the Pulitzer Prize for music, which he was awarded in 1997 for his oratorio, Blood on the4 Fields. Branford Marsalis has received 18 Grammy nominations and has won three times, and the Branford Marsalis Quartet has received six nominations and has won once. Bringing further recognition to the family, at the 2023 Grammy Award ceremony, Ellis Marsalis was honored posthumously with a Lifetime Achievement Award. 

 

In the 1980s, Wynton was seen as a controversial figure in jazz circles because of his outspoken comments about the state of jazz at that time – he was often portrayed in the press as something like the anti-Miles Davis. Around the same time, he got into a bit of a feud with Branford, because he felt Branford had “sold out” by playing some gigs with the likes of the Grateful Dead. Ah, brothers, eh? Fast-forward to the present and both brothers are older, wiser, and more settled. Branford recently decided to leave California and return home to the New Orleans area because he felt a responsibility to mentor young musicians. His long-time quartet recently signed with the prestigious Blue Note label and are releasing an intriguing new album titled Belonging, which is their take on the classic ECM album with the same title recorded by Keith Jarrett’s European Quartet, which was originally released in 1974  As for Wynton, he has recorded umpteen dozens of albums over the years, has toured the world, garnered honors thither and yon, and been busy as a composer, arranger, and bandleader – for many years now with the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra.

Marsalis writes of his 2009 Blues Symphony that it “is a seven-movement work that gives a symphonic identity to the form and feeling of the blues. It utilizes regional and stylistic particulars of the idiom’s language and form to convey the basic point of view of the blues as music. ‘Life hands you hard times.’ This piece is intended to further the legacy of Scott Joplin, George Gershwin, James P. Johnson, Leonard Bernstein, John Lewis, Gunther Schuller, and others who were determined to add the innovations of jazz to the vocabulary of the symphonic orchestra. I believe there is an organic and real connection between all Western traditions regardless of instrumentation, and that the symphonic orchestra can and will swing, play the blues, feature melodic improvisation, and execute the more virtuosic aspects of jazz and American vernacular music with absolute authenticity.”

The work is divided into seven movements, which are titled as follows: I: Born in Hope; II: Swimming in Sorrow; III: Reconstruction Rag; IV: Southwestern Shakedown; V: Big City Breaks; VI: Danzón y Mambo, Choro y Samba; VII: Dialog in Democracy. Given the named movements and Marsalis’s stated intention of giving “symphonic identity to the form and feeling of the blues,” it should come as no surprise that the work comes across as more of a tone poem (or suite of tone poems) than symphony – something along the lines of Má vlast by Smetana. It is fascinating to hear the orchestra treated as something of the world’s biggest big band; you can hear the DSO players giving it their all. Trombone slides, clarinet glissandos, and an overall orchestral ability to impart a feeling of swing to the proceedings while never taking things over the top and making the music sound campy make for a rewarding listening experience. There is an earlier recording by the Philadelphia Orchestra; however, this new Pentatone release surpasses that one in terms of both performance and sound. Highly recommended! 

Paganini: 24 Caprices (Streaming review)

by Bill Heck

Paganini: 24 Capricesfor Solo Violin. Sarasate: Caprice basque, Milstein Caprice. Wieniawski: Etudes-Caprices for 2 violins, Op.18; Caprice andalous, Op. 122; Rêverie et caprice, H. 88. Saint-Saëns: Introduction et rondo capriccioso, Op. 28. María Dueñas, violin; Itmar Golan, piano (Sarasate); Boris Kuschnir, piano (Wieniawski); Deutsches Symphonie Orchester Berlin, Mihhail Gerts (Wieniawski, Saint-Saëns). DG 4865708 (2 CDs or download)

A few days ago, KWN and I were chatting about the kinds of music that we choose to review or, more precisely, about the recordings that we don’t want to review. Why not, you ask? Well, neither of us feels comfortable reviewing recordings of music that doesn’t particularly appeal to us and, like everyone else, we have our individual preferences. And, as we aren’t being paid for our efforts, we have neither the inclination nor the time to spend listening when doing so just feels like a chore. As we talked, one sub-genre that came up was solo violin pieces, and here we agreed: while there's no denying that some great music has been written for solo violin, neither of us tends to get into it.

So why am I recounting such a conversation? Because the retelling just shows how life's little ironies pop up everywhere. Within a day of this conversation, I came across this new recording of, yes, solo violin music that piqued my interest. Oh well – there are exceptions to every rule, and my rule about generally not being so interested in works for solo violin has already been violated at least once on this website, specifically in my review of the Yasÿe Six Sonatas played by Hillary Hahn. What’s one more intellectual inconsistency among friends…?

Now if we are going to listen to music for solo violin, we might as well start with one of the most famous and, if contemporaneous reports are to be believed, one of the most spectacular violin virtuosos of all time, Niccolò Paganini. And if one is going to listen to Paganini's compositions, we might as well begin with the 24 Caprices, perhaps Paganini’s most widely known (and imitated) series of works.

Reviews of some other recordings by Dueñas have characterized her playing as spirited, expressive, even aggressive (in, I think, a good sense), and those are the characteristics that one hears immediately. She certainly has the technique and control of her instrument to deal with these often very difficult pieces. But in addition, she makes them interesting, even moving and just a joy to hear. As played here, these works are not just a collection of virtuoso fireworks; she’s not afraid to vary tone and rhythm in the interests of letting the music speak. To illustrate what I mean, think of a difficulty that may arise when listening to such a long series of pieces: the mind may wander, attention may drift off in other directions. That wasn’t an issue here for me, as Dueñas brought out the musical underpinnings of each piece and kept me fully engaged.

Niccolò Paganini

 

Of course, there are plenty of other recordings of these works. For example, the one by Itzhak Perlman is classic, but I must say that the recording is showing its age, with rather dull sound. The recent one by James Ehnes features spectacular technique (he rockets through Number 1 in an incredible 1:48 as compared to Dueñas’s “leisurely” 2:33), but the playing, while never dull, is perhaps more straightforward than hers. In any case, I hear Dueñas’s traversal of the Caprices as a major success – so far, so good.

But it doesn’t stop there: as late-night TV commercials say, “But wait! There’s more!” Although the Paganini pieces are the headliner, and surely the reason that most readers would be interested in this release, the album includes a collection (recital?) of works featuring the violin. To keep this review at reasonable length, I’m going to do a quick summary, but readers should know that there’s interesting and enjoyable music to be found here.

To start with, Dueñas is joined in different works by piano, guitar, and full orchestra, so it’s not solo violin all the way. Many of these works have a Spanish flavor. Perhaps the most interesting is De cuerda y madura (Of Stone and Wood) which, depending on your taste, may strike you as a fascinating exploration of modern composition or a far-too-out-there collection of random notes; I lean toward the former. More immediately appealing are the Études-Caprices for 2 Violins by Wieniawski, and of course the two works by the perpetually underappreciated Saint-Saëns. All the playing is impeccable, as expected.

There are only two real, even if minor, disappointments here. First, in the CD version, the Paganini Caprices are spread across two disks (number 21 - 24 on the second disk). Second is the accompanying booklet, which features quotes from Dueñas in a sort of pop magazine interview format. A few interesting ideas surface, but it would’ve been so much nicer to have even a brief essay by the artist speaking directly to us in more depth. The sound of the recordings is very good if not, to my ears, great, although varying as the works were recorded in different locations by different engineering teams; certainly there's nothing to get in the way of enjoying some wonderful playing of appealing and even exciting music. In summary, a release well worth checking out – even if you thought that you weren’t fond of music for solo violin.

Kapustin: Piano Concertos Nos. 2 & 6 (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring 

Kapustin: Variations for piano solo and big band, Op.3; Toccata for piano solo and big band, Op.8; Concerto No. 2 for piano and orchestra, Op.14; Nocturne for piano and orchestra, Op. 16; Concert Rhapsody for piano and orchestra, Op.25; Concerto No. 6 for piano and big band, Op.74. Frank Dupree, piano; Dominik Beykirch, conductor. SWR Big Band; SWR Symphonieorchester (Berlin); Jakob Krupp, bass; Meinhard “Obi” Jenne, drumset. Capriccio C5528

A couple of years ago we reviewed a previous Capriccio release that featured the young German pianist Frank Dupree (b. 1991) playing music by the Ukrainian-born, Russian-trained composer and pianist Nikolai Kapustin (1937-2020), a review that you can find here. We noted in that review that Kapustin was an accomplished pianist who was classically trained in both performance and composition, but his real musical passion was jazz. As a result, he poured his energy into composing music that is classical in form but has much the same feel as improvised jazz – not an easy feat. That album, which featured his Concerto for Piano and Orchestra No. 5, impressed us with its integration of jazz style within a classical framework; as a result, we had high hopes for this latest release. This one, though, leans much more toward the jazz end of the spectrum, as you might guess from the compositions that include “big band” rather “orchestra” in their titles. These pieces really do sound like big band music with some extra-virtuosic piano charts – the Toccata in particular really shows off Dupree's nimble fingers!

Even the Concerto No. 2 for piano and orchestra, Op. 14 sounds more like a concerto for big band and orchestra with its scoring for drums and bass in addition to the orchestra, which is arranged to sound much like a brassy big band with some occasional string sweetening. The Nocturne that follows slows things down, backs off on the brass, and comes across something like a theme from a film score. The Concert Rhapsody ups the energy level; it too sounds as though it could be the theme music for a film or television series. The album closes with another composition for piano and big band, Concerto No. 6. This piece is more musically complex than the others on the program (note its higher catalog number – Op. 74 was completed in 1993, long after Op. 25 in 1976). Yes, it still has that big band sound about it, but it is more rhythmically complex and more mature sounding overall than the other works for piano and big band on this release. 

 Dupree has been an enthusiastic advocate of Kapustin’s music, having released a number of recordings of it. His facility – both technical and musical – is beyond reproach, and the engineering is top-notch. The arrangements, however, for both the big band and the orchestra, come across as rather pedestrian, making it hard to give this newest release more than a room temperature recommendation. For those who have not heard Kapustin before, the album we reviewed previously (see link above) would probably be a better starting point. 

Sofia Gubaidulina, R.I.P.

We at Classical Candor join the worldwide classical music community in mourning the recent (March 13) death of composer Sofia Gubaidulina. Gubaidulina was born in 1931 in what is now the Republic of Tatarstan (formerly under Russian control) to a Tatar father and a Russian mother. In 1992, she moved to Hamburg, Germany, where she resided for the remainder of her life. She described herself as a deeply spiritual person and has said of her compositional process, “whenever I’m composing, I pray, no, I actually speak to God.’ 

We have reviewed several of her compositions over the years and can attest to their spiritual nature. Of the three releases on which these compositions are contained, there are two that I have no hesitation in recommending to those unfamiliar with her catalog, but for different reasons. For those who prefer drama, intensity, and giving their stereo a serious workout, I would recommend a DG release featuring violinist Vadim Rapin, conductor Andris Nelsons, and the Leipzig Gewandhaus Orchestra that contains three compositions: Dialog: Ich und Du, The Wrath of God;  and The Light of the End (see review here). For those who might prefer music of a quitter, more reflective nature, there is an EMI release featuring legendary Russian cellist titled The Canticle of the Sun (see review here). The third release is unusual in that it includes two unlike compositions, the first a triple concerto for the unusual combination of violin, cello, and bayan; the second a sonata for cello and bayan (see review here). It’s an interesting album, but the other two are better introductions to Gubaidulina’s music. 

 

Her music was intense, powerful, often challenging. Although it was seldom what most listeners would think of as easy listening, for the listener willing to give it a thoughtful hearing, it could become result in rewarding listening. She was a unique musical voice, and she will ne missed.

Ravel: The Complete Solo Piano Works (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Seong-Jin Cho, piano. Deutache Grammophon 486 6814

 

Before sitting down at my computer to write this review, I did a quick search for an old review I had done of a previous release of the complete solo piano music of Ravel so that I could provide a link to that review. To my surprise, however, I found that I never actually have posted a review of the complete Ravel piano solo works. Oh well, there’s a first time for everything, right?  

As seems to be the norm with DG these days, portraits of the artist – in this case, the young Korean pianist Seong-Jin Cho (b. 1994) – appear throughout the trifold digipack, his picture appearing twice on the inside as well as adorning both the front and back covers. The liner note booklet cover is duplicate of the front cover, and the gray and pink background colors are carried over throughout the booklet. The track listings are a bit of a strain to read because of minimal color contrast for the text. When it comes to the notes themselves, the good news is that the text is now black; the bad news is that the font is tiny – as in teeny-tiny. Even eyes much younger than mine may find the text difficult to discern.

 

Seong-Jin Cho is one of the rising young generation of talented pianists who are rapidly making a name for themselves on the international stage. He won the 2015 International Chopin Piano Competition at the age of 21, a remarkable achievement. His playing throughout these two CDs is impeccable: clean, precise, nimble. This approach works especially well in pieces such as Menuet Antique, where the clarity of his fingering (and of the engineering) makes the music come to life. Overall, the clarity of his playing makes for a satisfying listening experience, although that same precision and clarity can also at times lead to a feeling of sterility. Overall, then, a worthy release, one that will go on my shelf along with Abbey Simon (Vox) and Vlado Perlemuter (Nimbus), neither of which can match the sound quality of this new DG release. With 2025 marking the 150^th anniversary of Ravel’s birth, there are going to be a multitude of Ravel releases this year; if the quality of this one is any indication, it’s going to be a rewarding celebration.  

Beethoven Blues (Batiste Piano Series, Vol. 1) (CD Review)

 by Karl Nehring

Für Elise – Batiste; Symphony No. 5 Stomp; Moonlight Sonata Blues; Dusklight Movement; 7^th Symphony Elegy; American Symphony Theme; Ode to Joyful; 5^th Symphony in Congo Square; Waldstein Wobble; Life of Ludwig; Für Elise – Reverie. Jon Batiste, piano. Verve/Interscope 602475263807

 

Pianist and composer Jon Batiste ((b. 1986) is likely an unfamiliar figure to many fans of classical music; however, many others may well remember his 2015-2022 stint as bandleader on the popular television program, The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. (American) football fans might recall that it was Batiste who performed the national anthem at Super Bowl LIX. Born into a musically talented Louisiana family, Batiste recounts in his liner notes that “I spent a good amount of my youth competing in local classical music competitions and gigging in night haunts in the heart of New Orleans. For years now since childhood I have made a practice of going to the piano and reimagining classical music as if it were my own. As a precocious youth I’d alternate between reimagining music and composing my own things. I was often drawn to ben in conversation with Beethoven’s music. Over the years, many have asked if I’d consider recording a pure piano album. Beethoven Blues is the first volume of solo piano recordings to be released over the coming years.”

 

Elsewhere in the booklet we find this interesting statement: “All songs written by Ludwig van Beethoven and interpolated by Jon Batiste except ‘American Symphony Theme’, ‘Dusklight Movement’, and ‘Life of Ludwig’ written by Jon Batiste and published by Kobalt Publishing.” The word “interpolated” is unexpected; however, the expected “interpreted” is not quite correct. Batiste says of his creative process “starts with Beethoven’s original compositions and in real time I am creating something completely original within and inspired by them. I didn’t think about what I would play before sitting at the piano. Within the same performance, I aim to render a stellar modern interpretation of Beethoven’s original works while simultaneously extending the composition, shaping into an entirely new composition that somehow maintains the distinctive elements of the original.” In other words, Batiste sits down at the piano and brings to Beethoven some of his own musical cultural heritage – blues, wobble, stomp, swing, shout – and interpolates into what Beethoven has handed down.

At first hearing, the music can sound as though Batiste is simply adding a layer of stylistic gloss to Beethoven – some trills and frills, some flourishes meant to prettify and trivialize Beethoven’s music. But upon further, more reflective listening, the depth of what Batiste is doing begins to reveal itself, especially in the final track Für Elise – Reverie, a 15-minute deep dive into that familiar melody in which Batiste takes us on a musical and emotional journey as we listen to the freely flowing musical  sounds that are such an evocative blend of Beethoven, Batiste, and our own musical imaginations. Once we have had our minds attuned to Batiste’s approach by this final piece on the album, we can the go back and enjoy the whole of Beethoven Blues for what it is: an informed, informative, and thoroughly entertaining take on Beethoven from a talented musician with a unique and refreshing perspective.

John Field: Complete Nocturnes

 by Bill Heck 

Field: Nocturnes. Alice Sara Ott, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 4866239

Utter the word “nocturne“ to a lover of classical music and you are pretty much guaranteed that the name “Chopin” will come back. Indeed, for many of us, nocturnes for solo piano begin and end with Chopin. But it is more accurate to say that, whenever they “end”, nocturnes begin earlier, arguably with John Field.

Field lived from 1782 to 1837, straddling the transition from the Classical to early Romantic periods. Although Irish by birth (one of a relative handful of composers from the Emerald Isle), he spent most of his life elsewhere, first in England and later in Russia. Although he established a reputation as a major virtuoso in his early years, by the time of his death he was perceived as being somewhat out of date. Still, his works, especially those for solo piano and particularly the nocturnes, influenced composers like Schumann, Chopin of course, and even Liszt.

John Field

So what, pray tell, is a nocturne? The name translates roughly as “night piece”, which suggests quiet, gentle sounds; musically nocturnes are expected to be works for solo piano in which the left hand plays (mostly) arpeggiated chords while the right plays a melody. The earliest of Field’s nocturnes fit that pattern, but, as it is common with composers of merit, Field’s compositional techniques evolved so that his latter nocturnes go beyond this simple definition. It will surprise no one to hear that by the time Chopin came along, the definition was stretched to the breaking point, but one can still hear the echoes of those Fieldian beginnings.

Regardless of definitions and comparisons, Field’s nocturnes are more than worth seeking out. No, you won’t confuse Field’s works with those of the true master of the form, Chopin, but they are eminently listenable and enjoyable. While performances have not exactly flooded the market, there have been several recordings of the complete list of 18 that deserve mention, including those of John O’Connor from the 1990s and Tyler Hay from last year (2024). Now we have this very nice set from Alice Sara Ott, one that is right up there with the best.

Alice Sara Ott

Ott, born in Germany in 1988, proved a prodigy, doing well in youth piano competition at age 5 and winning a major German one at 7. An active recording and concert performance career has followed, with this album being, so far as I can tell, her tenth. She announced in 2019 that she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, but thankfully that hardly seems to have affected her career; the list of upcoming engagements on her website makes me feel exhausted just reading it.

I find the playing here a “just right“ blend of straightforwardness and expressivity, bringing out the beauty and ingenuity of the works without engaging in distracting mannerisms or drawing attention to the performer rather than the music itself. It’s certainly not that Ott‘s playing is in any way mechanical, nor is there any lack of technical virtuosity (just listen to the clarity in the zippy, tinkling runs in number 12). But that virtuosity always seems to be in service of the music, sounding quite natural.

It certainly helps Ott’s cause that the DG recording is first-rate. The sound is close, but not too close, with just a bit of room sound, and is fully coherent, meaning it sounds like a real piano in a real place. It’s easy to immerse oneself in sound like this.

When I first ran across this album on my streaming service and heard these charming works, I blushed in mild shame to think that I was so unacquainted with Field’s oeuvre. But I was relieved to find in Ott’s personal but informative liner notes that she, too, knew next to nothing of Field’s nocturnes until she ran across them more or less by chance while searching for uplifting music during the worst of the Covid pandemic. First Ott, then me – and I suggest, dear reader, that you also may wish to become acquainted with these compositions in such excellent performances as found here.

Ruth Gipps Orchestral Works, Volume 3 (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Coronation Procession, Op. 41; Ambarvalia, Op. 70; Concerto for Horn and Orchestra, Op. 58; Cringlemire Garden, Op. 29; Symphony No. 1, Op. 22. Martin Owen, horn; Rumon Gamba, conductor; BBC Philharmonic. Chandos 20284

In this third installment of Ruth Gipps’s orchestral music, Chandos shows that there is plenty else by the Englishwoman that is worth exploring. Indeed, a couple of what I consider to be her finest compositions are on this disc. I imagine that few listeners are somehow already familiar with the “dance” Ambarvalia, which receives its premiere recording here. Despite its modest playing time of just over 7 minutes, this tribute to composer Adrian Cruft (who died early in 1987) is one of the loveliest British orchestral works I have ever heard. If I am not mistaken, it is Gipps’s last composition for an orchestral ensemble (albeit a small orchestra in this case). By this point Gipps had fully assimilated her influences and was able to wield a distinctive personal voice. In her mature works she often loves to revel in rippling melody and turquoise hues. These are nowhere better evidenced than in Ambarvalia, which deserves to adorn live concerts with at least intermittent regularity. 

 

Of course, many horn players have long known the Horn Concerto of 1968, already the beneficiary of multiple recordings. While not exactly a miniature work like Ambarvalia, its three movements are relatively short and feature many of the same stylistic fingerprints. A certain pastoral dreaminess governs the proceedings despite some virtuosic passages for the soloist. But what we hear is not merely second-hand Vaughan Williams; Gipps’ aesthetic world here is very much her own, whatever she occasionally owes to her famous teacher. Soloist Martin Owens may lack some of David Pyatt’s glittering brilliance (Lyrita SRCD316), but the former’s velvety tone strikes me as a better fit for such a balmy score. 

 

Rumon Gamba

While I’m comparatively less impressed with the other works performed here, all of them offer at least pleasant listening experiences. Each is from earlier in Gipps’s career. The Coronation Procession of 1953 is approximately the length as Ambarvalia, although perhaps lacking its younger sibling’s stronger flavor. Savvy listeners might recall the middle section melody being used in Malcolm Arnold’s Variations on a Theme of Ruth Gipps (1977). (The two composers were close friends from their student days. They also had much in common as opponents of avant-gardism during the age of its ascendance.) In his unsurprisingly excellent liner notes, musicologist Lewis Foreman calls Cringlemire Garden a “pastoral miniature.” Gipps herself subtitled it “An Impression for String Orchestra.” Indeed, the inspiration was the Lake District landscape. Compared to everything heard so far, this work is more glaringly indebted to Vaughan Williams. Though nice, I am not sure it is strong enough to compete with its more distinguished models. 

The third item receiving its premiere recording here is Gipps’s First Symphony, composed in 1942. This is the product of a student. It’s an extremely impressive effort for being that, but stylistically pretty much “Vaughan Williams plus water” (to modify a criticism once leveled, less truthfully, at the music of Charles Villiers Stanford). While Gipps would go on to compose four more masterfully constructed symphonies, she never quite sounds as convincing in them as she does in her smaller creations. The themes and pastel colors with which she paints in selections such as Ambarvalia, or even the Horn Concerto, poorly transplant to more extended structures. As one can read from my published work, I’m far from a stickler for traditional “symphonic form.” Much the opposite! But Gipps simply fails to hold the (or my) attention in this medium as she does in the best of her more concentrated efforts. 

 

All in all, Volume 3 delivers a soundly worthwhile listening experience. Conductor Rumon Gamba and his musicians yet again adroitly give some worthy music good exposure. I can’t help thinking, though, as I partake of release upon release churned out by Chandos and others, about potential audiences. How much of even the best of this material is being heard, and by whom? How much stands to catch on or endure in the ever-fraught marketplace for classical music? This is all increasingly on my mind, with no concrete answers in sight.

Carlos Simon: Four Symphonic Works (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Simon: The Block; Tales: A Folklore Symphony; Songs of Separation*; Wake Up! Concerto for Orchestra. *J’Nai Bridges, mezzo-soprano; National Symphony Orchestra; Gianandrea Noseda, conductor. National Symphony Orchestra NSO0018 

Carlos Simon (b. 1986), Composer-in-Residence at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, is passionate about engaging in social outreach. Much of his musical output addresses themes that include migration, belonging, and community, with an emphasis on the transatlantic slave trade and the injustices people of African ancestry still face today. His upbringing as the son of a Pentecostal preacher has resulted in his music displaying classical forms in which often can be heard jazz, hip-hop, and gospel influences. Those influences are evident throughout this release, starting with The Block, a brief (6:37) orchestral piece that Simon wrote to capture the feeling of then visual art of the late African American artist Romare Bearden; indeed, the piece has a vibrant, colorful energy about it that immediately grabs your attention. Tales: A Folklore Symphony consists of four movements that Simon gives the fascinating titles: I. Motherboxx Connection, II. Flying Africans, III. Go Down Moses (Let my People Go), IV. John Henry. Simon explains the titles in his booklet notes, but it should be reasonably obvious that they are related to the themes mentioned above. The music itself is colorful -- and dramatic in places, especially in Go Down Moses, the longest movement. 

The Songs of Separation find Simon giving orchestral settings to four brief poems by Rumi – The Garden, Burning Hell, Dance, and We Are All the Same. The first finds the voice being overwhelmed by the orchestra, but the others – especially Burning Hell – are better balanced. The closing Wake Up! Concerto for Orchestra is a twenty-minute showpiece for the National Symphony Orchestra to display its virtuosity under the baton of its Music Director, the Italian-born conductor Gianandrea Noseda (b. 1964). There is a strong rhythmic sense throughout, with plenty of percussion and a continual sense of motion. Special note needs to be made of the overall high standard of this release in general. The physical product is sturdy, far superior to the typical CD package. This is a Hybrid-SACD release; I auditioned the standard CD layer, but the disc also includes a high-density stereo layer plus a 5.0 channel surround track that can be played back SACD players. There are informative liner notes about the music and the performers; not only that, the sound quality, with engineering by the renowned experts at Soundmirror, is first-class. This is a superb release in every dimension.

Chamber Works by Frederick Block (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Block: Piano Trio No. 2, Op 26; String Quartet, Op. 23; Suite, Op. 73 (for clarinet and piano); Quintet, Op. 19 (for two violins, viola, cello, and piano). ARC Ensemble (Erika Raum, violin; Marie Bérard, violin; Steven Dann, viola; Thomas Wiebe, cello; Valdepeñas, clarinet; Kevin Ahfat, piano). CHANDOS CHAN 20358

The ARC Ensemble consists of senior faculty from the Royal Conservatory of Music’s Glenn Gould School in Toronto, Canada. They have made a specialty of recovering and recording music that has been suppressed and marginalized under the 20th century’s repressive political regimes, releasing a series of recordings under the heading of “Music in Exile” on the Chandos label, this being the eighth, the others featuring music by composers Alberto Hemsi, Paul Ben-Haim, Jerzy Fitelberg, Szymon Laks, Walter Kaufmann, Robert Müller-Hartmann, and Dmitri Klebanov. This has been an excellent series of releases, several of which it has been our privilege and pleasure to review. You can find our review of their Hemsi release here, the Kaufmann release here, the Klebanov release here, and the Müller-Hartmann release here.

 

Frederick Block (1899-1945) was born in Vienna. His original name was Friedrich Bloch; he changed his name to Block upon his arrival in New York in 1940, where he had fled with his wife to avoid the persecution faced by Jews under the increasing Nazi persecution in Europe. The works on this release were all completed while Block was still in Vienna with the exception of the Suite for Clarinet and Piano, which he completed in 1944,, the year he became ill with a chronic cough and occasional stinging pains that by early in 1945 would be diagnosed as the cancer that would take his life just three months before his forty-sixth birthday and his qualification for American citizenship.

 

Thank goodness the ARC Ensemble has taken the initiative to bring what could have been overlooked music into the recording studio to be captured so that we music lovers might have the opportunity to hear it four ourselves. All four compositions are enjoyable and well worth a listen. The Piano Trio that opens the program has a light, melodic touch throughout its four brief movements, as all three instruments seem to be singing away. Likewise, the String Quartet, which moves along smartly, pleasing to the ear but never smarmy – the final movement grows serious, but never lapses into pretentiousness. The Suite for Clarinet and Piano serves as something of a palette cleanser, the sparkling sounds of the clarinet and piano in mostly brief little movements – entertaining but fleeting. Perhaps Block’s illness prevented him from writing more extended movements. The program then closes with a work back from 1929, the Quintet, the most formal-sounding composition of the four on this release. It’s not unpleasant – it just seems to lack some of the sense of spontaneity of the rest of the music. All in all, however, this is another highly recommendable release from the ARC Ensemble, who are doing a noble service for us all with their “Music in Exile” series of recordings.