Kudos for a Contributor!

 by Karl Nehring

Our own Ryan Ross has recently received the Music Library Association’s Eva Judd O’Meara Award for the best review published in MLA’s journal Notes. Ryan’s review was of the book Vaughan Williams and His World, Byron Adams and Daniel M. Grimley, eds. (Princeton University Press). The award letter from the MLA declares: “The Music Library Association’s Publications Awards Committee’s recommendation stated that your review presents a sophisticated and nuanced critique of the volume. They note that you thoughtfully challenge what he identifies as several ahistorical and ideologically driven assumptions concerning both Vaughan Williams’s political outlook and his relationship to musical modernism. In terms of structure, the committee declares that it is substantial in both length and depth, distinguished by prose that is clear, elegant, and free from fashionable jargon. They write that your command of the field renders you an especially qualified commentator, enabling you to identify inaccuracies, omissions, and interpretive missteps that might elude a less knowledgeable critic.” We at Classical Candor congratulate Ryan for his achievement and are grateful to have such a knowledgeable and accomplished contributor on our staff.  (You can read more about Ryan in his biographical information below – simply scroll down your screen.)

Avril Coleridge-Taylor: Piano Concerto & Orchestral Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Samantha Ege, pianist; John Andrews, conductor; BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Resonus RES10374

In her liner notes for this recording, Leah Broad describes Avril Coleridge-Taylor’s struggles to make headway as a composer. “Never be discouraged by criticism even if it means waiting years to gain real recognition,” the ambitious daughter of Samuel Coleridge-Taylor apparently told herself, working up the resolve not to quit “because some critics have written scathing remarks” about what she considered to be her “masterpiece.” This masterpiece is not named. But if it was one of most works recorded here, I’m inclined to count myself among her critics. Truth be told, it’s just another instance in a recurring pattern: feeling sympathy for a neglected composer’s difficulties while being pressured by overzealous advocates to overrate the music on account of them. Broad claims that Coleridge-Taylor had a “powerful and unique voice,” and that maybe this music “will speak better to twenty-first century listeners than to her contemporaries.” But what seems truly powerful—and what probably speaks most to contemporary listeners—is Coleridge-Taylor’s plight as an artist trying to succeed in a white male world. It is a plight that elicits well-deserved sympathy. Yet once we submit her music to scrutiny apart from this sympathy, we are forced to admit that her detractors probably had a point.

The main problem is that Coleridge-Taylor has some appealing materials but poorly sustains them over extended spans. Her efforts come off better when she doesn’t have to do this—when we have melodies and not much else. The best example on this disc is the four-minute Valse Caprice. It consists of a strong main theme (with a nice tag motive!), a couple of contrasting themes in the middle, and a reprise of the initial theme. For this piece Coleridge-Taylor adopts a late-Romantic ballet style entirely appropriate to the task. A bit of excessive harping on the second middle theme right before the A-theme reprise is a minor flaw, but overall this is solid stuff.

However, the other short selections here are not cast in an assumed ballet idiom, and some begin to betray issues that are more fully visible in the larger works. Coleridge-Taylor’s natural tendency is toward simple, square-cut themes. Unfortunately, once these have been stated and lightly varied, they usually exhaust their potential quickly. This is especially clear in the Sussex Landscape set. The second and third numbers succeed largely because they are short—two to three minutes—and rely on one or two ideas with minimal need for connection or development. But the first number runs close to six minutes, and here we begin to notice the afore-mentioned weaknesses. It opens with a frail theme built around a prominent half-cadence, an idea that is then tediously belabored, particularly given how rarely the music strays from the tonic. Bland variations on this opening gesture occupy nearly the entire span of the piece, while the contrasting ideas introduced in the middle are too close in flavor to offer meaningful relief.

The two In Memoriam miniatures tell a similar story. The second operates well enough simply because it is the shortest item on the disc, and little happens in its approximately 2 minutes beyond straightforward exposition of material. The other, In Memoriam – to the R.A.F., runs about four and a half minutes and feels at least a minute too long. Once again, Coleridge-Taylor overworks a slender main theme in the outer sections—especially at the outset—in ways that it ill tolerates. The lovely clarinet counter-melody in the middle stands out largely because it is comparatively spared such treatment.

In most of the longer works the seams are obvious. Coleridge-Taylor’s predilections for half-cadences and monotonous thematic sameness within a constricted tonic framework persist, but are now compounded by stalling devices: timpani-led tutti interruptions (resembling attempts to kick-start an engine) and cadenza-like passages that appear whenever the music seems to run out of forward momentum. In To April, the compulsive half-cadenzing seems to go on forever, so that we’re actually thankful for the harp passage that follows, despite the choppy continuity. Following this is a nice-ish theme that gets repeated with little variation. It was barely good enough to state once. The Comet Prelude (inspired by an airplane ride) goes on for even longer—almost 11 minutes. Perhaps the piece would have earned its genre title more if it were shorter, and the gentle secondary theme in the middle didn’t completely wear out its welcome. Curiously, From the Hills presents a step up from the other extended compositions here. It is not entirely free from their issues, but it does manage them more effectively. The sudden adoption of an English pastoral style seems to make a difference, as the nature of the content itself slightly eases Coleridge-Taylor’s difficulties in treating it.

With the Piano Concerto we are back in a stock late-Romantic idiom, close to Tchaikovsky or Rachmaninoff. Such stylistic conservatism lies at the center of several critiques of Coleridge-Taylor I have seen, but they miss the point. The workmanship is what is objectionable here, not the style. All of the problems already identified factor in, though the first two movements contain some genuinely pleasant material. What sinks the concerto most of all is its finale. A wisp of a theme opens the movement and is forced to do absurdly heavy labor for more than two minutes. An almost equally insubstantial secondary idea follows in an extended cadenza-like area before the opening gesture returns prior to a sweepingly climactic peroration. But the materials are too slight, and the connective tissue too feeble, for the structure to hold. The result is almost painful to listen to. It is hard to imagine anyone with a genuine critical capacity hearing it without wincing.

I’m not a formalist: I often rail against formalism. But while I listen to this music it makes me a formalist almost against my will. When basic elements of compositional craft are missing or compromised, this deficit comes to define the musical experience. Which brings us back to the nature of the overall project. Toward the end of the liner notes we’re told the following: “[Leah] is the founder of Unheard Heritage, a project with John Andrews and Resonus Classics to record great, forgotten music for new audiences. This is the project’s second disc...” I’m sorry, but “great music?” If I agree that it should have been recorded, I nonetheless strongly object to the idea that it’s great. Why the frequent overclaiming with ventures like these? I think we know why, and the reasons ultimately have little to do with the music itself. I acknowledge that Avril Coleridge-Taylor struggled to overcome obstacles she ought not to have faced. But this does not mean that she wasn’t in the end someone whose compositional ambitions (including an obvious wish to follow in her father’s footsteps) ran ahead of her abilities. Both things can be true, and no amount of pie‑in‑the‑sky advocacy will persuade me to pretend otherwise.

Recent Releases No. 80 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Víkingur Ólafsson: Opus 109. Bach: Prelude in E Major, BWV 854; Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 27 in E Minor, Op. 90; Bach: Partita No. 6 in E minor, BWV 830; Schubert: Piano Sonata in E minor, D566; Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 30 in E Major, Op. 109; Bach: French Suite No. 6 in E, BWV 817: Sarabande. Víkingur Ólafsson, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 486 7411

 

We have reviewed several previous releases from the Icelandic pianist Víkingur Ólafsson (b. 1984) here at Classical Candor, each of them having some sort of unusual twist that set it apart from the standard piano recording. On Bach: Works and Reworks (DG 4837769) we got not only a piano recital but the sound of the piano combined with other (often electronic) instruments; on Debussy-Rameau (DG 479 7701), the pianist explored connections between two composers separated by a century-and-a-half; his Philip Glass album (DG  479 6918) included an arrangement a piano etude for piano quintet; and his Reflections album (DG 00289 483 9222) was a reimagining of his Debussy-Rameau album, this time with Ólafsson on piano accompanied by other musicians (with some electronic manipulation of sonic textures). This latest release is a straightforward piano recital without any added instruments or electronic manipulation. The pianist includes a liner note essay in which he explains his somewhat unusual program, which he assembled for a combination of musical and personal reasons. Although the album is titled Opus 109, the Bach Partita No. 6 seems to come across as the centerpiece. Ólafsson plays lyrically and expressively throughout; if the idea of Bach, Schubert, and Beethoven played together on the same program is an appealing one, then Opus 109 is warmly recommended. 

 

Close. Steve Tibbetts: We Begin, Pt. 1; We Begin, Pt. 2; We Begin, Pt. 3; Away, Pt. 1; Away, Pt. 2; Away, Pt. 3; Remember, Pt. 1; Remember, Pt. 2; Somewhere, Pt. 1; Somewhere, Pt. 2; Somewhere, Pt. 3; Anywhere; Everywhere, Pt. 1; Everywhere, Pt. 2; Everywhere, Pt. 3; Everywhere, Pt. 4; Everywhere, Pt. 5; Remember and; Remember and Wish; We End. Steve Tibbetts, guitar, percussion, piano; Marc Anderson, percussion, gongs, handpan, loops; JT Bates, drums. ECM 2858

 

Wisconsin-born, Minnesota-based guitarist Steve Tibbetts (b. 1954) has been recording his imaginative music since the mid-1970s. He released his self-titled first album in 1976 on the tiny independent Frammis label, which was followed in 1980 by YR, also on Frammis. YR marked his first collaboration with percussionist Marc Anderson, a collaboration that continues to this day. In 1982, the pair spent three days in Oslo recording the album Northern Song for producer Manfred Eicher’s ECM label, the label for which Tibbetts has since recorded seven more albums. In 2022, we reviewed his ECM release titled Hellbound Train, a two-CD sampling of tracks from his first seven ECM releases. I felt certain that I must have reviewed his previous release, Life Of, but when I checked, I discovered that much to my surprise, that this May 2018 album had been released several months before I ever started writing for Classical Candor. (It turned out my first contribution was an October 2018 review of Walton’s Viola Concerto.) As on his previous album, Tibbetts here plays plenty of moody 12-string, but also does some plugging in. The presence of both percussionists provides a steady rumbling pulse throughout the album; the net effect being one of reflection and quiet mystery. The cover photo is of a backyard at night; the liner photo is the same backyard in daylight. The music on the disc falls somewhere between. “Music is a twilight language,” Tibbetts affirms. “The job is to translate some shadow into sound.” 

 

Transcription as Translation. Smetana: String Quartet No. 1 “From My Life” (orch. George Szell); Beethoven: Piano Sonata No. 29, Op. 106 “Hammerklavier” (orch. Felix Weingartner). The Orchestra Now; Leon Botstein, conductor. AVIE AV2822

 

The late American conductor Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990) made a much-heralded recording of a transcription he made of Beethoven’s Op. 131 string quartet with the Vienna Philharmonic – but for strings only. When it comes to transcribing piano works for full orchestra, perhaps the most noteworthy example is Ravel’s transcription of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition. On this release from AVIE, we get two transcriptions for orchestra made by orchestral conductors. The first, by George Szell, takes Smetana’s String Quartet No. 1 from an intimate piece of chamber music and makes it into something of an orchestral showpiece. According to the liner notes, Szell made his arrangement in 1939-40, soon after his arrival in the United States, and conducted it at his debut with the orchestra in 1944 and several times thereafter. It’s a pleasant enough listening experience, if not particularly memorable. Fans of the Smetana quartet may find this performance of interest to gain some additional insight. The Weingartner transcription of the “Hammerklavier,” on the other hand, comes across as less successful. The music never seems to catch fire; something seems to have been lost in translation. To be fair to Maestro Botstein and the orchestra, however, the original sonata is a daunting challenge for even the finest of pianists, so to expect an orchestral transcription to succeed in captivating an audience is – to be candid – in all likelihood an exercise in wishful thinking.

Bennett and Duke Violin Concertos (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross 

Robert Russell Bennett: Concerto for Violin and Orchestra in A Major (“In the Popular Style”); Vernon Duke [Vladimir Alexandrovich Dukelsky]: Concerto for Violin and Orchestra. Chloë Hanslip, violinist; Andrew Litton, conductor; Singapore Symphony Orchestra. Chandos CHSA 5371

This is one of those recordings: extended orchestral works by composers who made their mark very much elsewhere. In this case we have a pair of figures who worked in the American show business, one as an orchestrator and the other as a songwriter (primarily). To be honest, the results are about what you’d expect: respectable efforts that go over well enough but probably won’t blow your hair back. Think John Williams’s concertos, or Meredith Willson’s symphonies, or anything by Danny Elfman that is not film or TV music. You get the picture.

 

We’ll take the more successful of these two concertos first. Robert Russell Bennett wisely decided to write a lighter work explicitly “in the popular style.” This translates to some fetching themes across four movements, and an overall breeziness that shows a composer not taking himself too seriously. The jaunty first movement lasts 11+ minutes and, even if it slightly overstays its welcome by the end, elicits plenty of goodwill. The remaining sections are much shorter, my favorite of which is a lovely ABA second span heavily influenced by the theater. Nothing here rivals the Barber Violin Concerto (probably the American masterpiece in the genre), but I can see the work being successful if programmed occasionally, all the more since it clocks in at under 25 minutes and ends with a rousing send-off. As a bonus, we next get the short Hexapoda studies for violin and piano – delightfully fluffy music.

 

If I’m in a generous mood, I might argue that the Robert Russell Bennett Violin Concerto is actually a touch more compelling than the Williams, Willson, and Elfman fare I named earlier. But not even on my best day would I say the same for this Duke Concerto. It lasts only 29 or so minutes but feels longer. There is nothing offensive in it, to be sure, but its angular themes just meander and fail to hold interest. Drab orchestral and harmonic colors predominate, with only very brief moments of Songwriter Vernon Duke peeking through now and then. I was sometimes reminded of Prokofiev, but did not feel Sergei Sergeyevich’s strong personality. Duke would have done better to let his Broadway side take over more, as RRB did. Slenderer compositional voices should be strategic about where they direct energy and attempt to make impacts. Because when all is said and done, April in Paris packs more of a punch than any of the scores emanating from Duke’s classical ambitions.

 

The performances themselves are terrific. They exude about as much zip and skill as I can imagine, and (certainly in terms of sound quality) outclass their scant competition in the catalogue (Cambria CAMCD-1078 and Urlicht UAV5990, as far as I can tell). More importantly, I sense the earnestness of Hanslip and Litton loud and clear. Both scores absolutely need this. In the end, we have another Chandos winner. If you’re going to record and package this music, do it like it’s done here. Whether or not that music is terribly distinguished is another matter.

Berta Rojas – The Journey of Strings

by Bill Heck

Santiago de Murcia: La huella del Códice; El Canario (traditional); Ángel Mislán: Sara; Daniel Saboya: Bambuco Pá Billy; Popi Spatocco and Sebastián Henríquez: Tierra Mía; Elodie Bouny: El Mar, La Montaña, Los Llanos; Félix Pérez Cardozo: Che la Reina; Gustavo Santaolalla: The Last of Us. Berta Rojas, guitar; multiple artists.

In my reviews for Classical Candor, I seem to be on a roll, or rather two rolls: music for guitar and musical “projects.” This release combines both streams: Berta Rojas and colleagues have given us a history of stringed instruments, those in what we might call the guitar family, using a book, an app, multiple videos and, of course, music. Naturally, producing such a work – one that Rojas and her colleagues mean to be a living, breathing history – involved research, but it involved so much more: traveling internationally, especially in Latin America, to find instruments and the musicians who play them and recording the performances that bring their history to life.

Most readers will know that the musical instruments that we hear today evolved over the last few centuries. This is especially true of stringed instruments, and even today we see multiple versions that are strummed or plucked like the guitar, such as the ukulele and mandolin, not to mention guitar variations such as twelve- and even seven-string versions. What is less widely known is that there are many more variations of guitar-like instruments, both historical and present day, primarily associated with Spain and various Latin American countries. Instruments such as vihuela and the charango not only were but, in many cases, still are played. This project identified no fewer than thirteen such instruments in addition to the modern classical guitar!

With that capsule summary in mind, if learning and hearing more sounds appealing – and it should, especially if you have a particular interest in classical guitar – a good place to start is the project website. Scroll down and look at the “full documentary” video, which provides a 33-minute project overview and background. (Most of the interviews are in Spanish or Portuguese, but well-translated English subtitles are there as needed.)

Berta Rojas

The musical heart of the project is a series of 10 selections, each in the four-to-five-minute range. All the pieces are “Latin” in flavor, but that includes a range of styles from several periods, including the present. Each piece features Rojas, usually on a standard guitar, plus one or more stringed instruments that derive from or are related to the guitar. The selections are superbly played, excellently recorded, and eminently listenable. You can experience them in the form of music videos, which can be found on the project website or in a YouTube playlist here. But if you want to hear them in their full glory, you can find them on major streaming service services (although not on Qobuz, an omission that I hope is remedied soon), or purchase and download them from the usual sources, or go for the project boxed set that includes an LP (see below for details on that last option).

But that’s by no means all. Scrolling down further in that YouTube playlist, you’ll find a series of “Behind the Scenes” videos. Each of these provides background discussions about the corresponding musical selection, with topics ranging from history and construction of the instruments to musical analysis and much more. I found these invariably interesting; most are longer than the musical selections themselves.

I’ve mentioned videos a couple of times. Unlike some simple classical music videos that use a static camera or perhaps a few random cutaways, these are quite well produced and visually interesting. Thoughtful editing helps to focus not only on techniques used by the players but also show the joy that the musicians obviously have in playing their instruments and their music.

Finally, to bring multiple threads together we have a single package comprising a book, an app, and an LP. The book is a large format, lavishly illustrated 60+ pages with introductions to each musical work, the instruments used, and the musicians performing the work, all with text in both Spanish and English. (I reviewed a preproduction electronic copy.) The app, which is downloaded from the Apple App Store or Google Play Store, is keyed to the book: in the app, you scan markers in the book to launch 3-D illustrations of the instruments described. You can move the instruments around virtually with your fingers to better see their construction, and you can even strum the strings by swiping. Finally, the LP contains all the musical selections. This package is available for purchase on Amazon and Strings by Mail. (As an aside, I hope that at some point the book may be available with a CD or as a standalone product for those don’t have turntables to play LPs.)

Now that we have all the components, and because Classical Candor reviews musical performances, let’s return to the music itself. As I mentioned earlier, the performances are excellent. Rojas is a well-known and respected guitarist, so virtuosity is hardly a surprise. It (almost) goes without saying that tone and intonation are impeccable. But I was even more impressed with the fluidity of her playing, how even the most difficult passages just seem to flow forward, a combination of technical mastery and an obvious love for what she is doing.

Playing "El Canario" (The Canary)

Then again, Rojas’s capabilities are a given. What may be even more gratifying is that the musicians who accompany her are virtuosos in their own rights. This applies not only to those who play the stringed instruments of note, but to every musician involved, including those playing in what amounts to a chamber orchestra accompaniment for the last three selections of the series. The compositions here, while immediately appealing, are also musically complex and demand a high degree of skill. If by any chance you imagined that finding lesser-known instruments and their players would involve hobbyists plucking out simple melodies or just strumming a few chords on instruments made from found materials, forget it. Everyone and everything here is, as they say, professional grade. That applies to the entire range of music, whether from earlier periods (such as the 15th century piece attributed to guitarist Santiago de Murcia) or our current time (such as the South American Triptych, commissioned by Rojas and composed by Elodie Bouny).

At this point, I’ve run into a dilemma: on one hand, this review is getting on in length; on the other, I feel as though I’ve only scratched the surface. I suppose that’s the occupational hazard of taking on a review of a multi-part project like this one. So I’ll summarize: Rojas’s project offers something for everyone. Those who simply want to listen can enjoy the music via download, streaming, or the LP, and hearing the unique sounds of lesser-known stringed instruments will be a welcome bonus. Those who are more curious about the instruments, the music, and the musicians can watch the videos, particularly the behind-the-scenes ones. And those who are ready to take a deeper dive can do so with the book and app. With all the options and components, you have a project to which you can return repeatedly, finding something new each time.

Belonging on ECM and Blue Note (CD Reviews)

 by Karl Nehring

Keith Jarrett: Belonging. Spiral Dance (4:11); Blossom (12:15); ‘Long as You Know You’re Living Yours (6:14); Belonging (2:15); The Windup (8:27); Solstice (13:13). Keith Jarrett, piano; Jan Garbarek, saxophones; Palle Danielsson, bass; Jon Christensen, drums. ECM 1050

 

Branford Marsalis Quartet: Belonging. Keith Jarrett: Spiral Dance (6:21); Blossom (11:02); ‘Long as You Know You’re Living Yours (8:56); Belonging (7:36); The Windup (12:41); Solstice (14:20). Branford Marsalis, saxophones; Joey Calderazzo, piano; Eric Revis, bass; Justin Faulkner, drums. Blue Note 00602475486596

 

In the world of classical music we think nothing of there being numerous recordings of the same repertoire. Whether we want to listen to a recording of a Beethoven symphony, Schubert song, Mozart string quartet, or Stravinsky ballet score, we have an almost overwhelming number of versions from which to choose. In the heyday of record stores, a shopper looking for a version of, say, Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony could flip through a dozen or so competing versions on LP, then later, on CD. Today, the choices are even wider on streaming services, where entering “Beethoven Symphony No. 5” as a search term will yield an overwhelming number of choices (I just tried it on Amazon Music and got way more than 100). In the jazz world, however, things are different. Although there are certainly many recordings to be found of many jazz tunes – ‘Round Midnight by Thelonious Monk and Take the A Train by Duke Ellington, for example – to have a jazz album be recorded by two different ensembles is a rare occurrence indeed.

The original Belonging album was recorded in Oslo in two days in April, 1974. All the tunes were written by Jarrett. This was the debut of what came to be known as his “European Quartet,” as opposed to his “American Quartet,” which featured Dewey Redman (saxophone), Charlie Haden (double bass), and Paul Motian (drums). Because Jarrett was under contract to ABC/Impulse for that group, he was unable to attach his name to his European ensemble for either recording or touring, so the album cover simply lists the names of the musicians. Of the six tunes, three are ballads (Blossom, Belonging, Solstice), while the other three are more hard driving (Spiral Dance, ‘Long As You Know You’re Living Yours, The Windup). “It was the fastest album I’ve ever done,” Jan Garbarek would later say, referring to Jarrett’s emphasis on first takes in the studio to capture the spirit of the pieces. The music flows spontaneously and organically, drawing the listener in. “The album Belonging ranks with the greatest quartet recordings in jazz,” wrote Keith Jarett biographer Ian Carr, “because everything about it is superlative: the compositions, the free-flowing interplay, the level of inspiration and the brilliantly focused improvising of all four musicians.” It is one of those albums that although by no means “easy listening jazz” (e.g., Kenny G), can appeal to a wide variety of listeners, even those not familiar with the idiom. Not long after Belonging was released, I gave a copy of the LP to a couple who did not listen to much jazz at all. They loved it. 

As a side note, it turned out that there were some people who may have loved the album a bit too much. The tune 'Long as You Know You're Living Yours wound up being the subject of a lawsuit between Jarrett and the rock group Steely Dan. Jarrett alleged that the title track from their 1980 album Gaucho had stolen from the song (I must say that the first time I heard the Steely Dan song, the music immediately struck me as an homage to Keith Jarrett). Co-writer Donald Fagen of Steely Dan, a huge jazz buff, later admitted he'd loved the track from Belonging and was strongly influenced by it. Jarrett sued for copyright infringement and was then added as a co-author of the song.

 

Half a century later, Belonging has been named Downbeat magazine’s 2025 Recording of the Year – but for a recording by the Branford Marsalis Quartet on the venerable Blue Note label rather than Keith Jarrett and his European ensemble on ECM. Marsalis admits that he was into other music when Belonging was released in 1974. “I was a freshman in high school, listening to R&B,” he recalls. “I didn’t know Belonging existed.” That changed once he shifted his focus to jazz, although he was only familiar with Jarrett’s solo piano music until pianist Kenny Kirkland introduced him to the Jarrett’s European Quartet. “We were sitting on a plane sometime in the 80s and Kenny put his headphones on my ears and played [Jarrett’s 1979 album] My Song. When he tried to take the headphones back after five minutes I slapped his hand away; and when we got to the next city, I went out and bought every recording by that band.” 

A similar discovery occurred when Marsalis decided to include the tune The Windup from Belonging on his band’s most recent album, 2019’s The Secret Between the Shadow and the Soul. “We were all listening to The Windup for the last record, and Revis said that we should just record Belonging, the whole album is so great and we could do things with it. We all liked the idea, and then the pandemic came. When the pandemic ended, we all still felt that yeah, we should do this.” The quartet applied Marsalis’s previous approach to classics by Charles Mingus, the Modern Jazz Quartet, John Coltrane, and others – neither slavish devotion to the originals nor extreme deconstructions. “On the composition Belonging, I clearly played things that Jan played on the record,” Marsalis points out. “I didn’t try to reject the idea when it occurred, but at no point did we plan to consciously pay tribute. I’m always listening to the whole record, not just the saxophone solos, and the most impressive thing about Belonging for me is how it all fits together.”

If you go back and look at the headers for the two albums above, you’ll note that I have taken the unusual step of including the timings for each tune. If you compare the two albums, you’ll see that Marsalis’s band stretched out the tunes longer in every instance except for one, the ballad Blossom. The title track, Belonging, is the most notable example of this more expansive approach, coming it at more than three times as long as interpreted by Branford and his crew. In general, the newer album has a more propulsive feel, both in performance and sound. Marsalis’s saxophone sound is warmer and fuller than that of Garbarek, and Faulkner takes a more aggressive approach to his drumkit than did Christensen. It is fascinating to play these two albums back-to-back and compare the two approaches: the more lyrical original versus the more expansive, energetic tribute. Both the Jarrett 1974 ECM original and Marsalis 2025 Blue Note tribute version are recordings that deserve a place in the collection of jazz fans, and both are well worth a listen by those unfamiliar with jazz but willing to give it a try.

 

Live Concert Report: Immanuel Wilkins 

 

On a bitterly cold night in central Ohio, we ventured once again to the Performance Space inside the Wexner Center for the Arts on the campus of The Ohio State University campus to enjoy an evening of music, this time featuring a jazz ensemble led by alto saxophone player Immanuel Wilkins. The rest of his band included a keyboardist who played both piano and organ, a double bass player, a drummer, plus one male and two female vocalists (When he first took the stage, Wilkins introduced his bandmates, but I really couldn’t catch their names, and there was no printed program identifying them, alas). The vocalists often used their voices as instruments, weaving them together and playing off each other rather than just “singing songs.” There were some lyrics from time to time; however, the PA system made it hard to follow just what was being sung. Musically, however, the sound of the vocals blended in with the sound of the instruments in a natural-sounding way. Wilkins rarely stepped front and center but rather blew his lines as a part of the whole rather than being the solo focus. The musical mood was warmly communicative.

A Concert Report from Ethan Iverson:

 

Pianist and composer Ethan Iverson recently attended an exciting concert at Zankel Hall in New York. Below is a brief excerpt from his report on the concert followed by a link to his full Substack post. And once again I would advise music fans to subscribe to Ethan’s Substack, Transitional Technology, which offers a world of insight into music and culture.

 

“Last night American music leveled up! Pianistic virtuosity, groove rhythm, and long-term structural control aligned in a way that had never quite been previously achieved. 

 

A century ago jazz happened, and for a moment it looked like the American classical composers (Gershwin, Copland, Barber) were going to make blues and ragtime part of the sonata and symphony idiom. But that blend was elbowed out first by disjunct high modernism (Babbitt and Carter) and then straight up and down minimalism (Glass and Reich). A lot was left on the table, and in the current free-for-all of postmodernism, bright lights such as Derek Bermel and Tania León have been working on bringing back soulful syncopation to formal composition. 

 

But there are two sides to this fusion: Writing the music is one thing, playing it is another. That’s the unprecedented part: Aaron Diehl and Timo Andres can play the beat for real. The concert concluded with my lips from speaking by Julia Wolfe, a long process piece based on a fragment of Aretha Franklin. It’s an intellectual gambit, an atomizing of a riff, a deconstruction of an emotion: part noise, part space. But as the piece evolves, the beat starts coming out. By midpoint, the audience at Zankel was helplessly grooving to the syncopated rhythm. I have never heard this hall turned into a club before.” 

 You can find Ethan's complete concert report here.

 

Bowen and Walton Viola Concertos (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

York Bowen: Concerto for Viola and Orchestra, Op. 25; William Walton: Concerto for Viola and Orchestra in A Minor. Diyang Mei, violist; Brett Dean, conductor; Deutsche Radio Philharmonie. SWR Music SWR19158CD

 

As far as I can tell, this is the first time that the York Bowen and William Walton Viola Concertos have appeared together on the same recording. Given how small the viola concerto repertoire is, this may be somewhat surprising at first glance. But most who are familiar with both works would probably say that it’s a decidedly uneven pairing. It’s not so surprising that the Bowen has been committed to disc only about four times previously. Despite making a good impression in its early days, it is just not in the same league as the Walton Concerto. Bowen is one of those composers I want to love, one who wrote loads of meat-and-potatoes instrumental repertoire that I was once eager to jump into. But while he had remarkable craft and facility, he didn’t possess much of a vision. His music is nice in the moment and difficult to recall afterward.

In some ways this pairing is unfortunate for its musicians. Had they offered up the Cecil Forsyth Viola Concerto (for example) with the Bowen instead of the Walton, as Lawrence Power did with Martyn Brabbins and the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra (Hyperion CDA67546), they might have produced a consistently fine effort. Instead, what we have is Diyang Mei and company playing with skill and polish in the Bowen and struggling with the higher expressive stakes of the Walton. In the former, these musicians deliver each pleasant but inconsequential theme with sparkle and convey a strong sense of the whole…such as it is.

Walton toiled over his creations with little of the ease Bowen exercised. If we’re honest, that toil produced a smallish and uneven output. But when his inspiration was hot, the results could be distinguished beyond anything of which Bowen was capable. Sometimes Walton’s inconsistency persisted in these distinguished efforts, as in a First Symphony that joins a world-beating torso with a decidedly weaker conclusion. In the Viola Concerto we have high inspiration with matching realization, a balance he never quite equaled again. Its musical depths test performers in ways that Bowen’s concerto does not. One is a masterpiece, the other isn’t.

I find Diyang Mei and company at times unequal to these depths. The Walton is essentially an introspective work with flashes of drama. More than this, it’s an integrated whole with subtle momentum that should not be allowed to flag. Mei and company often bounce along too insouciantly, especially in the middle and final movements. The latter just gets too bogged down at times, with atomized phrases and visible seams. I also find that the orchestra occasionally smudges lines and timbres. Thematic statements occasionally need to come off more sharply. In the first movement the intense, rhythmic entries of the brass and percussion behind the virtuosity of the soloist are under-delivered, obscuring the character of this important material. Mei’s playing is generally good, and there are plenty of fine moments across his performance. But the interpretation needs an overall firmer grip of the work’s spirit. 

In sum, we have something less than a qualified success and something more than a qualified failure. I’d guess that for most listeners the prospect of a so-so Walton rendition pairing is not a compelling reason to consider this very good Bowen. Things would be different if we were instead given a solid account of either the Rubbra or Arnold Viola Concertos (for example) to accompany Sir William’s own. But we weren’t, and so I’ll simply recommend this to Bowen fans (however many there are to be found) and collectors of Walton Viola Concerto performances. Everyone else’s precious time and money are better directed elsewhere.

For Arvo (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Pärt: Für Alina (Version 1); Variations for the Healing of Arinushka; Fratres (Transc. Osokins for Piano); Vier leichte Tanzstücke “Musik für Kindertheater” – No. 1, Der gestiefelte Kater; No. 2, Rotkäppchen; No. 3, Schmetterlinge; No. 4, Tanz der Entenküken; Pari intervallo (Transc. Osokins for Piano); Sonatinas for Piano, Op. 1 No. 1: Für Anna Maria; Sonatinas for Piano, Op. 1 No. 2: Partita, Op. 2; Hymn to a Great City; Lamentate: Fragile e conciliante (Transc. Osokins for Piano); Für Alina (Version 2). Georgjis Osokins, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 00028948676729

The Estonian composer Arvo Pärt celebrated his 90^th birthday on September 11^th of 2025. By now, most classical music lovers should be familiar with his music, as his compositions have been recorded by myriad performers on a variety of labels. For those of us of a certain age, though, Pärt was once a newcomer who suddenly appeared on the scene with music unlike anything we had ever heard before. I can still vividly recall the first time I heard his music. While I was in graduate school, I had a weekend job as a security guard for a manufacturer of computer support equipment. One of my late-night duties was to drive from my post at the main plant to check on the training center, which was a couple of miles or so away. On one of those late night drives, I found that the classical FM radio station was playing something completely engrossing, music such as I had never experienced before. I was spellbound! I parked in the training center parking lot and listened to the end of the piece, eager to find out what this music could possibly be. It turned out to be the landmark ECM release Tabula Rasa, featuring the music of Arvo Pärt as played by the then-young violinist Gidon Kremer and of all pianists, the jazz icon Keith Jarrett. Since then, I have been an avid Pärt fan (as well as a fan of Kremer and Jarrett) and have auditioned and owned many of his numerous compositions over the past several decades.

About a decade after my discovery of Pärt’s music, Georgijs Osokins was born into a family of pianists in the Latvian capital of Riga in 1995. Then in 2025, Osokins released released his debut album on DG, For Arvo. “This album is a declaration of my deep love for Arvo and his music,” writes Osokins in the liner notes. “It encompasses both completely unknown pieces, and some of the most-performed works of the last forty years. It Includes both original works and the art-form of piano transcriptions. I wanted to capture the very moment of the composer’s revelation – from complex contemporary avant-garde through to pure, luminous and enigmatic beauty and simplicity.” And that aptly describes what this release comprises; fortunately, the luminous and beautiful tracks outnumber the avant-garde. The opening tracks -- Für Alina Variations for the Healing of Arinushka, Fratres, Ukuaru Waltz; Vier leichte Tanzstücke (“Four Easy Dance Pieces”), and Pari intervallo – are all relatively straightforward, easy on the ears, and the kind of music that most fans of Pärt have grown to appreciate. 

Especially noteworthy is Osokins’s transcription for piano of Fratres, which offer a fresh insight into this much-loved composition. The two Sonatinas and the Partita are the works in the program that lean more toward the avant-garde; however, although they are certainly not as easy on the ear as the other selections, neither are they the kind of dissonant, pounding piano works that the term “avant-garde” might scare one into fearing – in fact, they’re quite listenable. Sandwiched between the two Sonatinas is Für Anna Maria, brief but touching, and then after Partita come the tender Lamentate, and the simple but expressive Hymn to a Great City (on which Osokins performs on two pianos). The CD closes with a second version of Für Alina, this one recorded more distantly, producing a haunting effect. Interestingly, time seems to be almost suspended, dreamlike, but the timing is the same as for the opening track. (By the way, the streaming version of this album includes three more compositions, two pleasant, but one, titled Diagrams, that is on the prickly side – nice that it was left off the CD). This is a fascinating release, well worth seeking out. 

Christopher Gunning: Symphonies No. 8 & 9 (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

BBC National Symphony Orchestra of Wales; Kenneth Woods, conductor. Signum Classics SIGCD 949

The late English composer Christoper Gunning (1944-2023) is probably best known in the United States for having composed the theme music for the long-running ITV television series Agatha Christie’s Poirot, which featured Sir David Suchet so remarkably bringing to life the self-described “world’s greatest detective.” The charming series is still being shown across the USA by many PBS stations, with Gunning’s haunting alto saxophone melody memorably opening each episode. But there is much more to Gunning’s story than the theme music for Christie’s fastidious but brilliant Belgian detective with the mannered moustache. “Composing always seemed to be second nature to me,” he recalls in the liner notes, “I used to invent pieces at the piano long before I could read music. In y teen years I spent hours and hours listening to everything from Miles Davis to Charlie Parker to the pop music of the day and Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Bartók, Stravinsky, and Schoenberg.”  He then went on Guildhall School of Music, where he studied under the composers Edmund Rubbra and Richard Rodney Bennett. In his mid-twenties, Gunning’s musical career saw him composing musical scores for documentary films and working as an arranger and orchestrator for popular musical figures such as Dudley Moore, Shirley Bassey, and Mel Tormé. He also wrote music for a number of television commercials that became widely popular in the UK. From there, he transitioned into what he would often refer to as his “middle period,” composing music for television and movies. 

Then, at the age of 57, Gunning (left) composed his first symphony and returned to what he described as his first love – “serious classical music.” He went on to produce a total of 13 symphonies, plus some chamber music and concertos. Back in 2020, John Puccio reviewed a recording conducted by Kenneth Woods of Gunning’s Symphonies Nos. 2, 10, and 12 (you can read that review here), and then in 2023, I reviewed the Mahlerfest XXXV recording, also led by Maestro Woods, which included a live performance of Gunning’s Symphony No. 10 (you can find that review here). About his approach to composing his symphonies, Gunning has said, “what I’ve been keen to do in my symphonies is to compose music that is relatively easy to follow, so it does have themes and it does have motifs. Although on the face of it these are personal symphonies, they’re more than that. Other people are going to listen to them and they’re going to find personal things too and that, of course, is one of the wonderful things about music – which is that you can’t help but communicate with other people. As a composer I view that as my job.”

Kenneth Woods

Prior to auditioning this recording, my experience with Gunning’s music had been limited to countless viewings of Poirot and hearing his music for that series (there is, by the way, a documentary on the making of the series during which Gunning was interviewed about how he came up with that memorable theme) and then his Symphony No. 10 from the Mahlerfest XXXV release. The Poirot music is tuneful and thematic, while Symphony No. 10, which is in one movement, has a more serious, dramatic, almost urgent air about it. It is listenable, but well, serious-sounding. So I was not sure what to expect from this new release. Even before playing the disc, I noted that both symphonies comprised multiple movements, three for No. 8, four for No. 9. Both symphonies have a similar overall feeling about them; they both seem rooted in the English symphonic tradition. There is a pastoral air about them, but not in a vague, meandering way. The music is colorful, but not extravagant. Rather than big, sweeping melodies, there are smaller themes and motifs. Symphony No. 8 is the more intimate of the two, with an especially touching middle movement. The orchestration for Symphony No. 9 includes some scoring for percussion that was absent from No. 8 – nothing overly dramatic, just enough to add some more bite in places. Still, the overall mood is similar, making this a program that can be listened to in one extended sitting in one sustained pleasant frame of mind.

The recorded sound by noted engineer Mike Hatch is first-rate, and the CD booklet in not only attractive but also contains some useful information. All in all, this is a delightful release that I recommend highly to those looking to expand their musical horizons.

 

Butterworth & Holst Orchestral Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

George Butterworth: A Shropshire Lad; The Banks of the Green Willow; Two English Idylls. Holst: Egdon Heath, Op. 47; Two Songs without Words, Op. 22; A Fugal Concerto, Op. 40, No. 2; St. Paul’s Suite Op. 29, No. 2. Andrew Manze, conductor; Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra. Onyx 4258 

George Butterworth (1885-1916) is one of music history’s great “What Ifs.” Before he was struck down during World War I’s Battle of the Somme at the age of 31, he had already produced a body of work showing rich personality and promise. For perspective, had Beethoven died at 31, we would have his First Period of compositions and no more. Had Rameau and Janáček perished at the same juncture, we would now see them as minor figures. Almost the same is true of Butterworth’s friend Ralph Vaughan Williams. Granted, luminaries like Mozart and Schubert established their mature greatness by this point, but they are outliers. Based on what Butterworth managed to produce, there is every reason to suspect continued quality and growth had he reached his elder years.

Then again, Butterworth’s small number of surviving works carry a cultural weight that might justifiably be the envy of many composers with lengthy careers behind them. For instance, in his excellent book English Diatonic Music 1887-1955 (OUP, 2025), which I just reviewed for Music & Letters, Matthew Riley shows how influential Butterworth’s Shropshire Lad songs were for a whole generation of English song composers. (He discusses how the “Cherry Tree” motive from Loveliest of Trees became particularly iconic for portraying the melancholy of impermanence.) That same powerful voice is present in the Butterworth orchestral compositions featured on this recording. Each of them receives excellent performances at the hands of the RLPO and Andrew Manze. If I had to differentiate them from other options in the catalogue, I might emphasize their clarity and sharp contrasts. Compare these to the rather more dreamy soundscapes of William Boughton and the English String Orchestra (Nimbus 5068), for example. I think I may slightly prefer the latter. But anyone should feel well served by both.

The Holst interpretations that follow are if anything even more superb. The Two Songs and the Fugal Concerto exude precision and polish, and I have little more to say about them here. It is the present Egdon Heath and St. Paul’s Suite that made me really sit up and take notice. Previously, my go-to recording for the former was David Lloyd-Jones and the Royal Scottish National Orchestra (Naxos 8.553696). And it’s still a great one. But Manze’s more deliberate tempo and his delicate treatment of sounds and textures just bring out this work’s special moods all the more. It’s a satisfyingly atmospheric, often creepy experience. Then there’s a wonderful St. Paul’s Suite. For my money, this is the best thing Holst composed after The Planets. He didn’t always demonstrate a strong musical personality, but the pieces in this set sure do. Manze wisely doesn’t tinker them to death, and instead lets their vivid tunes, rhythms, and colors sparkle appreciatingly. English music at its finest.

If I have a quibble here, it concerns the packaging. The CD cover art and production are beautiful. The liner notes by Lewis Foreman are terrific, as usual. But I shouldn’t have to rip through the plastic wrapping, open the CD case, pull the booklet out, and look inside of it, all just to see a track listing. This should be shown through the back of the case, like you find with most other companies’ recordings. Here instead we merely have the names of the performers and the works performed given there. I have no idea why this is so, and I’d rather not speculate. But Onyx would be well advised to show their customers goodwill by reverting to the norm. That aside, this release is a winner. Fans of British music will certainly want it, and I happily prescribe it to anyone else as well.

Samuel Coleridge-Taylor: Orchestral Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Coleridge-Taylor: Ethiopia Saluting the Colours, Op. 51; Solemn Prelude, Op. 40; Zara’s Earrings, Op. 7; Idyll, Op. 44; Ballade for Violin and Orchestra in D Minor, Op. 4; Nero, Op. 61: Entr’acte; Romance in B for String Orchestra. Rebecca Murphy, soprano; Ioana Petcu-Colan, violin; Charles Peebles, conductor; Ulster Orchestra. SOMM Recordings SOMMCD 0713.

The last time I reviewed a SOMM disc here (British Piano Quintets, SOMMCD 0707) I waxed philosophical about listening to neglected repertoire. Much of the pleasant music on that particular recording, I wrote, probably stands little chance of escaping its obscurity. Well, here is another SOMM disc featuring obscure stuff. In fact, four out of seven pieces offered on it receive their premiere recordings. The difference is that this venture is devoted to a single excellent composer: Samuel Coleridge-Taylor (1875-1912). And it consistently shows him capitalizing on his considerable gifts.

Some composers, such as Mozart, were great at pretty much everything they tried. Plenty of others were uniformly mediocre. Still others were at least competent at everything, while shining brightest in certain genres. I’d say Coleridge-Taylor was in the latter category. He was very good at composing in the larger, classically inherited forms – certainly equal to a Wieniawski or a Reinecke. But he was even better at shorter pieces – both standalone items and those appearing under larger titles. To listen to a work like the Ballade for Violin and Orchestra, Op. 4 (included here) is to be decently impressed with his craft. But to listen to the numbers in Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast (not included here) is to witness a little something extra at play, and to be hopeful that revived interest in him eventually leads to his best music reclaiming the respected place it once had.

 

A glance at the tracks of this recording shows that, with the exception of the Ballade, each selection clocks in at under 10 minutes. No fewer than four fall within the narrow 9:30 to 9:50 window. Orchestrally speaking, this seems to have been something of a sweet spot for Coleridge-Taylor. In this span he could weave and contrast his often highly memorable melodies. The march Ethiopia Saluting the Colours was inspired by the eponymous poem by Walt Whitman, which concerns a former slave saluting the American flag during William Tecumseh Sherman’s “March to the Sea.” But what I hear despite this information is an Edwardian processional equal to the Pomp and Circumstance collection in its flair and tunefulness. The Solemn Prelude, Idyll, and Romance in B are all sumptuously lyrical. This last piece, a bit shorter at 6:31, recasts for strings a movement from the composer’s Clarinet Quintet. It works perfectly. Rounding out the 9-minute-and-change group is the first Entr’acte from incidental music to Stephen Phillips’s play Nero. This is peak Coleridge-Taylor: vivid, evocative music in service of a story. I hope concert programmers are paying attention. Fare like this provides ample opportunity to vary and revitalize the live listening experience.

 

That leaves the “Moorish Ballad for Soprano Voice and Orchestra” titled Zara’s Earrings. Set to verses by John Gibson Lockhart, which are at turns amusing and poignant, this is the sole vocal selection of the album. Despite being an early work, it already shows Coleridge-Taylor’s predilection for text-setting. (The liner notes by Jeremy Dibble, a stellar musicologist, tell us that this was also the composer’s first experience writing for orchestra.) The music fits the poem wonderfully, and soprano Rebecca Murphy hits all the right expressive targets in this first recorded performance. I am certain that recalling the repeated exclamation “My earrings!” will bring a smile to my face for years to come.

 

It will be apparent by now that I consider this a terrific release in the growing Coleridge-Taylor discography. We knew from previous entries that he is a composer whose oeuvre well repays investment. Now we have an even greater recorded body of repertoire that shows him at his best. The whole business exemplifies why we should be listening widely and giving lesser-known repertoire a chance. If we can’t do that, I see little but a moribund future for classical music.