Ruth Gipps: Orchestral Works, Volume 4 (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

Violin Concerto, Op. 24; Leviathan, Op. 59; Symphony No. 5, Op. 64. Charlie Lovell-Jones, violinist; Bill Anderson, contrabassoonist; Rumon Gamba, conductor; BBC Philharmonic. Chandos 20319

Perhaps the most challenging aspect of reviewing classical music is having to deal honestly with composers and compositions that one wants to extol but can’t fully. The problem is compounded when performers are sympathetic and deliver the works in question about as well as can be expected. I want to root for Ruth Gipps and her advocates here, much as I have wanted to root for Mieczyslaw Weinberg and Company in my past reviews. I feel tempted to make exaggerated claims for these composers out of sheer admiration for their life stories, causes, and even the considerable talent that each exercised. But if the peculiar failures of recent musicology and music criticism (where they can be separated anymore) are any indication, merely wishing for something does not make it so. I wish Ruth Gipps were a great composer rather than merely a very good one capable of the occasional outstanding effort, but she wasn’t. And as I suggested in my review of Volume 3 of her orchestral works, this reality weighs when comparing her miniatures and longer works. Volume 4 here contains two of the latter plus a solid miniature: not an auspicious beginning for my initial desire to give this recording a rave review.

Bill Anderson

We’ll start with the miniature. Leviathan is scored for the interesting combination of contrabassoon (or double-bassoon) and chamber orchestra. Frankly, I’ve always harbored a special affection for this solo instrument, and my curiosity is stirred whenever it receives more than background consideration. Happily, Leviathan is now my personal favorite work featuring it (whatever that distinction is worth!). Here is a study in atmospheric scene setting, where I imagine an open ocean scene under a saturnine sky with a large sea serpent or cetacean rolling at the water’s surface. Aided by that imagery the music gives me chills! At 5 minutes long it should be programmed and taken up by your friendly local contrabassoonist everywhere.

But then we come to the bigger works, and I just wish I were less frustrated by them. The main thing is that Gipps’s themes are not arresting and differentiated enough for extended treatment. Materials that more distinguished composers might use briefly for transitional purposes here get positioned in a front-and-center way. Her tendency of spinning larger forms from these materials is reminiscent of Vaughan Williams, but without either his sense of drama or melodic ability. These problems are more serious in the Symphony, where there is no soloist to provide relief activity. But even in the Violin Concerto there is too much sameness that lasts for too long. The trimmer, more inviting Horn Concerto of later years avoids this issue. (I do think solo winds are friendlier to Gipps’s sound palette.) However, when it came to symphonies she was never entirely able to overcome her limitations. And so, while her Fifth is beautifully constructed and (again) atmospheric, it just doesn’t pack the punch that a work pushing 40 minutes ought to do. Not even a “Missa brevis for Orchestra” finale provides enough interest to keep me from wishing it had all ended beforehand.

I’ll say it: Ruth Gipps tended to be at her best when she attempted less. And there’s no shame in this! Even a great composer like Chopin never produced a symphony or an opera. Schumann is still most enthusiastically praised for his songs and piano miniature cycles. It’s not that any of these individuals couldn’t do big orchestral things; it’s that what they had to say was so frequently said advantageously in the small and medium genres. Gipps won’t bear comparison to Chopin or Schumann, nor even to one of the great British symphonists, but she doesn’t have to for her specific gifts to shine.

Moderne: Art Choral Vol. 6 (CD Review)

by Karl Nehring

Ola Gjeilo (b. 1978): Unicornis Captivatur; Edward Elgar (1857-1934): Lux AEterna (excerpt from Nimrod from Enigma Variations, arrangement by John Cameron); Ambroz Čopi (b. 1973): II. Regina caeli (excerpt from Quatuor Antiphonae Marianae Selectae); Morten Lauridsen (b. 1943): O magnum mysterium; Čopi: IV. Ave, Regina caelorum (excerpt from Quatuor Antiphonae Marianae Selectae); Samuel Barber (1910-1981): Agnus Dei (Adagio for Strings, Op. 11, transcription for mixed choir); Jake Runestad (b.1986): Nyon Nyon; Uģis Prauliņš (b. 1957): Missa Regensis: I. Kyrie eleison; Andrew Balfour (b. 1967): Praeter rerum seriem; Aaron Copland (1900-1990): Help Us, O Lord (excerpt from Four Motets) Pablo Casals(1876-1973): O vos omnes (Antífona del Nocturno 3º de Sábado Santo). Ensemble ArtChoral (Janelle Lucyk, Marie Magistry, Magali Simard-Galdès, sopranos; Ghislaine Deschambault, Claudine Ledoux, Rachèle Tremblay, altos; Kerry Bursey, Bernard Cayouette, Arthur Tanguay-Labrosse, tenors; Alasdair Campbell, William Kraushaar, Guillaume St-Cyr, basses); Matthias Maute, director. ATMA Classique ACD2 2425 

We have not reviewed a choral release in Classical Candor so far this year (2025); the last time we gave a listen to a CD spotlighting the performance of a choir was back in November, 2024, in a review of new music by the composers Ēriks Ešenvalds and Rachel Laurin (a review that you can find here). While that release featured large works by two composers, this new ATMA release instead focuses on music from a specific musical era: in this case, the Modern Era. As you can discern from the album’s title, this is Volume 6 in a series that includes Vol. 1, Renaissance; Vol. 2, Baroque I; Vol. 3, Baroque II; Vol. 4, Classsique; Vol. 5, Romantique; and Vol. 7, Noël.

As the liner notes observe about the current state of composition for chorus, “the choral repertoire continued to expand during the 20^th and 21^st centuries thanks especially to contributions from North American and Scandinavian composers. Some, such as Morten Lauridsen and Ola Gjeilo, have specialized in contemporary choral composition – in fact, they have written so much and so well that their works have become benchmarks of such music – while others have remained attached to the traditional and sacred character of choral music.”

Readers conversant with choral music may well be familiar with Lauridsen’s O magnum mysterium, which has been widely recorded, including a luminous rendition led by Robert Shaw and captured in audiophile-quality sound in a Telarc release reviewed by John Puccio back in 2018 (review here). Regarding Gjeilo, we have reviewed a couple of his previous releases: Dawn, for solo piano (review here) , which we found disappointing, and Dreamweaver, which included music for chorus with piano and orchestra (review here), a better effort – although our favorite remains his Chandos release titled Northern Lights. His Unicornis Captivatur sounds a bit more traditional than some of his work but makes for a fine opening to the program. The remainder is a mix of the familiar and the unfamiliar, with old standbys such as the choral arrangements of the Barber Adagio and the Elgar Nimrod mixed in with less familiar works by composers whose names might be familiar (such as Copland and Casals) or perhaps lass familiar (such as Čopi or Prauliņš).

One piece that really jumps out, though, is by a composer whose name, although maybe not quite a household name, should not be completely unfamiliar to our readers, for we have reviewed one his releases before (review here), although to be fair, it was a few years ago… Anyway, Nyon Nyon has a unique sound that quickly captures your attention: What are they singing?! From the helpful liner notes, which include texts for all the compositions as well as some information about them, we find the following lyrics:

Nyon nyon

See mahkah who when

Yah hah doo be dah

Ooit tihkih ahh sah

Dnn tss

Runestad explains that Nyon Nyon “explores the wide range of sonic effects that the human voice can produce. The work plunges the listener into an acoustically diverse world populated by original phonemes, each with its own vowel color and way of being produced. By incorporating effects similar to those usually produced by a wah-wah pedal on an electric guitar – itself inspired by nasal sonorities – and other effects mimicking synthesizers, drums, or a bass guitar, the piece turns the choir into a ‘full-fledged vocal orchestra’.” Now, that description – not to mention those lyrics – may strike some readers as off-putting, but trust me, it’s a lively, entertaining piece that is a wonder and a delight.  In presenting a mix of the familiar and unfamiliar, the soothing and stimulating, this collection provides an entertaining overview of modern choral music that is well performed, well recorded, and enthusiastically recommended.

Weinberg String Quartets Nos. 3, 9, and 14 (CD Review)

by Ryan Ross

String Quartet No. 3 in D Minor, Op. 14; Improvisation and Romance for String Quartet; String Quartet No. 9 in F-Sharp Minor, Op. 80; String Quartet No. 14, Op. 122. Arcadia Quartet. Chandos CHAN 20328

 

I have long considered Mieczyslaw Weinberg to be a hit-and-miss composer. But I must say: the more of his music I get to know, the more the misses outpace the hits. Now, not everything I would call a “miss” is necessarily bad; some stuff is even mildly engaging while I listen to it. But little attains much memorability. Most releases in this Chandos string quartet series tell the tale in microcosm: an arresting movement here and there (or an entire work if you’re lucky) alongside vast stretches of miss. The Fifth Volume comes in a bit below this average: lots of okay (or worse) surrounding small islands of special.

We’ll start with what I consider to be the most compelling item: the Improvisation and Romance for String Quartet. David Fanning’s liner notes explain that this work is in a “comprehensible,” “anti-formalist” style favored by Soviet authorities during the Stalin era. I’ll be honest: I abhor the Soviet government’s censorship methods, but I like it when Weinberg composed in this style, to which his Third Symphony (an absolutely wonderful piece) also belongs. When his tendency toward doodling took a back seat to directness, he was at his best. And so it goes in this pair of miniatures. The Improvisation is the less memorable of the two but still pleasant and easy to follow. However, the Romance is the gem of the whole disc – sporting a beautifully wistful melody that shows what Weinberg could do when he felt like it.

 

Sometimes Weinberg successfully balanced being clever with being direct, as he did in the Fourth and Sixth Quartets. The Third Quartet of 1944 is very much in this vein, if somewhat less inspired. It begins with one of his signature “driving-rhythm” movements, this being one with clear thematic ideas and a satisfying formal trajectory. The second movement is about the same length, similarly well crafted, and full of feeling. The trouble here is that for all the sincerity of expression, there is not a truly memorable moment to take with you after the music stops playing. The third movement almost solves this problem with its mysterious opening theme, but the rest never lives up to that initial promise. And the theme itself kind of fizzles by the end. It’s all respectable, but you’re left wanting more.

With the Ninth Quartet of 1963 we get closer to Weinberg’s late style, of which I am mostly not a fan. But while this work still doesn’t descend quite to the dreariness of the last quartets, it’s hardly distinguished. We have another driving opening movement with quick repeated motives and decent drama. The delicate scherzo that follows is likewise a solid listening experience with some simple ideas that shine through the gloom. Next is a 10-minute Andante – a finely-wrought slow movement that I struggle to describe in further useful terms. A rather nondescript Allegro moderato closes things out. Truthfully, I am listening to the music as I write this paragraph because I have trouble remembering much when it’s not directly in my ears. It more or less holds the attention. But beyond that? There’s nothing here I’m champing at the bit to revisit soon.

I don’t actually have much to say about the Fourteenth Quartet that I haven’t already said about the Thirteenth, Fifteenth, and Sixteenth Quartets in other reviews here. Think second-rate late Shostakovich. If that sounds like your idea of a good time, dive right in. Anyone else who reads this should carefully consider how they want to spend its 25 or so minutes.

Maybe I’m complaining too much. To be sure, I’d gladly take every work on this disc (Fourteenth Quartet included) over anything by Weinberg’s younger contemporaries Schnittke and Gubaidulina. So I guess my definition of “miss” is highly variable after all. And my mild displeasure (as it turns out) has absolutely nothing to do with the excellent performances given here by the Arcadia Quartet. The liner notes make clear that its members really believe in this music. Well, I’m glad for them. If you’re going to perform and record something, you might as well do so with conviction. I’m just not sure that those of us who aren’t Weinberg-o-holics will be able to muster comparable enthusiasm.