Beethoven: String Quartets, Op. 59 Nos. 1 & 2 (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Chiaroscuro Quartet. BIS-2688

I’ve always been ambivalent about period instrument performances. At times they strike me as highly effective, as in John Eliot Gardiner’s Bach choral-orchestral works with the Monteverdi Choir and English Baroque Soloists. But probably more than half the time I remain unconvinced. “It’s a different sound,” defenders tell me, “more close to the original. More authentic. You just have to get used to it.” Maybe this is true in my case. But if so, I wonder when my full conversion will finally come. Because I’ve been listening to such performances, and their supporting arguments, for nearly 30 years now, and too many of them still strike me as noble attempts at best, or gimmickry at worst.  

 

I wouldn’t call the Chiaroscuro Quartet’s interpretations of the first two Razumovsky Quartets “gimmickry.” The group is far too tasteful and conscientious for that label. But I wouldn’t place them on the John Eliot Gardiner Bach level either. Mostly what we have here are terrific musicians who are hampered by their choice of inferior equipment for this specific repertoire. They bill themselves as an ensemble that plays on “gut strings and with historical bows.” But too often in this release I hear what could be solid performances bogged down by strings that sound shrill in robust passages, with a lack of resonance that leads to clipped or hurried execution in exposed phrases. I’m sorry, but I don’t value any supposedly “authentic” sound (I see you, Kerman, Taruskin, and others) enough to tolerate such trade-offs in two of my favorite string quartets. 

 

Let’s take these two renditions in turn. The first opens with a well-judged movement, hampered only by under-volumed solo passages (including the opening cello line) and a brittle sound in places. But the following scherzo is the recording’s low point. It’s not only the sound here that’s a problem, but also a few unfortunate interpretation choices. Some passages seem rushed, and when we should better hear the interplay of the main motive, we instead have too many microgestures and under-realized phrases. A sense of the epic that pervades Beethoven’s middle period definitely should be heard here; instead, the impression is one of stickiness. With the slow movement, we run into sound issues again. The playing itself is wonderful, but the timbre is tinny and strained when it should lend better to a smooth intimacy. It almost reminds me of the uncomfortable buzz that results when a manual transmission driver tries to go too fast in a lower gear. 

 

If the Chiaroscuros slip interpretively in a couple of Op. 59/1’s movements, they’re noticeably more consistent in its successor. But to be honest, this just makes me want to hear them use modern instruments all the more. Again we have a finely conceived first movement spoiled somewhat by the gut string timbres. The buzziness creeps in, especially with all of the accompaniment figures of second and third interval oscillations. The many long-held notes in the second movement come across much the same. Contrapuntal audibility again is not what it could be in the third movement, but the finale at least is nicely done, with its fleet tempo and character concealing some of these issues.  

 

For the sake of argument, let’s say these instruments really are close to what Beethoven heard: that doesn’t mean they’re preferable now. Maybe they weren’t even then. On multiple occasions he mourned the mismatch between his conceptions and the available tools. There is no doubt in my mind that he would have preferred modern strings here. Even if he wouldn’t have, I might still disagree with him. And this is where the period instrument arguments fall apart for me. Just because these might have been the tools Beethoven had doesn’t mean they’re the tools he wished for…or should have wished for. This is what I kept thinking about as I listened. We have competent, and at times even poignant accounts here. They’re just not entirely satisfying. A niche premise can’t ultimately stand in for the experience of the music. Modern equipment is simply more capable, and when the music in question demands more (in terms of heft, tone color, resonance, and versatility of sound – things Bach’s music doesn’t demand to the same extent), I naturally regret its absence. 

Eric Whitacre: The Pacific Has No Memory (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Anne Akiko Meyers, violin; Orpheus Chamber Orchestra. AVIE AV2853

The American composer and conductor Eric Whitacre (b. 1970) is most widely known for his choral works, many of which we have reviewed here at Classical Candor, starting back in 2010, when John Puccio gave a listen to Whitacre’s first recording for the Decca label, Light & Gold (you can find that review here). A couple of years later, John reviewed another Decca release by Whitacre, Water Night (that review can be found here). Several years later, we reviewed a deeply personal and moving release titled The Sacred Veil, this time on the Signum label (that review can be found here). In 2023, Whitacre released another version of his composition the Sacred Veil, on a Decca release titled Home that featured Whitacre conducting the British vocal ensemble Voces8 (that review is here). Those recordings all featured choral compositions; however, this new AVIE recording is purely instrumental, an elegy for violin and chamber orchestra that Whitacre composed in response to a commission from violinist Anne Akiko Meyers (b. 1970), who lost her home, “a place alive with laughter, music, and the joyful chaos of my husband, our two young daughters and crazy rescue dog – never to return,”  to the tragic California Palisades wildfires of January 2025.

Meyers goes on to recount, “yet from the ash and destruction, something profoundly beautiful emerged – much like the glowing fairy at the end of Fantasia, rising from Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite. I commissioned Eric Whitacre to write a new work for violin and orchestra, and as the world changed, so did his composition. Little did I know that The Pacific Has No Memory would be born from these epic tragedies. This music has become a salve for the soul – a warm, healing embrace for my broken heart. Tender and profound, it radiates love, hope, and renewal.” In a strange twist of fate, Whitacre, who had himself lived in Los Angeles before moving to Antwerp with his family in 2024, flew back to Los Angeles on January 8, 2025, only to find, as he relates in the liner notes, “the sky over the Palisades was already smudged black, homes and histories evaporating into the quiet air… The Pacific Has No Memory takes its title from a line in one of my favorite films, The Shawshank Redemption. In it, Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins) dreams of a life near the ocean his past is a memory of a memory, distant and liquid – a place where the blue of the Pacific will give him a chance to start new, reborn. I hope the same for all who lost so much in those terrible fires.” What Whitacre went on to compose is a moving elegy for violin and chamber orchestra, lovingly performed here by violinist Meyers and the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, who per custom and design perform sans conductor. Although the overall tone is one of sadness, it is not one of anguish. There is a feeling of calm, of peace, of resolve. Brief though it may be, this is a compellingly beautiful composition available both as a CD or via streaming. Either way, it’s well worth seeking out. 

Mahler: Symphony No. 7 in E Minor (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich; Paavo Järvi, conductor. Alpha Classics 1207

I was afraid of this: having to write another unfavorable review of a Mahler 7 recording so soon after my last one. I held out hope that Paavo Järvi and the Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich (okay, mostly Järvi) would pleasantly surprise me. For a little while in the first movement they did. But it soon became clear that this would mostly be another of the conductor’s herky-jerky hayrides. And here again I have the sensation of living in the Twilight Zone, with so many other critics celebrating its “freshness” and “personality.” I don’t set out to be negative, you know. But so be it. I’ll lay out my issues, and the reader can decide whether I’m wrong to be feeling gaslit yet again. 

 

As any long-suffering sports fan knows, the keenest disappointments tend to follow raised expectations. The opening movement fostered such hopes: “maybe he’ll deliver after all,” I thought. It’s solid, if a little lacking in atmosphere. The best part (here and anywhere) is the sehr breit five measures following Rehearsal 39. This is convincingly lovely. Järvi also respects (barely) the multiple Nicht eilen! indications, showing a discipline I wish he would have held onto for the rest of the symphony. This first movement plus the finale constrain him in a very particular way: they feature ample changes of mood and direction. At root Järvi is an atomist. The more a piece of music lets him be so, the better his interpretations sound. 

 

Which explains why the next movement is where things start to go off the rails. These Nachtmusik passages really need a consistently delicate touch. Järvi is simply not the man for that. The horn and other solo calls are not only too loud but unduly protuberant. The feeling is one of overworked elements, with stilted dynamics and articulation. His pace is also too fast, and more importantly too uptight. Järvi doesn’t have much respect for the “molto moderato” tag at the beginning, and he blows right past the nicht eilen at Rehearsal 79. Also, you can forget about any sense of sehr gemächlich. The worst comes at Rehearsals 84-85. The horn calls are supposed to be enchanting; instead they sound like foghorns. If you’re looking for nocturnal wonder, you’ll instead be held hostage by a man with excessive nervous energy. 

 

This third movement is almost as bad for the same reasons. Its quick motives should sound a little sharp, perhaps. But Järvi never met an accent or crescendo he couldn’t overdo, or a warning against excessive tempi that he couldn’t ignore. I mean, come on… Mahler even UNDERLINES aber nicht schnell at the start! The trio section is better. But then the main theme races back too breathlessly. I’m not sure that the “shadowy” indication calls for such a spasmodic approach. Excessive aggression robs this music of its spectral quality. 

 

The Serenade might be the low point. If there is any amoroso to this andante amoroso, I can’t feel it. If someone played the signature ostinato outside my nighttime window in this choppy and wooden manner, I’d close the shutters and turn to the ballgame on my TV. As for the rest, I think I used up all of my adjectives for “brusque” and “rushed” in the previous sections. By sheer contrast, the merely competent finale feels like the best relief in the world. 

 

I want to root for Järvi. I love his charisma and energy. But I just can’t get on board with his conducting style when it comes to Romantic repertoire. (And let’s drop the modernist nonsense: this is Romantic repertoire.) His direction is too burdened with erratic microgestures, and a distracting tendency to engage in sequences of pent-up energy followed by precipitous release. It’s like sprechstimme in conducting form – the musical equivalent of talking like that creepy dwarf in Twin Peaks. Is this what we’re reduced to now – waiting cheerfully for the next installment of a Mahler cycle we all know is mannered? Maybe I’m near-sighted, but all I see is a naked emperor.

Jóhann Jóhannsson: Piano Works (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring 

Jóhannsson: Bad; Odo et Amo/Krókódíll; Englabörn; Jöi & Karen; Flugeldar II; Já, Hemmi Minn; Ruslpóstur; The Sun’s Gone Dim and the Sky’s Turned Black; Melodia (III); Theme from “Varmints”; Dressing Up; Linda & Walter; Indian Wedding; He Says It’s the Future; Eleven Thousand Six Hundred and Sixty-nine Died of Natural Causes; Flight from the City; Innocence; Will’s Story I; Time to Say Goodbye; Payphone; A Game of Croquet; A Model of the Universe; The Theory of Everything; Beauty; A Sparrow Alighted Upon Our Shoulder; By the Roes, and by the Hinds of the Field; Good Morning, Midnight; The Drowned World; The Radiant City; Be Over. Alice Sara Ott, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 486 7513

The late Icelandic composer Jóhann Jóhannsson (1969-2018) was perhaps best known for his film scores, such as those for the movies Sicario and Arrival. His compositions often combined elements of classical, electronic, and ambient music to create soundscapes that are contemplative and inward-focused – serious, but somehow neither morose nor depressing. We have reviewed several previous releases that have included his compositions, including his Drone Mass (Deutsche Grammophon 483 7418) in 2022 (that review can be found here) and A Prayer to the Dynamo (Deutsche Grammophon 486 4870 (that review can be found here). Although Jóhannsson’s soundtracks and other compositions often featured imaginative scoring to produce their intended effects, what we have here with this new release from the German pianist Alice Sara Ott (b. 1988) is a whole new way of experiencing Jóhannsson’s music. “What’s so incredible about Jóhann Jóhannsson’s music,” she writes, is how his compositions, originally written for larger ensembles and different instruments translate so beautifully to the piano. Within this more focused and intimate sound world, the music reveals hidden nuances and enhances clarity that are so intrinsic to his music.”

When a single CD contains 30 tracks, the average length of those tracks cannot be very long, and most of the tracks here come in at under two minutes. They are brief vignettes, sound sketches that capture the essence of a mood, feeling, hope, fear, or other mental state. Jóhannsson was primarily a composer of music for film; Ott has taken brief themes from some of his scores and transcribed them for piano, capturing their essence and revealing their direct emotional and aesthetic appeal. There is a sense of innocent yearning that runs throughout this music, a yearning for something lost – something that cannot quite ever be fully restored, but which nonetheless offers a glimmer of how things could be. 

 

The music connects directly not to outward emotion, but to the roots of emotion, aided by the directness of the sound of the piano on which Ott chose to record her transcriptions of Jóhannsson’s music. “We decided to record most of the pieces on an old upright piano that Bergur [Bergur Þórisson, producer/engineer] has in his studio,” Ott explains in the CD booklet. “I was absolutely in love with it. It was one of the most beautiful upright pianos I’ve ever played on. The felted sound creates this sense of nostalgia, like memories of something that’s gone. The microphones were very close to the piano, so the sound feels incredibly present and intimate, almost as if you’re looking directly into his inner world.” 

 

Not only the sound, but also the music feels present and immediate, as though offering a look not only into Jóhannsson’s inner world, but into the inner world of the listener. Enthusiastically recommended.

Holst: The Planets; Bax: Tintagel (Streaming Review)

by Ryan Ross

Antonio Pappano, conductor; London Symphony Orchestra. LSO Live 0904

The London Symphony Orchestra's commitment to British repertoire continues apace, with these two 2024 live Barbican performances led by chief conductor Antonio Pappano. They pair an established favorite (Holst's The Planets) with a work that deserves equal love (Bax's Tintagel). My provisional opinion of Pappano is that he is a fine if somewhat inconsistent conductor, so I was curious how he'd handle this duo. I’d say he comes just under my benchmark. Here's a good and not a great Planets, followed by a mediocre rather than good Tintagel.

 

The best things about this Planets are superb recorded sound and what it does for Pappano’s handling of the numinous passages. Delicate timbres in Mercury, Saturn, and Neptune, for instance, sparkle with radiant mystery. Here is an object lesson in what’s possible when technology, orchestral skill, and conductor sensitivity work together effectively. If there were nothing more to The Planets, this would rate among its top recordings. Unfortunately for Pappano, there is. The extravert sides of this masterpiece are both more iconic and exactly where he comes up short. The marches in Jupiter and Uranus feel sluggish, with the Thaxted tune missing that last bit of earnestness. Mars is bright enough, but its aggression is blunted by a slowish main pace and positively languid middle portions. Especially regrettable is a dimmed lyrical brass when the outer sections turn to major-mode affirmation. This should sound much more battle-lusty. “Mars the Bringer of Peace Talks” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

 

Before I go any further, I’ll confess to being a committed Baxian. This composer definitely got the short end of the historiographical stick. The same modernist snobbery that bit Vaughan Williams’s reception hard following his death doomed the once-prominent Arnold Bax to a marginality from which he’s never re-emerged. To the extent his name has been kept alive it’s thanks significantly to Tintagel, of which there are now well more than a dozen recordings. There should be even more. With perhaps 2-3 of Bax’s other tone poems, it’s some of the most compelling music to come out of Britain. If a revival of his oeuvre is still possible, it will build on these treasures.

 

Which is why I’m sad to report that Pappano’s Tintagel is a squandered opportunity. If you expect him to apply his best, RVW 4-style vigor you’ll be disappointed. This is a lethargic Tintagel that captures the seascape portion of Bax’s program remarks, but perhaps only on a cloudy day. It misses what he says of Arthur and Tristan, of knights and legends. Pappano and the LSO sink beneath the music’s luxurious harmonies like a leaky barge off the Cornish coast. They don’t seem comfortable with the composer’s thick textures. Compare this with David Lloyd-Jones’s definitive interpretation from over two decades ago (Naxos 8.557145), where there is a much stronger grasp of the idiom. Lloyd-Jones knew how to navigate those big blocks of sound, and to keep his orchestra from getting bogged down. His approach is bold and virile, while Pappano succumbs to flabbiness. In a world hungry for fantasy, Tintagel has the potential to capture audience imagination. Pappano’s LSO may sparkle in Holst’s cosmic mysteries, but when it comes to Bax’s immersive world of myth, the magic simply doesn’t take hold.

 

The nice thing about our streaming age is that I can resist recommendations on the basis of whole albums. About 4-5 tracks of this recording are well worth buying and putting into playlists. I wouldn’t mind if I never heard the others again. As someone who still loves the hard product, with its booklets and cover art, I’ll at least take the win of having piecemeal options here.

Mahler: Symphony No. 7 (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross 

Mahler: Symphony No. 7 in E Minor. National Symphony Orchestra; Gianandrea Noseda, conductor. National Symphony Orchestra NSO0022

The conventional wisdom is that Mahler 7 is an enigmatic work. But as I have said elsewhere, it is not terribly enigmatic if you do a little homework and apply some imagination. In his program notes to the present release, Thomas May provides a bit of the former, pointing out Alma Mahler’s and Henry-Louis de la Grange’s testimony that the first four movements show the composer preoccupied with positive tropes from favorite German literature: “visions of Eichendorff’s poetry, rippling fountains, German Romanticism.” So far so good. But then May seems as hung up by the “affirmative” finale as La Grange and Theodor W. Adorno were before him. Why does this boisterous span abruptly end the symphony? Well, maybe it’s not really affirmative. If we remember that Mahler had been conducting Tristan und Isolde with great success in the years surrounding this symphony’s composition and recall what goes on in the second act of Wagner’s opera, it’s not far-fetched to see the diurnal finale as tragic in its own way. The enchanting realm of night vanishes. A forbidden tryst comes to an end. Magic gives way to bustling mundanity. 

 

Gianandrea Noseda has the bustling mundanity part of the Seventh down pat. Maybe too pat. Little in this performance suggests familiarity with Eichendorff, Novalis, or their world. Here’s the issue in a nutshell: the fast parts are too frenetically empty, and the slow parts aren’t atmospheric enough. The bolder, march-like sections in the first movement need a more bracing sound, with articulation that is sculpted instead of clangy. There is a deficit of conception here and in the Schattenhaft (“shadowy”) third movement. I was not reminded of shadows so much as a drying machine cycle. Similar misgivings manifested throughout. 

 

More disappointing still are the two Nachtmusik (“night music”) movements. Noseda almost entirely misses the importance of several elements in them. The ethereal horn calls of the first often appear with the cowbell. Mahler had a special affinity for the cowbell, associating its sounds with the last things heard as one leaves civilization to venture beyond. The timbres need a certain sensitivity here. Instead, they’re slightly plunky. Ditto the distant trumpet calls at Rehearsal 95. Think of the posthorn in Eichendorff’s Sehnsucht, or the background hunting horns in Act II of Tristan. True, the closing measures of the movement come closer to this ideal, but many other opportunities were missed. The second Nachtmusik simply needs more warmth and elegance. Clocking in at 12:08, it just zooms by, making the gentle ostinato figures seem more like a sewing machine than the evocation of evening fountains and breezes. Again, the articulations are too choppy and somewhat dry. 

 

The finale comes off better for two reasons. First, if the orchestral players are skilled (which they certainly are here), it is the hardest part to mess up interpretively. Second and relatedly, it blunts the negative impact of Noseda’s slightly spasmodic approach to quicker passages. In other words, things are supposed to sound a bit bombastic; this covers for him to a large extent. That all said, the articulation here still feels a bit less than polished; even a hectic farewell needs more differentiation than Noseda can give it. The best way to illustrate this is by calling attention to a secondary melody’s later entry at Rehearsal 269. This is a kind of rapid march parody that Noseda and his group nail. But too often the rest of the symphony (never mind the movement) sounds too much like this particular juncture! We need greater range than he can supply. If the finale’s daylight is tragic precisely because it dissolves the nocturnal world, then a conductor must make that nocturnal world palpable. Noseda doesn’t.

 

The Mahler symphonies have become a runaway bandwagon. Listening to one lackluster recording after another, I keep thinking how a command of the little things in this music adds up to big things, and how few conductors actually wield this command. If the Seventh is not as enigmatic as many let on, it nonetheless requires a robust toolkit to bring off convincingly in all its facets. I don’t need a third hand to count the recordings that truly accomplish this. Two of these remain towering benchmarks: Abbado with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (DG 445 513-2), and Leonard Bernstein with the New York Philharmonic (DG 419-211-2). Several more are fine indeed, but the group remains rarefied. Certainly Noseda and the NSO haven’t entered it.

Recent Releases No. 81 (CD/Streaming Reviews)

 by Karl Nehring

Pat Metheny: Side-eye III+. Metheny: In on It; Don’t Look Down; Make a New World; Urban and Western; SE-O; Our Old Street; Risk and Reward; So Far So Good. Pat Metheny, guitars, sounds, synths; Joe Dyson; drums; Chris Fishman, keyboards, piano, organ; + Daryl Johns, bass; with Brandee Younger, harp; Luis Conte, percussion; Vincent Petrani, accordion; vocals – Mark Kibble, Natalie Litza, Kim Fleming, Kim Mont, San Franklin, Stephanie Hall, Joel Kivbble, Terry White, Armand Hutton; Leonard Patton (vocal on SE-O); James Francies (organ on Urban and Western). Green Hill GHD6626

Guitarist Pat Metheny (b.1954) has enjoyed a long and productive career that has taken him to venues large and small all around the globe. In addition to leading his own ensembles, he has played with a veritable who’s who of jazz musicians. He was turned on to jazz at an early age by his older brother Mike (who became a jazz trumpeter) when Mike brought home records by trumpeter Miles Davis and guitarist Wes Montgomery. He began practicing in earnest, honing his skills by sitting in at local venues in the Kansas City area. While still a teenager, Metheny was recruited by vibraphone master Gary Burton to join his group; in addition, at age 18 Metheny became the youngest guitar instructor ever at the University of Miami and then at 19 taught at Berklee. In 1975, with the encouragement of Burton, Metheny made his first recording as a leader, Bright Size Life, for the ECM label. He has made dozens of recordings over the years, both in group and solo settings, to date earning him an impressive 20 Grammy awards; moreover, he is the only artist ever to have won Grammys in 10 different categories.

In 1977, he formed the Pat Metheny Group, which began as a quartet built around the nucleus of Metheny on guitar and the prodigiously gifted keyboard player and composer Lyle Mays (1953-2020). By the time I took my young sons to their first-ever concert in the fall of 1981 to see the PMG, the original bassist and drummer had been replaced and the group was now a sextet. Over the ensuing decades, Metheny has made some memorable music, never resting on his laurels or being content to play his familiar compositions over and over again. He has always strived to create something new, pushing himself as a composer and arranger as well as a guitarist. From his earlier albums with his Pat Metheny Group (Still Life Talking and We Live Here are noteworthy examples highlighting his melodic gifts, along with those of his gifted keyboard companion, the late Lyle Mays) through his final album with the group, The Way Up, which is virtually a through-composed symphonic-style piece by Metheny that strains against the limitations of a small jazz ensemble, Metheny followers could sense that he was more than just a guitarist, he was a composer whose chosen instrument was the guitar. 

 

In 2020 he returned to the studio with a new group to release From This Place, a flowingly lyrical album that included some symphonic accompaniment. At 76 minutes, it was an impressive achievement, emphasizing once again Metheny’s gift for composition as well as his prowess on the guitar. Then in 2021, he released his first overtly classical recording, Road to the Sun, which finds Metheny stepping back as a performer and forward as a composer, penning a solo piece for classical guitarist Jason Vieaux and an ensemble piece for the Los Angeles Guitar Quartet. He does perform one composition, however, but not one of his own: Für Alina by the Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, which Metheny performs on his one-of-a kind custom-made 42-string “Pikasso” guitar (you can read our review of that album here).

 

On this new 2026 release, Metheny has returned to the group format. “Side-eye” refers to a concept where Metheny has searched out promising young musicians and when he has found those especially promising, has appeared with them in live shows and in some cases, as with this current configuration, Side-eye III, taken them on tour and made a recording. (I’ve got tickets for their live show in Cincinnati in April.) Side-eye III + finds Metheny expanding his musical palette by augmenting his basic guitar/keyboard/drums trio format not only with bass, but also with additional instruments – check out the organ grooves on Urban and Western and SE-O – and voices, the latter offering subtle texture and depth to several of Metheny’s tunes. Metheny is a master of melody, which seems to flow through him from on high through his mind to his fingers, whether picking or strumming. My only quibble is the mix of the drums, which is a bit too forward for my taste. Other than that, Side-eye III+ is both a musical and sonic knockout.

 

Sarah Kirkland Snider: Forward Into Light. Snider: Forward Into Light; Drink the Wild Ayre; Eye of Mnemosyne; Something for the Dark. Metropolis Ensemble; Andrew Cyr, Artistic Director/Conductor. Nonesuch 075597893243

 

American composer Sarah Kirkland Snider (b. 1973) writes, “I love writing music for orchestra. I delight in having a large palette of colors and an oversized canvas on which to explore remote psychological interiors and discursive narrative journeys.” The title piece that opens the program on this CD certainly draws on a large palette of instrumental colors as she crafts what she describes as a “meditation on perseverance, bravery, and alliance, informed by the American women's suffrage movement… Rather than narrate history, the piece distills the inner weather of belief and doubt: what it means to endure isolation, harassment, incarceration, even force-feeding, in service of a larger ideal.” The piece is intricately crafted, contains some interesting sonorities, but its lack of meaningful melodic content holds it back from making a lasting impression. Much the same can be said for the final two pieces on the program, Eye of Mnemosyneand Something for the Dark. Both are well-crafted but on the abstract side; neither is likely to inspire much repeat listening. The highlight of the program is Drink the Wild Ayre, which is a reimagining of a piece that Snider originally composed for the Emerson String Quartet’s final season. The version here is for harp and strings; although not suffused with hummable melodies, Drink the Wild Ayre has a sense of flow and coherence that holds up to repeated listening and provides genuine musical enjoyment.

 

Streaming Summaries:

 

Huw Watkins: Fanfare for the Hallé; Symphony No. 2; Concerto for Orchestra. Hallé Orchestra; Sir Mark Elder, conductor, Hallé CDHLL7569

 

British pianist and composer Huw Watkins (b.1976) first came to my attention as a chamber musician when I had seen on Twitter (now X), where I followed him, that he was doing some chamber recordings as a pianist. When I recently came across this new orchestral release, I was surprised, for I had no idea that he was a composer – and of symphonies, no less! This was a release that I definitely had to hear. Although I was not quite sure what to expect, what I had seen from Watkins on Twitter a few years ago led me to believe that what I was about to hear would not be discordant and jarring. Other than that, I wasn’t sure what to expect. To be honest, I hoped I wouldn’t find it dry, boring, and quickly forgettable. Although the brief (1:42) opening Fanfare for the Hallé might not be all that memorable, neither is it dry or boring – it’s a joyous little romp for 11 brass instruments, a fun way to open the program. Moreover, the musical mood established by the fanfare seems to carry over into the opening of movement of the symphony, making for a smooth transition, carrying listeners right along and inviting them to listen closely as the music unfolds. 

Symphony No. 2 (composed during the COVID lockdown) is in three movements, which broadly speaking are in the familiar fast-slow-fast pattern. To my ears, the ending seems abrupt – the music just seems to end, as though Watkins could not quite figure out what to do for the final bars – but please don’t take that as a major criticism, for other than that, the final movement is excellent. The music throughout the symphony is tonal, melodic, engaging – in short, it is a work that invites repeated listening. The same can be said for the Concerto for Orchestra, also in three movements, also well worth a listen – or several. It will be fascinating to see what the future holds in store for Huw Watkins.

 

Pekka Kuusisto: Willows. Vaughan Williams: The Lark Ascending; Caroline Shaw: Plan & Elevation – I. the Ellipse; II. The Cutting Garden; III. The Herbaceous Border; IV. The Orangery; V. The Beech Tree; Ellen Reid/Kuusisto: Desiderium; (Traditional): Weeping Mary (Arr. by Nico Muhly based on an arrangement by Thomas Bartlett); Kedron (Arr. by Nico Muhly) [Adapted for Chamber Orchestra by Bernard Rofe; Saro (Arr. by Nico Muhly) [Adapted for Chamber Orchestra by Bernard Rofe]; How Come That Blood (Arr. by Nico Muhly) [Adapted for Chamber Orchestra by Bernard Rofe); Way Go, Lily (Arr. by Nico Muhly) [Adapted for Chamber Orchestra by Bernard Rofe]; Wedding Dress (Arr. by Nico Muhly) [Adapted for Chamber Orchestra by Bernard Rofe]. Pekka Kuusisto, violinist and conductor; Norwegian Chamber Orchestra; Sam Amidon, guitar, banjo, vocals. Platoon PLAT29192

 

Back in 1995, the Finnish violinist Pekka Kuusisto (b. 1976) became the first musician from Finland to win the International Sibelius Violin Competition, where he was also awarded a medal for the best performance of the eminent Finnish master’s Violin Concerto. Although his name may not be immediately familiar to many readers, we have reviewed several of his previous appearances on various recordings: as soloist in a violin concerto by Icelandic composer Daniel Bjarnson (you can read that review here), as soloist in a violin concerto by Nico Muhly and a pair of works by American composer Philip Glass (that review may be found here), and together with violinist Colin Jacobsen, he shares the solo violin spotlight on the composition Prince of Clouds by the British composer (currently residing in New York) Anna Clyne (that review is here).

What Kuusisto has brought us here is an eclectic blend, a mixed bag, a strange brew. For those who might be interested, there is a YouTube video of an interview with Kuusisto in which he explains some of the background behind the making of Willows (you can find that video here), with an emphasis on The Lark Ascending, which opens the program. It’s an unusual performance of the familiar Ralph Vaughan Williams piece; interestingly, Kuusisto plays with an aura of rawness rather than sweetness. As you listen to this Lark, you can feel an undertone of raw emotion, stirring feelings of grief, loss, lament. However, these feelings are subtle, as Kuusisto’s playing is not mawkish or exaggerated. It’s a beautiful performance: different, but beautiful. No matter how many versions of RVW’s beloved masterpiece you have heard, I would urge you to give this one a serious audition. I’m not saying it’s the best, but it’s certainly one of the most moving and memorable.

It’s also the highlight of the release. Plan and Elevation by the Pulitzer Prize-winning American composer Caroline Shaw (b. 1982) unfolds over five relatively brief movements that are miniature sketches fore string orchestra. After the emotional intensity of The Lark Ascending, their more measured tone serves lighten the mood. Buth things get intense once again in Desiderium, by another Pulitzer Prize-winning composer, Ellen Reid (b. 1983). Desiderium is a Latin term that refers to an intense desire or longing, especially in terms of a feeling of loss or something or someone lost or gone. Arranged and performed here on solo violin by Kuusisto, it is certainly intense; probably easier to absorb if seen in concert rather than heard in recording. The program closes, oddly enough, with folk songs sung by Kuusisto’s friend Sam Amidon, an American-born singer who now resides in England. Perhaps one or maybe two songs followed by another instrumental composition might have made sense, but ending the album with a half-dozen just seems, well, strange. 

 

Overall, then, Willows is very much a mixed bag. Still, Kuusisto’s performance of The Lark Ascending is well worth giving a listen. 

Four Views of the Holy (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Each of the four recordings reviewed below is of music expressing religious faith. Although the music on all four recordings seeks to express religious faith rooted in the Judeo-Christian tradition, the means of musical expression take decidedly different forms, from quiet contemplation to joyous jubilation. 

 

Arvo Pärt: And I Heard a Voice... Pärt: Nunc dimittis; O Holy Father Nicholas; Sieben Magnificat-Antiphonen; *Für Jan van Eyck; Kleine Litanei; And I heard a voice… Vox Clamantis; Jaan-Eik Tulve, conductor; *Ene Salumäe, organ. ECM New Series 2780 

 

Those readers who follow Classical Candor on a regular basis (thank you!) may recall that we recently reviewed a DG release from the young Latvian pianist Georgjis Osokins of piano music by the Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, who celebrated his 90^th birthday on September 11, 2025 (you can find that review here). But Pärt is more celebrated for his choral compositions, the majority of which center on religious themes and have a sound which evokes feelings of reverence and spirituality. We have also reviewed several choral recordings of Pärt’s music in the past, including a Harmonia Mundi release from 2020 (you can find that review here), a BR Klassik release from 2021 (you can find that review here), and a 2023 ECM release that also includes some works for orchestra (which you can find here). As you can no doubt infer from the titles listed above, this latest release on ECM is suffused with a sense of the holy from start to finish. Founded by conductor Jaan-Eik Tulve in 1996, the Estonian vocal ensemble Vox Clamantis is composed of twelve singers who share a passion for early polyphony and contemporary music, and here they sound just right giving voice to Pärt’s compositions – small enough to bring clarity, but large enough to bring weight. Recorded in Haapsula Cathedral in Estonia, the transparent sound quality allows the listener to get lost in the music. The liner notes discuss the works and include the texts, plus several photographs. It’s a beautiful release.

Radiant Dawn. Alec Roth (b. 1948): *Night Prayer; Thomas Tallis (c1505-1585): O nata lux de lumine; Eleanor Daley (b. 1955): Grandmother Moon; Deborah Pritchard (b. 1977): *The Light Thereof; Sir James MacMillan (b.1959): O Radiant Dawn; Tallis: *Dum transisset Sabbatum; Saint Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179): O gloriosissimi; Roxanna Panufnik: (b.1968): Hearken; Robert White (1538-1574): *Christe, qui lux es dies II; Richard Barnard (b.1977): *Aura; Judith Bingham (b. 1952): Enter Ghost; Owain Park (b.1993): Sommernacht; Joseph Rheinberger 1839-1901): Abenlied; MacMillan: *In splendoribus sanctorum; Geoffrey Burgon (1931-2010): *Nunc dimittis. The Gesualdo Six (Guy James, Alasdair Austin, countertenor; Joseph Wicks, Josh Cooter, tenor; Michael Craddock, baritone; Owain Park, bass); Owain Park, conductor; with *Matilda Lloyd, trumpet. Hyperion CDA68665

 

When I received this album for review, my immediate assumption was that it was a 21^st-century version of an ECM release titled Officium (ECM 1525) from 1994 that featured the vocal quartet The Hilliard Ensemble (David James, countertenor; Rogers Covey-Crump, tenor; John Potter, tenor; Gordon Jones, baritone) accompanied by famed jazz saxophonist Jan Garbarek improvising on his horn as the ensemble sang sacred texts in a monastery, a recording that caught the attention of the general public through radio play and went on to become an unlikely best seller. However, beyond the obvious difference of trumpet rather than saxophone, Radiant Dawn also differs from Officium in that Matilda Lloyd plays a less prominent role than did Jan Garbarek, appearing as she does on fewer than half the tracks; moreover, when she does appear, her trumpet is sometimes not as prominent a part of the musical tapestry as was Garbarek’s saxophone. On the tracks Enter Ghost by Judith Bingham and In splendoribus sanctorum by James MacMillan, however, her trumpet stands front and center. The variety of composers included means that there is no single musical style or textual message to be found here; however, the majority of the tracks are rooted in religion and ritual, and as the liner notes proclaim, “plainchant threads this programme together – sometimes finely woven into the structural framework, and at other times as a fragment of the composer’s imagination.” As usual with with Hyperion, the liner notes are excellent and include texts. Warmly recommended for fans of vocal music.

Joel Ross: Gospel Music. Ross: Wisdom Is Eternal (For Barry Harris); Trinity (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit); Protoevangelium (The First Gospel); Hostile; The Shadowlands; Nevertheless; Word for Word; Repentance; The Sacred Place; A Little Love Goes a Long Way; Frank Schoen: *Praise to You, Lord Jesus Christ; Betty King Jackson: **Calvary; Ross: ***The Giver; To the Throne (The Mercy Seat); Be Patient; The New Man; ****Now and Forevermore.  Joel Ross, vibraphone, celeste, glockenspiel, drums; mellotron; Josh Johnson, alto saxophone; Maria Grand, tenor saxophone; Jeremy Corren, piano; Kanoa Mendenhall, bass; Jeremy Dutton, bass; with *Laura Bibbs, vocals; *Geoff Gallante, piano; **Ehep Nkwelle, vocals; ***Andy Lewis, vocals, guitar; ****Brandee Younger, Harp; ****Laura Bibbs, flugelhorn; ****Austin White, synthesizers. Blue Note 006022488058292

 

This past spring I was fortunate enough to catch Joel Ross’s Good Vibes in concert. The band – the same sextet that form the nucleus here – played nonstop for more than an hour in one continuous stream, musical phrases appearing, getting passed around among the group, disappearing, perhaps to reappear later in a subtly different form or tempo (you can read more about their performance here). The title of the album and the titles of its tracks might well lead many potential listeners to expect Gospel Music to be a collection of church music – hymns, spirituals, and such. Rest assured, friends, this album is a jazz album, not a collection of jazzified instrumental covers of hymn tunes. But that’s not to say it’s not spiritually oriented. According to Ross in the March 2026 issue of the jazz magazine Downbeat, “the album represents nothing less than a musical trip through the Holy Bible.” Ross’s liner notes present a spiritual thought for each of the 17 tracks, along with references to specific Bible verses. But the spirit I hear in the opening track, Wisdom Is Eternal (For Barry Harris), is the spirit of Johann Sebastian Bach, who seems to be hovering invisibly over Ross’s shoulder as he plays (you can watch a video of the group performing "Wisdom Is Eternal” here). While Wisdom has a fairly measured, Bach-like feel, Ross and his fellow players are also capable of a more frenetic – although still disciplined – groove, as on the energetic track Hostile (you can watch the band perform "Hostile" here). There are a few tracks with vocals that lean more toward a genuine gospel music feeling, but the underlying jazz element is still there. All in all, Gospel Music is a compelling witness to the power of music to express human striving for something beyond human imperfection. 

Ron Carter and Ricky Dillard: Sweet, Sweet Spirit. Clara H. Scott: Open My Eyes (1895); F.M. Bartlett: Everybody Will Be Happy (1921); Francis Jane Crosby: Pass Me Not (1868); W.R. Stevens: Farther Along (1927); Traditional: Just a Closer Walk with Thee; Charles Austin Miles; In the Garden (1912); Cleavant Derricks: Just a Litte Talk with Jesus (1937); Will I. Thompson: Softly and Tenderly (1880); Robert S. Arnold: No Tears in Heaven (1935); Doris Akers: Sweet, Sweet Spirit (1962) [all songs arranged by Ronald L. Carter, Sr., and Ricky Dillard]. Motown Gospel/Capitol/Blue Note 603488384759

 

Ron Carter (b. 1937) is a legend in the world of jazz. Perhaps best known for being the anchor of the legendary Miles Davis Quintet (Miles Davis, trumpet; Wayne Shorter, tenor saxophone; Herbie Hancock, piano; Ron Carter, double bass; Tony Wiiliams, drums), he has appeared on more than 2,200(!) recordings throughout his career – jazz, folk, rock, R&B, hip-hop, big band, soundtracks, crooners, poets – and is still actively touring today with his Foursight jazz quartet at the age of 88. Ricky Dillard (b. 1965) is an American gospel songwriter, singer, and choir director. The album is intended as a tribute to Ron Carter’s mother, the late Mrs. Willie O. Carter. Her favorite hymns were often sung in the Carter household, and late in her life, when she was in an assisted living facility, Ron recorded arrangements of ten of her favorite hymns he had made for his upright bass so that she could enjoy them during her final days. To give those beloved hymns a new dimension and share them with a wider audience, Carter turned to Dillard; together, the pair crafted arrangements combining the voices of the choir with Carter’s bass lines. The end result is highly energetic praise music sung with sincerity and devotion. You can see a video of Carter, Dillard, and choir performing the hymn Pass Me Not (by following this link). If you’ve never encountered gospel music before, you’re in for quite a treat. My only quibble about this release is the way the liner notes are printed – teeny-tiny font, low-contrast, virtually unreadable. Other than that, Sweet, Sweet Spirit is sweet indeed.

Brahms: Symphonies Nos. 2 & 4 (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Brahms: Symphony No. 2 in D, Op. 73; Symphony No. 4 in E Minor, Op. 98. Edward Gardner, conductor; Bergen Philharmonic Orchestra. Chandos CHSA5248

 

The myth that Brahms’s Second Symphony is “pastoral” took hold quickly and has persisted with stubborn tenacity. In 1943, Olin Downes was still comparing it to Beethoven’s Sixth and praising its supposed “vernal loveliness” (see his note on the work in Elie Siegmeister’s The Music Lover’s Handbook). Perhaps for this reason, not a few recorded performances positively drag the first movement’s Allegro non troppo. Like Han Solo jettisoning his cargo at the first sign of an Imperial cruiser, some conductors see this marking and abandon the Allegro. (Claudio Abbado’s metronome marking of approximately quarter note = 108 in his 1988 recording with the Berlin Philharmonic is one example. See DG 427 643‑2.) In truth, this tendency afflicts many performances of other works — don’t get me started on Sibelius 3. Happily, Edward Gardner and the Bergen Philharmonic proceed pace-wise on the right foot, and it’s just one of many things that go absolutely right in their splendid account.

Indeed, I feel that the other successful elements of this performance naturally flow from the crucial decision to move things along. When the tempo lags in other interpretations, dynamics and articulation often stand out in negative ways. For example, take the robust dotted-rhythm theme beginning at Rehearsal E in the first movement. A sluggish beat often leads to those rhythms sounding labored (as in Giulini’s tedious slog with the Vienna Philharmonic — DG 435 348-2.) Gardner and Company dispatch them with even precision, maintaining a necessary momentum. In the second movement we have more good things happening downstream from a firm tempo. The bright sound here lends to a sense of vigor blended with gravitas. No section gets bogged down by trying too hard to be “deep.” Likewise, a crisp, brisk third movement showcases the span’s intricate detail while providing attractive flair. The finale keeps up the strong balance of the previous three: the rousing nature of the music feels robust without being oppressive. (One so often experiences the opposite in other recordings.) Everything is wonderfully thought-out and controlled. This is one of the best Brahms 2’s I have ever heard.

If I question the myth of Brahms’s Second being “pastoral,” I cannot deny that it is a very different work from its youngest brother. Gardner and his musicians do bring off a decent enough Fourth. But their struggle to adjust to its different complexion results in an effort inferior to that described above. A solid momentum, crisp articulation, and bright sound are not enough for this symphonic swan song. At times they can even be misplaced. An emotional fullness that can easily overburden the Second should be a consistent ingredient for the wistful, decidedly weightier Fourth. As I suggested in another review of Gardner, this is precisely the area in which he tends to under-impress. 

Put simply, this Brahms Fourth is polished but too detached…even genteel. Almost throughout the sound feels slight. Straightaway in the first movement we need bolder colors. Gardner supplies sleek precision in spades, but he fails to deliver the force of personality that define the best readings I have heard (for example, Klemperer/Philharmonia, Kleiber/Vienna Philharmonic, and even Karajan/Berlin Philharmonic). The dynamic punch especially is always withheld. The second movement is perhaps this account’s high point. Even if the atmosphere is still not quite magical, Gardner does implement some better sound contrasts and hues, perhaps helped by the slower tempo direction. But the back half again consistently leaves me wanting more. The Allegro giocoso third movement begins with a spirited romp that should positively clobber (or even “Kleiber”) the listener upside the head with its initial tandem of short themes. We absolutely need the Brahms of the Academic Festival Overture’s drinking songs here. Gardner does not quite oblige. As if to compound this, the contrasting theme at Rehearsal A is too delicate. It should be softer, yes, but not quite this “pretty.” Much the same could be said for large stretches of the finale. Too much sounds almost routine, with important themes and gestures (such as the ben marcato largamente material starting at measure 33) not “played into” enough. A stiff upper lip doesn’t get the job done in Brahms 4.

I would give this recording a mild recommendation if both performances were at the level of its Brahms 4. Second-tier respectability is better than much that I’ve heard. But to say that purchasing it for the Brahms 2 alone is an easy choice would be an understatement. Gardner and the Bergen Philharmonic not only keep the interpretive quality up for every one of its movements (not something to take lightly), but they have the measure of the whole in a way equaling the catalogue’s finest. It’s not overselling things to call this a contemporary classic.

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.