Beethoven: Symphonies nr. 1-9

Over the past months I have worked through a full Beethoven symphony cycle at a leisurely pace. It started when at the end of October we spent a few days at my parents' place where my father was listening to Beethoven symphonies. I joined him for a Ninth and back at home continued with a cycle of my own. My first selection was a Simax recording of the Eighth by the Swedish Chamber Orchestra led by Tomas Dausgaard. Frankly, I found it hard to stomach. It sounded harsh and bloodless. Like a sportscar brandishing a shiny and lean bodywork but with nothing under the hood. So I switched to an LP with a late 1950s recording of the same work by the Berlin Philharmonic conducted by Eugen Jochum. Immediately I was captivated. So I continued in that same vein and the cycle that emerged looks as follows:

Symphony nr. 1 - Philharmonia Orchestra, Otto Klemperer, 1957
Symphony nr. 2 - NDR Sinfonieorchester, Günter Wand, 1988
Symphony nr. 3 'Eroica' - Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, Georg Solti, 1959
Symphony nr. 4 - Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, Herbert von Karajan, 1962
Symphony nr. 5 - Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, Lorin Maazel, 1958
Symphony nr. 6 'Pastorale' - Orchestra National de France, Rafael Kubelik, 1976 (LP)
Symphony nr. 7 - Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, Karl Böhm, 1958
Symphony nr. 8 - Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, Eugen Jochum, 1959 (LP)
Symphony nr. 9 - Cleveland Orchestra, Christoph von Dohnanyi, 1985

So it transpires that 6 out of 9 were drawn from a 'golden age of stereo recording' between 1958 and 1962. Four happened to be performed by the Berlin Philharmonic, under four different conductors. Three of these recordings were made in the space of just a few months time (Böhm's Seventh was recorded in April 1958, Jochum's Eighth early May and Maazel followed suit with his Fifth in May and June of that same year!). 

I did not listen in numerical order but chronologically jumped to and fro. The highlight of the cycle was, perhaps, Böhm's Seventh which is a glorious reading captured in a sound that is astonishingly lively and rich for the era. It's a grand and luxurious approach but one that does justice to the unflagging energy that pervades this work. Another great recording is Wand's Second. This is a more recent interpretation but still very traditional. Still, I couldn't care less as Wand's grasp of the architecture is awe-inspiring. Listening to this interpretation just feels very right. I haven't heard any of the other recordings in his NDR-cycle but I expect this to be quite rewarding.

Very good also was Karajan's Fourth in his second rendering of the complete cycle, from 1962. Despite its apollinian credentials I was struck by the nervous energy that radiates from this recording. Contrary to what might be expected, I had a similar impression from Klemperer's fleet-footed and authoritative First. I also liked Solti's Eroica which struck me as rather Kapellmeisterisch, but in a good sense. No histrionics, but a solid and contained reading that one is tempted to revisit. Also the sound of this 1958 tape is very good with the 'nutty', 'earthy' character of the Vienna PO wel captured. I acquired Jochum's Eighth, in a cheap LP pressing for DGG's Resonance series, very early on in my musical explorations and so I'm very familiar with it. Still I haven't tired of this lean and boisterous reading. Also commendable is Dohnanyi's Ninth with the Cleveland Orchestra and a fine quartet of soloists. The music's drive is slightly blunted by Telarc's characteristically soft-grained recording but the overall effect is of an invigorating, timeless classicism.

The young Lorin Maazel recorded a heaven-storming Fifth with the distinguished Berlin Philharmonic. At the time it was damned by the critics because of its expressive idiosyncracies but today we'd say that Maazel was ahead of his time. Still, I felt unconvinced by this effort. The low point of the cycle was Kubelik's Pastoral with the Orchestra National de France. It is part of a LP box with a full cycle, of which each symphony is played by another orchestra. The opening movement is beguiling enough, played by Kubelik with an almost Bohemian generosity. But in the Andante (Scene by the Brook) all momentum is lost and even the Storm is not able to quicken the pulse. At the end the impression is one of overwhelming boredom.

After such a long time away from Beethoven, it was a fascinating journey. The music sounded genuinely fresh and often I was struck by Beethoven's modernity. There is a primitivist streak in this music which bursts out in obsessive rhythms or withdraws in extended, murky transitions (though never, it seems, gratuitous but with a deeper musical logic underpinning them). Listening through this cycle also confirmed that good music-making is timeless and whether it is branded 'traditional' or 'historically informed' doesn't matter in the least.

Brahms: Symphony nr. 2

The recording that has spooked around in my head a lot of the time the past few weeks is a 1977 recording of Brahms' Second. It is one of Stokowski's very late recordings - the symphony was taped in the spring and the man died in the fall of that same year - but it doesn't sound at all as if a 95-year old stood on the rostrum. To the contrary, this is a reading with a very energetic pulse, though never aggressive. There are none of the quirks we are associating with this conductor. The playing has poise and flourishes vibrant autumnal colours, avoiding the shrill melodrama that tends to mar symphonic Brahms. As I said, I have been carrying this music around for a while now. Not even the splended Mahler Seventh I heard in a live performance yesterday seems to be able to dislodge it from my mind.

This recording has been previously issued (by Cala) but is now repackaged in a budget-priced 10 CD box with Stokowski's stereophonic recordings for CBS from the early 1960s onwards.

Mahler: Symphony nr. 7

I'm crawling back into the blogging routine after an unusually long break. It just happened. I 'fell out of music' and my spare energy and attention were to a significant extent redirected to everything connected to ... cycling. So I have listened, but really very little. The concert season took off with a flourish but without me. Yesterday was the first time back in the Henry Le Boeuf hall at Bozar. But it was a joyous occasion and it has given me the impetus to pick up the thread of my listening diary again.

Yesterday night's program consisted of a single work, Mahler's Seventh. If I'm looking back over my blogging notes of the last two years it is certainly the Mahler symphony I spent most time with. On the podium was DeFilharmonie (the former Royal Flanders Philharmonic) led by their chief conductor Edo De Waart. I've always had a soft spot for this orchestra with which I have been associated, many years ago, as a program notes writer. But I haven't consistently followed them over the years, However, with Edo De Waart they have engaged a superbly experienced chef and I was curious to hear how the orchestra responded.

The Bozar main hall wasn't even half filled for this concert. Is it just because we were in Brussels where DeFilharmonie has only a skimpy following? Or is it a sign of the times that you can't even get a hall filled for such a complex and magnificent work as the Seventh? No idea, but somebody (the Bozar, the orchestra, tax payers) must have lost an awful lot of money on this evening.

Anyway, the orchestra didn't take it personally and they played their butts off in a wonderful reading. I was sitting in my favourite seat in the 'fauteilles de loge' on top of the ensemble. Again I was mesmerized by the myriads of details you can be part of from that privileged viewpoint: the concentration and quiet professionalism of the musicians, how they hold their instruments when they're not playing, the way the first horn blows her flatterzunge, the blush that appears on the mandoline player's cheeks when her solo is approaching, ... It's a feast to the eyes and ears. Of course, I also had a first rate view on De Waart shepherding his orchestra through this hypercomplex score. His gestures are energetic but unostentatious. A professional orchestra builder. You can see that.

In another post I suggested that interpretations of this work roughly fall into two categories: the romantic (Sinopoli, Abbado, Chailly) and the classical (Solti, Scherchen, Gielen). Both can be very satisfactory. A litmus test is maybe how the rondo finale fits in. Paradoxically, romanticists usually have more difficulties in giving it a place whilst classicists seem to have no qualms with this rambunctious symphonic extravaganza. De Waart quite clearly embraced the classicist approach, with finely judged but rather brisk tempos and an analytic perspective guided by clear lines, textures and volumes. The performance was kaleidoscopic yet coherent, objective and humane, virile and tender. Quintessentially Mahlerian, I would say. The orchestra played gloriously. The countless solos and mini-ensemble pieces were a delight as were the stormy tuttis. It all flowed seamlessly and vibrantly into an amazing, panoramic tapestry of music.

Soon De Waart and DeFilharmonie will perform another major neo-romantic masterpiece: Elgar's Dream of Gerontius. I must not forget to book tickets for that.

Alt J: An Awesome Wave - Roscoe: Cracks - The Maccabees: Given to the Wild

It's become almost a tradition now to go out and buy a pile of new pop cds to keep us company on the long drive to our holiday destination. This year I spent three days on (very) small roads on my way to pick up Ann in the Alps and together we added another day crossing France East to West. Later we pushed on to Asturias in Spain. And then there was the long trip back north. It's refreshing to travel slowly, avoiding the numbing monotony of the motorway. 

The musical harvest was pretty good, with three outstanding albums that have seen a lot of rotation in the last few weeks. All three are by bands I hadn't heard before.

The Maccabees are a British indie rock band that has been around for a while. Their first album was released in 2007 (Colour It). Given to the Wild is their third and most recent production (2012). It's a fast-paced and breezy album that grasps back to 1970s alternative rock and 80s Britpop tunes. The close harmony choruses that feature in many songs remind me of the Moody Blues' distinctive sound. Altogether a very entertaining collection, ideal for long stretches on the road.

Roscoe's Cracks was a surprise. A moody and sophisticated debut recording by a Belgian, nay Wallonian band. The quintet hails from Liège. After the first few auditions I was enthralled. Now, after having heard it many times my judgment is slightly more reserved, if only because it strikes me that the album suffers from a certain monotony. Maybe I just need to put it aside for a while as there is no doubt that this is a most promising debut. The sound is quite distinctive, with a solid folkrock backbone that spills over in the expansiveness of Sigur Ros, and occasionally hints of the earlier, classic Radiohead. The songs have substance and depth. The production is positively luxurious, with several tracks featuring added strings and exotic instruments such as mandoline and Indian harmonium. The whole thing flows seamlessly. The CD is excellently recorded to boot.

The third revelation was An Awesome Wave, another debut by a Leeds-based alternative indie band with the enigmatic name Alt-J. This is likely the album that has been listened to most often over the past weeks as it found favour with all members of the family. The music is very difficult to pigeonhole. It reminds me somewhat of the sultry sparseness of The XX and the androgynous eroticism of the Wild Beasts. But it surpasses both in terms of its waywardness, imagination and poetic precision (the origami-like folded holder for the cd aptly captures that spirit). At first hearing the album presents itself misleadingly innocuous. But after hearing it again and again its wonderful layeredness unfolds. Our favourite track no doubt is the very last one - Taro - which is in fact a moving threnody for war photographer Robert Capa.

The other albums varied from the palatable to the merely dull. Moby's Last Night is a 2008 album that captures the mood of a Manhattan night of clubbing. So predictably it's rather dance oriented, with a trademark quiet finale. All the vocals are done by female guest singers which sets it apart in the burgeoning output of the Moby-factory. There are a few good tracks but as a whole the album does not come close to his best work. However, it's prettly listenable, which is more than I can say of his most recent release, Destroyed. I only listened to it once but found it impossibly trite.

Radiohead's King of Limbs seems to be a transition project. Are they genuinely exploring new artistic avenues or are they merely trying too hard to be smart and artsy ? This 35 minute, acerbic spiel of obsessive rhythms and delirious vocals didn't really capture my imagination. We'll have to wait for the next Radiohead installment.

Band of Horses' Cease to Begin is an ok folkrock album that stays demurely within the stylistic conventions of the genre. Again, not a highflyer.

DEUS' surprise release Following Sea continues the path taken since Pocket Revolution. There's really nothing to fault here. These guys are masters at their game. They can do anything. The songs in themselves are excellent, the lyrics are top (as always), the arrangements and mixing leave nothing to be desired. But the whole damn thing misses soul. Whilst the music reminds me in more than one way of their early work and the band worked hard to impart the album with a gritty urban feel, it doesn't capture the epic flow of an album like The Perfect Crash (which I must have listened to literally hundereds of times in my commuting days). Is DEUS going the same way as U2: a collection of stellar professionals who are perfectly capable of putting together a very polished but ultimately banal entertainment product?

But all in all it was not a bad harvest. Meanwhile I've also purchased the fabulous Autumn Chorus CD The Valley to the Vale (previously only available via download). And now I'm looking forward to discovering the new Elbow, XX and Mumford and Sons albums, all recently released or due in the next few weeks.

Adams: Naive and Sentimental Music

This is another major Adams work, dating from the late 1990s, that up to now escaped my attention. I guess that buying the 10 CD Nonesuch Earbox, many years ago, made me a little complacent, assuming that I had everything there was to have by this composer. But Adams is alive and kicking and time moves on. Furthermore, as in Dharma at Big Sur the innocuous title belies the grand ambitions of this big symphonic piece. Finally, even when I snapped up the album at iTunes for a paltry 2,49 euro I was under the impression that I was duplicating another recording in my collection. But very soon it became clear that I was mixing up Naive and Sentimental Music with Common Tones in Simple Time, Adams very first orchestral composition from 1979.

So maybe someone should give John Adams the friendly advice to let go of the fancy titles and simply label this piece, say, Symphony nr. 4 (after Harmonium, Harmonielehre and El Dorado as numbers 1, 2 and 3, respectively). Because there is no doubt that Naive and Sentimental Music is a symphony, and one with grand ambitions to boot. By the way, in his biography, Halleluja Junction, Adams himself has no qualms in referring to this work as such.

It's a three part work that lasts about 45 minutes, giving it pride of place as Adams' longest orchestral composition. In his biography Adams reminisces that the creative impetus for the work came from attending a rehearsal of Bruckner's Fourth Symphony by Esa-Pekka Salonen and the LA Philharmonic. Up that point, Adams hadn't bothered much with Bruckner. But here he was intrigued by the "long, leisurely accretions of mass and energy", suggesting mountain ranges in the distance. He added that Bruckners formal technique, "although in one sense quite textbook conventional, was nevertheless strange and mysterious, reminding me of certain slow-motion cinematic techniques." It is telling that Adams condenses these observations in visual impulses which then seem to stir his creative energy.

The title of the work is drawn from Schiller's well-known essay in which the German writer contrasts two types of artist: the 'naive' or 'unconscious' who does not experience a cleft between himself and the medium of his artistic expression, and the 'sentimental' or 'self-conscious' for whom this primordial, sensuous unity is gone. Adams sees the struggle to recapture the naive stance as "one of the great gestures in the history of all artistic endeavour". Honestly, whilst I have nothing against the mixing of music and ideas, I find this to be a rather dubious and over-intellectualized starting point for a symphonic work that is supposed to breathe an integrative inner logic. Likely, Adams is aware of the disconnect as (in his biography) he is at pains to stress that Naive and Sentimental Music does not take its title too literally: "the essence of the piece is the presence of very simple material (...) which exist in the matrix of a larger, more complex formal structure." The nature images, the Brucknerian inspiration and the structural integration of bathetic elements in a large canvas all hint at a programme with a marked Mahlerian signature.

Whilst Adams evokes images of majestic nature ('mountain ranges in the distance') as seminal impulses, for me the music projects a brash, urban mood. The piece kicks off in the most unostentatious way possible, with what Adams refers to as a 'naive' theme on flute, accompanied with a strumming guitar. But maybe the theme is not so naive after all. I had the definite impression that I heard it already elsewhere and came to the conclusion that the first bar or so shows an uncanny resemblance with a theme Mahler used in Der Abschied, the last song in Das Lied von der Erde. I'm thinking more particularly of the instrumental music ('fließend') at Fig. 23, after the morendo passage that concludes the A minor recitative. Adams' melody, harmony, rhythm and orchestration are very similar (Mahler uses double flutes accompanied by mandoline and harp). However, the latter part of the naive theme, an irregularly descending 7-note pattern led me back to Strauss' Heldenleben, more specifically the brass theme that descends as a gleaming cataract to announce the Hero's victory over his critics. The naive theme a hybrid between snippets from Mahler and Strauss? Maybe only in my mind. Anyway, Adams takes some time to massage this material into position for an epic and craggy series of variations which remind me of Ruggles' stern expressionism rather than Bruckner. I truly like this 18 minute symphonic extravaganza. The LA Philharmonic play it marvelously under Salonen's guidance.

The second movement (Mother of the Man) provides ample relief after the excitement of Adams' opening gambit. Allegedly it's a gloss on Busoni's Berceuse Elegiaque (which I did not relisten). It's basically a romanza that revolves around a theme that is presented very slowly, almost drowsily, by the strings. The guitar musings and the bassoon solo reinforce the atmosphere of pastoral dolce far niente. Glockenspiel infuse the music with a solemn, mysterious mood. There is an animated middle section in which the somnolent string melody starts to be subjected to centrifugal forces. Suddenly Adams throws in magnificent chords for the lower brass (a moment of Bruckerian grandeur). A high trumpet momentarily opens a celestial door. As the panic in the orchestra subdues, the music return to the initial, quiet mood.

With the third movement (Chain to the Rhythm) we are back in familiar Adams territory. Adams: "Small fragments of rhythmic cells are moved back and forth among a variety of harmonic areas and in so doing create a chain of events that culminates in fast, virtuoso surge of orchestral energy." It's quite engaging but not totally convincing. I'm really missing a strong finale to provide counterweight to the epic opening movement and the 12 minute long slow movement. A shorter version of the now concluding third movement would have made a terrific scherzo. And then we would have needed a 12-14 minute, brazen finale (based on material from the movement's latter part) to cap the whole thing off.

So what to make of it all? I find Naive and Sentimental Music a great work but the finale lacks weight. Furthermore, whilst it is arguably one of the most symphonic things that Adams has yet written, to my mind it does not display the rhizomatic depth and breadth of development that one would expect from a truly, truly great symphony (say, of the calibre of a Shostakovich 10 or Mahler 9). I'd put it even a notch or two below Peter-Jan Wagemans' Zevende Symfonie that I was so enthralled with a few months ago. Nevertheless, I am quite happy to have discovered this very worthwhile symphonic piece.

Wanted to end with a brief comment on the very nice presentation of this Nonesuch release. I love the fantastic picture on the cover of the CD. It's an untitled exposure taken around 1883 by Gustavus Fagersteen of an overhanging rock in the Glacier Point area, Yosemite, with the hulking presence of Half Dome in the background.

Gordon: Rewriting Beethoven's Seventh

Whilst googling around John Adams I came across this: Michael Gordon's orchestral piece Rewriting Beethoven's Seventh (Adams, as conductor, took Gordon's Sunshine of Your Love on tour in 1999 together with his own then newly written Naive and Sentimental Music). Gordon's work is a pastiche in the same vein as Berio's Sinfonia, composed by stripping, hacking and mashing a canonic masterpiece. But whilst Berio sublimates one engaging musical process into another one, here we merely end up with a feeling of ears and mouth full of sawdust. The moniker 'minimalist drivel' is totally appropriate for this kind of adolescent nonsense. I might be able to come up myself with a piece like this give or take 2 weeks toying with GarageBand. Won't be spending more time on this.

Adams: Dharma at Big Sur

This is John Adams' 'other' violin concerto. I wasn't even aware that he had written one until I figured out that behind this catchy title was hiding a concerto for electric violin and orchestra. An electric violin is basically an electrically amplified violin which may or may not have a quite different tonal signature than an acoustic instrument. It's a rare appearance in the classical concert hall. Here Adams calls for a six-stringed solid-body instrument that is played in 'just' intonation, with intervals between the notes of the scale differently tuned than in Western, equal tempered manner. Also the piano and harps in the orchestra are tuned to just intonation.

As in the 1993 Violin Concerto the soloist very much dominates happenings. Once a Brucknerian tremolo has risen the curtain over California's jagged coastline at Big Sur the violin leads the equally capricious musical line with a bustling orchestra in attendance. The soloist's voice is littered with slidings and portamentos and sounds very improvisatory (but, make no mistake, everything is precisely written into the score) giving the piece a very exotic, Eastern feel. Yet the inspiration for this piece was profoundly Californian.

Adams wrote the music for the inauguration of LA's fabled Walt Disney Concert Hall in 2003. The subtext for the two-movement work is provided by Jack Kerouac's Spontaneous Prose (hence the references to Dharma and Big Sur) and by the accomplishments of Adams' older peers Lou Harrison and Terry Riley. Harrison was an American composer who often wrote in other tuning systems. Riley is one of the fathers of the so-called Minimalist movement. The first part of Dharma (A New Day; dedicated to Harrison) is a long and intense meditation, the second an ecstatic dance (Sri Moonshine; dedicated to Riley). The composer provides a rich description of the piece's background and structure on his website.

Dharma at Big Sur provides a very compelling listening experience. Initially I didn't like it as much as the Violin Concerto but after multiple auditions I'm valuing it quite highly. The piece forms one big crescendo arc from the whispering opening bars to the exultant finale. The mood is celebratory throughout and I find that Adams has been able to capture something of the profound and exuberant insouciance that is the hallmark of the best of Beat Generation.

This recording I listened to dates from 2005 and relies on the commissioning orchestra and its former musical director (Esa-Pekka Salonen) but features a different soloist (Leila Josefowicz) from the premiere (the American electric violin specialist Tracy Silverman). It has been issued under the DG Concerts label and is only available for downloading via iTunes or Amazon. I've listened (via YouTube) to the Nonesuch recording (with the BBC Symphony Orchestra led by Adams and with Silverman as a soloist) for comparison and it seems to me that this is the one to go for. Silverman's playing is more imaginative and authoritative and the recording strikes me as airier than the live tape at Disney Concert Hall. With a delicately embroidered musical tapestry such as Dharma at Big Sur more air is certainly desirable.

Roukens: Concerto Hypnagogique

Over the last two weeks I have been firmly on the Adams trail, surveying some major works in the process. However, before I summarise those listening impressions I'd like to make to make note of a very interesting discovery. Joey Roukens is a very young Dutch composer (°1982) who is starting to make a name for himself. In 2010 the Royal Concertgebouw commissioned an orchestral piece from him (Out of Control, 16') and in 2011 the Concerto Hypnagogique was premiered by the Radio Kamer Filharmonie led by Thierry Fischer and Ralph van Raat on piano as soloist. It is this piece that I discovered via Dutch Radio 4's Concerthuis. Sadly, the recording of the May 12th Zaterdagmatinee is not available anymore. For the time being we'll have to do with two longish excerpts on the composer's YouTube channel. Roukens describes the piece as follows on his website:

A piece for piano and orchestra evoking images, moods and atmospheres one might experience in a state of hypnagogia - the borderland state between wake and sleep -, ranging from the delicately ethereal to the wildly frenzied. There are four movements:

I. Prelude (Strange Glowing Shapes)
II. Running through Lucid Dreams
III. Chorale and Landscape
IV. Final

I was immediately smitten after the first audition. Roukens' musical idiom is very accessible. Tonal through and through and with plenty of references to 19th and 20th century models there is a lot to latch on to for experienced listeners. But the 40' concerto is played without a break, there is no recognisable formal template, the orchestration is exceptionally vivid and the level of invention is very high, with bucketloads of ideas piled on top of one another. All this lends the piece a cinematic and even kaleidoscopic quality that may prove to be disorienting for first-time hearers. The reference to cinema is not unjustified as we might listen to the work as the soundtrack for a wild, garish, manga-like filmfest. The surface brilliance, references to popular culture and strong visual images also remind us of the spirit of John Adams. Other reference points that came to mind are Danny Elfman's 1989 score for Batman, Guillaume Connesson's Cosmic Trilogy and Kevin Volans' Third Piano Concerto that was premiered at the Proms last year.

I find this Concerto Hypnagogique very gratifying to listen to. The piece does not have the metaphysical ambitions of a Missa Solemnis. Rather we need to place it more in the lineage of the Lisztean tone poem: colourful canvases for virtuosic orchestral display. It does indeed strike me more as a symphonic piece with an obligato piano part rather than as a concerto pur sang.

I've roamed the internet to get access to other pieces from the hand of Joey Roukens. His own YouTube channel offers fragments from a number of other compositions. Via Radio 4's channel we can hear a full performance of the 40' Percussion Concerto. There is a nice video portrait (in Dutch) made in the runup to the premiere of the Hypnagogique here. Whilst there is a lot that confirms the amazing talent and orchestral imagination of this young composer (take, for instance, the excerpts from Scenes from an Old Memorybox) it seems to me that the Concerto Hypnagogique puts his abilities in the very best light. I'll certainly keep track of Joey Roukens. And I hope we can count on having access to a recording of this wonderful piece very soon (back to back with Volans new concerto, that would be something ...).

Comment: + Mihaela Ursuleasa (1978-2012)

I just learned of the unexpected and untimely death of the young Romanian pianist Mihaela Ursuleasa. Her recordings of the Ginastera sonata and Enescu's Third Violin Sonata (with Patricia Kopatchinskaja) are brimming with life and mystery and have given me a lot of pleasure. This rendering of Rachmaninov's Elegy in E flat minor (from Five Pieces Op. 3, R's first published piano work at age 19) captures her sensitive and passionate musicianship very well. May Mihaela rest in peace. She leaves behind a six year old daughter, Stefanie. 

Golijov: The Dreams and Prayers of Isaac the Blind

I haven't been in a hurry to jump on the Golijov bandwagon, but browsing through the iTunes store I discovered this intriguing Nonesuch release with an early work (1994) for string quartet and clarinet for just a few euros. I think my suspicion about the hype was warranted. Despite the metaphysical gobbledygook this is an insubstantial composition that recycles klezmer tropes and not much more. Won't be spending much more time with this one.

Adams: On the Transmigration of Souls

On the Transmigration of Souls is Adams' response to the cataclysmic events at 9/11. He wrote it in 2002 in response to a commission of the New York PO and the Lincoln Center. Up to now I have studiously avoided this piece, for several reasons. First, because it is tied up with an event that is revolting and ambiguous in so many ways. There is the sheer vileness of the attack. But there is also the ensuing, manipulative abuse of the event by media and 'leaders' of all sorts. Furthermore, the oppressive weigthiness of the occasion seemed to sit uneasily with Adams' posture (from my perspective) as postmodern magpie and tongue-in-cheeck iconoclast.

Finally, it seems to me that music has very little to 'say' about these kinds of events. Sure, composers have been writing occasional pieces for ages and sometimes to splendid effect (take Britten's War Requiem or Shostakovich's Babi Yar as examples). But that doesn't mean that the music is in any way able to communicate about or help us to come to terms with trauma. Personally I don't believe in the all too commonplace conception of music as an expressive language. Music, for me, is architecture unfolding in time. These are 'tönend bewegte Formen' (Hanslick) that trigger our capacity for pattern recognition and for dealing with complexity in general. In their physical manifestation and physiological and psychological effects these forms may have a therapeutic effect (I'm the last to deny it) but we don't need metaphysics to talk about that.

Anyway, obviously, for me, Adams was skating on very thin ice with a piece like this. But I can't deny to also being to an extent curious about what this composer had made of the challenge. So now that I have been, for a while, dipping in and out of minimalist waters it looked like a good occasion to take the plunge and listen to the Transmigration.

At first I was disconcerted to see that the piece was at 25 minutes duration relatively short. The bombastic title had hinted at something more monumental. And also the fact that a full Nonesuch CD was devoted to the original recording with Maazel and the NYPO led me to expect a more substantial work. Rather pompous to confine this work on its own to a full CD, isn't it? Anyway the recording can now be purchased at mid price. 

I didn't have access to the Maazel version so I listened to the Telarc recording with the Atlanta SO and Chorus led by Robert Spano which is in my father's collection. My gut reaction after a first audition was: "too Spielbergian". Adams had myriads of choices to make when he started to find his way into the thicket of this major composition: understated or grandiose? abstract or programmatic? with or without text? canonic or vernacular words? Along all of these axes he seemed to have taken the easy way: a grandiose 'story' based on (recorded) words and ambient sounds of cinematographic simplicity. Macrostructurally the piece seemed to comply with a very simple template: an slow, silent introduction, a cathartic middle section followed by a return to the opening music (incidentally akin to Hartmann's Adagio (his Symphony nr. 2), a work in a somewhat similar vein).

I gave it a second try. Then read Adams' view on the piece from an interview on his earbox.com website. That was interesting. I learned that Adams had only 6 months to write the work. Hence the relatively short duration. Adams also makes clear that he didn't want to write a piece to 'remember' or 'heal'. His intention was rather to evoke a very basic, pre-cognitive experience similar to when one enters under the huge vault of a cathedral. It plays out at two levels: space and of history. The cathedral is experienced as a 'memory space'. And this is how Adams conceived his work. Adams: "It’s a place where you can go and be alone with your thoughts and emotions." The idea of a piece of music opening up a very basic (psychological and, why not, 'real') space fits my musical aesthetics better than the mindless mumbo jumbo of 'expression' that dominates contemporary discourse. It reminds me of Libeskind's design for the Jewish Museum in Berlin. What about the title then? Adams:

'Transmigration' means 'the movement from one place to another' or 'the transition from one state of being to another.' It could apply to populations of people, to migrations of species, to changes of chemical compositon, or to the passage of cells through a membrane. But in this case I mean it to imply the movement of the soul from one state to another. And I don’t just mean the transition from living to dead, but also the change that takes place within the souls of those that stay behind, of those who suffer pain and loss and then themselves come away from that experience transformed.

Again there is the spatial metaphor. Obviously there is also some sort of narrative here that goes beyond the mere opening up of a memory space despite Adams' claim that he had no desire to create a musical description of any sorts. I guess it's almost impossible to do without. But, personally I would have opted for a much more discreet title that would steer free from all kinds of programmatic and metaphysical entanglements.

The music is what it is, of course, but this background information did predispose me more favourably towards the piece. And I became even more positive when I heard the 2003 live recording on Dutch Radio 4's Concerthuis with the Radio Philharmonic Orchestra led by Edo de Waart. More so than the Spano rendering this had this static monumental quality that interpretatively seems to be more in line with Adams' conception. In this performance orchestra and choir blend into a (shockingly) beautiful and hypnotic symphonic tapestry.

What remains is the apprehension about the smoothness of the musical conception. Shouldn't there be nothing jarring about it? No barbs? I don't know. Whether this piece will stand the test of time remains to be seen. But for me it all in all confirmed Adams' artistic integrity.

Glass: Violin Concerto nr. 1 - Rorem: Violin Concerto - Adams: Violin Concerto - Bernstein: Serenade

My run of American violin concertos is petering out. I didn't look particularly forward to listening to Philip Glass' first Violin Concerto (1987) and the experience left me cold indeed. It's a genuine mystery how someone is able to sustain a 40-year long, incredibly prolific compositional career on such a narrow basis. All the pieces I've heard (not very many: his early film scores, early solo piano work, the Low Symphony, Itaipu, The Canyon, ...) fit in exactly the same mould. Truth be told I haven't listened to any of his innumerable operas. By now Glass is at his Ninth Symphony and judging by the audio fragments on Presto Classical this recent work does not go in any way beyond the structural, thematic and textural parameters we have been familiar with for decades. Anyway, I listened to two recordings of this concerto but neither Gidon Kremer (supported by the Vienna Philharmonic and Christoph von Dohnanyi, on DGG) nor Robert McDuffie (with the Houston Symphony under Eschenbach, on Telarc) were able to convince me of the work's allure.

The Telarc disc also contains a recording of John Adams' Violin Concerto which I revisited with considerable pleasure just a few weeks ago. I still prefer the Nonesuch recording where Kremer puts in a more imaginative performance.

Ned Rorem's Violin Concerto (1985) is the most attractive work on the DGG disc (which also contains the Bernstein Serenade). It's a six movement, symmetrically constructed, dusk-to-dawn piece that features some resourceful, mildly modernistic writing. Particularly the head and tail movements reconnect to the rugged feel of the Schuman concerto. The Romance without Words (third movement) makes an inevitable (it seems) reference to Coplandian pastoralism. The ensuing nocturne (Midnight), awash in floating, spectral chords transports us back to Vaughan Williams' most mystical and elated inspirations (Pastoral and Fifth Symphonies, for example). All in all this comes across as a product of good craftsmanship and I may pick up the competing Naxos recording if it ever crosses my path.

The Bernstein Serenade (1954) is a work that I yet have to discover. The composer's own recording with the Israel PO and Kremer as a soloist did not make a lasting impression. A few months ago I heard it in passing on Arte TV in a performance with the Mahler Chamber Orchestra and Patricia Kopatchinskaja (recording sadly no longer available) that I recall as more swinging and engaging.

Barber: Violin Concerto - Korngold: Violin Concerto

Proceeding with my collection of (American) violin concertos. This incidentally is a disc from my father's collection. The Barber concerto is not one of my favourite pieces. As almost everything I know from this composer it sounds almost too groomed and studied. Everything is so well proportioned, fits so nicely in the traditional forms, complies so diligently with the demands of good taste that despite its impassionate gesturing an impression of sterility is hard to avoid. Furthermore, in contrast with the Schuman, Rochberg and Adams pieces - which are thinkers' concertos, or symphonies with a solo voice - this is a concerto in the traditional mould. I've never been particularly interested in these vehicles for showing off lyricism and virtuosity. In addition to the version with Gil Shaham and the LSO conducted by André Previn I also listened to a performance with Elmar Oliveira as a soloist and the Saint Louis SO led by Leonard Slatkin. I thought both had something going for them.

On the DGG disc, the Barber is coupled with the Korngold Violin Concerto. This was new to me. In fact, I don't think I have listened to anything by Erich Wolfgang Korngold before, undoubtedly dissuaded by his reputation as a Hollywood composer. Korngold wrote the work in 1945, when he was moving away from the white screen and turned to the concert hall again. By then his rich, late-romantic style had been superseded by the sinewy neoclassicism of Bartok and Stravinsky. Nevertheless, I find this marginally more interesting than the Barber concerto. There is a certain harmonic and textural adventurousness that I'm missing from the latter piece. It's more carefree, and tinged with a tongue-in-cheek kind of humour it seems to me. Maybe the fact that Korngold put it together by cannibalising his earlier film scores lends it an air of refreshing dilettantism. In any case, from this piece it is very obvious how influential Korngold's legacy has been for contemporary film composers. It seems people like Horner, Zimmer and Williams haver never ventured beyond the perimeter set out by their predecessor. The concerto is likely to strike contemporary ears as pretty familiar. Again, the performance by Shaham and the LSO/Previn combo sounded pretty convincing. I have an LP somewhere with Heifetz (who premiered the work). I'll dig it up soon.

Meyer: Violin Concerto

Squeezing in yet another American violin concerto. This one dates from 1999 and was written by Edgar Meyer for Hilary Hahn. Meyer (born 1960) is best known as a bassist who likes to straddle different genres. The piece is not in the same league as the other American concertos I listened to in the past few days. It's contemporary music at its most approachable: tonal through and through, hardly any counterpoint. There is absolutely nothing to discourage the least adventurous of music lovers. Its pastoral-elegiac bent and amiable folksiness inevitably puts it in the slipstream of Copland's Appalachian Spring. And that is maybe not so surprising given that Meyer has grown up in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, just a few tens of miles west from Knoxville and the Blue Smoky Mountains. (Incidentally, Oak Ridge is also known as 'the secret city' or 'atomic city' as it was an early production site for the Manhattan project, which casts a somewhat awkward light on this nostalgic bliss). Anyway, the work is eminently listenable. I wouldn't think of putting the Rochberg concerto on whilst savouring my Sunday morning croissant, but the Meyer piece would likely be welcome to extend and deepen the mood of quiet reflection. The work falls into two parts (again!): a first movement that is built around an alternation between a brooding ostinato motif in the strings and a series of lyrically-introspective interludes. The long second part starts with a dawn-like section, with murmuring clarinets, bassoons and strings and a fragile violin line on top. About halfway the music shifts into a more celebratory gear. Momentarily it returns to the reflective mood of the movement's start. The final section is given to a jubilant accelerando. Hahn clearly believes in the piece and gives it her best. I am sure a lesser soloist would kill it.

Adams: Violin Concerto

Interesting to notice that I haven't listened to any work by John Adams since I started this listening diary. I generally admire this composer. It's his protean personality, his inspired mashing and hacking of genres and conventions that makes it worthwhile to keep tabs on his ever growing catalogue of works.

With his Violon Concerto (1993) Adams starts from the conventional tripartite structure of a concerto but he avoids the traditional opposition between soloist and orchestra. There is no genuine sense of development and no conflict. I'd characterise it rather as some sort of meditation or 'reverie'. In that sense the work, despite its classical garb, seems to betray Adams' minimalist roots.

The opening movement - crotchet = 76 - starts in medias res with the orchestra and violin enmeshed in a relentless, uncomfortable gyrating motion. It sounds like some stern disciplinary exercise. The weird harmonies remind us of whirling dervishes. Amazingly, Adams does not depart from this basic configuration as the movement unfolds. The pulse does not change and the violin leads the dance without ever for a second letting up. However, within these rather stringent limits the soloist deploys a startling sequence of increasingly adventurous and frenzied variations. The movement ends in a stupor of exhaustion, with the shortest of cadenzas. This leads into the second movement, suggestively titled Body through which the dream flows after a poem by Robert Hass. Adams at one point suggested that this image applied to the concerto as a whole: "The orchestra [is treated] as the organized, delicately articulated mass of blood, tissues and bones; the violin as the dream that flows through it." It is a rapt 'space music', in the form of a loose chaconne. The violin sings thoughtfully above a dark orchestral fabric, artfully embroidered with discreet synthesiser lines, woodwind filigree and suggestive percussive details. It's a most delicate mood study, recasting the pastoral bliss of, say, Appalachian Spring into a more exotic and cosmopolitan idiom. The third and final movement is a tongue-in-cheeck departure from the otherworldly atmosphere that held us in thrall. It's a kinetic, brash toccata that connects directly to Adams' fondness for classic Americana and Hollywood enchantments.

Adams' piece strikes a very different posture from the narrative, epic Schuman and Rochberg concertos. Continuity and connection rather than contrast and conflict are the watch words. The omnipresent solo voice gives the piece a very particular, almost prophetic cachet. It's a very significant and distinctive piece. Altogether these three concertos form an impressive American tryptich.

The Nonesuch recording I've listened to is very good. In terms of sound quality, Nonesuch is always on the dry side. So here as elsewhere I'm wishing for more bloom and somewhat more vigorous dynamics. The performance by Gidon Kremer backed up by Nagano and the LSO can be recommended on all accounts. It's superb.

Here's Robert Hass' poem:

You count up everything you have
or have let go.
What’s left is the lost and the possible.
To the lost, the irretrievable
or just out of reach, you say:
light loved the pier, the seedy
string quartet of the sun going down over water
that gilds ants and beach fleas
ecstatic and communal on the stiffened body
of a dead grebe washed ashore
by last night’s storm. Idiot sorrow,
an irregular splendor, is the half sister
of these considerations.
To the possible you say nothing.
October on the planet.
Huge moon, bright stars.

Rochberg: Violin Concerto

Another big American violin concerto. George Rochberg wrote this gargantuan work (around 52 minutes long) in the early 1970s. It was premiered in 1974 by Isaac Stern, who had also initiated the commission by the Pittsburgh SO. However, Stern requested Rochberg to cut about 15 minutes of music from the score. It was in this edited version that Stern recorded it in 1977 with the Pittsburgh led by André Previn.
Ten years ago, sanctioned by Rochberg, conductor and composer Christopher Lyndon-Gee took the initiative to restore the piece back to its 'original' shape (here is an article on the process). It is the full version which has been recorded by Naxos and which is henceforth the only version that should be performed.

I am not very familiar with Rochberg's work. I listened to his Second Symphony a while ago and on the strength of that work I invested in all the recordings made by Naxos over the last decade (symphonic work and piano music). But almost all of that remains unexplored. So now the Violin Concerto.

I've heard the piece about four times now and I'm starting to really warm to it. Its chief challenge to the listener is structural. It's just not easy to make sense of this concerto's exotic form. It falls into two parts. Part One consists of an Introduction (6:53), Intermezzo A (8:07) and a Fantasia (7:39). Part Two starts with Intermezzo B (18:35!) and ends with a long Epilogue (10:26). I have yet to detect the coherence that, according to the soloist Peter Sheppard Skaerved, is certainly there.

Rochberg's musical language is archtypically late-romantic. He started out as a serial composer but reverted to a more tonal idiom in the 1960s. The Violin Concerto reminds me, very strongly, of early Bartok, notably the composer of The Wooden Prince and Bluebeard's Castle. The lush and extatic orchestration, the dense chromatic textures, the lumbering rhythms and the characteristically terse motives are all there. There is also always something tough in Bartok's music, a steely core that we also find back in this concerto. Only the nocturnal, devotional intensity of the slow passages in Intermezzo B (a kind of night music) made me think of Dutilleux or Messiaen. But then the 'night music' is also a very typical Bartokian topos.

There is an awful lot of very good music in this concerto. It's definitely symphonic in feel. The soloist voice and orchestra are blended into a seamless, epic canvas. But again, it requires patience to get a grip on the overal line. I would definitely want to hear the Stern version of this concerto as I have a suspicion that he may have been right after all ...

Naxos are not in the habit of producing demonstration class recordings and this one is no exception. It's serviceable. Realistic dynamics set in a suitably warm but not overly resonant acoustics. The playing of the Saarbrücken orchestra under Lyndon-Gee is committed. Also Skaerved's performance is to be commended (he is also leader of the Kreutzer Quartet, unbeknownst to me).

All in all this seems to be a must-hear for those interested in big, challenging but ultimately very approachable 20th century modernist pieces. To be further explored.

Schuman: Violin Concerto

The Schuman violin concerto has been a long-time favourite of mine. It is one of the 20th century concertos I most happily return too. What a fantastic piece of music this is! The muscular self-confidence that oozes from this score, however, belies the difficulties William Schuman had in moulding the piece into its final shape. He went through several rounds of major revisions stretching over a period of 14 years. This seems to have been quite exceptional in his oeuvre. Schuman was generally not a person given to tinkering with his scores (also given his extensive responsibilities as teacher and administrator). The final iteration (1959) resulted in an odd bipartite structure which somehow comes across as perfectly cogent.

The first part starts Allegro risoluto and moves into a first long, rapturous intermezzo (with the soaring violin initially underpinned by a quite beautiful, solemn clarinet). Muted trumpets re-introduce the bristling music of the start. Soon the soloist launches into an extended and startlingly eloquent cadenza (the only section that came through all revisions unscathedly). A wild and dark Agitato section whips up the music to a veritable frenzy. Brilliantly Schuman builds in a short cadenza-like section before the movement's turbulent close. The second part starts solemnly with martial timpani and a monolithic chorus of brass instruments. Quickly, the music dies down in a drawn-out pedal point, beautifully scored for the low strings. There is a long Adagio section in which the soloist stretches a broad, questioning arc above a densely chromatic, somber orchestral fabric. A fugatic passage leads into a section of nervous activity, with a scurrying violin in dialogue with various, equally edgy orchestral sections. But suddenly another one of these pedal points gives the soloist an opportunity to rise into stratospheric realms once more. This is short-lived, however, and soon the violin engages in a skittish section that - poco a poco accelerando - leads to a steel-clad apotheosis. Again, a final, heartbreakingly beautiful adagio section. The piece ends with breathless coda.

What stands out is the contrast between darkness and autumnal light, between a dominantly frenetic and craggy sort of music and interludes of transcendental beauty and calm. The score bristles with ideas. There is not a single dull page. And Schuman seems to have found a voice here that is very much his own. Although rather accessible and tonal, the music sounds resolutely personal.

The recording I listened to is sadly not longer available in CD format. It can be downloaded via the DGG website, however. It documents the extraordinary collaboration between two very young men and a terrific orchestra - the Boston SO - in its prime.  In 1970 Michael Tilson Thomas, just over 25, was at the very threshold of his conducting career. It had been barely a year since his debut with the BSO. The soloist is Paul Zukofsky, who was only a year older  He went on to build a distinguished career as a specialist in new American music. Their performance certainly has the fire of youth. But they also have the full measure of this complex score. I can't imagine a more persuasive case for this neglected masterpiece.

Rubbra: Violin Concerto

In the wake of the Dyson concerto I remembered another mid-twentieth century, British violin concerto in my collection that remained unexplored. Rubbra's only excursion in that particular genre (op. 103) dates from 1958 and hence is roughly contemporaneous with his great Seventh Symphony. (In addition there is a Viola Concerto from 1952.)

Compared to Dyson's enjoyable but suave meditation Rubbra's concerto is quite a different kettle of fish. Commentators often refer to this composer's 'serene joyfulness' as a key feature but it doesn't strike me that way. Despite a penchant for rustic folksiness and an interiorised, almost mystical spirituality I find Rubbra's music gritty and confrontational. Also this concerto speaks of high tragedy and even Angst. The first movement is a tightly knit sonata movement that propels itself forward with an uncomfortable urgency. It seems to have been written by a composer haunted by violent memories. Those familiar with Rubbra's mature symphonies will easily connect to the concerto's stylistic ambit: thematic material with clear, forceful outlines (almost like woodcuts), a workmanlike orchestration, an harmonic pallette that is a curious mix of density and luminosity, and a very organic conception of form (despite the sonata template). In the liner notes Malcolm MacDonald points out that the stern opening theme has qua rhythm and interval structure been compared to that of Shostakovich's Fifth Symphony and that correspondence is indeed easy to pick up. It seems to me that the kinship between these two compositions goes further than merely the structure of the leading theme. As in the Shostakovich symphony there is an emotional ambiguity at the heart of the work. The dance-like finale - Allegro giocoso - comes across as another instance of rejoicing under duress. And the slow movement - Poema (Lento ma non troppo) - is a noble but stone-cold threnody.

Despite the fact that this performance is able to communicate the urgency of this rather special music, I can't help thinking that it must be possible to do much, much better. When I first heard it in the headphones I was appalled. It sounded scrawny and lacked delicacy both in the solo part and in the orchestral accompaniment. On the speakers the recording comes through marginally better. However, the Naxos sound is criminally prosaic and the Ulster Orchestra give a rather deadpan performance. I am not impressed either with Krysia Osostowicz as a soloist. As a chamber musician (member of the Domus Quartet) she has recorded quite a bit of Rubbra, but this rendering seems to scratch only the surface. But I must admit that despite these misgivings the music has no trouble persuading the listener of its great qualities. Nevertheless it is a surprise to notice that at present there is no alternative at all in the catalogue. The 1980s recording with Tamsin Little and Vernon Handley conducting the Royal Philharmonic (Conifer) is unavailable. And so is the older recording with Carl Pini and the Melbourne SO (Unicorn). So sadly we'll have to do with the Naxos for the time being.

Dyson: Violin Concerto, Children's Suite after Walter De La Mare

George Dyson is a largely forgotten British composer (1883-1964). I have had his Violin Concerto (1941) in my collection for a very long time. A the time I bought the recording on the strength of the concerto's infectious Vivace which I had heard on a Gramophone sampler. However, when I heard the whole piece I was disappointed and as a result the CD has seen very little rotation.

But I am happy to report that revisiting the piece made me see it in a different light. Sure, it's a very long concerto. At just under 45 minutes one can easily say it has symphonic ambitions. The opening Molto moderato only takes a full 20 minutes. But having listened to it four times over the last few days, I feel the work doesn't outstay its welcome. Dyson's musical language is conservative, to put it midly. He was a pupil of Charles Villiers Stanford and on account of this concerto I would say Dyson's idiom remains within the compass of a traditionalist but tasteful late 19th century style.

The concerto starts with a dramatic flourish: a marvelous, noble, almost tragic theme in full orchestral garb that, remarkably enough, disappears from view in the remainder of the piece (I may not have recognised it, of course). It takes a full 3 minutes for the soloist to appear with a distinctive theme of an understated, hymnic character. The movement comes across as darkly lyrical and very rhapsodic. In that sense it reminds me of Schoeck's Violin Concerto (who composed it 4 decades earlier) but sadly Dyson does not quite match the exquisite, bittersweet ruminations of his Swiss colleague. However, the play of light and shadow in this expansive meditation entices. There are occasional echoes of Bax, RVW and Delius. Effortlessly the mental eye wanders over expansive, hospitable landscapes. The Vivace is a very accomplished, folksy scherzo, almost a jig. Dyson elaborates it with consumate skill. The Poco Andante is dreamy and very sweet, with a slightly more animated middle section. The finale - Allegro ma non troppo - surprises with its upbeat and dancelike character. It must have sounded oddly out of place at the premiere in 1942 London.

The filler on this disc is an attractive 20 minute, 4-movement suite that evokes a nursery world. Here the Delius fingerprints are even more difficult to ignore. 

Lydia Mordkovitch and Richard Hickox (conducting the City of London Sinfonia) did an excellent job in shaping this expansive concerto. The Chandos recording is very successful too: warm but not shapeless, dynamic but not shrill.

All in all a pleasant rediscovery. Dyson's best-known work - the Canterbury Pilgrims cantata - has recently been included in Chandos' 241 budget series. Years ago I remember hearing a section from that too, with an impressive Robert Tear. I hope to be able to listen to it soon.

Braga Santos: Symphony nr. 4, Symphonic Variations

Joly Braga Santos (1924-1988) was the leading figure in mid-to-late 20th century Portuguese musical life. Surprisingly, I can't recall having any other work of a Portuguese composer in my collection. So this is a double first.

Braga Santos initially drew my attention through the many positive reviews on Amazon. This particular recording has garnered 13 five-star reviews on Amazon.com. Was I really missing out on a major 20th century composer?

After having listened to his big, muscular Symphony nr. 4 I must confess to being surprised that this music is not more widely known and recorded. Learning that this 53 minute work flowed out of the pen of 27 year old man was a genuine shock. The grandiosity of the conception and the almost casual surefootedness of the writing made me suspect a much older and more mature composer. Based on the Fourth, I would not hesitate to label Braga Santos as the 'Iberian Sibelius'. It is particularly the brash and warmhearted lyricism of the younger Sibelius (from the time of, say, the First and Second Symphony) that is such a distinctive feature of Braga Santos' idiom. It is music that immediately appeals, also, I suspect, to people who are less attuned to classical music. The noble, sweeping and distinctive melodies, the uncluttered harmonies, engaging rhythms and the conventional architecture do not pose a great challenge to the listener. One would almost think it's a Mediterranean brand of Socialist Realism (Portugal had indeed been under Salazarism's sway for decades when Braga Santos wrote this work). Anyway, despite the accessibility and the epic scope of the work there are no longueurs. It doesn't scale the heights of, say, a Sibelius Second or even a Rubbra Seventh. I'd put it in the same bracket as Guridi's Sinfonia Pyrenaica: a product of a sensitive and honest and occasionally even genuinely inspired craftsman. It certainly deserves to be more widely heard than it is now.

The other work on this disc is equally captivating. The Symphonic Variations on popular song from the Alentejo (1951) is an excellent, rousing piece, again featuring those typically Sibelian fingerprints.

The Marco Polo recording deserves full marks. The National Symphony Orchestra of Ireland led by an experienced Alvaro Cassuto delivers an committed and idiomatic performance. Altogether a great find. We'll certainly investigate this further.

Williamson: Symphonies nr. 1 and nr. 5

Another first. Malcolm Williamson (1931-2003) was a hitherto totally unknown composer to me. Born in Australia, he settled permanently in Britain in 1953 and became a fixture of post-war British musical life. In 1975 he followed Arthur Bliss as Master of the Queen's Music but artistically he never really seemed to have risen to the challenge of this prestigious appointment. That was odd for a composer who had been a very fluent and rather successful writer up that point. Williamson produced three operas in the 1960s that were well received. His symphonic achievement includes seven numbered works and three others (a symphony for (unaccompanied voices, for organ and a Sinfonia Concertante for three trumpets, piano and strings).

Judging by the quality of the performances included on this Chandos disc we have been missing a very substantial chapter from the otherwise already opulent book of British post-war serious music. Because the two symphonies - nr. 1 and nr. 5 - are truly excellent and intriguing works and they certainly make me want to hear all seven of them.

Symphony nr. 1 was written in 1956-57 when Williamson was still a very young man. But his sure grasp on the musical material and its distinctive personality skillfully mask the composer's relatively tender age. The work carries the mysterious title 'Elevamini': a Latin quote from Psalm 24 that means 'Be ye lifted up'. In the early 1950s Williamson turned to Catholicism and the spiritual fervour that accompanied this late conversion is certainly something that can be picked up from the symphony. In this respect Williamson's musical language reminds me most strongly of Rubbra's. Lewis Foreman, author of the CD booklet notes, stresses Williamson's interest in Messiaen's music but if there is an influence it's not obvious from the music. It's more likely a matter of spiritual kinship. No, whilst there is a fair amount of Stravinsky in Elevamini (Symphony in C, Symphony in Three Movements), on the whole Williamson's idiom sounds thoroughly British. It brings to mind the rigour of Simpson and, occasionally the perkiness of Arnold. But it's the luminosity of Rubbra's work that I'm very happy to find in another incarnation. The symphony is a three movement work, with an Allegretto squeezed between two longer, slow movements. The work has a curious performance history. Allegedly Adrian Boult paid out of his own pocket for a private performance with the London Philarmonic. The first public performance took place only in 1963, in Melbourne. It was forgotten until 1977 when Sir Charles Groves, indefatigable champion of upcoming composers, performed and recorded it (still available on the Lyrita label). And now Chandos presents us with this very capably executed performance.

Williamson's Fifth Symphony dates from 1979-1980. Again it has an intriguing title: 'Acquero'. Supposedly it is a dialect word that Bernadette Soubirous used to describe what she saw ('that thing') in her vision of the Virgin Mary in the Grotto of Massabielle in the Pyrenees (1858). The whole work is a programmatic contemplation - dawn till dusk - on Bernadette's life and vision. It's a one movement piece that revolves over a continuous, slow pulse over its 24 minutes. The overall ambiente is pastoral and exalted. Formally it's not easy decode. In its seamless expansiveness and monumental, ever changing vistas it reminds me somewhat of Roy Harris' Third Symphony (1939). It strikes me certainly as a very idiosyncratic, rich work that invites repeated listening. Although Williamson was only 50 at the time of writing, it sounds like a late work by a composer who is beyond making a point and just writes for himself. As far as I am aware of there is no alternative recording available.

The performances by the Iceland SO led by Rumon Gamba seem to capture the spirit of these works to perfection. The recording dates from 2006 and is excellent too. Sadly, Chandos seems to have suspended this recording project and so it is totally unclear if and when Williamson's other major symphonic work will become available, if ever ...

Dove: Tobias and the Angel

I've been unable to muster a lot of concentration and focus in my listening over the last few weeks. June was largely dedicated to travelling, including a week-long solo bicycle trek through France. On the road I happily limited myself to re-listening again and again to Autumn Chorus' The Valley to the Vale and the new Sigur Ros album, Valtari. These gently epic pieces resonated very well with the placid landscapes that unfolded before my eyes.

Also, it seems I have moved temporarily out of Debussy's orbit in which I have been thankfully circling for almost nine months. It's not that I'm feeling in any way tired of his music, but there is a faint urge to explore some new horizons. That isn't too difficult as I have literally stacks of CDs and LPs with unfamiliar repertoire waiting for a first audition. Recently I took advantage of a Presto Classical promotion of Chandos albums. One of the discs I purchased is Tobias and the Angel, a single-act opera by British composer Jonathan Dove. I listened to his Siren Song last autumn and was favourably impressed. I also have Flight in my collection, but haven't gone through that yet. With Tobias I have access to all of his stage works available on CD (his Pinocchio is only on DVD).

It took me a while to warm to this piece. Siren Song had charmed me because of the keen sense of drama, the compelling psychology and the fresh, humane vocal writing. Musically it is not an overpowering experience. Dove's ideas are cloaked in an attractive, accessible and discreet minimalism that doesn't seem to be interested in scaling Himalayan heights. Tobias and the Angel initially struck me as slightly too episodic to hold my attention. Siren Song had the advantage of a very limited cast. It's a chamber opera that revolves around essentially three characters. The claustrophobic quality of this setting significantly adds to the quality of the drama. Tobias is a church opera, written by Dove in the late 1990s for a Birmingham parish as a canvas for community participation. So it's conceived for a much larger and more differentiated cast, including multiple choruses. (The supporting instrumental ensemble, however, is as lean as in the case of Siren Song. It consists of a single violin, cello, double-bass, harp, organ, accordion, clarinet, flute, with percussion on top.) I must admit of listening the first couple of times without having read the libretto. As the the story is a rather caleidoscopic affair that shifts between locations and perspectives, this certainly contributed to my initial sense of disorientation. Given the setting for which it was composed the ambience is also less serious and introspective compared to Siren Song. At times it veers into Broadway. There is ostentatious reliance on Klezmer style

However, after having listened to the piece a couple of times (initially mostly in the car) and after having read the synopsis of the story I started to get the hang of it. I recognised that, as in the other work, there is a compelling triadic relationship at the heart of the piece. Here it is between Tobias, an insouciant youth, Sara, a possessed beautiful young lady and Raphael, an angel (sung by a countertenor). The latter has a mystical relationship with visible reality and hence the trees, rivers and mountains play a decisive and musical role. That is similar to Siren Song, where the omnipresent sea assumes a genuinely important dramatic persona.

The piece really comes up to speed after an initial part that is mostly dominated by the forces of darkness. Tobias and Raphael undertake a journey which turns out to be some sort of vision quest and puts the drama on an exalted footing. Dove is able to maintain and deepen that ambience of quiet ecstasy as the drama unfolds. This culminates in a finale that is showered by a heavenly blaze of compassion and joy.

The production recorded by Chandos seems to me exemplary on all accounts. Great and engaging singing from the large vocal forces involved (with a special mention of counter-tenor James Laing), an instrumental ensemble that is very much on top and everything firmly in the hand of American conductor David Charless Abell. The recording leaves nothing to be desired too.

Once I was into the piece it was difficult to get it out of my head. I think over time I will learn to love it more than Siren Song. This is contemporary music that is utterly accessible. There is nothing highbrow about it. But it inspires, fills our minds with light and makes us pause. I'm not asking for more.

Hovhaness: Sonata for Harp, Sonata for Harp and Guitar - Autumn Chorus: The Village to the Vale

 I've been travelling and working intensely over the past two weeks so very little came of listening. The best I could do was to snatch a few bits in a train compartment or in a hotel lobby. Whilst travelling I'm unlikely to listen to unfamiliar or difficult music. This time I had two travelling companions in the form of a Hovhaness collection for harp I transferred from my father's collection to my iPad and the Autumn Chorus CD (The Village to the Vale) I downloaded earlier this year. The latter I find still a magnificent piece of work and an astonishing feat for a first recording. My favourite track is certainly the epic, 16 minute long Rosa. A gorgeous wash of sound, particularly when you are looking out of a train window whilst travelling through central Sweden on a bright midsummer evening ... Autumn Chorus produce a sound that is hybrid between the Moody Blues and Sigur Ros. I just love it.

The Hovhaness CD (a Telarc production from 2005) offers a mix of pieces for harp and various ensembles. There is a Concerto for Harp and String Orchestra (with the orchestra part played by I Fiamminghi) which I haven't really listened to yet. The excellent soloist is Yolanda Kondonassis. I keep returning to the Sonata for Harp solo and a Sonata for Guitar and Harp 'Spirit of Trees'. It's not particularly probing music, but the faintly orientalising harmonies and haunting sonorities offer a contemplative bubble to escape from the buzz of airports and planes.

I'll be leaving soon on an extended bicycle tour through France, as an opportunity to learn more about the future of Europe. I have my iPad with me, loaded with a number of new CDs. It remains to be seen to what extent I'll be in the mood for listening on this challenging tour.

Tsontakis: Ghost Variations - Weber: Fantasia - Copland: Piano Variations - Corigliano: Etude Fantasy

This CD I picked up from the constantly updated 'Please, someone, buy me' batch that Hyperion Records offers at deep discounts (at this very moment it is still available but it won't be for long). It's the kind of piano recital that inevitably tickles my curiosity: not so well known American 21st century works intelligently curated under a banner that promises urbaneness and metropolitan sophistication. Yesterday I played it through for the first time and I was not displeased with what I heard: a rather accessible (but not trivial) Etude Fantasy by Corigliano, Copland's famous and rather stern Piano Variations, a short Fantasia (Variations) (1946) by Ben Weber and, as pièce de résistance, a big and wayward work - Ghost Variations - by George Tsontakis (b1951). It was this last piece that intrigued me most, so I listened to it a couple of more times. It's a very substantial work, stretching over 30 minutes, that falls into 3 parts: a fantasia-like head movement culminating in a madcap set of Mozart Variations, followed by two scherzi. I don't think I have seen a piece in this kind of idiosyncratic layout before. From Tsontakis' wikipedia page I learned that Stephen Hough's premiere performance on this CD was nominated for a Grammy Award for Best Contemporary Classical Composition and that it was the only classical recording among Time magazine's 1998 Top Ten Recordings. I'd need to spend a bit more time with this piece to get a better grip on it. For now I'd say that this reminds me of late Beethoven with a postmodernist twist. The writing is really resourceful and exhibits formidable drive. It's basically tonal so that's not where the difficulty is. It's the overall shape of the piece that eludes easy comprehension. Hough writes in the booklet notes that "there are two overriding, opposing psychological elements at work in the piece that could be described as obsessiveness versus dissipation, clear-sightedness versus hallucination, firm purpose versus aimlessness: a contrast between moments when everything matters, and moments when nothing matters (...). The search for enlightenment happens here either by obsessive repetition - as if trying to solve a problem by going over it again and again; or by an unravelling process, 'becoming muddled' or 'doodling' as the composer writes in the score." The first movement sounds like a tormented, disjointed fantasia in which a dark, chorale-like theme (reminding me of Liszt) plays a prominent role. But there are also many twists I would associate with ageing Beethoven. This leads up unexpectedly to a set of tongue-in-cheeck variations on a theme from Mozart's E flat major piano concerto, KV482. Astonishingly, the whole thing seems to work. The two scherzi - each around 9 minutes long - are complex compositions in their own right which fully demand the listener's attention. The piece ends in a wonderfully atmospheric way with a final variation on the Mozart theme played on the wood of the piano frame. I'm certainly going to spend more time with this work in the next couple of weeks. Kudos to Hyperion and Hough for the imaginative programming, the persuasive performances, the excellent recorded sound, beautiful packaging (with a suggestive painting by Ben Moore gracing the cover) and very informative notes by the performer himself. A great find!