Belonging on ECM and Blue Note (CD Reviews)

 by Karl Nehring

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

Live Concert Report: Immanuel Wilkins 

 

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

A Concert Report from Ethan Iverson:

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 You can find Ethan's complete concert report here.

 

Bowen and Walton Viola Concertos (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

For Arvo (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

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

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

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

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

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

by Karl Nehring

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

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

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

Kenneth Woods

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

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

 

Butterworth & Holst Orchestral Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

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

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

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

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

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

Samuel Coleridge-Taylor: Orchestral Works (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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