Recorded in November 2010 at the Auditorio Manzoni, Bologna, Italy, this disc juxtaposes two divergent trends in music, beginning with Alban Berg’s 1935 unique approach to the Schoenberg aesthetic in twelve tones from an essentially lyrical point of view.  Dedicated to the memory of Manon Gropius, who died 22 April 1935 at age eighteen, the Concerto assumes the mantle of Schubert, perceiving Death both as adversary and deliverer, dreadful foe and esteemed releaser of the soul into higher mysteries. Despite its stylistic hybridization, the Concerto emerges as a Romantic Requiem for Manon, a union of diatonic and dodecaphonic opposites tied together in a unique circle of thirds and fifths: G Minor, D Major, A Minor, and E Major separated by an interval of a fifth extended by three conjunct notes. Within this intricate labyrinth Berg inserts two recognizable melodies, a Carinthian folk tune in the last section of movement one; and a Lutheran chorale, Es ist genug: Herr, wenn es dir gefaellt. . .from Bach’s Cantata 60, in the concluding Adagio.

It would appear that violinist Isabelle Faust and conductor Claudio Abbado “conspired” to make the most beautiful rendition of the Berg Concerto they could, since every note , each phrase, enjoys a roundness and vibrant articulation that we might easily ascribe, in the orchestra part alone, to Herbert von Karajan. Faust exploits the concerto’s alternately parlando and bravura filigree to full advantage of her extraordinary 1704 Stradivarius, nicknamed “La Belle au bois dormant.” The innate architectural unity of conception stands out, as does the melancholy beauty of the line, despite its occasional disruption by the fierce ironies of fortune. Kudos to many of Orchestra Mozart’s principals, such as harp Nabila Chajai; and horns Alessio Allegrini, Giuseppe Russo, Jose Castello, and Geremia Iezzi. Indeed, the performance achieves a palpable radiance rare even among the more distinguished inscriptions by such luminaries as Krasner, Grumiaux, and Ferras.

The Beethoven Violin Concerto falls more within the traditional canon of interpretation, though we must applaud Faust’s sweet lyricism and vivid, accurate intonation. Abbado leads a delicately etched series of figures in strings and woodwinds, and the timpani work by Robert Kendell must receive its due, setting the acoustical contrast between percussive and rhythmic elements and the Dionysian melodic ethos, which Beethoven reminds us must be played “sempre perdendosi,” always with a sense of forgetting oneself.  The warm liquid fire Faust brings to her fluid runs and half steps certainly corresponds to the long-lined majesty we know in this concerto from Milstein and Oistrakh, Haendel and Wicks. Faust’s’s use of the Beethoven cadenza with timpani adds that bravura aspect, a touch of Paganini, to the mix. The G Major Larghetto becomes even more intimate, if possible, a violin concerto here conceived as a sonata da chiesa in the form of a theme and variations. After a transitional cadenza, the Rondo: allegro hustles by, interrupted by a small digression by Faust, to renew itself with verve and elastic vim. The work between Faust and bassoon solo Guilhaume Santana charms, as had Klaus Lohrer’s contrabassoon captivated us in the Berg. If Beethoven’s Rondo takes its spirit from a peasant dance, it achieves an aristocratic grandeur by way of Faust and Abbado. One more bravura cadenza in rising half steps and elongated trill from Faust; and then the strings insinuate the basic rhythm, and we canter and gallop to a lovely pastoral series of colors for the coda. Rare and well-done, shall we say?

—Gary Lemco

The name of violin virtuoso Michael Rabin (1936-1972) still shines, even forty years after his death. While a solid, if limited, body of his work survives on records, any testimony to his colossal talent that emerges brings immediate interest and musical rewards. Appropriately enough, the Testament label proffers a three-CD set in fine and excellent sound that captures Rabin from his extraordinary days, 1947-1949 through his relatively mature style, 1970-1971. We hear Rabin work with his gifted mother, pianist Jeanne Rabin, who had married George Rabin, a violinist for the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. Ivan Galamian, Michael Rabin’s main teacher, claimed, “The boy has absolutely no weakness, never.” That assertion more than justifies itself early on, as we listen to literally blazing renditions made on tape 14 December 1947 of a barely eleven-year-old prodigy in music of daunting challenges: Lalo’s Symphonie Espagnole (in the four movement edition); four Paganini Caprices: 11 in C; 17 in E-flat Major; 24 in A Minor; and  No. 5 in A Minor; Saint-Saens; Kreisler; Shalit; and then Brahms and Bach, played with feverish intensity and seamless polish. While the Bach Partita lacks the Chaconne, the Allemanda, Corrente, and Giga convey a through grounding in Baroque style and piercing projection without sag.

I find the series 1961-1964 already demonstrating a startling degree of maturity in Rabin’s musical evolution: the pulse is steadier, the plastic transitions in register and dynamic shifts even smoother and more “lofty.” For most of the disc, Rabin has the amazing Brooks Smith (from EMI archives) as his accompanist, and their versions of Dvorak’s E Minor Slavonic Dance and Falla’s (arr. Kreisler) Spanish Dance sizzle with excitement. Kroll’s Banjo and Fiddle receives several readings, and each dances with the flashy exuberance and easy facility that we already know from Jascha Heifetz. The Sarasate arrangement of the Chopin Nocturne had my own daughter remarking that she preferred Rabin’s version to the piano original! The unusual moment of repertory occurs with the transfer on a 1964 Gold Crest LP of the Violin Sonata by John Alden Carpenter, Grant Johannesen, piano. A substantial piece, it boasts a healthy lyricism, albeit in a modal style possibly indebted to Faure and Franck. The Largo mistico third movement indeed possesses a sincere character, nobly realized by Rabin and Johannesen. The generally breezy Presto giocoso permits Rabin to romp in folksy riffs, although the feeling remains “academic.” The music drifts into a meditative section that once more sounds like a variant from the Franck Sonata. I find the Gold Crest mono lacquer acoustic harsh, but the document is too valuable to dismiss, and the sense of collaboration proves seamless.

The young Michael Rabin already had the Brahms Violin Concerto under his fingers, and we can hear him in a keyboard arrangement of the orchestral part with his mother (20 May 1949, from 78 rpm discs) on Disc One, in which they perform selected passages from the Allegro on troppo first movement. In the late 1960s and early in 1970, rebuilding his career after phobias and drugs had severely damaged his persona and his musical acuity, Michael Rabin had hoped EMI would re-invite him to their studios to record the major concertos of Beethoven and Brahms. It did not happen, but the San Diego Symphony archives yield the Brahms (26 February 1970) in a stereo broadcast from the Civic Theater that attests to a virile, firm line and flexible response from Rabin, aided by a gorgeous violin tone from his Guarnerius del Gesu, 1775. While the San Diego Symphony cannot equal the luster of the more prominent recording orchestras, conductor Rozsnyai certainly provides more than adequate fiber, and the individual instruments, the oboe, flute and tympani, particularly, rise to the occasion.

Virtually a year later, 25 February 1971, Rabin returns to the Civic Theater, San Diego to perform Bruch’s 1880 Scottish Fantasy, a work we do have in a commercial release from EMI.  Much in the tradition of Heifetz, whose 1947 recording restored the work to the active repertory, Rabin plays with fervor and enthusiasm, and fewer cuts than Heifetz takes in his two inscriptions. The opening Adagio cantabile, based on “Through the Wood Laddie,” pairs Rabin in double stops (in E-flat) and the San Diego obbligato harp in richly national colors. Rabin plies “Dusty Miller” in the second movement Allegro, which includes bag-pipe drones in the Tanz section. The heart of the work, Andante sostenuto, brings out the ardent soul in Rabin, too. “I’m a Doun for Lack O’Johnnie” provides the poignant “vocals” and their variants for this soulful rendition. The Finale: Allegro guerriero whoops up a Scottish war song, “Scots, Wha Hae,” commemorative of the Battle of Bannockburn (1314). Bruch once wrote that “Whoever bases a composition on folk melodies, his work can never become old and wizened.” The same might be said for the rare art of youthful Michael Rabin, who left us much too soon.

—Gary Lemco

Dinnerstein’s 2011 debut for Sony–Bach: A Strange Beauty–reached  No. 1 on Billboard’s Classical Chart, and made it into the Billboard Top 200. The playing had an inward clunky elegance which accorded with Dinnerstein’s carefully-presented, user-friendly marketing image. Her Bach on the this second concept recital is equally good (especially in the spaced-out reaches of the B-flat major Partita No. 1 which ends with a perfect, melting Gigue) and is matched by Schubert of an even higher order. The Four Impromptus‘ famous melodies and beloved coloristic effects seem to float above the strings; the sound seems to shimmers into Grammy-winning producer Adam Abeshouse’s recording microphones.

Appropriately, the center spread shows Dinnerstein in a home-like setting, robed in concert black, playing an immense concert grand while gazing adoringly at her husband and son who are reflected in a wall-length mirror. The playing is indeed like you would expect to hear in such a domestic situation: Dinnerstein translates both Bach and Schubert into very intimate terms; unlike concert performances, in which she would have to open up, she finds emotional response in the plastic quality of the phrasing, and finds warmth in the scores’ wonderful clarity so that the music teems with life. Her small-ball-playing yields big results.

The sound is quite gorgeous and handles high volumes brilliantly; recorded at the Academy of Arts and Letters in New York, it focuses particularly well when Dinnerstein is doing something pianistically interesting, like fooling around with trills.

Dinnerstein writes in the notes that “Bach and Schubert share a distinctive quality. Their non-vocal music has a powerful narrative, a vocal element. The effect is that of wordless voices singing textless melodies. Bach and Schubert’s melodic lines are so fluent, so expressive, and so minutely inflected that they sound as though they might at any moment burst suddenly into speech. They sound like something almost being said.” If you can make sense of that, you will also enjoy the poem she quotes and from which the CD takes its title, Philip Larkin’s The Trees.

—Laurence Vittes

Rare live broadcasts from the extensive legacy of conductor Hermann Scherchen (1891-1966)  grace these two discs, among which we hear a performance (30 April 1957) of Beethoven’s 1814 (pub. 1837) cantata for the Congress of Vienna, Der glorreiche Augenblick, with a pompously patriotic text by Alois Weissenbach. Celebrating the city of Vienna, the “poet” addresses its “genius” as that of Vindobona, its ancient Roman name, invoking the symbol of the double-eagle. The music often anticipates the means and propulsion of the Ninth Symphony, including the kinds of scoring for piccolo and percussion for “Turkish janissary band.” Beethoven employs the hymn as a polyphonic procedure, especially in the soprano’s proclamation, “I am Europe, no longer a city!” The use of cymbal, triangle, and drum to accompany the men’s chorus confirms the grand scale of the later symphony, for which this cantata seems a notable preparation. “The Glorious Retrospective” enjoys well-prepared forces, the women’s and children’s choirs particularly lyrical as they extol the virtues of Vienna’s musical past. Fischer-Dieskau’s contribution in the second section, “O seht sie nach und naeher treten,” proves resonant and quite thrilling, as answered by the full chorus.

The seven-minute “ensemble” excerpt from Don Giovanni (“O Say Where Hides These Criminals?”) contrasts the lyric soprano Marianne Schech against bass-baritone Walter Berry in spirited confrontation, each of the characters caught in the wake of Don Giovanni’s mischief. Josef Traxel delivers a sweet arietta to Scherchen’s haunted strings. Some gritty static interferes (6-12 October 1957) with the enjoyment of otherwise pure singing. Rather more off the beaten path lies Debussy’s 1912 fantastical rondo Jeux (1 February 1960) from Herford, the music’s having been conceived as an erotic vehicle for Nijinsky. Since the musical motifs have no extension, changing “speed and nuance every two measures,” the conductor must impose his will upon the slinky shape of this askew social encounter. And so, Scherchen follows well the glorious example of Victor de Sabata, who made the first recording of the work in 1947. Although Scherchen complained about the technical proficiency of his Herford musicians, they turn in an effective reading of this elusive work. A vivacious but cut Scherzo from Bruckner’s under-performed C Minor Symphony No. 2 (14 December 1965) by the Toronto Symphony attests to a sonic alertness and brisk response by the woodwind, brass, and string forces. Its Trio section combines laendler and bucolic hymn most effectively, the aural definition in Scherchen’s low basses section quite articulate.

Disc One opens with Schubert’s Rondo in A for Violin and Orchestra (12 November 1945), a recording quite effective for its time period, Spoerri’s violin persuasively lyrical. Some sound diminishes for the last four minutes or so of this otherwise seamless performance. The reading of Ravel’s Mother Goose Suite ((31 January 1949) with Fricsay’s RIAS orchestra comes as a revelation of crystal clarity and refined nuance; I can only liken it to a live Previtali performance I heard in Carnegie Hall, c. 1969. The last movement, The Fairy Garden, achieves an apotheosis of childhood nostalgia and epic pageantry. The tempo for Laideronnette, imperatrice des Pagodes beautifully balances quicksilver orientalism with stately exotic chorale.

Schoenberg’s A Survivor from Warsaw (20 August 1950) combines Scherchen’s loyal advocacy of 12-tone composition with his deep resentment for National Socialist politics and human atrocities. Narrator Hans Olaf Heidemann recites in English in a profoundly staggered syllabication, almost every word being broken, a mirror of the persona’s shattered memory and sensibility. “How could you sleep?” indicts a whole world. If Heidemann sounds like Bela Lugosi, the effect may well be deliberate. By the time the death and weird resurrection reach the fateful Hebrew hymn, Sh’ma Yisroel, we might well be reminded of Joseph Schildkraut’s chilling appearance in “Death’s-Head Revisited” on Twilight Zone.

The humane figures of Handel’s eternal Water Music from RAI Rome (5 January 1957) try to alleviate the global miseries of the Schoenberg; and they do trip the light fantastic elegantly. I could only wish Scherchen had the Neville Boyling edition that Menuhin utilized, for its buoyancy and metric invention. Still, the pomp and circumstance under Scherchen drive away care and admit delicate fancy, “sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.”

—Gary Lemco

Performers: London Philharmonic Orchestra/The Glyndebourne Chorus/ Mark Elder (cond.)/ Michael Grandage (dir.)/ Christopher Oram (designer)
Principal Cast: Captain Vere – John Mark Ainsley/Claggart – Philip Ens/ Billy Budd – Jacques Imbrailo /ensemble
Studio: Opus Arte OA 1051D (two-disc set)
Video: 16:9 Color 1080i HD
Audio: English DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1
Subtitles: English/French/German/Spanish
Extras: Introducing Billy Budd, Designs on Billy Budd, cast gallery
Length: 180 minutes + 20 minutes (extras)
Rating: ****

Analyzing the theme and intent behind Herman Melville’s 1891 novella, Billy Budd: Foretopman, could be – has been – a whole lengthy topic unto itself. The story is a fairly simply one. Billy Budd is a young man pressed into service, along with many others, aboard the HMS Indomitable during the waning days of England’s naval conflict with France during Napoleonic conquest.  The Indomitable’s Captain Vere is written – and herein portrayed – as traditional and stoic but, ultimately, weak. The master-at-arms, Claggart, has the thankless job of keeping the large crew of men, of varying will and ability, on task and away from thoughts of mutiny. (In both the libretto by E.M. Forster and Eric Crozier, as well as in historical reality, the British navy had already suffered two mutinies.)

These three principal characters play out in a developing tragedy. Billy is portrayed as young, physically quite capable and handsome. Claggart is older, jaded and cynical; easily made jealous by the attention that he perceives the refined but distant Vere gives Billy. When Billy, in a crucial scene early on, shouts out “Farewell ‘Rights-of-Man”, the very deliberate double entendre penned by Melville is, indeed, taken as a rebellious remark by Billy instead of some joyous exclamation by Billy over leaving his former assigned ship; the “Rights of Man”, Claggart becomes at first suspicious and, then, determined to frame Billy as a mutinous malcontent. Through bribery, dishonesty and spite, Claggart does create a situation in which Billy is accused of mutiny. Billy is so outraged and afraid of these charges that – in the darkest moment of this story – he lashes out at Claggart and accidentally kills him. The ship’s senior officers meet and decide that Billy violated two articles of war, either of which is punishable by death. Vere is called upon to use his position to make the critical judgment call and, potentially, save Billy’s life. He, instead, cannot and defers to the decision of his associates. Billy is hung to death and the opera concludes with Vere reminiscing about his years of service, of which he is proud, but which will also be haunted forever by the lost opportunity to save an innocent.

The performances in this production are excellent and, to an extent, idiomatic. A notable exception, to me, is the portrayal of Billy Budd by tenor Jacques Imbrailo. Imbrailo’s portrayal and Michael Grandage’s direction, gives this Billy a bit more naivety and innocence and a little less of the physical bravura that some previous performances (such as the original, sung by Peter Pears) have offered. John Mark Ainsley as Captain Vere is the appropriate blend of refinement and a near royalty with undertones of insecurity. Phillip Ens’ Claggart is practically a scene stealer. His tone of voice and even his facial expression exudes a petty jealousy and sadism towards all his charges; the new “captain’s pet” Billy in particular.

This is, for many, including me, Britten’s darkest work; with a stereotypical soaring, “British” sounding score but a tragic storyline that builds almost from the beginning with little to no reconciliation even in Vere’s closing soliloquy. Much has been written about Melville’s original symbolism being possibly of Christian analogy – Billy as a Christ-like figure, Claggart as Judas and Vere as Pilate. Another thread that comes up in theory with the Britten opera is an underlying repressed homosexuality. Are both Claggart and Vere attracted to Billy for his looks and virility in an all male environment?  (Britten himself being openly gay at a time and place where this was not that accepted) Ultimately, the success of this opera – and certainly of this production – hinges not on any implied symbolism but simply on the strength of its tone and performances. This production clearly does succeed.

The forces of the LPO and the Glyndebourne Chorus perform magnificently under the strong leadership of Englishman Sir Mark Elder. Special mention must be made of the production design by Christopher Oram. Not once in this production do we see the ocean or even anything clearly “topside”.  Most of this Billy Budd is seen below decks wherein there is the ribbed, skeletal, woody, dank appearance of the frigate. One can almost feel the claustrophobic atmosphere and feel for men who would clearly rather be elsewhere.

Again, the three main principles are wonderful. Ainsley, Ens and Imbrailo are great and Imbrailo, especially, gives an almost naïve performance. Billy Budd remains one of the great operas of the twentieth century but one that is also not performed all that often for reasons of tone, production costs but also the very atypical and tension-filled aura of the all male ensemble. I imagine anyone enjoying Britten’s music, the very fine performances in this production and the excellent Blu-ray transfer. If you already know and admire Billy Budd, this is a different, darker view and one well worth seeing for yourself.

—Daniel Coombs

(Jimmy Owens – trumpet (CD1: track 1; CD2: track 4); Tyrone Washington – tenor saxophone, flute (CD1: tracks 1-3; CD2: tracks 2-3); Garnett Brown – trombone (CD1: track 1; CD2: track 4); Heiner Stadler – piano (CD1: tracks 1-3; CD2: tracks 2-3); Reggie Workman – bass (CD1: tracks 1-3; CD2: track 1); Brian Brake – drums (CD1: track 1); The Big Band of the North German Radio Station (CD1: track 4); Dee Dee Bridgewater – vocals (CD2: track 1); Joe Farrell: tenor saxophone (CD2: track 4); Don Friedman – piano (CD2: track 4); Barre Phillips: bass (CD2: track 4); Joe Chambers – drums (CD2: track 4))

Some recordings should come with a sticker which states: for those willing to be challenged. German-American composer, producer, pianist, arranger and bandleader Heiner Stadler’s reissued, remastered, restructured and expanded release, Brains on Fire (which initially came out as two separate vinyl volumes in 1967, which are often rare to find), certainly qualifies for such a caveat emptor. For some, Stadler is known as an interpreter of other musicians’ material, due in part to last year’s remixed reissue of his 1978 outing, A Tribute to Monk and Bird, which was also put out on Stadler’s Labor label. Stadler has also reissued other titles from his back catalog, including 1976’s Jazz Alchemy (which came out in 2000) and the 1996 compilation Retrospection (reissued in 2010). This year it is time to reevaluate one Stadler’s most original efforts, Brains on Fire. This CD version contains three tunes never before heard and marks the first CD presentation of five other works.

One reason to listen to the two-disc Brains on Fire is to hear then-current and up-and-coming jazz luminaries dig deeply into material which spans the perceived gap between avant-garde, post-bop, tone-row experiments and European serialist composition. The eight long pieces (four per disc) were recorded between 1966 and 1974 and feature 17 artists (as well as an orchestra), including trumpeter Jimmy Owens (who worked with Miles Davis in the ‘50s and was a founding member of the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra), bassist Reggie Workman (notable for his work with John Coltrane, Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers and Yusef Lateef), and future stars such as saxophonist/flutist Joe Farrell (who subsequently had crossover success on the CTI roster) and a young Dee Dee Bridgewater (a few years before fame found her, when she was still singing with the Thad Jones/Mel Lewis Orchestra).

Stadler uses several ensemble configurations ranging from a bass/vocals duet to a quartet (on four tracks) to a big band. The first CD’s opener, “No Exercise” (taken from a 1973 session but making its debut here) features a sextet with a three-horn frontline (Owens on trumpet, Tyrone Washington on tenor sax and Garnett Brown on trombone) with a three-piece rhythm section (Stadler on piano, Brian Brake on drums and Workman). The 12-minute workout starts with Workman’s arco bass, followed by Owens’ warm trumpet and then the rest of the group steps up to help present Stadler’s avant-garde blues which is shaped by a 12-tone row. Workman’s astute bass is a highlight during this spontaneously-surging piece, but so is Washington’s unfettered sax. Since Washington later left music because of a religious conversion, Brains on Fire is one of the few places listeners can hear the obscure sax player display the width of his skills. Washington is also heard to great effect on three other tracks. The post-Coltrane “Three Problems” (a 1971 performance never before released) crosses the lines between hard bop and free jazz, and is an often-chaotic construction with Washington’s lacerating sax leading the charge. Workman adds a transcendent bass solo, which temporarily ebbs the high-energy level, but for the most part “Three Problems” is almost 13 minutes of roaring density. “Heidi” has a slower, spiritual treatment and listeners initially may find this to be the most coherent cut, although “Heidi” also eventually edges to a tumultuous portion where written and improvised sections are fused to the point where it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other commences. The other quartet tunes, “U.C.S” and “All Tones” (both on CD2), are parallel explorative compositions which delve into variations on texture, phrasing and theme akin to Coltrane’s brilliant free recitations such as Interstellar Space or Ornette Coleman’s vitality-fueled Free Jazz, where the music is elaborately extemporized and not easily absorbed in a single listen. Howard Mandel’s liner notes advise listeners to let “U.C.S” and “All Tones” sweep the listener along and it’s a good recommendation.

Two of the longer compositions employ very different approaches. The 24-minute Russ Freeman-penned “Bea’s Flat” (a 1974 recording offered here for the first time) is a striking, customized blues given over entirely to The Big Band of the North German Radio Station, conducted by Dieter Glawischnig. Several band members are spotlighted as soloists (sax and piano in particular) and the full ensemble actually steps away at times, emphasizing single instruments. The result is somewhat like a meeting between Duke Ellington’s and Sun Ra’s groups. Reggie Workman and Dee Dee Bridgewater’s 20-minute bass/voice pairing, “Love in the Middle of the Air” (a shorter take can be found on Retrospection) is nearly as remarkable in a wholly dissimilar way. Bridgewater stretches, undulates and heightens beat poet Lenore Kandel’s minimal lines, phrases and words while Workman glides and rolls on his bass with perfect sympathy: his meticulous arco work in particular is an emotional standout.

Despite recordings from four studios and engineers, there is observable and high quality engineering and audio constancy over the course of the two-hour, eight-track project. Even during the most intense moments instruments rise out from the mix rather than getting washed aside, and when the heady musical concoction is confined to just a few instruments (like bass or vocals) the sound is wonderfully expressive.

TrackList:
CD1: No Exercise; Three Problems; Heidi; Bea’s Flat.
CD2: Love in the Middle of the Air (alternate master); U.C.S.; All Tones; The Fugue No. 2 (take 1/original master).

—Doug Simpson

In 2008, on the site where the legendary Village Gate nightclub once stood, which saw the likes of John Coltrane, Aretha Franklin, Duke Ellington, and Billie Holiday, le Poisson Rouge appeared with a mission statement to “revive…a symbiotic relationship between art and revelry” and especially to make classical music more relevant to the public at large.  The site has since seen rock bands, performers, composers, and DJs galore, and the venue is one where one needs to be in order to achieve a certain importance.

The idea to perform Glassworks, Philip Glass’s first major “hit” (released and still available on Columbia Records/Sony BMG) was to celebrate its first appearance 30 years ago. The work was created as a studio performance and has never been performed complete as a concert piece, though differing ensembles have played excisions over the years. Michael Riesman took up the task of creating a performance edition of the composition especially for the ensemble Signal (ten players, mostly doubling instruments) and the work was premiered in 2010. This performance is every bit as sassy and vivacious as the original Columbia with the added frisson of a live recording.

The much earlier (1969) Music in Similar Motion is a seminal piece in Glass’s eyes as it breaks away from the fairly static notions of minimalism at the time and achieves a “drama” by the addition, slowly, of different instruments. No specific instrumentation was provided at the time, so every performance will take on new degrees of color, but the real intensity of the work come from its feeling of progression and motion which adds to the dramatic character of the work.

The players here are superb, as is the sound. This is one Glass album that you really need, especially if Glassworks is absent your collection.

—Steven Ritter

Cedille does not indicate, cleverly perhaps, if this is the first in a series of albums, though it is titled The Pulitzer Project. I can think of few more outstanding efforts than to record all of the Pulitzer Prize winning compositions since the inception of the award in 1943—it would stand as a landmark series in anyone’s mind, and would ensure the record label of legendary status, especially if each release is as good as this one. The Pulitzer is probably the most coveted prize in American music, though it has not been without controversy (the same set of jurors representing the same type of academic music for years and years), and even some winners are quite critical of the selection process. Reviewing the list of winners one is appalled at how many compositions didn’t make the “cut” with the general public, though most music aficionados will have trouble spotting any piece that doesn’t fit the “high quality” designation—in this sense the award is a great success despite the composer and critical carping.

We start with the first winner, William Schuman’s 1943 A Free Song. Schuman draws on the texts of Walt Whitman’s Drum Taps to present us with a forceful combination of pathos and unrelenting optimism. The first movement is the most affecting because of its direct reflections of the author’s work at Washington DC hospitals during the Civil War. The second movement is barely able to contain Whitman’s optimistic vitality and un-assuaged faith in the American way of life and liberty.

1944, where Howard Hanson’s Fourth Symphony took the prize, is skipped in favor of the perennial favorite and most-played of all Pulitzer winners, Copland’s Appalachian Spring.  Here I must protest a bit, for the 1945 full orchestra composition, and the one most played, is simply not what won the prize, but the original 13-instrument compete ballet, which has far fewer recordings (and more notes as well). I do wish Cedille had bucked the trend, and instead of giving us this well-played but nowhere-near-the-best recording of a piece that has been given constantly and continuously since 1945, had offered the original genuine prizewinner instead.

Perhaps the real spectacular on this disc is the 1946 The Canticle of the Sun by Leo Sowerby, most often known for his religious and organ compositions. This orchestral and mixed chorus piece is based on Matthew Arnold’s translation of Francis of Assisi’s famous work. Sowerby was the Chicago Symphony’s virtual composer-in-residence for 30 years, and that experience served him well in composing what he always considered was a secular piece, not a religious one. Nevertheless the sonorities and amazing contrasting sections of the work make it one of the most vibrant and really overwhelming choral pieces ever written by an American.

The Sowerby and Schuman pieces are, amazingly, first recordings, and the wide soundstage and spectacular depth and presence of the orchestra are fitting compliments to two deserving pieces. If Appalachian Spring doesn’t quite live up to expectations it in no way diminishes the importance of this release. Let’s pray that Cedille continues the efforts.

—Steven Ritter

Britten’s song offerings are substantial and consistently of high quality. Few composers—Samuel barber comes to mind—have such an innate feeling for the voice, a rare and considered approach to note-spinning, and a preternatural ability to set the rhyme and reason of a phrase so beautifully. The texts chosen are not your run-of-the-mill poetry, as was so often done by luminaries even as Schubert, but greats like John Donne (the Holy Sonnets), Thomas Hardy (Winter Words), Hölderin in German (Sechs Hölderin-Fragmente) and even Pushkin—in Russian (The Poet’s Echo). Such talent for words does not come easily, and we are fortunate that Britten’s music matches in every way the superb nuances of the words, in many cases taking them to a new level. How many cycles rival Winter Words? Very few indeed.

Onyx seems to have embarked upon a complete Britten song series, and I for one am thrilled. It used to be that the singers got the headlines while the lowly accompanist (even greats like Gerald Moore) were relegated to backseat status, but no longer; this is Malcolm Martineau’s show all the way, a man with impeccable credentials and who has partnered virtually everyone worth partnering in the last 50 years or so. He brings along eight outstanding artists who have obviously worked hard in collaboration to render his distinct vision of these songs, and the results simply could not be finer. If the next volume(s) are half as good as this one, we will have a Britten series that will take some doing to unseat. Onyx has captured the artists beautifully with sound that is perfect for lieder. Grab this fantastic set—you will not be sorry!

TrackList:
From “Fish in the unruffled lakes”
A Dirge
Virtue in Deeds not Words
Prithee
Lucy
Canticle 1
Um Mitternacht
Sechs Hölderin-Fragmente
The Holy Sonnets of John Donne
Cabaret Songs
Tit for Tat
Beware!
Lilian
The Joy of Grief
The Poet’s Echo
Winter Words

—Steven Ritter

HANDEL: Harpsichord Suites (1720) – Jory Vinikour – Delos DE 3394 (2 CDs) TT: 1:27:47 [Distr. by Naxos] ****: 

In his notes Rousset writes, “When Rameau published Les Indes galantes, he wrote in his preface that you could play all the instrumental pieces on harpsichord. He didn’t prepare proper transcriptions for harpsichord, but he used the same ornaments as in his other books for harpsichord. By providing a bit more structure, you can create a fourth book of Pièces de clavecin, a collection of really fantastic harpsichord pieces. Strangely enough, not all of the instrumental pieces are playable on harpsichord, but I’ve tried to record everything in the book by adapting anything that was not playable on the keyboard. It all sounds very good and I’m very excited about this project. The final piece is a big Chaconne. Rameau never wrote a Chaconne for solo harpsichord–though Couperin did–and it’s nice to be able to add one by Rameau to the repertoire.”

Rousset plays an original two-manual instrument that remains in virtually its original state. It has a compass of 61 notes, a coupler and three registers allowing for a varied tonal palette. The sound is solid and crystal clear, with an attractive laugh in the upper middle range. The effect is best in the grand or fast pieces, most of the second suite, for example; the quiet lyrical things need the warmth of a voice.

From the first note, you can tell this is going to be serious Handel, in the style royal, full of power and radiant grace. And so it is. But although it has all the framework and anticipation that would lead you to believe that it will be Handel on the piano, instead it turns out to on a copy of a 1739 harpsichord built in Dresden by Heinrich Gräbner, which, the liner notes claim, has “an extended bass and corresponding richness of timbre.” It’s all of that, and much more. Even the decaying silences at the ends of each Suite have a color and affective emotional tone. In addition to providing an idea of the impact Landowska might have had on her heavy-duty Pleyel so-called- harpsichord 100 years ago, Vinikour concludes with “a special version” of the famous Chaconne in G Major, which turns out to be just the most familiar and least authentic version (i.e., no big deal).

The splendid imposing instrument is the deal, and gets lots of attention and detail in the notes. The builder was John Philips, and it is at the instrument museum at Schloss Pillnitz. It is no shrinking violet. The sound is very grand, warm and highly polished. And it turns out to be authentic.

—Laurence Vittes