(Joshua Kwassman – alto & soprano sax, clarinet, flute, melodica, piano (track 4), producer; Arielle Feinman – voice, glockenspiel (track 5); Gilad Hekselman – guitar (tracks 1-4, 7-8); Jeff Miles – guitar (track 6); Angelo Di Loreto – piano (tracks 5-8); Adam Kromelow – piano (tracks 1-3); Craig Akin – bass; Rodrigo Recabarren – drums & percussion)

Multi-instrumentalist and composer Joshua Kwassman has a few stories to tell. On his eight-track, hour-long debut, Songs of the Brother Spirit, the 20-something artist musically recounts a disastrous bike trip with a friend and idol; the childhood nostalgia of growing up in New England; the loss of a teacher and mentor; the optimistic outlook of becoming an uncle; and the realization of parental mortality. All of these autobiographical anecdotes psychologically and emotionally flicker through Kwassman’s instrumentals, and carry a meaningful foundation to his memorable all-original material.

Kwassman’s music, recorded in 2011 but not issued until this year, utilizes an accomplished crew who bring expertise, talent and aptitude. Kwassman plays alto & soprano sax, clarinet, flute, melodica, and piano, and gets excellent and integral support from musical allies who include classically-trained singer Arielle Feinman; sharp-witted guitarist Gilad Hekselman (Jeff Miles replaces Hekselman on one cut); two pianists (Angelo Di Loreto and Adam Kromelow, who perform separately); and the ace rhythm team of bassist Craig Akin and drummer Rodrigo Recabarren.

Kwassman cites early Pat Metheny, as well as Maria Schneider and Vince Mendoza’s complex arrangements and constructions as influences, but states his biggest inspiration is the Brian Blade Fellowship, which is known for sculpted soundscapes, lithe and ambitious creations, and for employing memory as a muse. A solid portion of the program focuses on Kwassman’s longtime acquaintance, Justin. Opener “Our Land” centers on their friendship in pleasanter times when the two bonded over Miles Davis, John Coltrane and likeminded icons, before tension and maturation colored the friends’ relationship. Kwassman’s supple melody and relaxed arrangement is steered by Kromelow, who provides a shimmering keyboard improvisation; Feinman’s wordless vocals (she uses her voice like a horn to fashion ethereal textures for this and other tunes); and Hekselman’s sometimes Metheny-esque contributions. The cut begins serenely but closes over nine minutes later with a knotty, rock-fusion slant. A similar mood pervades “We Were Kids,” which starts with a wistful sensitivity, then enters a more forceful interval as Hekselman’s six-string dexterity heightens the descriptive characteristics, mirroring the slippage from adolescence into young adulthood: that awkward period, when life stretches toward choppier waters on the horizon, is also echoed by Kwassman’s unanticipated melodica solo.

However, the album’s largest Justin chronicle comes at the end, with the triple-part suite, “The Nowhere Trail,” broken into three distinct numbers, each one related to one day of an ill-fated, three-day bicycle journey, which disintegrated into turmoil, and splintered Kwassman’s youthful misconceptions. The nearly 12-minute “Part I” illustrates the chaotic, ill-planned trip: from exhilaration into uncertainty, and unfolds with segments of turbulence contrasted with gentler moments. Kwassman’s occasional melodica supplies a rustic dynamism, whereas Feinman, Miles and Kwassman (on sax as well) present dissonance and discord. “Part II” is tranquil and commences with Hekselman’s willowy acoustic guitar, where he exhibits a Ralph Towner-like engagement. The music gradually climbs, but mostly remains ghostly, highlighted by Feinman’s atmospheric vocalizing, and the pairing of counterpoint guitar and haunting melodica: there is a definite cinematic property. The nine-minute concluding “Part III” symbolizes how Joshua and Justin’s companionship changed, and the eventual relief of returning home from the tumultuous trip. “Part III” initiates quietly but progresses into a fervid setting, with Kwassman erupting on alto sax, followed by voice, guitar, piano, and soprano sax, the instruments blending into a heady concoction, only to ebb back into individual paths, and by the wind-up there is only an introspective acoustic guitar which sustains the graceful melody.

Another standout is the aptly-titled “Meditation,” an elegy and contemplation on death, stimulated by Kwassman’s recognition during a family vacation that someday his parents would no longer be with him. It’s a beautiful piece which deftly combines lingering, nonverbal singing, with congruent clarinet, piano and glockenspiel. This and the other tunes were engineered (by Drew Guido and two assistants) and mixed (by Kwassman) with meticulous organization and attention to detail (some of the recording process can be viewed during a five-minute promotional video), which results in compositions which emphasize nuances, and sound wonderful. Kwassman is still a relatively young musician, but his entrance as a bandleader bodes well for future projects.

TrackList:  Our Land; We Were Kids; In Light There Is Song; 2/22; Meditation; The Nowhere Trail (Parts I-III.

—Doug Simpson

Sir Edward Elgar is known mainly for a small number of very well known, revered works, of which the “Enigma” Variations, the Cello Concerto , the Symphony No. 1 and – well, of course – the Pomp and Circumstance  Marches are arguably the best known.What is not as widely known is that Elgar felt a great affinity for both the English cathedral choir tradition and also to large baroque vocal forms, such as oratorios. Elgar wrote three oratorios in fairly traditional style but with his own lush, plaintive “English” harmonic vocabulary and long-line melodies. Each of the Elgar oratorios – The Dream of Gerontius, The Kingdom and The Apostles – takes its text from Biblical sources and Christian tradition. Of the three, it is probably the present one, The Apostles, which is the least well known. In his lifetime, Elgar was quite successful with the Enigma Variations and The Dream of Gerontius. Thereupon, the Birmingham Triennial Music Festival, which had also produced Gerontius, commissioned him to write new choral work. Elgar took advantage of this to write on a subject he had been contemplating. The Apostles, like its predecessor The Kingdom, tells of the disciples of Jesus and their reactions to the extraordinary events they witnessed.

The text is narrative, not role-played, dealing with Christ’s appointing of the Apostles and relating their experiences of Jesus teaching, crucifixion (not depicted in the libretto), and ascension. The Kingdom then carries the story into the post-Ascension and heaven. Elgarhimself was a serious Christian and was fascinated by the human side of biblical characters and what motivated them; therefore there are fairly complete discussions/depictions in the text of the controversial Mary Magdalene and the betrayer Judas Iscariot. Interestingly, The Kingdom was first envisioned as the last part of The Apostles, but later Elgar considered them as the first two parts of a trilogy to a third oratorio that was never written.

The performances are very fine and Mark Elder has been an expert Elgar interpreter for awhile now. The Hallé Orchestra plays as well as they always have in their decades-long rich history. I think this recording will be much appreciated by true Elgar aficionados. The music is lovely and the text is engaging – although it helps if one is already attunedto the New Testament. This is probably not Elgar’s most engaging work;even among the oratorios I prefer both Gerontius and The Kingdom. It is just a little dull in places but it is a lovely work. I have always loved Elgar and I do think that this may be the recording to have  (although that of Richard Hickox and the London Sinfonietta is quite nice).  This work best appeals to lovers of Elgar and his style, which is always beautiful and teeters constantly between placid and melancholy.

—Daniel Coombs

(Nina Simone – piano, vocals, arrangements; Jimmy Bond – bass; Albert “Tootie” Heath – drums)

Little Girl Blue is more than a splashy debut. It’s an artistic statement by a jazz virtuoso. Originally recorded in December 1957, this would be Nina Simone’s only release for Bethlehem Records. However, it is a tour de force of musical vision. She reinvents a wide variety of material, commanding the essence of the compositions. Side A opens with a breathtaking, cascading piano introduction to “Mood Indigo”. Simone’s piano runs ruminate with classical shading, but have uncanny, jazz/swing notation. As her smoky alto voice joins in, the song is transformed. “Don’t Smoke In Bed” has become a jazz standard. But mixed with soulful balladry and exacting piano accompaniment, the song is near-mournful. Shifting to Broadway, the title track is unusual and mesmerizing. Taking the melody line from “Good King Wenceslas”, this simple refrain is woven into a harmonic bluesy interpretation. The complicated mastery of counterpoint themes on piano (a sort of quodibet) offers a glimpse into the fearlessness of Simone. On “Love Me or Leave Me”, she eschews the customary sentimental take and swings with jaunty rhythm shifts and complicated, inventive piano riffs.

Unlike all of her female peers, Simone is a serious bandleader. The final cut on Side A demonstrates her intuitive feel for trio dynamics. Finger-snapping cool imbues “My Baby Just Cares For Me”. Though obscure, this song would be identified strongly with the Nina Simone legacy (even appearing in a mid-eighties perfume ad that revived her career). There are two instrumentals on Side B, and both are terrific. “Good Bait” has a moody piano intro that morphs into a dual-tiered blues vamp. This slower groove captures the unity of the trio. Simone has a mind-boggling solo, before the crescendo-laden finish. The second instrumental (“You’ll Never Walk Alone”) is a reverberating hymnal that distances itself from theatrical construct. Ahead of her time, “Plain Gold Ring” utilizes a deliberate, march-time cadence to underscore an exotic folk vibe.

At this point, Little Girl Blue is an excellent jazz album. Then the listener is treated to the quintessential rendition of “I Loves You Porgy”. This was Nina Simone’s first big hit (in the Billboard Top 20), and her vocals are dazzling. She delivers all of the emotional intensity, but never overwhelms the music. Her piano solo is subtle and delicate, especially on the higher register. Her arrangement skills are evident on   the final number, “Central Park Blues”. There are blues motifs throughout the session, but this is an intuitive, syncopated late night gem. All eleven songs are strong…there is never a letdown.

Pure Pleasure Records has done a sensational job in re-mastering this mono recording. Piano and voice tonality is superlative. The mix is clear and responsive to the different musical levels. This album sounds contemporary and electrifying.

TrackList:

Side A: Mood Indigo; Don’t Smoke In Bed; He Needs Me; Little Girl Blue; Love Me Of Leave Me; My Baby Just Cares For Me
Side B: Good Bait; Plain Gold Ring; You’ll Never Walk Alone; I Loves You Porgy; Central Park Blue

—Robbie Gerson

If the name Jānis Mediņš (1890–1966) is unfamiliar to you, you’re not alone. He was a pioneer of Latvian musical nationalism during the period of the first Latvian republic, which lasted from the end of World War I till 1940. Mediņš came to the first ballet and opera by a Latvian composer. While he studied violin, cello, and piano, then established a career as a solo pianist, orchestral player with the Riga Latvian Theater Orchestra, and later conductor of the Latvian National Opera and Latvian Radio Symphony, Mediņš was largely self-taught as a composer. He considered his time in the pit of the theater as the best teacher of orchestration he could possibly have.

Following the invasion and occupation of Latvia by the Germans and then the Russians during World War II, he and his family took refuge in Sweden, where he lived and worked for the remainder of his life. Mediņš never established in Sweden the reputation he had in his native country, but he managed to produce a good deal of chamber music while in exile and continued to produce the series of twenty-four Dainas, or Preludes, which occupied him from around 1920 until 1963.

It’s remarkable that despite the vast time span between the first and last of the series, the Dainas leave an impression of continuity if not an utter consistency of musical style. The name daina can be applied to either a Latvian folksong or poem and so suggests that Mediņš’s pieces are deeply folk-influenced character pieces. The earliest of them show the influence of the Russian nationalist school, especially Rimsky-Korsakov, who taught a number of the most important Latvian composers of the early twentieth century. Given this Russian influence, it’s not surprising that Mediņš’s earliest Dainas have the big-boned Romanticism of Rachmaninoff and Medtner with a bit of Grieg thrown in; the delicate Daina No. 5 is the most Grieg-like of the set. Scriabin seems to be a later influence on the Dainas.

The first ten or so further reflect the Russian nationalists’ penchant for modal melodies. However, writes Jonathan Powell, “the thirteenth Daina (1946) is a very different matter, and is the first work in the series in which post-chromatic harmony and folksong-inspired modality fully co-exist. . . .”: possibly a response to Mediņš’ relocation to Sweden and his engagement with a more cosmopolitan musical community.

The later Dainas seem to alternate between modality and chromaticism, some having a more modernist cast to them, such as the hard-edged No. 19 and No. 22, or the elegiac but harmonically cryptic No. 21. No. 23 oscillates between driving angularity and late-Romantic stasis, while the last in the series is wild ride for the pianist, having the brutal intensity and rhythmic drive of Bartók.

Many of these pieces are quite impressive and memorable; despite the various influences and resemblances to other composers that they might have, they represent a very individual style of music-making. Certainly, Jānis Mediņš is a composer worth knowing, and I’m glad that pianist Jonathan Powell and Toccata Classics have given us the opportunity to make his acquaintance. Jonathan Powell studied the influence of Scriabin on later Russian composers, which has led to the rediscovery and “first modern performances of pieces works by composers such as Goldenweiser, Blumenfeld, Feinberg and others.” Ah, there are always composers to discover and rediscover! Besides being a scholar of twentieth-century Russian piano music, however, Powell is a powerhouse of a pianist, with a large technique and a burning conviction for the music he’s performing. The sound engineers have afforded him a comparably powerful recording. Recommended!

—Lee Passarella

This is the last installment (Volume 3) in Avie’s series dedicated to the four symphonies of Austrian composer Hans Gál. Violinist-conductor Thomas Zehetmair kicked off the series with the Northern Sinfonia, but some reason Avie changed conductors in mid-course, handing the assignment to Kenneth Woods and the compact but robust Orchestra of the Swan, which hails from the Bard’s hometown, Stratford-upon-Avon. Some collectors have griped about this series, which teams Hans Gál with a supposed compositional kindred spirit—in the first installment, this was Franz Schubert, whose Ninth Symphony was yoked to Gál’s First. The remaining installments have paired Gál with Robert Schumann. It would have been more economical for Avie to have issued a two-CD set of the complete Gál symphonies, which would also obviate the duplication of oft-recorded and oft-collected repertory. But I find the synergy generated by these pairings to be interesting enough to justify Avie’s approach. Also, there’s always room for one more Schubert Ninth or Schumann Fourth in my collection.

Hans Gál is one of those composers classified as post-Brahmsian because they carried on the High Romantic tradition into the twentieth century with few concessions to the advent of musical modernism. Despite his conservative style, Gál managed to build quite a reputation as composer and professor  at the Conservatory of Mainz. However, when the Nazis came to power in 1933, Gál, a Jew, was released from his position. He returned to his native Austria, but with the coming of the Anschluss, he fled with his family to England in 1938. Adding insult to injury, when war broke out the British considered him an enemy alien and interned him along with German prisoners of war. Following his release, he relocated to Edinburgh, later joining the faculty of the University of Edinburgh.

Gál never reclaimed the estime that he enjoyed on the Continent, and indeed he had doubts that his Second Symphony (1943) would ever be heard in public so he excerpted the Adagio third movement for stand-alone performance. Eventually, the symphony was performed in its entirety, though like most of Gál’s works it quickly disappeared from the concert hall, receiving its first performance since 1951 by the Orchestra of the Swan just last year. It was written during a time of professional strife and personal tragedy for Gál, whose aunt and sister took their own lives to escape deportation to Auschwitz. This twin disaster was followed by the suicide of Gál’s son at the age of eighteen in 1942.

Like Gál’s First Symphony, the Second begins unconventionally with a slow movement serving as an introduction to the whole. The opening is a more substantial movement than that of the First Symphony, which for me seriously unbalances the latter work. In fact, the Second Symphony is an altogether more appealing and successful piece for my money. The wry second movement scherzo is quite memorable in its strutting gestures, its almost flippant melody, while the following Adagio is the grieving heart of the work, a dark elegy that somehow concludes with quiet uplift. The finale starts life as a roiling, boiling minor-key cauldron of a piece, but that menacing opening gives way to a bustling section with much more positive energy about it. As with the Adagio, the movement comes to a quietly contemplative close that seems to hint at hope in the face of tragedy.

Whether you find the pairing with Schumann’s Fourth Symphony apt or not, Kenneth Woods and his band give this work a spirited reading; and the lean sound the Orchestra of the Swan produces is actually a plus given the fact that Schumann introduced a certain bloat into the orchestration when he revised it in 1851 after its less-than-successful premiere ten years earlier. Commentators have long complained about the frequent doubling of string and wind parts in this version, but here the piece comes up sounding fresh, at least to my ears. My only complaint is that the trombones don’t produce much heft in finale, where Schumann really whips them up. Either they were placed a bit too far from the microphones (the whole orchestra seems to be miked more distantly in this work) or they weren’t feeling their oats on the day of the recording. Otherwise, I’m as pleased with the performance of the Schumann as I am with the Gál, and given the real quality of Gál’s symphony, I don’t mind that this makes about the tenth Schumann Fourth in my collection!

—Lee Passarella

This appears to be a vanity issue since I cannot really find any discernible company name on the CD. It was sponsored in part by the Shepherd School of Music at Rice University (and others) and recorded at the Stude Concert Hall there in 2009 and 2012.

Parker readily admits the problem with playing the Rite on piano; his fascination with the piece is long standing, especially since he first heard Stravinsky’s own two-piano version, which he says was done to facilitate ballet rehearsals and leaves a lot of the score out. Other single piano versions have left him unsatisfied, so he decided to tackle the chore himself and create his own, still left with the problem that everything in the orchestral score cannot possibly be put into the piano score without making it unplayable. In this regard lies the problem with this effort. We are so used to hearing the score with its own explicitly conceived orchestration that highlights certain lines and leaves others in the background that hearing it on the piano disturbs the equilibrium. All of a sudden what was a prominent melodic fragment in a high trumpet gets subordinated to a lower part which by nature on a piano sounds louder and distorts the intention of the composer made so clear in the orchestral score. Rhythmically of course it is a different issue; much of what is covered up in some performances of the piece is clear and concise here, and the results can be very interesting.

With Petrouchka the problems are much different. This is a piano concertante work anyway, so any transcription will compete with Stravinsky’s own work to a certain extent. And to top it all off, the Three Pieces from Petrouchka already show us a virtuoso version of parts of the piece, and the transcriber must be careful not to be too imitative. Parker mentions this as an obvious hurdle, and goes out of his way to present the orchestral score in a reasonable manner without relying too heavily on the existing piano parts, though the “Russian Dance” conforms pretty much to what Stravinsky put in the score.

So to my mind Petrouchka, being the more pianistic work, is more successful as a transcription per se, though I must admit that his Rite beats the composer’s own two-piano work hands down. This is an enjoyable and fascinating release, void of histrionics and full of some robust and highly accomplished piano playing. The sound from the Stude Concert Hall is airy and microscopically clear and realistic. A fine release.

—Steven Ritter

This recording includes one of those lucky finds by musical scholars that seem to be happening with increasing frequency nowadays. Vivaldi’s RV 807 was discovered in 2005 in a library in Dresden. The reason it wasn’t identified earlier as coming from Vivaldi is that the copyists at the print shop had put the name of Venetian composer Baldasare Galuppi on the cover page, seeming to indicate that by the time of its publication Galuppi was a bigger name than Vivaldi. RV 807 is a relatively late work, from around 1730, probably not intended for Vivaldi’s longtime employer, Ospedale della Pietà, “which could never have mustered the two agile tenors needed for the “  Tecum principium [fourth movement],” according to Michael Talbot in his succinct but expert notes to the recording.

The work is certainly prime Vivaldi, with stirring choruses, including a fugal finale that’s a real tour de force. Of course there are the usual quasi-operatic arias and duos, including a stern tenor aria “Dominus a dextris tuis” (“The Lord at they right hand shall strike through kings in the day of his wrath”) followed by a chorus “Judicabit in nationibus” (“He shall judge among the heathen”), in which a single trumpet represents the Last Trump of Judgement Day. The instrumentation matches that of Vivaldi’s famous Gloria, RV 589, though the Dixit Dominus is somewhat more intense than the prevailingly jolly and upbeat Gloria. This is to be expected, given that the Psalm text has the Lord wounding the heads of many countries and piling up the dead bodies of His enemies. However, if you love Vivaldi’s Gloria, you’ll certainly very much like the Dixit.

Speaking of intensity, that pretty much describes the atmosphere Handel creates in his Dixit Dominus, written in 1707 presumably for the Festival of Our Lady of Carmel held in Rome (hence the title Carmelite Vespers attached to the Dixit and other Psalm settings performed on the same occasion). Cast in the key of G minor, the work catches Handel in a singularly unsmiling mood. More than Vivaldi, he emphasizes God’s wrath, with insistent repetitions of “Dixit” at the start of the piece and sputtering repetitions of con-qua-sa- on the line “conquasabit capita” (“he shall wound the heads”). Clearly, as in his remarkable set of Italian cantatas written for Roman patrons, the twenty-two-year-old Handel wanted to outshine his Italian competition—and pretty much did so in music of rugged brilliance and beauty.

As an attractive makeweight, David Bates and La Nuova Musica offer Vivaldi’s motet In furore iustissimae irae (“In Wrath and Most Just Anger”) with assistance from the clarion-voiced Lucy Crowe. The Latin verses of the motet make a conventional plea to God for mercy, but Vivaldi’s treatment exceeds pure convention as he applies some of his most effective tone-painting to the third movement:

Here, Vivaldi vividly portrays both the weeping of the sinner and the softening of her heart with languid drooping melodic lines. An ecstatic, very much coloratura Alleluia rounds off the work.

There are quite a number of fine recordings of Handel’s Dixit in the catalog and, despite its recent discovery, one very fine recording of Vivaldi’s RV 807, from Peter Kopp and Dresdener Instrumental-Concert on DGG. That recording features Psalm settings by Galuppi such as would have been sung at a Vespers service. It’s an inviting program, and you may wish to consider the Dresden recording if you want the Vivaldi but already have one or more favorite recordings of the Handel. However, be advised that David Bates and La Nuova Musica really ratchet up the excitement and intensity in both works, but especially in the Handel. I’ve never heard the last section (et in saecula saeculorum) zip along at such a rapid pace—and without seeming hardship on the excellent voices of the group. Then there’s Lucy Crowe’s beautiful singing of the Vivaldi motet—not new to the catalog either, yet I doubt there’s a more flavorful rendition available.

With an opulent surround-sound recording from Harmonia mundi, this disc has much to commend it, even if you’ll end up duplicating one or more of the works on the program.

—Lee Passarella

Having just reviewed a recording of Debussy’s Préludes for piano, which necessitated a lot of listening and re-listening to the music, I might be expected to want a break from these twenty-four Impressionistic miniatures. But on the contrary, I’m inspired to see just how Slovak conductor and composer Peter Breiner approaches the task of orchestrating these works that seem to lend themselves so readily to orchestral dressing-up.

Interestingly, like Schumann with his character pieces for piano, Debussy attached names to each of the Préludes only after he had completed it, thus tending to downplay the pictorial element. But even if his chief aim was to create musical atmosphere rather than musical imagery, the suggestive titles and coloristic effects in the piano writing provide incentive to turn many of the Préludes into miniature symphonic poems. So Ondine, based on the tale of the water nymph who marries a mortal, invites orchestration with watery overtones (shades of La mer), while Minstrels and Général Lavine – eccentric call for the brash antics of the pit orchestra—percussion and brass to the fore.

Earlier, Naxos released a series of Peter Breiner’s orchestral suites based on music from Janáček operas. These received varying critical responses though for the most part reactions were favorable. However, some critics remarked that Breiner’s orchestral palette was more sumptuous, sometimes to the point of tackiness, than Janáček’s—probably more of an issue if you’re very familiar with the operas themselves. Of course, that’s not an issue with orchestrating Debussy’s piano music. In this case, the expectation is rather naturally, and somewhat unfairly, to anticipate that the orchestrator will mimic Debussy’s orchestral sound. In some instances, Breiner does seem to take his cue from Debussy’s late orchestral music; in a couple of the pieces I noticed a canny resemblance to the sounds Debussy produced in Images pour Orchestre and his strange little ballet Jeux. This is true of Breiner’s treatment of Voiles (“Sails”),  the witty La sérénade interrompue (“Interrupted Serenade”), and La terrasse des audiences du clair de lune (“The Terrace of the Moonlit Audiences”). But oftentimes, Breiner’s orchestrations sound substantially riper and thicker than Debussy’s mostly are. This is not a bad thing, however. Breiner’s orchestrations often recall Ravel’s in their coloristic effects, especially in the use of winds and percussion.

Occasionally, Breiner stumbles, and that charge of tackiness seems appropriate in the case of his treatment of La fille aux cheveux de lin (“The Girl with the Flaxen Hair”). Breiner gives first clarinet, then violin, then muted trumpet extended solos that tip Debussy’s dreamily nostalgic piece over into the realm of the maudlin. In fact, a performer of the piano original has to strike a fine balance in order to avoid turning the piece into pure schmaltz.

It’s instructive to compare Breiner’s orchestrations with those of a recent competitor: Colin Matthews, whose orchestral version of the Préludes was recorded by Mark Elder and the Hallé Orchestra. Matthews’ subdued version of La fille aux cheveux de lin avoids the pitfall that ensnares Breiner. Another illuminating contrast is between Breiner’s and Matthews’ treatment of Général Lavine – eccentric. Breiner’s orchestration draws on the comic potential of bassoons and sand block to portray the American juggler and clown, General Lavine. Matthews turns to saxophone and trombone to produce the same effect and creates a piece that sounds like Satie channeling Debussy! Very different, and here, again, I prefer Matthews. Elsewhere, however, the rival versions don’t indicate a clear winner but instead present two master orchestrators making different, equally effective choices. If you have the Matthews orchestrations on disc, you may want to get the Breiner and carry out your own comparisons. If you don’t have either, it’s difficult to recommend one over the other.

Conductor Jun Märkel, who has recorded Debussy’s complete orchestral music for Naxos, switches orchestras, from L’Orchestre National de Lyon, where he acted as music director for six years, to the Royal Scottish National Orchestra, which plays very well for him. Their Debussian credentials don’t seem to be any less sound than the French orchestra’s, and of course Märkel’s experience with Debussy was undoubtedly a help in getting just the sound he wanted from the Scottish band. Naxos’s recording is crisp and colorful, matching the music.

—Lee Passarella

Sony’s current UHD LED LCR TV lineup includes their 84-inch XBR-84X900 which launched in November, the just-launched 55-inch XBR-55X900A and the 65-inch XBR-65X900A.  All feature four times the resolution of 1080p TVs, with native 3840 by 2160 pixels. Sources below UHD resolution are up-scaled to near-4K quality using sony’s proprietary 4K X-Reality PRO picture engine.  All colors are delivered naturally and accurately thru Triluminos display quantum dot technology.  Sound is enhanced with an integrated 65-watt front-facing magnetic fluid speaker system. The sets also have passive glasses 3D technology, a Sony smart-TV system with built-in Wi-Fi, and include the full Sony Entertainment Network suite of services. Best Buy has joined the Sony UHD rollout with demos of all three displays in nearly 750 locations nationwide.

CEA Backs Bill Ending Anonymous Patents -  The Consumer Electronics Association supports new legislation in the U.S. House of Representatives to end anonymous patents. They said patent trolls – who produce nothing of value – penalize innovators and give up consumer pricing by exploiting loopholes in the law. It is often difficult to determine who actually owns a patent, and these patent trolls engage in shell games, hid resources and assets and obscure who actually benefits from settlements and judgments. The idea is to help free innovators from the grip of those who profit from abuse of the current patent system.

Anthony Gallo Ships New Satellite Speakers – Gallo Acoustics has begun shipping the latest addition to their Ti Series of Micro’s and A’Diva spherical satellite speakers . The SE (Special Edition) models are either 4 or 5-inch diameter all-metal spheres with an ability to present a 3D soundstage regardless of listening position. Founder Anthony Gallo said that after almost 15 years of experiments and prototypes they finally nailed it, and he claims their performance exceeds in several ways that of many stereo and home theater speakers. Suggested pricing of the full-range speakers is $279 each in stainless for the Micro SE and $359 each in stainless for the D’Diva SE.

Apple Lightning Connectors – are the new proprietary computer bus and power connector created by Apple to replace their previous 30-pin connector, and intended to connect iPods, iPads and iPhones to host computers. It is more compact but incompatible with the predecessor cables. iLuv Creative Technology is shipping its first product designed for Lightning devices, the Aud 5 Lightning speaker dock. It allows users to enjoy their music from their iPhone 5 or iPod while simultaneously charging the device. Its SRP is $150.

This first of four volumes (rec. 3-5 January 2010 and 3 June 2011) celebrates the keyboard art of Florent Schmitt (1870-1958), a pupil of composers Massenet and Faure, who along with Debussy and Ravel, established a novel tradition in French music. Schmitt evinces humor, panache, and contrapuntal mastery in his compositions, the famous of which is his La Tragedie de Salome. The program by the Ivencia Piano Duo – Andrey Kasparov and Oksana Lutsyshyn – opens with Trois rhapsodies, Op. 53 (1904), a work conceived in the Romantic tradition of the picture-post-card in national character: Francaise, Polonaise, and Viennoise. The first portrait, that of France, emanates a Gallic spirit in spite of the often thick counterpoint of the piano duet. Robert and Gaby Casadesus made the piece memorable in 1956 on Columbia LP.

The longest of the set, the Polonaise, treads rather slowly and meditatively, its glitter wafting Chopin’s melancholy. Some of the harmonies wax into modal realms while the textures suggest balletic combinations, a la Satie. Occasionally, the two keyboards move into opposing meters, a rather audacious move that prefigures Stravinsky and Bartok. The Viennese element begins with an almost jazzy gesture; then it reluctantly yields up its sprit to the likes of the Strauss family, although in a rather mocking tone that prefigures Ravel’s La Valse. Gaiety and surface glitter abound in the various swirls and figurations, more rhythmic than melodic. The sense of wry wit continues into the final pages, whose delayed coda has a series of stretti invested that make way for decisive final cadence.

The 1899 Sept pieces, Op. 15 represent Schmitt’s first large-scale cycle for piano duet, rather in the style of Robert Schumann. The opening Somnolence offers a pattern reminiscent of parlando Debussy cross-fertilized by Beethoven slow movement from the Pathetique Sonata. Souvenir de Ribeaupierre celebrates a medieval castle with the plainchant and gentle contrapuntal innocence we often find in Grieg and Faure’s Dolly Suite. The technical demands for the performers of Scintillement combines syncopated elements of Chabrier and Bizet’s Jeux d’infants.  Souhaits de jeune fille (A Young Girl’s Wishes) takes its cue from Debussy, but more pearly and magical. Promenade a l’etang (A Walk by the Pool) suggests Chopin’s harmonic world, although the cognoscenti know that this subject has a luscious piece by Loeffler as well. Some influence of Debussy’s Reflets dans l’eau intrudes here, too. The performance by The Ivencia Duo casts haunting ripples into the water. The ternary sixth piece, Fete septentrionale, has an impish vitality, a sly dance we might attribute to Chabrier or Gottschalk, if he were in a European frame of mind. The last of the set, the serene Traversee heureuse (A Happy Crossing), might hint at the exoticism of Borodin, whom the French consistently admire.

The Rhapsodie parisienne (1900) opens with a bold gesture, almost in the manner of Liszt, and its grand rhetoric belies the fact that Schmitt kept the piece unpublished, despite his intention to orchestrate it. The American premier of the piece came via the Ivencia Duo in Culpeper, Virginia, 18 March 2011. The insistent writing and heavy stretti owe debts to Chabrier, but the rhythmic energy surpasses that composer and moves into Koechlin and Stravinsky. The City of Light has its ghostly moments in this intricately wrought and glittering piece, certainly adumbrating Ravel’s La Valse. A real tour de force, the grand sweep of the finale surely brings down the house, if played in concert.

Both the Sept Pieces and the Rhapsodie parisienne receive their world premier recordings on this disc. As commentator Jerry E. Rife claims, this “music deserves rediscovery – a noble goal of these important recordings.”

—Gary Lemco