Recent Releases No. 82 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

Mahler: Symphony No. 5. Grand Teton Music Festival Orchestra; Sir Donald Runnicles, conductor. Reference Recordings FR-763SACD

Mahler is one of those composers who looms almost larger than life in the world of classical music – and beyond. Even those without much knowledge of his actual music seem to have heard of him, making him a kind of cultural touchstone, a name to be dropped in casual conversation to establish one’s credentials as a hip intellectual. His symphonies are grand, powerful, colorful, tender, expressive, intimate – the listener can find all manner of emotional and musical expression within Mahler’s world. His Fifth Symphony is a prime example of Mahler’s range of expression, with its opening funeral march, agitated second movement, the tender Adagietto third movement, and rollicking finale. Mahler’s music demands excellent engineering, and as expected, Reference Recordings once again delivers just that. But what about performance? The orchestra is not exactly a household name. However, we reviewed their previous release, also under the baton of Maestro Runnicles, and found it to be quite worthy of recommendation (you can see that review of the Beethoven piano concertos here). Runnicles has the orchestra in fine form; combined with the excellent engineering, you can listen right into the heart of the music. The Adagietto is a bit on the slow side (10:05) but does not feel overly sentimentalized. Overall, this is a fine performance in top-notch sound that will stay on my shelf along with other favorite accounts such as Bernstein (DG), Haenchen (Pentatone), Abravanel (Vanguard), Abbado (DG). and Boulez (DG). Mahler fans would do well to give it an audition.

 

Victor Le Masne: Ravel Recomposed. Ravel: Boléro; Le Jardin Féerique (from Ma Mére l’Oye ballet, M. 35); Assez Vif, Trés Rhythmé; Jeux D’Eau, M. 30); Il Est Bon, L’Enfant. Il Est Sage (from L’Enfant et Les Sortiléges, M. 71); Mouvement de Menuet (from Sonatine, M. 40); Pavane pour une Infante Défunte, M. 19; Adagio Assai (from Piano Concerto in G Major, M. 83); Chanson Hébraïque (from Chant Populaires, M. A17); Le Gibet (from Gaspard de la Nuit, M. 55); Une Barque sur l’Océan (from Miroirs, M. 43); Lever du Jour (from Daphnis et Chloé Suite No. 2, M. 57B). Victor Le Masne, conductor, Fender Rhodes, synthesizers, piano, kalimba, drums; Christine & The Queens, vocals, lyrics (on Boléro); Adrian Edeline, guitar; Scoring Berlin, ensemble, choir; Julius Asal, piano; Colette, lyrics (on Il Est Bon, L’Enfant. Il Est Sage); Laurent Vernerey, bass; Camille Thomas, cello. Deutsche Grammophon 4867530

Those readers who have been following Classical Candor for a long time may well be familiar with the concept of a composer’s works somehow being “recomposed” by another composer. “Now, hold on just a minute, Karl,” I can already hear some of you muttering amongst yourselves, “of course I’m familiar with this concept, a prime example being what Ravel himself did with Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, taking a piano suite and recomposing it into a beloved orchestral score.” Well, you certainly have a point, and if we give the matter a bit more thought, we might come to realize that Ravel never claimed to have “recomposed’ the music of Mussorgsky, but rather merely to have orchestrated it: i.e., taken a Mussorgsky work written for the piano and arranged it for orchestra. A more convincing case for the concept of recomposition can be made for what German-born British composer Max Richter (b. 1966) has done with Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. Richter says that he discarded about 75% of Vivaldi’s original score when coming up with his recomposed version for solo violin, synthesizer, and chamber orchestra; however, the new version retains much of the flavor of the original. We have reviewed three different recordings of Richter’s delightful composition – or recomposition – over the years: the original version, with Richter on synthesizer, Daniel Hope on violin, and Andre De Ridder conducting the Konzerthaus Kammerorchester Berlin (you can read John Puccio's 2014 review here); an “original instruments” version, this time with Richter playing a vintage Moog synthesizer and solo violinist Elena Urioste and the Chineke! Orchestra playing on gut strings (that 2022 review can be found here); and a recording by French-born violinist Etienne Gara and the Los Angeles-based chamber group Delirium Musicum (you can read that 2023 review here). And along similar lines, we also reviewed an instance of a famous composition being not recomposed, but rather “remixed,” in the case of Gabriel Prokofiev (b.1975), grandson of Sergei, who along with conductor Yaniv Segal and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales present a version of the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth reimagined for electronics and orchestra (you can find that review here).

Perhaps it was the widespread name recognition of Ravel’s Boléro that led to that composition being chosen as the first track on this release; unfortunately, however, Le Masne’s recomposition, which turns it into a melodramatic vocal piece featuring Christine & The Queens, retains the melody but loses all of the building tension which makes Boléro interesting in the first place. It’s the weakest track on the album, not a good way to kick things off. Things get better with the succeeding tracks, with the movements from the String Quartet, Sonatine, and Piano Concerto working especially well in in their arrangements for synths. Devoted fans of Ravel’s music might find these renditions of Ravel’s music of interest, but those new to Ravel would do better to listen to his music in its original settings first. Be forewarned that several of the cuts feature prominent levels of bass – it might be best not to turn the volume up right away. 

Saint-Saëns: Symphony No. 3 “Organ Symphony” (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Paolo Bordignon, organ; Park Avenue Chamber Symphony; David Bernard, conductor. Recursive Classics RC5230977

The last time we reviewed a recording by the Park Avenue Chamber Symphony, their sparkling account of the Mahler 9 , we offered a fairly lengthy explanation of why the name “Chamber Symphony” should not be taken to mean that they are anything other than a full-sized symphony orchestra – well-suited for Mahler, well-suited for Saint-Saëns. Wording on the cover of this latest release proclaims that this is a “Live InsideOut Concerts^® Recording.” Maestro Bernard has developed methods for seating audience members amongst the orchestra to enhance their listening experience, recently earning a patent for algorithms he has developed to precisely arrange seating based on the hall, orchestra, and other parameters. Although we have occasionally expressed reservation about live recordings, the engineering on this release is remarkably good, offering a stereo soundstage that is deep, wide, and coherent. The engineering perfectly complements the music, which as the delightfully informative notes by critic David Patrick Stearns points out, abounds with subtle details. As you listen to a fine recording such as this one, it’s easy to appreciate that it’s so much more than just a showpiece for the organ.

 

Of the potential problems presented by the organ, Stearns explains, “Saint-Saëns breezily remarked that his symphony should do well in America thanks to the presence of many organs. In fact, the organ is the primary challenge to be solved. Great organs are based in great churches – amid acoustics not favorable to orchestras. In many recordings, the organ has been recorded separately – sometimes continents away – and synched, not always comfortably, with the orchestra. Balances that favor the organ detract from the orchestra and vice versa. ‘For 140 years, the Organ Symphony has been approximated,’ remarked David Bernard in a April 2026 piece for Gramophone Online. ‘It has never quite been performed.’ Modern digital organs are one possibility. But as Bernard reveals, the ideal solution is highly elusive.”

 

Is this new recording by Maestro Bernard, his Park Avenue players, and organist Bordignon that highly elusive ideal solution? The answer to that question will depend upon the expectations of the listener, of course. In terms of the precision of the playing, the transparency and balance of the sound, and the integration of the sound of the organ with the sound of the orchestra, this release is certainly top-notch. To my ears, I enjoyed not being overwhelmed by the sound of the organ; however, I believe that there may be some listeners who might wish for a bigger, more dramatic organ sound. To them, I can recommend the old Telarc with Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra and Michael Murray at the organ. But to my ears, the sonic balance on this new Recursive Classics release is perfectly suited for the appreciation of this remarkable symphony. The organ takes its place as part of the music-making, not as the main attraction. 

 

In summary, what we have here is an audiophile-quality recording of a live performance of the Saint-Saëns “Organ Symphony” which does not highlight the organ but places it in balance with the orchestra. The CD booklet features an essay by David Patrick Stearns that offers some insights noy only into the Saint-Saëns work but also into the French symphonic scene in general. For fans of Saint-Saëns – or anyone just starting to get into classical music, for that matter – this release earns my highest recommendation.

Copland: Symphony No. 3; Walker: Sinfonia No. 5 (Streaming Review)

by Ryan Ross

Sir Antonio Pappano, conductor; London Symphony Orchestra. LSO Live LSO0916

Aaron Copland’s Third Symphony has often been criticized for not being “symphonic” enough. It’s too ballet-like, too theatrical, and insufficiently structured to be a true symphony, goes such “wisdom.” (And to that the cardinal sin against pedantry: it’s too crowd-pleasing.) But as I have suggested elsewhere, the joke is firmly on these critics. They’re an object lesson in how selective historical understanding and mythmaking can turn intelligent commentators into purveyors of fiction. I’ll repeat what I’ve said here before: Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven burst onto the stage when the symphony genre was already underway. They did not determine what it must be for all time. There is no True Symphony, and especially not one forged by them in Vienna like The One Ring by Sauron in Mordor. Furthermore, Copland wasn’t a rare example of someone who failed to toe some immutable symphonic line; he was one of a large number of composers aware of classical precedent but who flouted it anyway.

Where symphonic whipping-boys like Copland (and, famously, Tchaikovsky before him) were actually heirs of Beethoven was in their conscious use of the symphony as a vehicle for monumentality. And it is difficult to think of a more monumental American symphony than this Third by the “Dean of American Composers.” Sure, you could make the case that several others are every bit as impressive in certain respects, or variously more deserving of the storied “Great American Symphony” label. (Roy Harris’s own Third is a frequent candidate in such discourse.) But in terms of monumentality, virtually no other symphony from these United States competes. A monument to what, you say? Copland himself divulged that the music captures the United States’ euphoric mood after the Allied victory over the Axis powers. Others have pointed to the finale’s incorporation of the Fanfare for the Common Man, and akin motives throughout, to suggest that the whole is also a tribute to the American spirit and landscape. If all of these associations hold (and I think they do), they’re under-served by this otherwise solid performance at the hands of Antonio Pappano and the LSO.

What’s amiss in this interpretation are subtle things that end up mattering disproportionately for the total experience. The orchestral playing is fantastic, and Pappano’s conception of the work even has a reasonable consistency of its own. But I think he misses the music’s character in several respects. In the first movement he elicits a big sound from his players. He clearly wants to hit those dynamic highs and strong brass statements. But they’re often just short of noisy, when a touch of understatement might better capture moods of steady gravitas. Equally, I find the motives sometimes a bit crimped and the pacing slightly abrupt. There’s a subtle strangeness of musical prosody that makes large swaths sound wooden.

The following scherzo movement is one of two low points. Its opening flourish proceeds promisingly enough, but the quicker outer sections are sluggish, sometimes mildly overworked, and lacking a necessary breeze. The tempo direction here is Allegro molto, but this does not even feel like Allegro. LSO personnel nail the intricate passages, but under direction that dulls their effect. It almost reminds me of someone speaking too formally in a setting that doesn’t call for it. If you’re new to classical music, imagine covering the Baja Men’s hit tune but singing, “Who Let the Canines Out?"

Movement 3 comes off best, but is still not free of such issues. The Andantino quasi allegretto tempo gets its due. Pappano correctly takes the hint and resists the lagging that burdens previous passages. His ear for sonority here is excellent, and some fine orchestral colors emerge. The latter portion of the finale likewise benefits from strong execution but remains on the heavy side. Most of all, the opening Fanfare phase sounds off to my ears. Once more, conception rather than playing is at fault. This is too pompous, too ceremonial. We need more Bob Costas and less King George…more liberty and less royalty.

If Copland 3 is a monument partially to the American spirit, that’s exactly what’s missing here. For someone who has spent so much time in the United States, it is surprising that Pappano hardly ever captures the experiential world Copland seems to be evoking. The next time he visits, someone should take him to Fenway for a ballgame and a hotdog. Or better, he might find his way to some hole-in-wall diner in Nowhere, Nebraska, where from a laminate-topped table he can hear the rhythms of surrounding conversations, and watch through a window while big John Deeres harvest corn. Or, if that’s a bridge too far, I would prescribe some John Steinbeck fiction, in which a certain psychological ease leavens even the heaviest circumstances. As it stands, Sir Antonio’s Copland has a definite European accent.

Whereas some think Copland’s Third Symphony works better as monumentality than as “symphonic structure,” George Walker’s Sinfonia No. 5 has structure to recommend it and little else. While I haven’t studied the score, I can well imagine that this music dots every integrative “i”. But absolutely nothing memorable transpires during its mercifully short 15 minutes. The decision to pair it with the Copland is a real head-scratcher, as many much more deserving companion pieces could have been chosen from the American repertoire. If another Harris 3 coupling was undesirable, what about David Diamond’s The Enormous Room, or Howard Hanson’s Elegy in Memory of Serge Koussevitzky, or one of Barber’s Essays? A sharp outing of any could have salvaged the whole project nicely and made a merely decent Copland 3 a better buy. Instead, we have multiple shades of missed opportunity. 

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco: Piano Works

 by Bill Heck

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco: Piedigrotta 1924,  Op. 32; Alghe, Op. 12; I naviganti, Op. 13; Cielo di settembre, Op. 1; Calma (A Giramonte); Terrazze; Le stagioni, Op. 33. Adriano Murgia, piano. Piano Classics PCL10347

Sharp-eyed readers may recall my review some months ago of Platero y Yo, a series of vignettes for solo guitar composed by Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, as played by Niklas Johansen. The review here illustrates the old saying that “one thing leads to another”, at least in the musical world: my interest in those works for guitar led me to the current release of the same composer’s music for solo piano.

Let’s start with a quick note about Castelnuovo-Tedesco, and please excuse a bit of repetition if you’ve read the Platero review. Born in Italy in 1895, he studied music early in the 20^th century and quickly became fascinated with the work of Debussy, who remained one of the major influences on Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s own path. He later was influenced by the contrapuntal techniques of mentors like Ildebrando Pizzeti (whose name is the basis of one of the works on this album). By the 1930’s, he was a rising star internationally, developing musical relationships with figures such as Andres Segovia, Jascha Heifetz, and Gregor Piatigorsky.

In 1939, however, he fled the racial (antisemitic)  policies of Mussolini’s fascist Italy. His reputation inspired prominent American musicians to support his entry into the US and then to relaunch his career, first as a piano soloist and then as a composer. While he continued to compose in the classical tradition, he became better known (and presumably better compensated) for his work on film scores. He also taught composition, with a significant number of subsequently famous musicians in his classes. Castelnuovo-Tedesco passed away in 1968.

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco

Contemporary listeners might be forgiven for asking why, if Castelnuovo-Tedesco was so great, has his music passed into obscurity today? Well, first, obscurity is not quite the right word. Although one would hardly call him well-known, a good number of recordings of his music are out there, especially of works for orchestra, including two piano concertos; for guitar; and for solo piano. More generally, though, I've noticed perhaps a little more interest in the works of lesser-known composers lately, particularly with the rise of independent record labels. And, if I may be allowed a little speculation, I suspect that several factors may have played a role in his relative eclipse, including not only the tendency of both concert promoters and attendees to go with safe, well-known choices but also the nature of his music. His compositions are not the sort that produce shouts of praise and standing ovations in concerts, nor are they the subject of music appreciation lectures. Whatever the causes, although Castelnuovo-Tedesco may not be top of mind for many listeners, I think that he's one of those composers whose music, once given a chance, turns out to be interesting and enjoyable, exhibiting some real depth.

Consider, for instance the first movement of Piedigrotta, the Tarantella scura (“dark tarantella”). The folk dance zips right along at first as we think it should, but storm clouds intrude in the form of odd bass lines and strange harmonies. This is not a simple country celebration, but a more emotionally complex occasion.

Or take the Fantasia e fuga sul nombre di Ildebrando Pizzetti: the music keeps trying to be a straightforward fugue, but is frequently distracted, so to speak, with all sorts of musical exclamations and interludes, not in a bad way but in imaginative variety.

Meanwhile, Murgia’s playing is fine. He conveys the music with a nice mix of control and freedom; I might have a few minor quibbles here and there but distracting mannerisms are nowhere to be found. One might ask how his performances compare to those on other available recordings, but there’s a snag: the composer's prodigious output means that pianists recording his works won’t often choose the same ones. For example, David Witten’s list of tracks overlaps this one only with the Piedigrotta 1924; same for the fine album by Mark Bennington; that of Jordi Masó has only the brief I naviganti in common; and so on. I certainly haven’t heard anywhere near every album of Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s music for solo piano, not to mention albums on which his compositions appear alongside works by other composers. But to my ear Murgia’s performances hold their own and he does have the benefit of Piano Classics engineering for superb sound. All in all, this album is a great place to start for those interested in exploring Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s work.

Hourglass: Music by Philip Glass (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Simone Dinnerstein, director and pianist; Baroklyn, strings. Naïve V9238

In one of his film reviews, Roger Ebert commented that he judges a movie by what it’s trying to do and how well he thinks it does it. I don’t review every classical music release this way, because I place unequal value on the different things composers and performers try to do. But when tasked with reviewing the music of Philip Glass, I’m faced with special challenges that remind me of Ebert’s quip. The central problem is this: I’m a firm believer in postminimalism, and especially Glass’s brand of it; but I’m awkwardly aware that the standards by which I come down on others’ music don’t apply here. For example, see my February 11th Avril Coleridge-Taylor review. Glass flouts those standards more completely than she does. The difference is that he does so on purpose. I used to sneer at this purpose, much like the haughty critics who still do. But I no longer hate what he does. Indeed, I’m quite won over. If that makes me kind of a hypocrite, so be it. 

 

In minimalism’s early days the emphasis was on subtle changes over extended repetitive structures. Something of that pattern carries over to postminimalism of the 1980s and beyond, but with more commercial appeal and less biting experimentalism. Repetition and commercial appeal aren’t the ingredients formalist critics tend to espouse. But I think we’ve had enough biting experimentalism in classical music during the past century to last us five more. And by now composers have integrated and ‘organicized’ everything under the sun, to cheering generations of pedants who should have been mathematicians instead of music pundits. Can we ever take a break from all of that? My focus is instead on distinctiveness and communicative power. When it comes to those, Glass has much going for him. He composes with the pragmatism of a man who once installed appliances to make ends meet, and who understands the importance of a good paycheck. 

If you’re like the people I’ve just spent two paragraphs scolding, you’ll hate this new disc. It is difficult to think of two works by Glass that more epitomize his style since the 1980s. The score for The Hours is perhaps his best-known film music, deftly coloring the picture’s themes of alienation and tragedy. Here it’s arranged by Michael Riesman for piano, strings, harp, and celesta. In this guise it loses no expressive strength; indeed, it almost seems like an extension of the original that Glass himself might have scored, so often does his postminimalism leverage timbre for its most powerful effects. Nor does one necessarily need to have viewed the film for a meaningful listening experience. Maybe that’s true in order to get the most out of it. But “most” isn’t everything, and that’s what film music scoffers repeatedly fail to understand. When I listen to The Hours score I hear an “end of history” type of world-weariness that surfaces in much of Glass’s music, and that quite transcends the movie itself. He does this better than almost every other living composer I know. Many of us living through the West's turbulent recent decades have confronted the kinds of existential questions this music evokes. We Glass fans hear a singular mixture of reflection, hope, gloom, tragedy, spirituality, and more, where his detractors only hear interminable arpeggios. It’s a unique but highly communicative voice, something that has eluded the likes of Riley, Reich, and even Adams.

 

That same voice animates the second selection. This is not the first recording of the Tirol Concerto (Piano Concerto No. 1), but to my ears it’s the best. The Baroklyn strings’ decision to focus “on the larger beats” and wanting “every voice to have its own ebb and flow, coinciding with other voices in certain larger pulse divisions” (liner notes) pays off for the listener. Compare their sound to the competition — it works to this music’s decided advantage. The feel of large-scale pulsation with each repetition and thematic iteration is crucial to the work’s experience. Rather than feeling exhausted, the sympathetic listener comes through properly appreciating one of Glass’s grandest slow movements. The outer sections of this postmodern masterpiece appreciatively hop and sparkle here, helped by wonderful tunes all the way through. A healthy momentum keeps the music from getting bogged down. The latter must be avoided at all costs — it’s minimalism’s most tender vulnerability.   

 

The title Hourglass is a clever bit of wordplay — Glass becomes hourglass, with a nod toward both The Hours and a nearly 60-minute run time along the way. But it also speaks to ensemble director Simone Dinnerstein's perceptive remarks in her liner notes. "When I think about the music of Philip Glass," she writes, "I think about time. The music is intricate and polyphonic. It's layered, with patterns that keep shifting in the subtlest of ways." It's "multi-linear." Quite so. If you listen carefully, there is definitely more here than initially meets the ear. But I still think that what animates everything is Glass's extraordinary melodic gift. I keep telling people that the history of Western music bears this out with few exceptions: the most successful stuff has good melody. Maybe it doesn't only have that, and maybe good melody isn't the most intellectually compelling component. Yet, this nearly consistent truth relates back to the notion that music must reach the heart and not just the head. So yes, the themes of time, cycles, waves, and pulses all contribute to splendid music and performances here. But all of it would amount to little without an X factor that resists analysis — and that's exactly from where Glass's memorable themes come.

Recent Releases No. 81 (CD Reviews)

by Karl Nehring

 

Martinu: (CD1) Symphonies Nos. 1 & 2; (CD2) Symphonies Nos. 3 & 4 (CD3) Symphonies No. 5 & No. 6 “Fantaisies Symphoniques.” Bamberger Symphoniker; Jakub Hrusa, conductor. Deutsche Grammophon 486 7810

First, please allow me to apologize for not including the appropriate diacritical marks in the names of the composer and conductor; frustratingly enough, my computer did not make those available for me, alas. However, I hope that sharp-eyed readers will be able discern the correct typography from the album cover image. Moving on to another consideration, I was surprised to discover that (a) at the time I write this, there are only three listings for Martinu reviews on the Classical Candor website [it will show four when this review is posted, of course] and (b) of those three, none was for any of his symphonies. But what we have here is a fine new release that includes first-rate performances in excellent recorded sound quality of not just some but rather of all six of his symphonies. For fans of these works, this set will be a welcome breath of fresh air, something for which they have been waiting for a long time indeed. For those unfamiliar with Martinu’s symphonies, they are certainly pleasant, if not particularly memorable. To be honest, I have listened over and over and over again to this set, trying and trying and trying to get a handle on it. But the best I can say is what I just said: it is pleasant, at times quite interesting, but to these ears at least, is never quite memorable. For me, Martinu never quite seems to know just where he is going with his symphonies. I can enjoy them, but never do I feel they are moving me emotionally or intellectually. But having listened to other Martinu symphony recordings, I can recognize this one as especially fine; as a result, I recommend it highly to longtime Martinu fans as well as those newcomers looking to explore his music. It’s a superb account.

 

Walton: Orb and Sceptre; Symphony No. 1 in B flat minor; Symphony No. 2. City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra; Kazuki Yamada, conductor. Deutsche Grammophon 486 8227

The English composer Sir William Walton (1902-1983) wrote music in a variety of formats, including film scores, operas, concertos, and symphonies. Back in 2018, when my old friend and colleague from The $ensible Sound audio magazine days invited me to contribute to Classical Candor, my very first review (which you can read here) was of a recording of Walton’s Viola Concerto, which is a bit ironic, given that in the course of my otherwise quite positive review I did happen to mention that “although I have a fair number of recordings of Walton's music in my CD collection, I must confess that I seldom play any of them.” But one that I do play and enjoy from time to time is the Previn/LSO recording of the First Symphony. Compared to Previn, Yamada seems a bit less intense, missing some of the fire and drama inherent in the music, especially in the opening movement. The advantage of this new release from DG is having both symphonies on one disc, in excellent sound and smooth, professional performances. However, the vintage Previn recordings are still the gold standard. 

 

Marilyn Crispell/Anders Jormin: Memento. Crispell/Jormin: For the Children; Crispell/Jormin: Dialogue; Crispell/Jormin: Embracing the Otherness; Crispell/Jormin: Contemplation in D; Jormin: Three Shades of a House – Morning; Three Shades of a House – Evening; Crispell: Song; Crispell: Memento; Crispell: Beach at Newquay; Jormin: The Dark Light; Crispell: Dragonfly. Marilyn Crispell, piano; Anders Jormin, double bass. ECM 2867

American pianist Marilyn Crispell (b. 1976) was trained as a classical pianist, beginning her studies at age seven at Peabody Conservatory, then later graduating from the New England Conservatory of Music in 1968. It was not until 1975 that she developed an interest in jazz, her interest having been triggered by her exposure to John Coltrane’s legendary recording A Love Supreme, which she found spellbinding. She began to hang with jazz musicians playing in an intense style that left little space between the notes. But this began to change in the early 1990s when on a trip to Europe she encountered an ensemble that included bassist and composer Anders Jormin (b. 1957). Hearing this more lyrical style of music touched something deep inside her, and before long she wound up touring and recording with Jormin’s Bortom Quintet. Since then, both Crispell and Jormin have appeared on numerous ECM albums, both as leaders and supporting players; in fact, we have reviewed some albums featuring Jormin on double bass, and those reviews can be found (here) and (here). Throughout Memento, you can feel the joy and empathy these two musicians share as they unite to create music. From Crispell’s opening piano notes of For the Children, soon joined by Jormin’s bowed bass, the music simply flows. Never is there a hint of note-spinning for the sake of virtuoso display from either player; rather, the atmosphere is one of contemplative beauty throughout. Memento is an ideal fusion of jazz and chamber music, recommended highly to fans of both genres.

 

Miroslav Vitous: Mountain Call. Miroslav Vitous/Michel Portal: New Energy; Second Touch; On the Way; Vitous: Unexpected Solutions; Tribal Dance; Vitous/Portal: Rehearsal in Theatre; Discussion; Vitous: Epilogue; Vitous/Portal: Delusion; Vitous: Evolution – Path Begins/Nature Opening/Fulfillment Final; Rhapsody – In You/Fun and Games/Africa/In Me/Lullaby; Mountain Call. Miroslav Vitous, double bass; Michel Portal, clarinet, bass clarinet; Jack DeJohnette, drums; Bob Mintzer, bass clarinet; Esperanza Spalding, voice; Gary Campbell, soprano and tenor saxophones; Members of the Czech National Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Miroslav Vitous. ECM 2763

It was quite a pleasant surprise to find this CD by the veteran Czech bassist Miroslav Vitous (b. 1947), who had a long and distinguished career in jazz having played with a veritable who's who of jazz stars such as Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea, Herbie Mann, Roy Ayers, Billy Cobham, Jan Garbarekand others. In 1970, he teamed with keyboardist Joe Zawinul and saxophonist Wayne Shorter to form the core of Weather Report, the jazz fusion super group. Recent back problems have forced Vitous to give up playing the double bass, although he is still active as a composer. Mountain Call consists of music that was recorded in by Vitous in Prague at various sessions from 2003 through 2010. Sadly enough, the two musicians given top cover billing along with Vitous are no longer with us, French clarinetist and composer Michel Portal (1935-2026) the revered American drum demigod Jack DeJohnette (1942-2025). Such a delight it is to hear the interplay between Portal and Vitous as the dance and weave their way through the first four tracks; DeJohnette proves that he too is an able dance partner. Some listeners may find themselves put off by Spalding’s vocals; those tracks are brief, and then the album end with an impassioned duet featuring Portal on bass clarinet and Vitous wringing sheer passion from his bass. For the many fans of Miroslav Vitous who have missed hearing him for quite some time now, ECM has given us quite the treasure.

Mahler: Symphony No. 3 (Streaming Review)

by Ryan Ross

Vasily Petrenko, conductor; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Harmonia Mundi HMM905421.22 

I have a problem with Mahler 3: I love the music in each of its movements, but I don’t really buy into the work’s broader pretensions. That business about what man, animals, flowers, the voice in his head, a little elf, yada yada, tell him? Meh. What we have here is just too many different things strung together somewhat unnecessarily to make the longest symphony in the canon. The recycled Des Knaben Wunderhorn settings could have stayed in that collection and the symphony would still have been “complete.” Heck, the six movements we have were shortened from an intended seven. (Can you imagine?!) Mahler was always a songwriter wearing symphonist garb. In the Third Symphony, he struggled to reconcile song cycle instincts with monumental symphonism, then fashioned a veneer of programmatic cohesion to hold everything together. But I don’t think he quite succeeds in having his cake and eating it, too. Great music is something distinct from a great work concept. 

 

I suspect that Vasily Petrenko doesn’t entirely buy into Mahler 3’s pretensions, either. The very best performances have a thoroughgoing sense of sweep that resists (however vainly) its discursiveness. But this live performance is a study in self-containment. Any of its movements as one-off hearings would work fine. Experienced in succession, however, they amount to a pedestrian journey. And if there’s one thing this symphony won’t bear, it’s pedestrian treatment. 

 

To be honest, I think Petrenko’s occasional refusal to hit the music’s highest heights also lends to a sense of indifference overall. I say “refusal” because he is more than capable of doing so. In moments of juiced drama in his Shostakovich symphony performances, he’s extremely effective. But for some reason, similar proceedings here are more muted. Perhaps tellingly, this happens mostly in the gargantuan opening movement and the drawn-out finale. There’s gusto noticeably missing from the former’s central march, with the climax falling flat. Even in performances where I don’t like some tempo decisions or balance, specifically Jascha Horenstein with the LSO (Unicorn-Kanchana UKCD 2006/7), the colors are comparatively vivid, and the drama palpable. But Petrenko strangely lays off that extra gear. Perhaps, shorn of the jaded irony in Shostakovich’s Mahler-influenced passages, he is less inclined to indulge barer sentimentality. I certainly got this sense in the finale, where the interpretation is “good” but lacking in the pure emotional energy of a Bernstein or Tennstedt reading. A lengthy sendoff to a lengthy symphony calls for something extra. 

 

Petrenko’s middle movements are solid stuff; they convince more than their bookends. Best of all are II and III, where he at least provides sharp (if not superlative) accounts. His movements IV and V are sturdy as well: if you’re unfamiliar with this music you’ll be well served by them…until you listen to more committed accounts. Again, I can’t entirely blame Petrenko here from a personal standpoint. I find the Nietzsche text pompous, and Arnim’s a silly low point in his Wunderhorn collection. But like I always say, if you’re going to perform a piece you should try mightily to take on its assumptions. For these stretches, here is where Haitink and the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks (BR Klassik 900149) shine. The music simply glows in their hands in a way it doesn't in Petrenko’s. (And going back to the Horenstein recording mentioned earlier, I have never heard the darker edges of Movement V illuminated more arrestingly!) Over 90+ minutes of a single work these differences absolutely add up. 

 

In sum, this is not a bad recording at all. Mahler collectors will certainly want it, and everyone else can rest assured of its competency. But in every respect I care about it is outclassed by other options. I haven’t heard Petrenko conduct Mahler 4, but I suspect that work fits him better. It’s a trimmer score that doesn’t sag beneath its own weight, with a lighter complexion that will reward his apparent instinct to avoid wallowing. In fact, I look forward to such a commercial release. In that scenario those who resent both my opinion of Mahler 3 and Petrenko’s treatment of it can compare the two cycle entries side by side and see whether they still think I’m barking. 

Bach: Goldberg Variations (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Yunchan Lim, pianist. Decca 487 1517

Yunchan Lim earns his adulation. He’s one of the best things to happen to classical music recently. What a gift to have someone who’s at once so serious about his art, so flawless in his technique, and so imaginative in his interpretations without compromising musical integrity. His previous release of the Chopin Études (Decca 487 0122) was a revelation – a disc I now delightedly place with the best performances. And while I do not agree with certain rubato decisions in his 2025 Tchaikovsky Seasons release (Decca 487 1022), I’ll pay that price for the most heart-rending realizations of some of them I’ve ever heard. These live Goldberg Variations are a worthy follow-up, an encouraging indication that Mr. Lim is a performer of enduring sensitivity rather than any flash in the pan. And speaking of flash, it’s nice not to be gimmicked by hamster-wheel virtuosity, performance-practice stuntsmanship, or skimpy concert attire that *covers* only a lack of substance

But Lim certainly has his detractors, and it is against their more unfair criticisms that I find it advantageous to begin evaluating this Bach. The first thing we need to get straight is that the “historically informed performance” people, contrary to their posturing, wouldn’t know how Bach actually played his variations from a hole in the wall. Joseph Kerman (Contemplating Music, HUP, 1985) and Richard Taruskin (Text and Act, OUP, 1995) have already exposed the stubborn HIP movement’s fallacies, and I won’t fully replicate their arguments here. I’ll just first point out that the manuscript score to the Goldbergs is sparse indeed. Mostly missing are dynamics (understandably), articulation marks, and tempo indications. If anything, Bach seems to be saying, “here are the notes: decide how to play them.” Second, even if we did have more evidence of Bach's personal preferences, he’s long dead and we have instruments he never imagined. I think we can let go of the gatekeeping. Wanda Landowska reportedly said, “you play Bach your way, and I’ll play him his way.” Talented musician, terrible music scholar. Let’s not pretend to be in the know when all we’re doing is being pompous. (This seems a good place to remind certain performers that sneering at musicology as a discipline may scratch an itch, but in the end the joke’s on them.)

Critics of Lim’s Goldbergs say he plays some ornaments a little funny, or that he disrupts certain polyphonic lines while unusually bringing out some inner voices. Maybe he does. I also don’t negatively care. These detractors seem to think that the highest aim of all new Goldberg Variation recordings is to recreate the sound of the harpsichord on the piano, or to satisfy some stale formalist paradigm. I for one believe we have enough recordings of this work on the harpsichord. If that’s what you want, you’ll always have these performers to satisfy you. But do we otherwise need to be so pedantic? An unorthodox elongation of a trill’s upper auxiliary note (or some comparably innocuous thing) is still miles away from Glenn Gould’s humming and howling. There’s contrapuntal style, and then there’s artificially adding lines of counterpoint that Bach never wrote, even in a manuscript mostly restricted to notes!

But the complaint that Lim achieves a Romantic sound is for me one of this recording’s selling points. When I listen to some of these variations, I hear colors and atmospheres that the heretofore best performances on piano (Perahia, Hewitt, etc.) only began to explore. This is easily experienced in the slower, dreamier numbers (particularly 15, 21, and 25). But somehow even more impressive is the “velvety virtuosity” that Lim achieves in many of the quick pieces, fully exploiting the timbral possibilities of the modern instrument. Variations 9, 22, and 24 are emblematic of the entire performance in this respect, and bespeak extraordinary pianistic command.

If this weren’t enough, Lim also brings refreshing spontaneity with varied repeats. Sometimes his daring is breathtaking, as when he plays the right hand part an octave higher on repeat in Variation 7, or alters rhythms in a quasi-improvisatory manner the second time through No. 20. I can imagine some purists raging at these liberties, but just as easily can I imagine Bach grinning appreciatively if he could somehow listen from beyond the grave. My favorite of all is Variation 17, which in Lim’s hands is a virtuosic tour de force of piano dynamics and technical control.

The truth is that I listen to too many new recordings of familiar repertoire that are no better than highly competent (and sometimes considerably worse). “Why did we need yet another of these?” I often wearily ask myself. But then someone like Lim comes along, threads the needle of personal vs. tasteful, and revives my flagging faith in the whole industry. There really are new things that can be said with this old music. Lim certainly says some; his Goldbergs burst with flavor and are all the more astounding for having been performed live. I understand that he’s tackling the Mozart sonatas next: more well-trodden ground that risks exposing him ruthlessly. Like others, I’d love for him to champion some newer works in need of high-profile advocacy. But until then I’m more than happy to see if he can maintain his stellar showing within the canon. 

In Memoriam: Sonny Rollins

by Karl Nehring

On May 25, we lost a giant in the world of jazz, Sonny Rollins, the “Saxophone Colossus,” who was widely regarded as the greatest improviser on his instrument; moreover, he was widely regarded as a wise, kind, generous human being. Even those not generally familiar with jazz history may recall the famous story of Sonny Rollins and “the bridge.” In the summer of 1959, Rollins, who was already recognized as a great young talent and had released two widely acclaimed LPs. Saxophone Colossus and Way Out West, abruptly stopped touring in 1959 and instead began a daily routine of practicing his horn on the Williamsburg Bridge over New York City’s East River, often playing as much as 14-15 hours, refining his craft for two years until finally going back on tour in the fall of 1961. Then in early 1962, he stepped into the studio to record an album titled The Bridge, which featured guitar virtuoso Jim Hall. Sonny was finally forced to hang up his horn in 2014 because of respiratory illness, but he remained a beloved elder statesman in the jazz community. 

In the wake of his passing, many tributes to Sonny Rollins have been posted, two of which I have included here. The first is by bassist Christian McBride (you can read Christian's tribute here), while the second is by the Detroit based jazz critic Mark Stryker, kindly made available courtesy of pianist and author Ethan Iverson (which can be found here). Stryker offers recommendations about Rollins’s recordings; ideally, late one evening soon you will look over his list, find an album that sounds promising, and give Sonny a listen.

Schubert: Hoffnung (Lieder from c. 1826). Schubert 200, Volume 3 (Streaming Review)

by Ryan Ross

Samuel Hasselhorn, baritone; Ammiel Bushakevitz, pianist. Harmonia Mundi HMM 902779 

While I’m usually lukewarm about thematic recording projects, this release belongs to an uncommonly compelling series. In the lead-up to the 200th anniversary of Franz Schubert’s death in 2028, Harmonia Mundi has planned five albums devoted to the productive last five years of his life. Each presents a curated selection of lieder from an approximate year, performed by baritone Samuel Hasselhorn and pianist Ammiel Bushakevitz, with a subtitle reflecting some commonality of its selections. The first release was Die schöne Müllerin (HMM 902720), featuring the 1823 cycle. Last year came Licht und Schatten (“Light and Shadow,” HMM 902747), covering songs from 1824–25. Now we have Volume 3, Hoffnung (“Hope”), my favorite installment so far.

 

Familiar Schubert songs feel fresher when imaginative programming reshapes their complexion. Many of the inclusions here speak to longing—particularly for a person or future not yet arrived, hence the subtitle. Tropes of wind, dreams, and the seasons thread through the choices almost like leitmotifs. Taken together, these songs somehow project their own poignant atmosphere. With repeated listens it’s clear that they effectively play off of each other. Curation is very much part of the experience here. 

 

But inspired curation won’t save uninspired performances. What really makes this album (and series) work are Hasselhorn’s and Bushakevitz’s deft musicianship. Hasselhorn has a rich voice with a better-than-average vocal timbre. He brings versatility of range and expression, along with especially strong diction. You can hear these texts very well, not just the concordant pitches and dynamics. Words are not slurred. Such attributes are rarer than they should be; even big names like Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau sometimes underwhelm in these respects. Moreover, I can scarcely convey how refreshing it is that vibrato here does not obscure intelligibility. Bushakevitz proves himself a responsive partner. While some might accuse him of yielding too much interpretive ground, that impression probably stems from his resolute orientation toward the singer. This is a pairing sharply suited to the task at hand. 

 

Every song here receives at least a very good performance, but some accounts are outstanding. Foremost in my affections is Alinde (D. 904). Hasselhorn and Bushakevitz never lose the thread, and bring out each stanza’s own special emotions. The point of reuniting with the song’s namesake is gorgeously colored, differentiating it from prior searching exclamations. I’d say these musicians shine most in such modified strophic territory. Das Zügenglöcklein (D. 871, No. 2) is another instance where they fully exploit the savory changes of mode and melody (although I think Bushakevitz could ping the eponymous A-Flat bell perhaps a tad more prominently). 

 

However, a chief challenge with Schubert lieder is in the simple strophic numbers: what wiggle room can performers find to provide variety as words change but scoring does not? Despite his occasional text-slurring, Fischer-Dieskau threaded that needle better than almost anyone else. Hasselhorn and Bushakevitz bring off songs like Im Jänner 1817 (“Tiefes Leid”) and the D. 867 Wiegenlied with great sensitivity. I’d put their renditions ahead of most others’. But their very polish perhaps inhibits them in that last inch for such settings.  

 

If this release were purely a question of musicianship, I’d rate it north of 4.5/5. Unfortunately, I must mention something that’s easy to overlook: sound quality. A reverberant, even boomy acoustic unfairly hampers the proceedings. It’s particularly noticeable in the music’s lower registers. Since Hasselhorn is a baritone, that drags him down disproportionately. Compare this recording to others with the same repertoire, and you’ll see what I mean. That said, it’s a slight annoyance that should not dissuade you. This is still a strong conceptual series with excellent performances for the most part. I’m excited for 1827!

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

by Karl Nehring

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

by Ryan Ross

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

by Karl Nehring

Philharmonia Orchestra; Martyn Brabbins, conductor. Signum Classics SIGCD977

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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