​Two recent releases have me losing some respect for 2 esteemed Classical music labels - one for taking advantage of the consumer by offering a full price CD with a ridiculously short playing time; the other for taking advantage of the unsuspecting listener with inept, musically irresponsible “readings”.
 
Starting with Hyperion, they‘ve just released a recording of a wonderful new piano concerto by renowned pianist Stephen Hough. And it really is quite good - better than expected, and certainly enjoyable. It’s contemporary for sure, but definitely tonal, appealingly melodious and harmonically glamorous in a rather Rachmaninoffian way. It would be perfectly fitting as a film score for a classic romance film, and one can sit back and wallow in the splendor of it.

But here’s the rub - it lasts just 20 minutes. And apparently (unbelievably) having nothing in mind to fill out the disc, Hyperion decided to release it anyway - appeasing the collector by adding 2 short solo piano pieces to the CD in hopes no one would notice that the total playing time is a pitiful 39 minutes. And, adding salt to the wound, have the audacity to offer it at full-price. This is completely unacceptable, particularly coming from a fairly major player in the minor Classical label field. It is simply incomprehensible that they had no plans for Mr. Hough to record something else to go with his concerto. He’s recorded dozens of albums for this label; surely they would have had something in the can, or the pipeline, that could have been ready for this. Or with just the slightest bit of planning and foresight, wouldn't it have been a great idea to couple this new concerto with his String Quartet, just recently released on a Takacs Quartet album (2023). What a nice collection of original compositions that would have been. Or they simply could have marketed this as a single and offered it at half price. But since Hyperion has seen fit to do none of these, no one should buy this. Instead, go find the concerto on YouTube and listen to it for free. (You can even follow the score.) Which is exactly what I did.
 
I find it amusing how British reviewers will always find a reason to laud one of their own, even when they’ve been gypped. The most hilarious one I’ve seen says the short playing time allowed him to "enjoy the opportunity it provides to focus on just these compositions." Oh give me a break.  
 
At the opposite end of the issue comes a ridiculous release from Capriccio - of Bartok’s 3 piano concertos played by Florida-native, body-builder/piano-player John Barto Smith, aka Tzimon Barto. The layout here tells the entire story. Compared to any decent recording of these 3 concertos, which all fit easily onto one CD, this set takes two. The 3 concertos here take 15 minutes longer (!) than Bavouzet on Chandos (who isn't all that fast) and 8 minutes longer than the slowest, most ponderous recording I know of - the one from Aimard and Salonen in San Francisco on Pentatone (79 minutes total).
 
Barto drags these out to an astonishing 87+ minutes. The 3rd Concerto alone is extraordinary. Barto takes over 2-1/2 minutes longer in the first movement, and over 4 minutes longer in the Adagio than Bavouzet! It doesn't even sound like the same piece played this lethargically. And certainly doesn't sound anything like Bartok. Why Eschenbach went along with this is a complete mystery. Oh wait - it's not, actually. Eschenbach apparently "discovered" John Barto Smith back in the 80s. And I guess that allegiance still runs strong - music be damned. One wonders though why Capriccio waited 6 years to release this on CD. These "performances" were recorded in 2018/19 and are just seeing the light of day in 2024. 
 
The marketing blurb for this release is just embarrassing. They quote Mr. Barto: “Even Bartok needs a supple touch. If you bang away at it, without rhythmical buoyancy, of course it will become tedious.” Then Capriccio adds their own insight: “These recordings are his attempt at doing justice to his Bartok-ideal.” I laughed out loud at that and wondered how on earth they come up with such ridiculousness. To imply that every other pianist just bangs away at it and Barto alone truly understands it by making it "supple" is preposterous. As a matter of fact, this is the very epitome of tedious. Oh the irony.   
 
And here again, there’s the problem with the cost of it. Capriccio prices it higher than a single disc, but perhaps not unreasonably for a 2-CD set. But considering the second CD is completely unnecessary in the first place, this set is overpriced. Meanwhile, Gramophone touts the good recorded sound. They had to find something to praise, because they pretend Everything is GREAT! no matter what. Because that’s what sells magazines, and more importantly, keeps record labels advertising in its pages. But don't fall for it. Musically, this recording is about as tiresome as it gets, other than the recorded sound, which is actually very good (especially for the "live" performance of the Third) - definitely more dynamic and realistic than the dull San Francisco recording on Pentatone.

But in the end, it's pretty simple really: not everything needs to be recorded; and some things should never be released. The 6-year delay in bringing this to market would suggest that Capriccio knows this full well, but did it anyway - for reasons we'll never know.  

​This box set was issued to celebrate the 30-year anniversary of the DAFO String Quartet. But you would never know that unless you read the enclosed booklet very attentively, where it is inconspicuously mentioned within a written interview with the musicians. Neither the group, nor the record label, seems inclined to trumpet this momentous occasion. But it is an important release nonetheless.
 
The DAFO Quartet formed in 1993 while still students, and evolved from there. And even though some of the members changed over that first decade, the group’s roster has been consistent since 2004. And they have always been all women. More importantly, as demonstrated by this collection of recordings spanning that 30-year career, what also has remained consistent is the excellence of their playing, and with the exception of the earliest recordings made in 1999, so too is the recorded sound from DUX.
 
Curious about their unusual name, just as I was with the JACK Quartet in my review of their latest recording, I learn DAFO was an acronym of the last names of its original members (just as it was with the JACK, but of their first names) - which no longer pertains to the current lineup. (Same with JACK). But no matter. 
 
I have admired the DAFO Quartet since hearing their 2010 Penderecki recording on the DUX label. My only regret was that they made that recording before the 4th Quartet (2016) was written. So when I saw this 2024 box set release, with extremely minimal information on the back cover as to its contents, it was with tentative anticipation that maybe - just maybe - they might have subsequently recorded the 4th and included it on this CD. Well, I was thrilled to discover that’s exactly what they did! At long last, we have all 4 String Quartets played by this fantastic group, along with the original couplings - the String Trio, Clarinet Quartet (joined by a superb clarinetist, Arkadiusz Adamski), and the little The Broken Thought. But that’s not all. Not only did they record the 4th Quartet, comprised of just two movements (a very short Andante and a vigorous, playful Vivo), they also recorded a recently completed third movement, as reconstructed by Claus-Dieter Ludwig in 2023 from sketches left by the composer. This final Allegro risoluto is fairly substantial, alone lasting as long as the 2 published movements combined (5-1/2 minutes) - bringing the entire work to around 11 minutes in length.
 
While it's significant to have this extra content, one can’t help but wonder how much of it is Ludwig and how much is Penderecki. The booklet provides very little detail on this, so we don't know how much of a fragment Penderecki left. It’s fascinating nonetheless, and a remarkable achievement to have it included here. When was the last time you saw a record label go to the effort and expense of making something right, for the sake of completeness, in a box set of reissued material? Hats off to DAFO Quartet, and especially to DUX Record Producers. What a terrific label this is.
 
The Penderecki was the primary enticement for me, and their recording is as good as it gets. The DAFO bring enormous atmosphere, vigor, wonderment and fascination to this music - and in the first two String Quartets, an eerie awesomeness - along with the most essential ingredient of all, the suddenness of dynamic contrasts. And the DUX engineers provide excellent recorded sound. Now that it includes all 4 String Quartets, this collection is also one of the most complete (along with the recent one on Capriccio). It remains one of the very best even among truly outstanding newer recordings from the Tippett (2020 Naxos), Silesian (2021 Chandos) and Meccore (2023 Capriccio).
 
The remaining 4 discs are logically organized by composer (more or less), taken from a variety of (mostly) reissued material. Disc 2 combines Bacewicz’s 4th with the two by Szymanowski, while Discs 3 and 4 are devoted exclusively to the three by Henryk Gorecki. The one exception is CD 5, which is comprised almost entirely of all new recordings. It presents the 4 String Quartets and 2 Piano Quintets by the only living composer represented in the box, Pawel Lukaszewski (*1968). Only the 1st String Quartet had been previously recorded by DAFO back in 1999, and I can find no other recordings of these works - making this disc indispensable. (The booklet, again very meager with details, mentions in passing “some of these are world premiere recordings.” Why wouldn’t they tout that more?) After the Penderecki, this disc is of primary significance. (More below.)
 
Another highlight for me is the Bacewicz 4th, even though it is not quite as well recorded. It was recorded in Krakow in 1999 (along with the Gorecki 1st and Lukaszewski 1st), in what sounds to be an empty, cavernous hall. The quartet is awash in reverberation - though not so much that it blunts musical impact - affording them an almost symphonic grandeur. It is interesting comparing this to the Silesian Quartet’s 2016 recording of the piece (part of their complete set of all 7 of her String Quartets for Chandos). The difference is quite shocking, actually. The Chandos acoustic is much clearer, almost stark in comparison, with the musicians presented in a much more intimate setting. While the DAFO are set back within a slightly tubby acoustic, surrounded by a halo of reverb - weightier and more dramatic. The lighter touch and transparent textures from the Silesians bring a delightfulness to this music which almost makes it sound like a completely different piece. Still, the DAFO actually make me love it more than the somewhat matter-of-fact Silesians do.

I won't delve into the Gorecki, as I have never cared for his music - and even the DAFO Quartet couldn't change that for me. But I will briefly comment on the two from Szymanowski, as I was much more captivated and moved by them here than ever before. I found it fascinating how the DAFO manage to relate the 1st Quartet to the unique soundworld of his first 2 Symphonies (written roughly 10 years before). There is a similar, richly perfumed atmosphere to it, which the DAFO relishes with an almost orchestral palette of color - propelled by a compelling sense of direction and purpose. While the 2nd Quartet, written 10 years later, is definitely more exploratory and even more intoxicating. It sounds decidedly more Impressionistic, occasionally reminding me of Ravel's String Quartet (amazingly written some 25 years earlier) in a way I had not experienced before. This reading is more characterful and characterized than the one from the Verona Quartet (whose recording I reviewed a couple of years ago), with more pronounced dynamics and articulation, along with sumptuous color - aided by beautiful recorded sound.
  
Finally, the new music on Disc 5. Lukaszewski is apparently known primarily for his choral music, and that can be heard in the inherent lyricism of his string quartet writing. These works are fairly short, and contemporary for sure, but nothing like Gorecki or Penderecki (for example). They are instantly appealing - pleasantly tonal and melodious, and rather lighthearted in spirit. The first 2 are full of character, playful even, adorned with an abundance of appealing tunes. The 3rd has more than a hint of minimalism in its rhythmic insistence - though even here, a glorious melody soars over the underlying agitation. The 4th, written much later (in 2021), returns to the enchanting congeniality of the 1st two. 

The DAFO are joined by pianist Marek Szlezer for the Piano Quintets, which are predictably heavier, with a bit of seriousness adding gravitas to the characteristic liveliness of the Quartets. This is exacerbated somewhat by the recording - which, though recorded in the same hall around the same time, sounds curiously darker and much more reverberant than the Quartets. The piano sounds overpedaled, swamped in the rather murky acoustic. However it's not too serious, and the charisma of this composer's nature emerges undiminished. All of his music is surprisingly approachable and very rewarding; I loved every minute of it. And as most of it was recorded in 2023, it clearly demonstrates the DAFO Quartet isn't showing any signs of slowing down after 30 years. Their playing is simply glorious.  
 
I had not intended to review all the individual works (or performances) in this box, but I became so engrossed in the music, I couldn't help myself. My original intent was actually to illustrate the extraordinary effort made by the DAFO string quartet, and especially this record label, in producing this box set and bringing it to market. Despite my feeling DUX has downplayed the commemorative element of this "30th Anniversary Celebration" and, especially, the world premiere recordings it presents, it is nonetheless a distinguished achievement. This set needs to be heard by everyone who enjoys contemporary string quartet music and appreciates exemplary string quartet playing. And I hope this review will bring at least a small amount of interest and attention to it.     

I received a review copy of this CD in the mail and thought I’d just sample it real quick to see if it was something I would enjoy enough to write about. And I soon found myself so immersed in the music, I simply couldn’t turn it off. And 53 minutes later, I realized I had listened to the entire disc without interruption. So yeah, I'd say I enjoyed it enough to review!

This is an enticing program of harp concertante music featuring French harpist Anaelle Tourret. It begins with a full-scale concerto by the sadly underrated composer, Reinhold Gliere. I was interested in hearing how the harp would compete to be heard over a full orchestra. Well I needn’t have worried. The recording engineer has done a terrific job with balances, and Vasily Petrenko keeps the NDR Elbphilharmonie Orchestra (of which Tourret is principal harpist) firmly under control, allowing the harp to be heard clearly without being at all spotlit by the microphones. And the result is sheer loveliness.
 
The first movement Allegro moderato is tuneful, with delectable string writing, yet with a transparency in the orchestration suitable for a harp concerto. Petrenko insists on delicacy from the orchestra, while encouraging expressiveness (especially from the strings), and establishes a forward-moving, flowing tempo which seems perfect for the music. And Tourret immediately demonstrates an impressive mastery of the harp. 
 
An interesting (and expansive) Theme and Variations occupies the central movement, with enormous variety and colorful orchestration which often reminded me of Tchaikovsky. Tourret displays inspired musicality and effortless virtuosity here in music which sounds quite challenging. The short finale, an Allegro Giocoso, is giocoso indeed, even though it sounds to be even more demanding of the soloist. There are flourishes and arpeggios aplenty, and even a glamorous double-handed glissando just before the 2nd theme is introduced. This is lovely music, and Petrenko continues to be a sensitive (if slightly reserved) partner.
 
What a wonderful piece this is, as is the Concertino by Ernst Von Dohnanyi which comes next on the program. I wasn’t sure what to expect from this Hungarian composer's harp concerto, written late in life out of financial necessity rather than artistic inspiration. While Dohnanyi was an exact contemporary of Gliere, he composed this relatively short concertino in 1952, just 14 years after Gliere’s, and it sounds fascinatingly more contemporary and harmonically expansive. And lighter in spirit (and texture) than I would have expected from him. It is a single movement comprised of 3 contrasting sections, flowing without interruption. The opening is a harmonically enterprising, melodically searching (almost yearning) Andante, which soon becomes turbulent, with some vigorous, rapidly repeated, double-strummed chorded passages in the harp - very impressively played. And it didn't take long before I began to recognize and appreciate the excellence and inherent musicianship of conductor Bar Avni, as she again and again demonstrates the importance of the orchestra as an integral (and equal) part of the music. 
 
This leads without pause into an Allegretto vivace, which is an absolutely charming scherzo with ebullient filigree darting back and forth between harp and sparkling woodwinds. It was over far too soon, and the piece ends, rather unusually, with an Adagio. But Avni wisely keeps it moving, more like a free-flowing Andante cantabile than a somber adagio, allowing the poignant melodies to sing ever so sweetly from harp and orchestral soloists alike. It is very moving, and surprisingly, makes an extremely satisfying conclusion to a glorious piece of music.
 
I was intrigued by the scoring in this work, which integrates the harp into the orchestral tapestry rather more than the soloistic prominence Gliere affords it in his. There are appealing melodic passages passed around from harp to various woodwinds in the orchestra, as if in friendly conversation, which keep the listener thoroughly engaged. And along with the marvelous harp playing, I continued to enjoy the wonderful contribution from Avni and the Stuttgart Chamber Orchestra, who provide an enthralling, dynamic presence so vital to the piece. Avni’s orchestra shows no signs of restraint as their sound fills the spacious acoustic with resplendence and grandeur. 
 
I had never heard either of these concertos before and was captivated by their charming appeal - and even more so by the enchanting expressiveness and sheer accomplishment of the playing. 
 
Closing the concert is Debussy’s beloved Sacred and Profane Dances. And as wonderful as the concertos are, it is in this more familiar music where the mastery and masterful musicianship of Tourret and Avni become even more fully revealed. It’s one thing to bring neglected, relatively unknown masterworks to life; it’s another level of artistry altogether to make the familiar sound fresh and new. And that’s exactly how I hear their Debussy.
 
Right from the harp's first entrance, there is an endearing tenderness to her phrasing which is beguiling, followed by lovely expressiveness from the strings, with touching intimacy to their vibrato. Avni elicits an elasticity of phrasing which doesn’t interrupt tempos, but allows a certain freedom of expression - a slight relaxing here, a pushing ahead there - which is quite extraordinary.
 
This seductive phrasing is even more exquisitely portrayed in the Profane section, helped immeasurably by Avni’s perfectly executed tempo, which is slightly more moving than usual, inspiring the music to positively dance. (Too often this is either a bit sluggish or encumbered with too much rubato, keeping the music steadfastly earthbound.) This performance demonstrates exactly what the tempo should be, and the music is lifted aloft. And again I notice the impressive dynamic range, just as in the Dohnanyi before - an element often overlooked in this music, but once heard, becomes absolutely essential for bringing it to life. 
 
Tourret and Avni are perfect musical partners - ever responsive to one another as if playing chamber music. This is surely one of the most wondrous and enraptured recordings of the Debussy I have heard. (And it is better recorded than most.)
 
This CD appears on the ES/DUR (C2 Hamburg) label, in joint production with NDR and distributed by Onegate Media. The recording quality throughout is excellent. Even though the Gliere was made in a different venue (in Hamburg), there is an appealing naturalness to the recorded sound with both orchestras. However, the acoustic is even more luscious in Stuttgart - just a bit more spacious, airy, colorful and warmly reverberant (but not too much). One would never guess a chamber orchestra is utilized here, so richly imbued with warmth, color and texture is their sound.
 
I was somewhat apprehensive that an entire disc of harp music would be a bit too much of a good thing - but that was far from the case. Each piece is so uniquely individual, not only musically, but in the scoring as well, that I fully appreciated the “Perspectives” theme of this album. Never once, not even for a moment, did I experience a feeling of "sameness" while listening to it. I was fully engaged and immersed in the music from beginning to end. While I am certainly not an expert on harp playing, I can wholeheartedly say I enjoyed this release enormously - far more than I ever would have expected.

This is a sensational release. But I think Charlie Lovell-Jones got a bit short-changed on the production. Unlike the recent release of MacDowell orchestral works, where they featured a picture of a self-conscious Xiayin Wang on the cover (which wasn’t warranted, as the piano concerto was far from being a musical priority there), here, with Walton’s Violin Concerto very much the headliner, Charlie doesn’t get his pic on the front. And he should have. Oh it’s an attractive cover, but I wish they had used it on the MacDowell instead. These kinds of decisions just seem so nonsensical and arbitrary.
 
Be that as it may, this recording of the concerto is glorious. And Mr. Lovell-Jones deserves star status - even if I did find him largely responsible, as this orchestra’s "leader" (concertmaster) in a recent recording of music for strings, for the violin section’s ridiculously fast, frantic vibrato. (In hindsight though, it’s probably exactly what Wilson was asking for.) Mercifully, there is none of that anywhere on this Walton program. And hearing him as soloist, with the freedom to be his own musician and play from the heart, Lovell-Jones proves to be a wonderfully expressive violinist. While I do hear a fast, fairly tight vibrato from him, it’s not anywhere near frantic or hectic, and there is just enough body of tone to support it. While one could never describe his sound as large or particularly rich, there is a shimmering, almost ethereal silkiness to it which is positively lovely. And the recording engineer captures his violin naturally, without a hint of spotlighting, allowing his tone to float exquisitely up into the acoustic of that big cathedral they record in.
 
There is no denying Lovell-Jones receives superlative support from Wilson and the Sinfonia of London. Their commanding contribution makes a dramatic and powerful impact - so much so that at times they almost overpower the soloist. But that’s not Wilson’s fault, nor is it the fault of the recording engineer. Walton himself acknowledged an imbalance with the scoring after a performance in the “lamentably echo-laden” Royal Albert Hall, and proceeded to thin out the orchestration a little. But the orchestra remains an integral part of the piece, and what we hear on this recording is realistic and believable - exactly how we’d hear it in the concert hall.
 
Musically, this is about as good as it gets, despite (or more likely because of) brisk tempos. After the pensive, tranquil opening section, I was afraid the very fast speed in the molto piu mosso con brio was going to be too much. And indeed, the entire first movement is over rather quickly (nearly 2 minutes faster than Tasmin Little on her recent recording for Chandos, and over a minute faster than most other rivals, except Heifetz). But the music relaxes so graciously all around it, it works. And the ensuing Presto second movement proves it can be faster still - where Lovell-Jones plays with effortless bravura, without ever sounding breathless, followed by the most sweetly singing legato double-stopped melodic passages. 
 
The final Vivace is taken at a reasonable tempo, not at all helter-skelter, but with plenty of bravado. And I was even surprised to hear a remarkable resemblance to the finale of Prokofiev's 3rd Piano Concerto (tinged with a bit of Shostakovich and the bustling propulsion of Walton's own Spitfire Fugue) which I had never noticed before. We can possibly hear why Heifetz (the concerto's dedicatee) had some reservations with this finale, but Lovell-Jones and Wilson certainly make the most compelling and musically convincing case for it.

I have never enjoyed Walton's Violin Concerto as much as this. And the reason is simple - it is far better played, both by soloist and orchestra, than on any other recording I can remember. (And spot-checking many of them just to be sure, confirms this to be absolutely true - with the notable exception of James Ehnes and Bramwell Tovey on CBC Records in 2006.) And with superbly dynamic SACD sound which expands magnificently into the acoustic, this is most impressive - musically and sonically. It will inspire you to absolutely love this concerto, perhaps for the first time.
 
I am very impressed with Charlie Lovell-Jones, not only as a violin player but as a musician. I read in the booklet he has continued his studies even while leading the violins of the Sinfonia of London - recently graduating from Oxford (in 2020) and the Royal Academy (in 2022), and with continuing studies at Yale (with Augustin Hadelich) through 2024. At just 26 years old, he demonstrates an incredibly ambitious determination and dedication. And he plays a 1777 Guadagnini violin, which surely contributes to his lovely tone.  
 
While Wilson would certainly have opened the concert with the Overture which appears last on this disc for no logical reason, the program begins instead with the Symphonic Suite from the opera, Troilus and Cressida, as arranged by Christopher Palmer in 1987. Though quite a rarity, this is not a premiere recording. That came from Chandos back in 1989, with Bryden Thomson conducting the London Philharmonic (appropriately coupled with the 2nd Symphony). And predictably, Wilson’s tempos in all 4 movements are considerably faster than Thomson’s - remarkably so in the 3rd section, where he is nearly 3 minutes faster! But it never sounds rushed; it’s just more engaging and involving.
 
The opening section, “The Trojans" Prelude and Seascape, is very dramatic, unmistakably Walton, and characteristically operatic - especially in the central section where Wilson’s strings sing with fervor. While the Scherzo is mercurial - lively allegrettos alternating with lengthy lyrical (and very operatic) passages. “The Lovers” (3rd movement) then is somewhat reminiscent of Korngold, with Wilson’s forward-moving tempos encouraging rapturously soaring lines. (And he doesn’t shy away from its kindred affinity with the forthcoming 2nd Symphony.) And the central vivo really moves! It is followed by a breathtaking misterioso which is pure magic - as is the central tranquillo in the finale, surrounded on either side by dramatic passion. 

I've never thought of Walton as an opera composer, and this suite doesn't really change that - it works marvelously as a purely orchestral piece. Though there are tunes galore, it must be admitted this arrangement tends to sound rather more like a classic film score combined with symphonic elements right out of his 2nd Symphony, than an opera per se. (And truthfully, this may be more Christopher Palmer than Walton.) Nonetheless, it is glorious to hear. And John Wilson excels at this kind of music, with its endless variety of moods and styles. And this amazing orchestra responds intuitively and instantaneously to his every gesture. The rapport he has with this ensemble is really something quite wonderful.
​
Finally, appended at the very end of this disc for no conceivable (or musical) reason - as if just an afterthought - is an overture. I do wish someone would explain to Chandos producer, Brian Pidgeon, what an overture is. I think he thinks it’s an encore. For just as in a previous release of orchestral music by Bacewicz, where he appended an overture after the 2 major symphonies, here we have the Portsmouth Point Overture coming after the violin concerto. And Wilson, as is his wont, whips it up with as much energy and vigor as he could possibly generate. And it’s as exciting as you’d ever want to hear it, and as such, sounds ridiculously misplaced there at the end. Even the booklet writer (Mervyn Cooke) knows where it should go and writes about it first in the program notes!
 
Nevertheless, this is a terrific program - sensationally played and spectacularly recorded. For maximum appreciation though, I recommend listening to it in a completely different order than how it’s served to us on the disc. Start with the Overture (obviously), followed by the Concerto, and end with the symphonic suite - exactly as the program notes in the booklet are organized.
 
Wilson and his orchestra are fabulous in Walton (just as they were in Korngold) and I sincerely hope they have plans to record the two symphonies. We’ve desperately needed truly worthy successors to the classic 1966 Previn/RCA 1st, and the 1961 Szell/CBS 2nd. And I think Wilson and company could quite possibly be just the combination to deliver it. 

I was disappointed with Gimeno’s recent Dutilleux recording with the Luxembourg Philharmonic (although the Cello Concerto is quite good) - in large part due to harmonia mundi’s close, flat, somewhat mono-dynamic recorded sound, which lacks the necessary atmosphere and color needed for Dutilleux (especially Metropoles). I thought I’d give this conductor and label another chance with their latest release, as it involves a different orchestra and (obviously) a different hall. And the results are interesting. There are many similarities with the conducting, but the recorded sound is notably more atmospheric and dimensional in Toronto, which would have benefited the Dutilleux program more than it does Stravinsky. Gimeno has previously recorded two sets of Stravinsky ballets with the Luxembourg Philharmonic (in 2018 for Pentatone and 2022 for harmonia mundi), and it’s curious why he didn’t continue with them for this latest Stravinsky recording, and turn to Toronto for Dutilleux. If only Gimeno had switched orchestras for these two recordings, both might have been improved immeasurably. 
 
Musically, the similarities in this new release include refined, efficient, proficient and largely anonymous orchestral execution. And it could be more dynamic too. Harmonia mundi faithfully captures the spacious acoustic in Toronto, which sounds to be ideal. It’s a lovely sound which would have worked wonderfully in Dutilleux, but not as much in Stravinsky, given Gimeno’s propensity for smooth orchestral refinement over incisive articulation. Again, if only…
 
The program begins with a rather lackluster reading of Stravinsky’s Divertimento from the ballet The Fairy’s Kiss. I found it interesting reading Gimeno’s introduction in the booklet where he states he’s always interested in exploring complete scores over the more popular suites, and yet he plays just the suite from this. And it’s just as well, for he seems rather uninspired by it, and it sounds under-characterized and rather faceless. 
 
Fortunately, matters improve with the main attraction - the complete Pulcinella ballet - though I really wish Gimeno had used reduced forces, as Stravinsky envisioned this for chamber orchestra. With the full orchestra as recorded here, I miss some of the charm and intimacy of a smaller group. And it could be more articulate and vividly characterized as well. Inner detail is a bit murky and the low strings a bit woolly, as Gimeno prefers a homogenous sound. The orchestral playing is excellent though, and they certainly sound more lively than in Divertimento. 

Another problem for me is his use of big operatic voices with big voluptuous vibrato, which sound ridiculously overblown in this score. The singers are good, and I’m sure they’d be great in Verdi, but here, their boisterousness becomes more of an intrusion rather than an integral part of the narrative. (And this tenor - is his vibrato sounding concerningly close to becoming a wobble? And the mezzo is surely too dark; the score specifies soprano.) The bass/baritone is best. Even though he too has a big voice, he really does try to lighten it, and sings with a character and buoyancy befitting the text.
 
While recordings of the complete ballet are not all that common, more characterful and compelling readings can certainly be found. Chailly in Amsterdam (Decca) uses a one-on-a-part chamber ensemble to great effect, while Marriner's St. Martin in the Fields Academy (EMI) is the perfect-sized group for this music, and perhaps with the exception of the tenor, his vocalists are far more ebullient as well. Even Robert Craft, using the full London Symphony, is fresher and more engaging in his 1997 recording for Koch (reissued on Naxos).
 
And while I always prefer the complete Fairy’s Kiss over just the Divertimento excerpt, including the entire ballet here would have left no room on the CD for the commissioned work - which I suspect was a primary consideration for this release from Toronto. (And I had hoped it would be the highlight of the disc.) 
 
Curiously sandwiched in between the two Stravinsky scores, is a new work by Canadian composer Kelly-Marie Murphy, commissioned by the Toronto Symphony Orchestra and the Glenn Gould Foundation (that would have been in 2017, seven years before this recording was made) to celebrate Gould’s 85th birthday and the 70th anniversary of his debut performance with the orchestra. Its oddly cumbersome title, Curiosity, Genius, and the Search for Petula Clark, is certainly a mouthful, and not easily recalled after it’s done. (The composer explains in the booklet it originates from a radio interview Gould participated in at some point.) Unfortunately, the music is not much more memorable than the title.
 
It is contemporary for sure, somewhat avant-garde in its (lack of) tonality, and expertly orchestrated. It begins almost imperceptibly with some eerie, distant percussion and wonderfully atmospheric pp harmonics on the strings, before a series of beguiling solos emerge from the mists by a variety of woodwinds - beginning with the flute, with a marvelous improvisational quality to it. I’m instantly intrigued and drawn into this mysterious sonic landscape. An expressive bassoon plays a pensive tune before a percussion-laden crescendo takes us to an energetic, almost furious Allegro with flurrying strings and brass and percussion interjections, sounding not unlike an action movie sequence. It was at this point I kept expecting (and hoping) all this commotion would eventually lead to something substantive - a main theme perhaps, and a welcoming bit of harmonious tonality. But it never arrives. Some more high-energy film-score-sounding music soon gives way to another atmospheric section much like the opening (but more tense and uneasy this time), before agitated strings and heavy rhythmic punctuations from the brass and a battery of percussion whip up the action again - and again not really going (or getting) anywhere. And the piece abruptly ends, leaving me wanting more from it. 

So maybe not quite the highlight of the disc after all. Though inspired by an important and interesting figure, it tends to sound much like what it is - a commissioned work, written "on demand" for a specific occasion. And one wonders why it took 7 years for it to be recorded.
 
It is interesting to compare this with another new work by a female composer, Wang Jie, commissioned by the Buffalo Philharmonic and recently recorded on their album, “Contemporary Landscapes” (reviewed here on my blog). In some ways the two pieces are similar. Each is a roughly 10-12 minute long, single-movement, highly descriptive piece of program music, with varying sections and contrasting moods within it. And both are expertly scored. However, that’s where the similarities end. Though Jie’s piece too is rather erratic, it seems to have a more purposeful sense of direction. Each section leads spontaneously to the next, and its temperamental variety is capricious and entertaining, in an almost theatrical way. And it packs quite a punch too, building to a very exciting climax at the end. It really is a dazzling showpiece for orchestra - which, for all its bombast, Murphy’s is not. (And I suspect it wasn’t intended to be.)
 
All in all, this is a worthwhile release that will likely be enjoyed by many. Though there are preferable recordings of both Stravinsky works, these are satisfactory, and the commissioned piece is worth hearing. Best of all, the Toronto Symphony is sounding excellent these days - including some truly wonderful solo playing (especially in the new work) and a fantastic trombone in Pulcinella. And with harmonia mundi's irresistible cover art, this is certainly enticing.

These "Complete String Quartets" by American composer John Zorn aren’t really string quartets - at least not in the traditional sense. These are, more accurately, a collection of 8 named pieces for string quartet. The only thing these works have in common with a conventional string quartet is that they are scored for 2 violins, a viola and a cello.
 
And many of them (especially the first three) aren't even really music; they are sound. (I almost said noise. Although a lot of it is indeed noise, it is, in this context I suppose, more accurately, sound.) Each can be heard to represent the composer’s exploitation (and experimentation) of how many different ways he can utilize 4 string instruments to create as many sounds in as many different ways as his imagination can possibly come up with. And as such, it is astounding.
 
As “music” though, it is absurd.
 
In the first three works, which are like nothing I’ve ever heard before, what’s so incredible is how 4 Classically trained musicians can interpret all the notations on the page - squiggles and zigzags with bizarre indications like “get wild!” or “go crazy!” or “virtuoso freakout!” or “pizz. and crunch” or “make up something for 3 seconds” - into something coherent. Let alone playable. Well, not coherent; there’s nothing coherent about any of this. But it is oddly mesmerizing. And endlessly intriguing. Almost hypnotizing. As much as I kept thinking this is just nonsense, I simply couldn’t turn it off. Like an addict needing another fix, I was literally impelled to continue on and discover what they could possibly do next.

There really is no way to describe this other than sheer chaos. Except it’s not chaotic. I hesitate to say it’s structured; it’s not. But it actually is. One could say it’s organized madness. And therein lies the genius of it. With the exception of the 4th one, Kol Nidre, this first set of pieces are basically all the same thing - endless scratching and scraping noises (and more) with the occasional, completely unexpected (and sometimes hilarious) C-major chord progression or amusing 2-second snippet of a country hoe-down or a brief lullaby randomly thrown in there (especially in the first one, Cat O’Nine Tails). Yet each piece is fascinatingly different from the other in the way these things are laid out, the order in which they are presented. Even though we encounter all these effects and sounds repeatedly, they appear in a different context each time, and thus it’s as if hearing them for the first time all over again - startling the listener in a new way each time. And one is left wondering how on earth does the composer come up with it in ways which continue to be interesting? And how on earth do the performers make sense of it? 1st violinist, Christopher Otto, expresses the challenge of it when he muses in the booklet: "How can this series of noises become empowered with meaning?"  

Indeed.

Grasping for a sense of perspective, I suppose we could start by encapsulating it into things we already know - the innovative inventions of Penderecki and Ligeti, combined with the outrageousness of George Crumb, and the more modern thinking of Jorg Widmann, with limitless possibilities of the imagination. Forget about tonality. Or even atonality. This goes way beyond that. There is all manner of bow effects imaginable (and some you could never even dream of) - scratching, scraping, crunching, screeching, whimpering, crying, throbbing, picking, hammering, bouncing, banging - interspersed with notated harmonics, glissandi, flurries and scurrying - and a few actual notes (!) to help make sense of it all. There’s even an admonition at the very beginning: “Vocalizations of any kind are strictly forbidden!” I found myself continually trying to wrap my head around what I’m hearing. And it’s simply indescribable.

The first 4 works were composed much earlier (1988-1996) than the later 4 (2003-2017). Again with the exception of Kol Nidre (1996), which really is different from all the rest, there is a remarkable consistency (and similarity) to them all. The odd one out in the middle that I keep mentioning doesn’t deserve to be singled out as often as I have, except that it is so completely different from all the others, none of what I’ve described applies to it. It is tonal, has harmony rather like choral music, and is hopelessly forlorn in spirit. It is quite short too (just 6-1/2 minutes), with nearly half of that being taken up by a lengthy repeat of the opening theme. (The whole score fits onto less than half a page.) Looking to the booklet for an explanation, there isn’t one. The composer merely describes it as an arrangement of “a kind of prayer” originally taken from the Masada songbook. 
 
The 2nd CD takes us into the 21st Century where Zorn’s style transforms into a new phase of creativity. If I had to summarize what we hear in the new vs the old, the later works have actual pitches (notes) replacing all the sound-effects in the earlier ones - but paradoxically tend to sound more extreme in non-musical sound and temperament. So while we now have musical notation as opposed to noisemaking instructions, the results are curiously less musical - more deliberately atonal and “difficult” than the earlier works. While I consistently enjoy the first 3 pieces in the earlier set for their humorous, almost comedic musical snippets interspersed among the noise, the later works have none of that. They almost feel like the composer is determined to be “serious” about it while eschewing the methods he used a decade earlier. And while it’s good to discover he can write music without all the gimmickry, there is a certain loss of allure to them. I find them a bit less interesting shorn of that singular, fascinating trait so predominant in the earlier works. That being said, I’m ever grateful the JACKs didn’t give into the temptation to mix them up for “variety“ for the sake of the recording. They are presented in chronological order, exactly as they absolutely must be.
 
With Necronomicon, for the first time Zorn structures the piece in 5 separate movements, thus it becomes the closest to being a true String Quartet. The first movement is exactly as I describe above, very atonal and somewhat difficult. But then the second movement melts into a musical expressiveness not unlike a ballad, displaying some of the enticing soundworld of Dutilleux. But just as we settle into its pleasing nature, screeching violins (think Black Angels) interrupt, and the music takes off into rather unpleasant, atonal, nonsensical meanderings which seem a little too deliberate and forced. The 3rd movement is perhaps the best, as Zorn exploits an interesting variety of wild and more traditional techniques - pizzicato, quadruple stops, log legno, sul ponte, et al - looking back at Penderecki, and definitely paying homage to Bartok, especially with a conspicuous musical quotation of those distinctive chords from the opening measures of his 4th Quartet's finale. The 4th movement is desolate, much like Ligeti, before turning furious (and ugly) in the final movement, reminding us this is the composer that “goes wild” in the earlier works. So while Zorn is evolving creatively, we still know it’s him.

The Alchemist is much the same, and may actually hearken back to George Crumb more than the others, as the composer references "nine hierarchies of angelic orders" in the synopsis. It displays a plethora of playing techniques, but nothing particularly novel that I could hear, and a lot of rambling noodling, seemingly without direction. Being one of the longest in the collection at nearly 20 minutes, I began to tire of it before we got anywhere near the end. (Perhaps I needed a break from it all at this point.)
 
Zorn’s style continues in the same vein in the final two works, but begins to struggle for more consistent tonality. In The Remedy of Fortune, the composer states he based it on one of his first loves, mediaeval music - and maybe one can hear that, but not really until the brief pizzicato passage in the middle, where it is unmistakable. And about his final work, The Unseen, he proclaims it could be the last string quartet he will ever compose. And that would be a shame. (He's just 71 years old.) I hear this work as a culmination of all his talent and imagination come to fruition, as he moves farther away from the outlandish and matures into the inspired. At last we hear a settled resolve which is entirely satisfying. The piece reminds me of Ligeti more than any other composer, as there is a similar pensive, otherworldly desolation to it. If one can get past the outrageousness of his earlier works, this last one will likely gain the admiration of many.

For a bit of perspective - as bizarre as Zorn's music may seem, compared to some other sound-oriented works the JACK Quartet has recorded (by Helmut Lachenmann and Iannis Xenakis, for example), it is relatively rational, purposeful and sophisticated. Approachable even - with the right mind-set.

As to the realizations of these unimaginably difficult scores, the JACK Quartet is amazing beyond description. That they can play this stuff and make it something worth listening to is amazing beyond comprehension. I’ve seen the score for Cat O’Nine Tails and it is insane! There’s so little to it - tiny fragments of musical notation interspersed with measures of squiggles and criss-crossing wavy lines with instructions of what to do during a prescribed length of time (i.e. do “xxx” for 3 seconds; or make “xxx” noises for 4 seconds). These guys do what they’re told and proceed to make something out of it. To state that it’s thought-provoking would be a start, but mind-boggling might be closer.

Cat O’Nine Tails was commissioned in 1988 by the Kronos Quartet, which they recorded for Nonesuch on their 1993 album, “Short Stories” (which I have not heard). The Quatuor Molinari recorded the four earlier works for ATMA in 2018. And it is definitive. I was instantly fascinated by this music and intrigued by this composer after listening to their recording and seeing their subsequent live performances on YouTube. 

It’s interesting to compare the Molinari and the JACK in these 4 early works. As so much of what's there on the printed page is left to interpretation, it’s fascinating to hear the end results are so similar with both groups. The primary (and most striking) difference between the two is the recorded acoustic. The Molinari Quartet plays in a big, spacious church with a pronounced reverberation, rendering their readings more atmospheric and a touch less explicit, though with impressive presence and impact. While the JACK Quartet is recorded in a studio, up close, with every painstaking detail revealed in all its immaculate glory. Musically, the Molinari are, if anything, a bit more characterful, while the JACK are a bit more determined. As a result, the Molinari Quartet seems to invite the listener in to experience something new, while the JACK Quartet wants you to hear them play something new. There is a subtle, but appreciable difference. Both perspectives work marvelously and both recordings are essential listening if you're going to explore this composer at all. I sincerely hope the Molinari will one day record the later set, as I would expect their more atmospheric approach would benefit these later works especially well.
 
About this production - it is co-produced by the composer, the recording engineer and the performers, and distributed on a label I’ve not seen before, Tzadik “A Project of Hips Road” New York. The 2 CDs come in a lavish, 3-way cardboard foldout, along with an extravagant booklet which includes pertinent details such as a track listing and timings, brief personal notes from the composer and each member of the quartet, and single-page snapshots of the opening page of the score for each work. (Fascinating!) The bulk of it is taken up by an interesting, though lengthy (and rather esoteric) 13-page mini-biography of the composer, written by music author Lloyd Peterson. What’s curiously missing (and sorely needed) are comprehensive program notes about the pieces themselves. But what is here certainly enhances the listening experience. And the recorded sound, if a bit stark, is stunning in its immediacy.

Before I close, allow me to offer a word of advice to anyone listening to this recording on the home stereo system. If you play this with anyone else around, it will drive them from the room, shaking their head and flashing you the dreaded “Have you completely lost your mind?” look. I found headphones work best. And I’m serious about this - unless, of course, we really have lost our minds and there’s no use hiding it. (My spouse still wonders why I listen to Bartok!)
 
Oh, one more thing. About the JACK Quartet - what an odd name for a string quartet. After some research, I found it originally made sense more than it does today. When formed in 2005, the original members were John, Ari, Christopher and Kevin. Thus “JACK” is merely an acronym - or as the guys themselves call it, a "jackronym". (Ahem...) That was all fine and dandy until 2016, when half of the members left and were replaced with guys whose names didn’t exactly fit that. One did - Austin Wulliman (former 1st violin of the disbanded Spektral Quartet) was a perfect replacement for Ari Streisfeld on second violin (and one wonders if there was conscious thought to that). But the new cellist (Jay Campbell) didn’t - being another “J”. So they're now missing the “K”. And it doesn’t matter; it's just mildly interesting.
 
I’ve heard some incredible string quartet playing on record lately - the Meccore String Quartet playing French/Polish music, the Marmen Quartet playing Ligeti, and the Piatti Quartet playing Phibbs (all reviewed here on my blog). And the Molinari have been stupendous in their trailblazing series of recordings of contemporary music over the past decade for ATMA (Penderecki, Kurtag, Schnittke, Gorecki, Glass, Zorn, et al). The JACK Quartet soundly joins this list of prestigious groups demonstrating the most exalted level of excellence in string quartet playing today. They simply redefine the art of string quartet playing. Even if this music doesn't do it for you (and it really is an acquired taste), you absolutely must hear the JACK Quartet play it. It is phenomenal. 

​I’m glad I acquired this enticing new album from the National Symphony Orchestra last November when it first came out - before the egomaniac in the White House sabotaged The Kennedy Center’s honor, credibility and respect by firing the entire artistic board and bullied his way in. Why this uncultured buffoon would have any interest whatsoever in The Kennedy Center is beyond comprehension. Remembering this release was in my queue, I became especially intrigued given recent events. 

This is a fine orchestra and they play a compelling program of new compositions by The Kennedy Center’s “Composer in Residence”, Carlos Simon. I found the music interesting, but a bit variable. While the program starts off with some appealing and audience-friendly melodiousness, it concludes with some less pleasant contemporary displays, which can often sound angry. (More on this when we get there.) And inexplicably sandwiched in the middle of this album titled, “Four Symphonic Works”, is a song cycle for mezzo soprano, which isn't something I usually enjoy anyway, but seems especially out of place here. 
 
The program begins with a short, lively “orchestral study”, The Block, which has a kind of urban, jazzy, movie-music feel to it. Colorfully orchestrated, we hear a lot of piano contribution which lends it a bit of a Dave Grusin flavor. It is highly entertaining, with plenty of high spirits, and we’re off to a good start.
 
Tales: A Folklore Symphony isn’t really a symphony, but rather a suite of orchestral arrangements of Negro Spirituals with a vigorous introduction. The opening “Motherboxx Connection” is a busy, bustling moto perpetuo - less jazzy than The Block, and a bit more symphonic, but similar in feel. It is rhythmically propelled rather than melodic or thematically structured, but certainly attracts our attention. The melodies arrive in the central movements as Simon subtly incorporates familiar Negro Spirituals as the melodic (and thematic) basis. “Flying Africans” is a nicely orchestrated arrangement of Steal Away to Jesus. It is a wonderfully expressive, richly harmonious orchestral setting, pleasing and thoughtful, and Noseda draws some sumptuous string sound from the orchestra. “Go Down Moses”, an arrangement of Let My People Go, is much more rugged, with lots of brass which frequently reminded me of band music. Simon doesn’t stick with the tune for long and it seems to lose its way as it goes. It is more modern (and dissonant), with some interesting effects and scurrying strings, interrupted by pounding rhythms from the entire orchestra. Being the longest movement in the work (over 8 minutes), it feels just a bit drawn out for its material.
 
Tales closes with “John Henry”, which remains in rugged sonic territory with lots of percussion and brass, and cumbersome, heavy rhythms. This sometimes sounds like it could be an epic film score - and in a couple of places, it actually reminded me (with a smile) of Ferde Grofe’s long forgotten Death Valley Suite, with its depiction of a lumbering wagon train. Taken as a whole, this is an interesting piece - pleasing and imaginative, though a bit determined in places, and perhaps a touch overlong there in the middle.
 
Quickly grabbing the remote to skip the songs, I was hesitant to start a 20-minute, continuous, single movement "concerto for orchestra" at this point, but I forged ahead. Wake Up! starts promisingly, with some atmospheric and descriptive music, aided by some intriguing orchestration. But it soon becomes determinedly more contemporary, propelled primarily by rhythmic impetus rather than thematic or melodic material motivating it. (The composer's program note states there is, in fact, a 2-note motif.) It occurred to me, that without the incorporation of Negro Spirituals (as in Tales), this composer isn’t particularly gifted at writing melodies. (To be fair, I say the same about Copland and Ives.) I am reminded at times of an energetic film score for an action movie sequence - lots of percussion and high-powered brass, interspersed with some string intensity - including a few brief passages played with very wide vibrato (perhaps ¼ tones?), which I wish the composer had utilized more often.
 
There are some interesting passages along the way, as Simon exploits a variety of percussion, along with atmospheric harmonies in the orchestra, creating a sense of anticipation. But pounding brass and percussion interrupt again and again. The composer doesn’t sustain what he starts and keeps wandering away from it - usually sounding rather angry about it - and it can all sound a bit disjointed. But there are some captivating passages and imaginative orchestration, and even an intriguing hint of a film noir soundtrack and an expressive violin solo in the central section. 
 
I don't really hear this as a concerto for orchestra; it's more of a programmatic tone poem than a showpiece. The orchestra certainly gives it their all though, including some outstanding playing from principal players (especially a wonderful trombone late in the piece), and Noseda sounds positively inspired on the podium.

Although there is much to enjoy, if ultimately this all sounds like faint praise, I suppose it is. For despite displaying real talent and imagination (and skillful orchestration), when compared to some other fantastic new music I’ve heard recently (orchestral music by Adrian Sutton and Kenneth Fuchs, the collection of new American music from the Buffalo Philharmonic, and string quartets by Joseph Phibbs - all reviewed here on my blog), this just isn't quite as memorable or creatively interesting.  
 
As to the production, it is elaborate. This is a multi-channel SACD, housed in a hardback enclosure with highly attractive cover art and extensive program notes inside. I don't think I had ever heard a recording made in The Kennedy Center, and I’m pleased the sound is so good - warm, colorful, detailed and dynamic. These pieces were recorded live in concert, and with the orchestra given an upfront presence (but not too close), with plenty of immediacy, audience noise is virtually non-existent and applause has mercifully been edited out. 
 
It will be interesting to see what happens to Mr. Simon’s residency going forward with Charles in Charge of The Kennedy Center. The music on this album exhibits so much promise, I hope he can continue composing somewhere somehow. 

After a couple fantastic string quartet recordings and a terrific orchestral concert from JoAnn Falletta, I’m back to a string of “meh” releases. It’s kind of like Netflix - a lot of new stuff which seems interesting at first, but ends up not being terribly engaging. So here’s a second roundup of some things I’ve been listening to.
 
Calidore String Quartet completes their Beethoven Quartets cycle with Volume Three, which is really volume one - it’s the early Opus 18 Quartets. I’m baffled why Signum Classics released these sets in reverse order, but whatever. At least the quartets themselves are laid out in numerical order. (And that can’t be taken for granted.) It must be noted, though, that their complete cycle is spread out over 9 CDs, where most are 7, sometimes 8. So there is a cost penalty with acquiring this set as well.
 
I found their previous set of the Middle Quartets mostly good - not up to the exalted standards of the very best, but pleasing and with mostly good recorded sound. I was hoping the early quartets would be even better, but right out of the gate, I knew they weren’t going to be. From the very first measures of the opening movement of #1, I hear just a bit of fussiness from the first violin trying to make something just a little bit “special” out of those opening phrases. (Beethoven’s writing is sheer perfection in its simplicity and doesn’t need help.) And as they settled into it and just played from the heart (and with natural instinct), a bit of routine sets in, which persists all through the set. It's almost as if they're trying to relate these early Quartets to the later ones rather than to Mozart and Haydn. Their playing is musical and warm, but somewhat relaxed and lacking the last bit of youthful invigoration - a dynamic, rhythmic precision and incisive articulation which would have gone a long way toward bringing them to life with real distinction. Ultimately, what I really miss in their playing is personality. (Just listen to the Dover Quartet play these to hear exactly what I mean.)
 
Though (mostly) well played and (mostly) well recorded, this set is a nonstarter which does not begin to displace the very best recordings of these glorious works. Perhaps now I can understand why they saved this one for last - for there really is no reason to acquire this, unless, like me, you just wanted to complete the set.
 
A really attractive purple cover caught my attention and enticed me to buy what turned out to be a real snoozer - Verdi’s “Complete Ballet Music” on BR Classics, conducted by a name new to me: Ivan Repusic. Repusic conducts a lot of opera, which should make him good at this, and the Munich Radio Orchestra must like him, because his contract extends through 2026 (which began in 2017). And he looks fairly young, so I was expecting some youthful zest from him. But (sigh) I was annoyed to hear this recording merely exemplifies today’s all-too-common orchestral standards - efficient, refined, homogenous, totally anonymous orchestral playing. This ballet music needs verve and panache to come to life, which it doesn’t get here. Though proficiently played, the musicmaking lacks energy and charisma. I can’t imagine a conductor being content with making Verdi sound so anemic. But here it is. The plush recorded sound is warm and pleasing, but lacks sparkle (even the piccolo sounds subdued), and thus matches these readings appropriately. 

For a much more involving, dynamic and thoroughly energized recording of all this music, one need look no further than the splendid, early 1970s set played by the Monte-Carlo Opera Orchestra (supplemented by the LSO), conducted by Silvio Varviso, on an expertly remastered 1994 Philips DUO. Along with his companion recordings of ballet music by Donizetti and Rossini, Varviso was second to none in this repertoire. 
 
Speaking of efficient, de Falla’s The Three Cornered Hat makes an appearance in a new recording from SOMM of the complete ballet conducted by Jac Van Steen. The Ulster Orchestra is excellent and the music exhibits a decent amount of characterization (which is all but guaranteed given the irresistible, enchanting score), but it lacks a certain flair and elan to make it distinguished. The mezzo-soprano is really good though - and so is Nights in the Gardens of Spain, where Van Steen seems energized when joined by pianist Clelia Iruzun. I find this curious, given the piece is intrinsically rather laid back and dreamy. But this reading has all the life and forward momentum the ballet conspicuously lacks. It really is an excellent performance, complemented by vivid, colorful recorded sound. 
 
A few months ago, a CD arrived unannounced in my mailbox. I didn’t order it; I wasn’t interested in it; and no one had notified me they were sending a review copy (which I rarely solicit or accept in any event). But an Orchid Classics title mysteriously appeared - Dvorak’s Cello Concerto, coupled with the ubiquitous Tchaikovsky Rococo Variations (yawn), played by John-Henry Crawford and the San Francisco Ballet Orchestra conducted by Martin West.
 
Well OK. I was mildly intrigued. I don’t mind the concerto (although it’s so overplayed and over-recorded, I really have to be in the mood to bring myself to listen to it), and I usually like the Orchid Classics label. So one day I decided to give it a try. Well, it didn’t take long before I began to question why this recording was made. I had skipped the Tchaikovsky (which comes first on the CD) and went straight to the concerto. And right from the beginning, that very long orchestral exposition gives plenty of opportunity to fully assess this orchestra’s abilities (and try to justify why a ballet orchestra would be employed for a concerto recording). First, it sounds small-ish (to be expected, being a pit orchestra) and just a bit rough around the edges. Second, the recorded sound isn’t natural, or even flattering. It sounds like there are lots of microphones placed very close to individual players, presenting the orchestra in a flat, airless, 2-dimensional plane, and ruthlessly exposing a slight lack of refinement in their ensemble and blend. (This was recorded in a Skywalker Sound studio rather than a real hall. And it sounds like it.)

But all that might be overlooked until the initial cello entrance comes thundering in with the cello ridiculously spotlit by the microphones. The orchestra was already too close, but the cello sounds practically in your lap! And the soloist makes no differentiation between the first phrase of his opening theme, marked forte, and the second phrase of it, marked fortissimo. They're both just loud. And soon thereafter, the playing doesn't sound quite settled. Those first sets of 16th-note flourishes sound a bit rushed and insecure in articulation. So I’m put off before it hardly begins. And as it goes on, as soloist and conductor get a bit more comfortable with one another, a sense of routine sets in and the entire affair lacks something in spontaneity and sophistication. This sounds decidedly studio-bound, with little sense of a live performance. There has to be something special in a recording of this piece for me to enjoy it, and I just couldn’t take much of this one and turned it off. (The Tchaikovsky might well be better, as it is less reliant on the orchestral contribution, but I didn't try it.)

I'd love to hear Crawford in a more natural, realistic setting. He sounds big and bold here, but I can imagine he plays with more finesse in real life. So the real question is - why would this promising young cellist get hooked up with this conductor and a ballet orchestra to record a concerto in an ill-suited film studio with inept engineering? I can’t imagine why Orchid Classics would record this.  

Here we have another group bursting onto the scene with a new recording of the Ligeti String Quartets. After having been thoroughly bowled over by the Quatuor Diotima playing these amazing works (Pentatone, 2023), I could never have imagined another group (or record label) matching them. But here it is - from a fairly new group (at least on record), the Marmen Quartet, on one of the very best SACDs I have yet heard from BIS.
 
I’ll start with the basics. This music must be startling. It must be mesmerizing. It must be awesome. And it absolutely must be assertive. And the most salient ingredient must certainly be a stunning dynamic range - with those dynamic extremes played with a razor-sharp suddenness to them. And right from the opening movement of the 1st Quartet, these qualities are all here in abundance, combined with muscular bowing and exhilarating, energetic tempos. I love how the group differentiates between the grazioso of 1 and the capriccioso in 2, much like Quatuor Diotima does. But they do so with the propulsive energy and vigor of Quatuor Hanson, on their 2021 recording for Aparte Records. So we’re off to an unbelievably good start.
 
The Marmens then capture the atmosphere and moving lyricism of the Adagio, which makes one almost believe it has tonality to it. Quite a feat! And with the presto 4th movement, I am struck by their distinct differentiation between the allegro in 1, the vivace in 2, and the presto here in 4. These are all slightly different tempo and stylistic indications, and it’s fascinating to hear a group make note of it. And this presto is unbelievably fast! Spectacularly so. (I exclaimed an enthusiastic WOW! as I listened to it and had to replay the track.) Yet they don’t skate over the surface musically; it’s not slick or fast just to be flashy. It’s still enormously dynamic and athletic. These qualities lingered in my mind even as I settled into the serene tranquillo 5th section, which is a breathtaking contrast after that sensational presto.
 
Strong characterization continues in the Valse, which is unexpectedly coquettish and almost charming, while the 7th is tantalizingly humorous in its capricious mock-playfulness at the beginning (marked gioviale), then soon becomes angry with itself, with some impressively gruff (but never aggressive) bowing here. The piece closes with a gossamer prestissimo, atmospheric and otherworldly, portending the soundworld (and many playing effects) which would later inhabit his second quartet nearly 15 years in the future.
 
This piece is often nicknamed “Bartok’s 7th”, but I really don't hear much Bartok here. It is pure, unadulterated, uniquely and distinctively Ligeti. For me, this alone ensures its success where others fail in their determination to link it to Bartok (who died 8 years before). The Marmens’ playing of this is absolutely phenomenal in every way.
 
Speaking of Bartok, I almost hated to see his 4th Quartet come next on the program, because in my mind, it just can’t compare. And I didn't want anything to interrupt the mesmerizing hold Ligeti had on me. So I skipped over it and went straight to Ligeti’s Second. Atmospheric and more jagged at the same time, the suddenness of dynamic extremes is, if anything, even more startling. The softs are nearly inaudible (almost too much so for a home listening environment), but create an unbelievable, unsettling atmosphere of anticipation. This 1st movement is marked Allegro Nervoso. Nervous? Oh yeah. Is it ever. And then the molto calmo reveals elements of Penderecki in it (whose own 2nd Quartet was written the same year), while creating an incredible, otherworldly landscape only Ligeti can conceive (and actually notate on the page). 
 
Only in the pizzicato 3rd movement did I feel the Marmens are just a little too matter-of-fact, reinforced by the immediacy of the recorded perspective, which, for the first (and only) time in the entire program, seems almost too tangible - diminishing some of its uncertainty and that amazing atmospheric “rainfall” effect at the beginning, where Ligeti pits the players against one another (notating 4 beats against 3, 5 against 4 etc.), then slowly, almost imperceptibly, increases the struggle until a rhythmic delirium ensues. It is here that the Quatuor Diotima makes a stunning impression, playing it like no one else. (It simply must be heard to be believed.) Then the presto furioso erupts with ferocity. But similar to Quatuor Diotima, it’s not ugly just to be ugly. It’s unpleasant for sure, but with elongated longbows creating actual tones (along with an amazing texture to the sound) rather than just dissonant noise. Finally, the piece concludes with an incredible musical depiction of otherworldly desolation. And the Marmens superbly transport us to the unknown, as the sound dissipates into the unimaginable nothingness of space. 

What an amazing and almost inconceivable difference hearing the Marmen Quartet play these masterpieces compared to the efficient, civilized renditions by the Verona Quartet on their recent recording for Dynamic Records (2023.) Not to pick on the Verona Quartet; they are a fine string quartet. But their Ligeti is an example where much more is needed than just refined, meticulous playing. The Marmens are in a completely different league entirely - particularly with their dynamic range and vivid characterization of the contrasting moods of each section - creating a riveting, thoroughly immersive musical experience. They are in every way equal to my previous favorite recording of these quartets played by the Quatuor Diotima. Both groups are simply extraordinary - demonstrating truly exceptional string quartet playing and an unmatched musical understanding of these pieces. 
 
The next day, I remembered there was more on this disc and grudgingly went back to the “coupling” (Bartok’s 4th) almost as a chore, for the sake of this review. I adore Bartok, but admit I've never really enjoyed (or fully understood) his string quartets. And right from the very first measures of the opening movement, I'm instantly reminded why. I hear nothing but unattractive, untuneful attempts at melody, which are deliberately unappealing - especially after the melodiousness of Ligeti. Yes, melodiousness. Even though Bartok is technically tonal where Ligeti could never be, this doesn't sound at all pleasant.

But after enduring that long 1st movement, things unexpectedly changed. Big time. (At least with the Marmen Quartet playing it.) The prestissimo con sordino is gossamer and ethereal, played absolutely pianissimo, with sharp, stabbing accents and sforzandos jutting out from the whispered, bustling frenzy. And suddenly, I was completely drawn into it, captivated by what I was hearing. And the Lento - well, I've never heard it played like this. How can I never have heard it sound so involving and emotionally moving? Or the Allegretto pizzicato so witty - almost jocular? And, of course, the final Allegro molto is fairly easy to bring off and most groups do it well, but nothing prepared me for this. It is positively wild here with the Marmens cutting loose with it. Right from the get-go, the rolled quadruple stops are almost feral in those opening measures. And it continues with untamed propulsion from there. Not that their playing is vulgar or in any way unmusical - far from it. But it certainly made me sit up and take notice. As did their pronounced observance of the multitude of markings - marcato, scherzando, sffz (et al), and the little whiplash hairpin dynamics. I was simply astounded by it all.

So while I still don't care for that opening movement, the rest of the piece is absolutely riveting as played by the Marmen Quartet. (And I didn't think I'd ever say that about a Bartok string quartet.) It makes me almost hope these folks record more Bartok in the future. But first! - they absolutely MUST record the Penderecki Quartets next. I could not imagine anticipating another recording more than that.

Don't think for a moment by my descriptions that the playing here is in any way exaggerated, or "enhanced" by the recording. No, this is, quite simply, magnificent string quartet playing - infused with the most amazing energy and charisma you'll ever hear - captured with palpable realism by the microphones in a natural acoustic. String quartet recordings simply don't get any better than this. (And that's saying a lot; I've been hearing some awesome recordings lately.) 

Final observations. The Marmen Quartet formed in 2013 while students at the Royal College of Music in London. Their playing (and sheer accomplishment) on this recording is fantastic beyond words. And as noted above, the BIS recorded sound is superb. It is in every way equal to Pentatone’s (CD-only) recording for Quatuor Diotima. The sheer presence of the group places them right in the listening room with you without being at all forward or aggressive - a remarkable achievement for any recording engineer (and stereo system). And I’m very pleased that every section/movement is individually tracked - just as it should be. 

I haven't been this excited about a new recording since, well, since Quatuor Diotima's Ligeti 2 years ago. I now have my "Record of the Year" list started with this new one.

What started out as an album presenting 4 world premiers commissioned by the Buffalo Philharmonic Orchestra, turned out to be just 3, plus a regretfully redundant recording of Kenneth Fuchs’ reorchestration of his Point of Tranquility. All due simply to the timing of the release. Even though Falletta actually recorded the Fuchs piece before John Wilson did, Chandos beat her to releasing it by 6 months, on their Volume 2 in Wilson’s series of Fuchs’ orchestral works.
 
And pleasing though this piece is, frankly it doesn’t really merit two recordings in close succession. Even though it is an inestimable improvement over the wind band version (as recorded by the U.S. Coast Guard Band in 2018 for Naxos), the piece itself isn't one which lends itself to (or needs) much interpretation. It just is what it is, and pretty much speaks for itself. Nonetheless there are slight differences between the two recordings.

First and foremost, Wilson and the Chandos engineers provide a wider dynamic range - the softs are softer, and thus the crescendos swell with a bit more majesty and power. And Wilson’s ear for color is everywhere evident. Meanwhile in Buffalo, the microphones are closer to the musicians and it sounds like there are more of them spread throughout the orchestra (though there is no spotlighting). Falletta tends to bring out the little snippets of melody as they appear here and there (trumpet, then violins), while Wilson is all atmosphere. And thus, the primary difference between the two as I hear it: Falletta is a bit more matter of fact, due in part to the slightly closer recorded perspective, while Wilson goes for color and atmosphere above all else, supported by the sumptuous Chandos sound.

But what an interesting (and startling!) contrast comes next on the program. Russell Platt’s Symphony in Three Movements is instantly more dynamic and dramatic, and the music much more immersive, innovative and compositionally substantive. The immediacy and sheer presence of the orchestra is in every way more beneficial here than it was in the Fuchs.
 
The opening Feroce sets the tone with propulsive, driving rhythms and dissonant outbursts - punctuated by trombone glissandos, athletic percussion, and spiky, articulate woodwinds over the top - interspersed with melodic motifs in the strings. For a brief moment, the Rite of Spring came to mind; but No! - it's Star Wars! And I was all smiles.

The central Chaconne con moto is restless with thematic motifs passed around the orchestra, soon developing into some harmonic hints of Sibelius - before an ominous tune is taken up by the strings, answered by a dissenting solo trombone beneath and a startling bass drum wallop. The finale combines an Adagio, beginning with the entire string section unisono in an anguished furtive lament, and an animated, rhythmic Allegro, which takes flight much like a Scherzo. A brief pastorale interlude near the end leads to a very Walton-esque proclamation from the full orchestra, building to a triumphant conclusion.

This is a fantastic piece of music - endlessly creative and fascinating - brilliantly played by this terrific orchestra. It is mostly tonal (but with moments of deliberate dissonance) and spectacularly orchestrated. The energetic rhythms and melodic content certainly keep the listener engaged in rapt anticipation of what’s coming next. I thought the work often feels more like a “Concerto for Orchestra” than a true Symphony. It features various sections of the orchestra in constant back-and-forth exchanges - as solos and often in pairs. A variety of woodwinds in animated conversation with silky strings, frequently interrupted by angry brass and percussion - it really is a brilliantly orchestrated showcase for the entire orchestra. 

The program continues with a wonderful Oboe Concerto by Randall Svane - with lovely playing of the solo part by Buffalo’s principal oboist, Henry Ward, and colorful, atmospheric support from Falletta. I thought this would be a bit anticlimactic after the enthusiastic symphony, but it wasn't. It is a wonderful, welcoming respite - soothing on the soul and musically enriching.
 
This did not start out as a traditional concerto; it is an orchestration of Svane’s Oboe Sonata, made at the request of Ms. Falletta. It is laid out in the traditional 3 movements, “Flowing”, “Very Slow”, and “Quick and Light”. And without going into too much detail, that comes pretty close to what we hear. The opening movement sets out as if to tell a story - descriptive, intriguing and lyrically singing, but with a gentle, restless rhythmic pulse underlying it. Imaginatively orchestrated, it keeps the listener intrigued with glittering color and hints of Bartok sprinkled about. Its exotic tonality, with an almost oriental flavor, is really quite alluring, and Mr. Ward proves to be a superb soloist.
 
The “Very Slow” movement is mercifully not that slow (likely due to Falletta’s instinctive judgement), and is positively lovely in its pastoral lyricism. Svane wisely keeps it short (3-1/2 minutes), as it is not a striking contrast to the 1st movement. The Finale then, true to its description, is lively and gay - but not for long. The music soon settles back into more of the lyricism we’ve heard before. It does pick up again though, for a thoroughly delightful and charming finish.
 
I must interject here and note that I was struck by the atmosphere and sheer beauty of sound in this piece - more so than in the Fuchs. Curious, I glanced at the back cover and discovered this was recorded nearly 2 years after the others on this CD - and that likely explains the difference I hear. It is a bit more spacious, atmospheric and colorful, with an airy delicacy to the reverberation. (I’d almost swear it was recorded in a different hall, but the booklet confirms it was not.) The oboe is not at all spotlight, and his tone floats almost ethereally up into the acoustic, which is sheer loveliness.

I enjoyed this piece so much I thought it interesting to compare it with another new American oboe concerto - the one by Bruce Broughton, issued just last year on Naxos (and previously reviewed here on my blog's “Year in Review” segment). Broughton’s is much more contemporary-sounding - perkier, more jagged and rhythmically propulsive, complete with some innovative orchestral effects. But it's less instantly gratifying in its tunefulness - less affable, and certainly more “notey”. And the Naxos recording, while being superbly present and immediate, isn’t nearly as alluring as the one in Buffalo. I have come to realize I may have overestimated it after hearing this wonderful creation by Svane.
 
The concert closes with a single movement work by Wang Jie, “The Winter that United Us”. I found the title rather interesting, and before I listened to a single note, I read in the booklet that she refers (primarily) to the winter of Covid. I personally did not witness the world become united during the pandemic. Just the opposite actually. But I am happy that Ms. Jie found a sense of unification through it all, and I admire her positive perspective.
 
So does that translate into her music? Well…not really. There is certainly a lot of chaos in it, which seems spot on. It’s controlled chaos though, and surprisingly tonal. But I’m not sure I hear it culminating in the comforting assurance of unity. But it really doesn’t matter. Taken strictly as a piece of music, it’s impressive. It starts off with some (almost) too obvious harmonic suggestions of Sibelius, followed by some (almost) too obvious rhythmic references to Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring, followed by lyrical interludes with some (almost) too obvious hints of VW’s The Lark Ascending. And she's not done yet! The music soon develops into the (almost) too obvious brass-laden rhythmic propulsion and soaring strings of a rousing John Williams soundtrack. Hearing all the unmistakable similarities to other composers in this music (in all new music, actually) is something I enjoy discovering. It makes it interesting and all the more approachable and "friendly", rather than merely novel and unfamiliar. 

And back and forth it goes - from driving rhythms to soaring strings determined to be heard above the rambunctious percussion. If it's all just a bit disjointed, perhaps missing a connecting thematic thread to it, Falletta’s mastery at interpreting music (and commanding an orchestra) just manages to hold it all together - taking us along for the ride, with all its unstoppable momentum. And she certainly generates sensational playing from the orchestra. And with spectacular recorded sound, this is a crowd-pleaser for sure. (I can imagine the audience going wild at its conclusion, and I won’t deny I couldn’t help but be dazzled by it.)

Finally, as to the production itself, this is a recording released on the Buffalo Philharmonic’s own label, Beau Fleuve Records. The label focuses primarily on digital downloads, but physical CDs can be obtained from the BPO’s website at a reasonable price. This is a marvelous collection of (mostly) new music, brilliantly played and spectacularly recorded - all of it enormously enjoyable.