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. 

I've listened to quite a few less-than-stimulating new Classical recordings released in the past couple of months. While many are attractive, offering enticing repertoire, several of them have left me feeling a bit blase and uninterested. Maybe it's the long, cold January or post-holiday doldrums. (Nah...good music can uplift me no matter what the season.) Whatever the reason, only a couple of discs have inspired me to write a review, but a surprising number of them are just...meh. So maybe it's time to lump them together and jot down some thoughts about why that is.

First up, a tempting SACD on the LSO label presenting Rozsa’s Violin Concerto coupled with Bartok’s 2nd, played by one of the LSO’s concertmasters (“leaders”, as the Brits call them), Roman Simovic. While his sound is rich, and he plays with heartfelt expressiveness, these readings are relaxed and easygoing. Indeed one would never guess they are taken from live performances. In the Rozsa, tempos in all three movements are slower than on any other recording of it on my shelves (especially in the 1st movement). And while I admire the beautiful playing, the leisurely tempos really don’t do the piece any favors musically. Even in the finale, after Rattle introduces the Allegro vivace with furiosity, Simovic doesn’t maintain the brio.
 
Hoping for an improvement in the Bartok, where Simovic is joined by Kevin Edusei on the podium, this is again too smooth and amiable, predominated by slow tempos. And I was immediately put off by Simovic’s propensity for sliding between notes in the opening - which aren’t even true portamentos, but clunky, stuck-half-way-there approximations which sound a bit awkward (and disruptive) to me. If one can listen past that, his richly expressive tone is glorious. But Bartok’s music ultimately needs more and doesn't get it here. I like this violinist’s tone, but not his playing so much. The recorded sound is better than often heard from this source.
 
Next, I was going to discuss a new Chandos release of orchestral works by Edward MacDowell, but that grew into a full-scale review, so I’ve posted it separately. Instead, I’ll describe another new Chandos release, which also features the BBC Philharmonic, in a disc of ballet music by Roberto Gerhard, conducted by Juanjo Mena. It starts with a ballet suite from Alegrias, made up of 4 short dance sections, featuring the piano prominently in the score for chamber orchestra. It’s rhythmically propelled, but lighthearted and often charming. It is notable for its strong resemblance to deFalla’s Three-Cornered Hat, especially in the 3rd dance, Farruca.
 
The middle piece, Pedrelliana, is the final movement of a symphony Gerhard wrote in homage to his teacher Felipe Pedrell (who, incidentally, was also deFalla's teacher). It is pleasant and entertaining, with many varied sections within its 11-minute length. I enjoyed this so much it might be worth seeking out the Chandos recording of the complete symphony, conducted by Bamert.
 
So far so good then, until the complete ballet, Don Quixote, in its "second version", which takes up the entirety of the remaining program (nearly 40 minutes). It has a rather checkered past. Gerhard created a ballet suite for chamber orchestra in 1941, then expanded it 6 years later for full orchestra, and then revised yet again for an even larger orchestra (including 2 pianos!), expanding it into five scenes, with interludes and an Epilogue, for its final full ballet version as recorded here. It starts grandiloquently in its opening sections, with some harsh, pompous brass, and I feared the worst. (And it turns out I wasn't wrong.) Even though the music soon settles down into more descriptive and colorfully orchestrated storytelling, the big, heavy orchestration proves to be a serious detriment throughout - with loud, noisy outbursts replacing real drama. One constantly longs for a sparser, more transparent intimacy in the scoring. While there is some interesting music here, truthfully it’s a bit long and tedious for its thematic content, and a sense of sameness settles in for the duration. As purely orchestral music, it gets to be more than a bit meh before it’s done. 
 
Mena is a wonderful conductor who does his best to get the most out of this music, and draws excellent playing from the BBC Philharmonic. The Chandos recorded sound though, while good, is not up to their usual SACD standards, and could use a bit more spaciousness - which just might have helped with the pervading heaviness and seriousness in the scoring.

The 3 String Quartets by Ralph Vaughan Williams on CPO seems like an enticing offering. But despite the pleasant, cordial music, these are not the most engaging readings as played here by the Verdi Quartett. It’s almost too much of a good thing, with not quite enough variety to capture the interest for its entirety (78+ minutes). Even splitting them up to hear just one at a time, this was a little meh.
 
And if you didn’t know VW wrote three string quartets (just #1 and #2 are ever recorded), the extra work included on this CD is an early student work from 1898, played with friends at the Royal College of Music. Even the booklet writer admits this isn’t an accomplished work (and, frankly, doesn’t sound like it). His first published string quartet wasn’t written until 10 years later. 
 
And then there’s Thomas de Hartmann. This Pentatone release proudly features violinist Joshua Bell in a concerto he has latched onto - “he has made it his mission to bring this composer’s music to light”, proclaims the booklet. Apart from the music itself, I admit I was happy (and more than a little relieved) to hear Bell has kept up his violin chops during all his conducting gigs of recent years. And there is no denying he plays marvelously here. And it’s an interesting piece too. Hartmann’s concerto is expansive; it's laid out in 4 movements (rather than the standard 3), is melodic and tonally pleasing - but ultimately a bit overlong, particularly in the 1st movement, which alone goes on for over 13 minutes. It has many contrasting sections within it, though, and Bell’s gloriously singing violin, along with dynamic orchestral interjections, keeps the listener involved. I can see why Bell would be drawn to this piece. The lyricism of the writing suits his style (and gorgeous tone) beautifully, and the finale, with its folk-inspired dance themes and distinct Jewish flavor, would certainly bring an audience to its feet.
 
The problem is with the coupling. It is a completely different production, recorded two years earlier, with a different orchestra in a different hall. And while the recorded sound is actually a bit better, musically this is quite a challenge. The first movement alone goes on for an astonishing, mind-boggling 21 minutes! I lost interest long before it got anywhere close to the end, only to discover there was yet more to come. Two more movements, with another 16 more minutes, still remain. (Yes, this is a cello concerto which lasts nearly 40 minutes.) I’m sure there’s a lot of wonderful music in there, and certainly, cellist Matt Haimovitz plays beautifully, but there’s only so much one can be expected to endure. (I can’t imagine performing this before a live audience.) Even the final rondo is a rather clumsy dance in 5/8-meter which doesn't lend itself to the cello, much of which is written way up in the treble clef, sounding strained rather than jubilant. Still, this disc is almost worth it for Joshua Bell's glorious violin playing.
 
An intriguing pair of unfamiliar Piano Trios from unfamiliar composers, played by an unfamiliar group, Trio Orelon, on a label I really like, Da Vinci Classics, is a recording I will always be attracted to. Nonetheless, I just couldn’t really get into this music by Dora Pejacevic (Croatian) and Amanda Rontgen-Maier (Swedish). I found the former a bit too drawn out for its material (35 minutes in total) in every movement except the delightful, little Scherzo. While the latter just isn’t all that interesting musically. Both works are similarly encumbered by a pervading relentlessness in the scoring, which in both cases lacks sufficient variety of texture, color and dynamic contrast. I can’t fault these wonderful musicians for playing what’s on the page in front of them, though a little more variety in the intensity of their vibrato and dynamics might have been beneficial. Moreover, the close, rather forward recorded perspective tends to exacerbate the imposing nature of it. Nonetheless, this disc is certainly worth exploring for those with an interest in music by female composers - along with this group’s only other recording, of chamber music by Amy Beach.
 
Now for a couple which are a definitive Nope - starting with Tippett’s Piano Concerto and Symphony #2 with Edward Gardner conducting the London Philharmonic on their own label. Gardner usually has a way of bringing music to life, but even his ebullience can’t make sense out of these pieces. Both come across as very much the same to me: endless little snippets of strung-together notes and uninteresting motifs meandering without direction or purpose. And the piano concerto - good grief, the 1st movement alone goes on like this for 16 minutes! It Simply Would Never End. I was so exasperated by the time it finally quit, I couldn’t bring myself to even begin to endure the 9-minute Molto Lento which follows it. The vivace finale moves along with more notes going nowhere, and some huge pounding chords from the piano.
 
The Symphony is more of the same - definitely by the same composer with nothing musically significant to say. I simply couldn’t get through it and turned it off. The sound is fine; the playing is fine.
 
The new (to me) SOMM recording of Kurt Weill’s marvelous 2nd Symphony, coupled with his Concerto for Violin and Wind band, is a great disappointment. (I’m not sure why I just acquired this 2022 release, thinking it was new; maybe I was exploring this conductor.) I started with the concerto, which I have never really cared for, hoping this new recording would change that opinion. It didn’t. In fact, I disliked it even more than usual. Though nothing wrong with Tamas Kocsis’ violin playing, so I might place more of the blame on the conductor, Jac van Steen - which I suppose spoiled whatever good might have been evident in his reading of the Symphony. And indeed, it struck me as being far too mellow and lacking gusto. The first movement is laid back and far from “allegro molto“ (it’s almost 2 minutes longer than most rivals). And where is the irrepressible verve in the finale? Despite fine playing from the Ulster Orchestra and good recorded sound, this is a hard pass. And I will certainly avoid this conductor going forward.

I'll conclude with an oddity, Paris est une fete ("Paris is a party"). I was enticed by the highly attractive cover on this release, which is literally irresistible. But musically, it's a bit of a mishmash that doesn't quite know what it wants to be. Essentially, it’s a chamber orchestra concert of French music, featuring a violin soloist on 2 of its 4 selections. And that’s all fine and good, but the program doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense; the pieces don’t really go together or connect in any logical way. 
 
We start with Milhaud’s Le Boeuf sur le toit, in this version orchestrated by Jean Cocteau. (The original is for violin and piano, entitled Cinema-fantaisie.) This recording features violinist Alexandra Soumm in the solo part, whose playing is characterized by an extremely fast, tight vibrato which adds a frantic nervousness to her sound which I found a bit odd. Nevertheless, the piece is brought brilliantly to life in this reading, thanks in large part to the enthusiastic playing of the Pelleas Chamber Orchestra and their terrific conductor, Benjamin Levy. The same goes for Chabrier’s Bourree fantasque in this newly reorchestrated version for chamber orchestra by Thibault Perrine, which is based on sketches left by the composer which apparently indicate he had envisioned this for a small orchestra. I personally don’t hear a big difference from the one usually performed, in the orchestration for full(er) orchestra by Mottl. Nonetheless, it is fresh, vivacious and positively infectious here - taken at a cracking pace.
 
Unfortunately, the program loses momentum at this point, and goes downhill from here. 
 
Ravel’s Tzigane is played next in a purported “first recording” of the “Ravel Edition”. According to the booklet, that long opening cadenza has a checkered past, appearing in many different versions - some with cuts, some with additional measures and some altered harmonies. I don’t know how they came up with this “definitive” version (though the booklet tries at length to explain it, which only confused me more), but it sounds pretty much just like what we usually hear. If anything, it sounds truncated rather than expanded with newly discovered material. This is based solely on casual observation; I didn’t compare it measure-by-measure with the published score because I really don’t care - especially as I wasn’t persuaded by Soumm’s playing of it anyway. It seems a bit overemotive and stretched out, and her fast, nervous vibrato persists, increasing the impassioned intensity rather unnecessarily. And then she's far too tame when the gypsy extravaganza really gets going. This needs to wild - but isn’t. I was eager to get it over with as quickly as possible.
 
The concert concludes inexplicably with Bizet’s perky Symphony in C. I wasn’t at all in the mood for it, and I can’t begin to imagine why anyone thought it was a good idea to include it here on this "party" program. But here it is - well-drilled and played very fast with clinical precision. The recorded sound throughout is excellent.

OK it's time to wrap this up. A big box of new releases just arrived from Presto Classical, so I've got lots of exciting new things to listen to. 

​Here we have an enticing new recording of the music of Edward MacDowell on Chandos. And who better to bring it to life like no one else can than John Wilson. But surprisingly, this isn’t the lavish multi-channel SACD treatment Wilson normally merits from this label; this is a standard CD. Nor is it played by Wilson’s own Sinfonia of London; this is the BBC Philharmonic. So warning bells were already sounding.
 
And indeed, while the sound is very good, it can’t match what the label regularly produces with the Sinfonia of London on SACD. It sounds very much like Wilson's other CD-only recordings with the BBC Philharmonic, specifically the series of orchestra music by Eric Coates, which lack a bit of spaciousness and sparkle.
 
But it doesn't really matter, SACD wouldn’t really have helped elevate this program to greatness anyway. In all truthfulness, MacDowell just isn’t a great composer. And not even John Wilson can convince us otherwise (though he makes a valiant effort). MacDowell, who studied briefly in Paris, but chiefly in Germany, is steadfastly orthodox, harmonically and creatively, and his music exhibits little "American" flavor. (All the music recorded here, save for "To A Wild Rose", was written during his time in Germany.) And he’s not really adept at orchestration; thick, dense textures tend to predominate his sonic palette, with little variety.
 
This is particularly true of the very "Lisztian" 2nd Symphonic Poem, Lancelot und Elaine, and the early 1st Piano Concerto. While MacDowell’s 2nd Piano Concerto has received some favorability with a few recordings over the decades (most notably Earl Wild's 1967 RCA record), curiously, Wilson has chosen to begin this series with the relatively unknown 1st, which isn’t a great piece of music. However, I was pleased to see the wonderful pianist, Xiayin Wang, as his soloist. She hasn’t recorded very much over the past few years, and I was immediately reminded how excellent she is. She plays all of MacDowell’s big chords and notey passagework with aplomb. It’s not her fault there just isn’t an abundance of musical substance to be uncovered from the score - though the presto 3rd movement, which is reminiscent of Litolff’s famous Scherzo, contains endless passages of impossibly fast notes which show her effortless virtuosity at its most dazzling.
 
Certainly the central section of the program is the best by far. After the concerto, we hear 2 fragments of a planned symphony which MacDowell began writing in 1886 but never completed. He prepared these 2 little sections in 1890 after his return to the United States. And they are terrific! An energetic Allegretto Feroce, followed by a lovely “Song”, are real gems - but alas play for just 8 minutes combined. If only MacDowell hadn’t abandoned the project, this might have matured into a real triumph for him. It is followed by the one tune MacDowell is famous for (a one-hit wonder if there ever was one) - the simple, delicate piano miniature, To a Wild Rose (from the collection “Woodland Sketches”), in an orchestration by Victor Herbert. It is positively lovely here in Wilson’s sensitive hands.
 
Finally, another potential for real success appears in the 3rd Symphonic Poem, Lamia, which was never published or performed during MacDowell’s lifetime. This type of piece is a John Wilson specialty, and he makes a very compelling case for it, bringing the most out of its large, sprawling orchestral expanse. It has a multitude of tempo indications within its 13-minute length, which Wilson illuminates with vivid characterization. He keeps the listener engaged and the BBC Philharmonic on its toes, and I’m almost convinced MacDowell is a better composer than I thought.
 
I hesitated buying this CD. I've never been terribly fond of MacDowell's music in the first place, and, frankly, I was rather put off by the cover. That closeup picture of a rather bashful Xiayin Wang in stark relief is oddly disconcerting. The piano concerto takes up just 24 minutes of the program, and it certainly isn't the highlight musically by any stretch. So making the pianist the star attraction on a collection of "Orchestral Works" seems ridiculously unwarranted and more than a little gratuitous. Couldn't Chandos have found a more appropriate picture for the cover - oh I don't know, maybe of the composer? Or perhaps a lovely rose? Or even their celebrity conductor, who is undoubtedly the real star of this show anyway? In any event, while this music is certainly worth a listen, the series thus far doesn't inspire me to continue with future installments. 

​This is a disc I’ve been wanting to review but I'm having a hard time thinking of how to describe it. These 3 String Quartets (#2-4) by English composer Joseph Phibbs, played by the fantastic Piatti Quartet, have spoken to me in a way I simply can’t adequately express in words. They sound like nothing else I’ve ever heard. They’re innovative and approachable; they’re avant-garde, yet you're almost convinced they're tonal; they are made up of strings of motifs rather than true melodies, yet you'd swear they're "melodic"; they’re full of novel playing techniques and string effects without ever sounding contrived or gimmicky. What amazes me is the unimaginable variety of sound Phibbs can create from just a string quartet. And while it often is just sound (like Penderecki and Ligeti's Quartets are merely "sound"), it is so utterly musical.

What amazes me even more is how each piece is completely unique; each movement completely individual. And how one man can compose an hour’s worth of music which is absolutely, thoroughly original - endlessly beguiling, captivating, fascinating and mesmerizing from beginning to end - that it sounds absolutely like no one else’s on the planet. There is nothing to compare it to. It is, simply, Joseph Phibbs. It can be by no one else, despite BBC Music magazine's assertion it "owes an unabashed debt to Britten", which I just don't hear.

The Second Quartet is ethereal and rhythmically propulsive at the same time. An extraordinary feat. It opens with a restless Presto in the highest registers, followed by an agitated Molto allegro in the midrange, which is entirely contrasting. A guitar-like Interlude (Chitarra) leads to a very moving, tonal (in nearly every sense), melancholy lament in the final Lento.
 
The Third is much more substantial, nearly twice as long as its companions on either side, clocking in at nearly 25 minutes in length. It exhibits an even more striking variety of mood - pensive at first, then furiously energetic, but singing (rather tunefully, actually) for much of the remainder. Some subtle blues riffs even make a surprising appearance in the delightful Corrente (4th movement). Absolutely marvelous. A brief, exuberant Allegro finishes off the finale's Andante. The piece is captivating, keeping the listener transfixed with intrigue and wonderment from beginning to end.
 
The 4th is a bit different. Here we have 5 short, capricious sections with programmatic titles assigned to each, beginning with a rhythmically animated “Film Sequence”, then a whimsical Notturno (which, for the very first time, evokes another composer - just a hint of Caroline Shaw’s familiar Entr’acte, but without the gimmickry.) A solemn cello introduces the Cantilena, soon followed by a sophisticated Burlesque, and concludes with an otherworldly Passacaglia. What endlessly fascinating music this is.
 
At a loss to come up with any composers whose soundworld can be likened to that of these string quartets, John Zorn and Jorg Widmann briefly come to mind - but they really can't compare. These two composers are much more similar to each other than they are to Joseph Phibbs. Phibbs is in a world of his own, completely unique in his ingenious creativity - more structured, more melodious, and certainly less reliant on shock value than the others mentioned. His is an eloquent, slightly more refined innovation. Never outrageous, it’s just pure music. That’s the best way I can describe it.

I first became aware of this amazing composer via his terrific Clarinet Concerto on a 2019 Signum Records recording (previously reviewed here on my blog). I then explored further and discovered his (2014) 1st String Quartet, also recorded by the Piatti Quartet, on a 2018 Champs Hill CD. It is fascinatingly different from the newly composed 2nd, 3rd and 4th String Quartets presented here on the RTF Classical label, distributed by Nimbus Alliance. (RTF is a record label owned by the Richard Thomas Foundation [RTF], which, along with the Piatti Quartet, also commissioned the 4th quartet recorded here.) The recorded sound is superb. My only wish is that RTF could have somehow procured the recording rights for the previously recorded 1st Quartet and included it on this release as well. There would have been just enough room for it on the CD, and how marvelous it would have been to have all 4 on one disc.
 
It's rare to hear something completely new that is so completely satisfying. I’ve listened to the entire CD three times already and I continue to hear something new and wonderful each and every time. Anyone who is at all interested in contemporary string quartet music, and/or the art of string quartet playing, must absolutely hear this recording. ​I have several favorite string quartets whose recordings I extol all the time, but the Piatti Quartet is surely one of the very best - ever. Their playing of these string quartets is beyond awesome; it is simply out of this world.

Music from the Americas I
Venezuela!
 
Judging from “I” in the title, this appears to be the first in a series, and what an enticing prospect it is. This program contains music from 20th-Century Venezuelan composers, conducted by Venezuelan Domingo Hindoyan. It doesn’t get much more authentic or idiomatic than that. And as usual with this conductor, he brings the music brilliantly to life. And also as usual with this conductor, he inspires the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra to exalted heights under his direction. And Onyx Classics continues to provide vibrant, dynamic sound for them. What a transformation from this orchestra's rather ordinary days under Vasily Petrenko! 
 
I suppose I could stop right here, for this album is self-recommending. And, indeed, writing in detail about the music is a bit difficult with so little help from the enclosed booklet, which consists entirely of an amusing, somewhat clever narrative about the “journey” the program takes around the map as it stops along each composer’s place of origin. It even devotes the final two pages to a visual representation in the form of a map of Columbia and Venezuela to drive the theme home. While all that is interesting and entertaining, it reads rather more like a cruise ship itinerary than an informative orchestral program note. As these composers and their music are completely unfamiliar (to me at least, and probably to most), I would have welcomed a couple of additional pages dedicated to composer histories and their music.  
 
Noting the exclamation point after “Venezuela!” in the title, I was expecting high-energy driving rhythms from this music. But that isn’t what we have here. Much of it is serene and atmospheric, full of color and intrigue rather than sheer exuberance. The first 4 symphonic poems are substantial and quite long, each lasting from 12-16 minutes, while the final two are shorter by at least half.
 
The program begins at nighttime with Juan Bautista Plaza’s Vigilia, which is based on a poem which begins, “It is night, the city sleeps, but we are awake”. And that’s exactly what the music depicts - the sleepiness of dusk, perhaps with lingering memories of an eventful evening. The music is perfumed with the lush harmonies of Delius and lovely string melodies above. And Hindoyan draws glorious singing lines from his violins, just as we have come to expect based on his previous recordings with this orchestra. And once again I’m reminded how this orchestra has flourished under his leadership.
 
Evencio Castellanos’ Symphonic Suite, Santa Cruz de Pacairigua, takes us to the more familiar (and expected) Latin rhythms typical of festive music from the region, adorned with lively melodic figures above the constantly churning rhythmic pulse. The music dances infectiously, but rather gently with a subtle waltz feel, punctuated by spectacular dynamic swells and those singing violins which are such a pleasure to hear under Hindoyan. A dramatic climax about 5 minutes in takes us suddenly to a quiet respite, once again depicting night, before returning us to the “frenzy of the fiesta” to finish it off. This is a long piece with 3 distinct sections, and is surely one of the highlights of the program.
 
Inocente Carreno takes us to the Island of Margaritena in his “Symphonic Exposition”, which sounds very symphonic indeed. It is much more dramatic and richly scored than the preceding works, displaying big dynamic swells and grand melodic outpourings with full orchestral forces. It is almost Wagnerian in scope and orchestration, complete with heavy marching rhythms and pounding timpani. But it’s not relentless; there is plenty of variety, with glittering woodwinds and sparkling percussion occasionally lightening the textures along the way.
 
It too is quite long, and I was ready to move on to the next destination, El Rio, another masterwork by Castellanos. And what a lovely thing it is - at first. The evocative, picturesque opening once again takes us to dusk, this time along a restless river, and again reminiscent of the richly perfumed atmospheres of Delius. It is colorfully scored with some luscious orchestral writing, lulling us into a blissful state of relaxation, before a vivacious dance sequence appears and soon erupts into a turbulent storm. There are hints of Debussy’s own tempest (3rd section of La Mer) here, followed by flavors of Chabrier in the jubilant rejoicing after the storm has subsided. This is another masterpiece from this wonderful composer, magnificently (and very dramatically) played and recorded here.
 
Antonio Estevez takes us to the plains for his Mediodia en el Llano. Its quiet opening is poignant and atmospheric, evoking the barren landscape of perhaps a desert. It’s not a lazy day though, as there is an unsettling unease underlying the calm expanse. It builds to a fine climax before taking off on its way. This is wonderful music - original, intriguing and beguiling.
 
Yuri Hung is the only living composer represented on the program, and his Kanaima exhibits a youthful vitality in its rhythmic insistence. It features percussion prominently (starting off with marimbas and xylophones) along with an abundance of articulated rhythms in the orchestra. This music reminds me of the Respighi of Belka and Roman Festivals, with its exotic harmonies, colorful orchestration and resourceful use of the full orchestra. It’s an immensely rewarding work which gets the heart pumping and makes a spirited concert closer.
 
The program is positively splendid from beginning to end, and seemed to get even better and more interesting as it progressed. Each piece is distinctly individual and creatively unique, providing an endless variety of moods and atmospheres, holding the listener captive in front of the stereo for the entirety of its 66-minute playing time. And it cannot be emphasized strongly enough the mastery of Hindoyan's leadership and innate affinity and affection for this music, bringing it marvelously to life with authority and true conviction.  
 
The recorded sound too is excellent. While it doesn’t quite scale the lofty heights of a state-of-the art Chandos SACD in spaciousness and sheer amplitude, it affords the orchestra (and the music) an impactful presence in a realistic, atmospheric hall, with plenty of warmth, color and dynamic power. The orchestra playing itself is dazzling, making this a most enjoyable collection.
 
About the production - as usual for Onyx, the cover art is highly attractive and enticing. However, the program content, as listed on the back insert and nowhere else (not even in the booklet), is printed in a tiny, very faint, tan font on the busy, pronounced, similarly-colored artwork background, making it very difficult to read. I’m not quite at the age where I keep a magnifying glass handy at all times, but I almost needed one to decipher this. This is another example of how the booklet, entertaining though it is, could have been more helpful with at least providing a legible reprint of the track listing.
 
But this isn't at all detrimental to how wonderful this recording is. Overall, this series is a clever concept, presenting unfamiliar and thoroughly rewarding music, all splendidly performed and recorded. It will be most interesting to see (and hear) what they come up with next; I eagerly look forward to the next Volume.     

It’s so nice to hear the wonderful Czech Philharmonic on a different record label after being confined to an airless acoustic and smothered in excess warmth on Supraphon practically forever. And even though Pentatone has almost entirely abandoned their dedication to the SACD format (and along with it their proclamations of providing cutting-edge, state-of-the-art recorded sound), the sound of this fabulous orchestra on this latest release is excellent - even on good ol' fashioned CD. They sound positively rejuvenated - with sparkle and life, air and spaciousness, precision and detail, dynamics and power without heaviness - all while retaining their glowing beauty of sound we are accustomed to hearing from them.
 
It's also so nice to hear them play with a conductor other than humdrum Semyon Bychkov, who has been recording a lot with them, also for Pentatone. The wonderful sound of the orchestra on this recording must be attributed as much to their conductor, Tomas Netopil, as to the recording engineers. I’ve not encountered this conductor before, but based upon this showing, he is adept at commanding an orchestra’s attention - energizing them to life and keeping them engaged and on their toes. And that’s exactly what Dvorak’s set of Legends needs. There is never a dull moment here, or a slack tempo, or lapse in musical alertness under his direction. I don't ever remember hearing these enchanting musical gems come to life as much as here; nor do I ever remember hearing the Czech Philharmonic come to life on record as much as here. Their playing is ever responsive to Netopil’s every gesture, every subtlety of ebb-and-flow rubato, every nuance in the line, every caress of a phrase. And at all times, the music is delightfully lilting and buoyant, with naturally flowing tempos which propel the music along with a newfound spring in its step. Dvorak’s Legends are rarely completely satisfying on record; they don’t just play themselves, as, for example, his Slavonic Dances can. They require inspired leadership and real insight from a conductor who can bring sufficient light-and-dark shadings, infused with life and vitality, to really make them sing. And in this regard, Netopil succeeds where most others fall flat.
 
The 3 Slavonic Rhapsodies, recorded a year-and-a-half later, are not quite as outstanding. There is just a touch of the residual thickness to tutti passages which was largely absent in the Legends. Nevertheless, Netopil’s gift of bringing this music to life is everywhere evident, and he rarely allows the music to sag down under its own weight. While there’s no denying these are grander, heavier works (they are scored for a slightly larger orchestra as well), Netopil does his utmost to keep them flowing aloft without too much grandiosity. The more familiar Third is certainly the best of the bunch, due in part to its lighter, happier writing. Indeed, the orchestra clearly sounds to be enjoying themselves. And considering they’ve surely played it a thousand times, it’s remarkable how fresh and invigorating it sounds in Netopil’s hands. In fact, he comes very close to matching Dorati’s incomparable 1979 Decca recording of it with the Detroit Symphony Orchestra (only sporadically available in big-box, all-Dorati compilations which seem to come and go with the wind). While the recording is not quite as airy and sparkling as in the Legends, it’s more than satisfactory.
 
The production is first rate, though the informative booklet sadly makes no mention whatsoever of Netopil - which is stupid on Pentatone’s part; he’s a wonderful conductor in this repertoire and is the primary reason this recording is special. So why not provide at least a bio? However, along with excellent recorded sound and an astonishing 80+ minutes' playing time, this is a most enjoyable release. It's truly inspiring to hear how wonderful the Czech Philharmonic can really sound.