Under the fence - ten lesser known lights of 2011

By now it's saturation time in the album of the year polls, with every music website and magazine putting out a top 10, top 50, top 100 even – and quite rightly so. It always makes you realise just how much music there is out there – and thankfully, in the case of this year, an incredible amount of good quality music. I wanted to take the chance to highlight some records – both pop and classical – that I feel have missed out on the jamboree for one reason or another. So here, from all genres, are 10 albums that have made an impact on my musical life for one reason or another in 2011.

No single song captured the mood of the riots and student demonstrations better than British Sea Power's 'Who's In Control'. "I wish protesting was sexy on a Saturday night!" hollers Yan Scott Wilkinson – well soon it was, in Trafalgar Square no less. But this three minute piece of latent anger was followed by some truly wonderful songs on British Sea Power’s fourth album 'Valhalla Dancehall', with the melting centre of 'Georgie Ray', the breezy 'Living Is So Easy' and the moody landscape of 'We Are Sound' all memorable moments on an emotionally powerful album.

With all the bad news came the need to seek out some fun - and for riotous off the wall japes and capers, Mungolian Jet Set's 'Schlungs' proved hard to beat. The spectres of George Clinton and Sly & The Family Stone hang over this album, but the two Norwegians Pål 'Strangefruit' Nyhus and Knut Sævik add their own quirks and musical touches, ensuring happiness, wackiness and an abundance of good tunes are the order of the day. We Are The Shining has a classic house beat, but it's the mischievous Moon Jocks 'n' Prog Rocks that really wins the day. Cosmic, maaaan.
Daedelus' 'Bespoke' was pretty far out, too. Imagine Prince's Purple Rain diffused through a musical prism and you get the uncommonly emotional 'In Tatters', a beautiful and moving slow song on an album brimful of energy and invention. On the other, more energetic side of things you get the blissful 'Tailor-Made' and the frankly remarkable 'What Can You Do', standing left of field with a talent for beat making that has clearly been stepped up a notch. A record high on life.

It's been a good year to be cosmic as it goes, and Mickey Moonlight occupied a space that was pretty out there with his recent album release 'Mickey Moonlight And The Time Axis Manipulation Corporation'. The title says it all really - but the communal singing of 'This Son Is Coming Up' and the deep house of 'Close To Everything - both featuring the superb George Lewis Jr - bring an added dash of soul.

With very little fanfare Bibio has now notched up four extremely fine albums, and he is fast becoming an integral part of the Warp stable. 'Mind Bokeh' was occasionally a mind bender, but made intelligent use of acoustic instruments among its electronic chatter. It also boasted a fine piece of funk in 'K is for Kelson' - imagine the theme to Starsky and Hutch processed for a modern dancefloor! It showed a sense of humour among the clever beats.

Two artists who showed great ambition in their new albums this year were M83 and Tori Amos, and their efforts went largely unrewarded in the polls. As a coincidence I interviewed them both for musicOMH.com this year, and was left in awe of their musical scope and ambition. Anthony Gonzalez wrote much of M83's Hurry Up, We're Dreaming in the Mojave desert, completing a mind bending opus of space and pure euphoria as he remembered his youth. Not only that, but with 'Midnight City' he had the year's best track bar none. Amos, on the other hand, took a leap into the unknown to take on classical music at its own game. That she produced a 75-minute song cycle with hardly a dip in emotional intensity says exactly how much she took from discovering the music of Schubert in particular. The lyrics and story may be relatively tricky to keep hold of, but the music is enchanting and winsome. A modern take on Winterreise that is not found wanting – with more to come in this sphere, hopefully.

While we're on classical, a word on Hindemith, who still suffers an almost constant state of neglect in the face of some highly attractive music. Lawrence Power completed his series of the works for viola for Hyperion this year, and the works for Hindemith's principal instrument and orchestra were revealed in their full glory with rich colours and harmonies, bittersweet melodies and excellent performances. Definitely one to seek out.

Meanwhile the thoughtful folk of the Eloquence label have delved around for a large supply of previously unavailable Holst recordings, originally made by Decca. These are invaluable historical documents, including performances by Sir Peter Pears and Benjamin Britten (the Humbert Wolfe settings, some of which are truly odd!), a unique take on The Planets from Bernard Herrmann, the leading version of Holst's bewitching opera 'Savitri' and some wonderful choral songs, conducted by the composer's daughter Imogen. Four discs, at a tenner each - well worth investing in one or two at the very least, to discover more of a composer far more cosmopolitan than your average English composer.

Back to pop for the last two in the list - and Wolf Gang's 'Suego Faults' reveals itself to be a highly inventive piece of rock looking towards David Byrne and the Velvet Undergrond for inspiration. The sheer confidence of these songs is infectious, and singer Max McElligott delivers them with a swagger that brings MGMT to mind, the music not afraid to take some risks.

Finally another confident band, the Texans Okkervil River - whose music invites comparisons with Arcade Fire through its poise, energy and drive. In this year's I Am Very Far they have created something powerful and invigorating, writing energetic songs that still have that wonderful folky edge to set them apart, with Will Sheff's vocals for individuality.

So there you are - hope there's something to tickle your fancy in that little lot. 2011 has been a very strong year for music beneath the surface, and let's hope 2012 does the same or even better!

Une rare émotion

It's been a particularly good week for French song at the Wigmore Hall.

First up were Véronique Gens and Susan Manoff with a delectable lunchtime concert of Massenet, Gounod and Hahn. Then two days later Bernarda Fink introduced us to the song cycles of Ravel in a fascinating and rather exotic concert titled 'Une rare émotion', framing them in perspective with works from Debussy and Saint-Saëns.
Attending both concerts showed how the song, like several forms of classical music, made huge advances in style under Debussy and Ravel, becoming more concentrated in expression and more elusive in harmony. Both showed great imagination and flair in their settings, and Fink did really well to resist the temptation to 'over program' her recital. Less in length was definitely more in execution.

The objective of Fink's recital was to show Ravel's genius as a song-setter, but also to show how the French song was developing to include instruments alongside the piano. There was an attractive flute line for Saint-Saëns' Une flute invisible and a cello accompaniment for Massenet's Elegie, an excerpt from his opera Manon. More instructive still were Ravel's Chanson madécasses, where flute and cello offered colourful counterpoint in reaction to the text, which at times had the Wigmore audience scratching their collective heads with its obliqueness.

The Cinq mélodies populaires grecques showed an uncommon concentration of expression, operating as all Ravel does with each note of the utmost importance, none wasted. Only Shéhérazade was found a little wanting, because it is better known in its orchestral version. Adam Walker helpfully supplied the flute line, but Fink was the star, with a vibrant and colourful rendition of Asie, bringing the tale of 1,001 Arabian Nights to life.

Ironically in this recital the two Debussy cycles upstaged those of his contemporary and some-time rival, due perhaps to their naturally unfolding performances and easier structure for a live audience. The opening piano salvo in the first song of Chansons de Bilitis, La flûte de Pan, immediately set the scene, the ears keen to hear Fink's first words. In Trois mélodies de Paul Verlaine the air hung thick with the atmosphere of each song – the piano's florid arpeggios conjuring the sea in La mer est plus belle and the shading from accompanist Christopher Glynn exquisite in L'échelonnement des haies, depicting the busy hedgerows. Verlaine's verse and Debussy's music seemed tailor made for each other, the harmonic style relatively ambiguous but the vocal lines beautifully wrought.

It is perhaps inevitable that Massenet should suffer in comparison with these wonderful examples, but Gens showed in her concert how a little simplicity can go a long way. The composer was given quite a hard time in the booklet notes for setting 'second rate verse', and then for not doing enough with the piano part. A bit harsh, maybe – but given these performances it was much harder to find fault. The oscillating arpeggios of La mort de cigale were a case in point, delivered with a real freshness of voice, while Nuit d'Espagne was enjoyably playful.

The Gounod selection she performed was noticeably more accomplished in terms of verse, form and melody, with the Sérénade the single highlight of these two concerts. Gens sang it beautifully; controlling the 'coloratura' refrains with incredible poise, helped by the natural accompaniment from Susan Manoff.

Interestingly Reynaldo Hahn, a contemporary of Debussy and Ravel, made considerable impact in his song settings, making the poet Victor Hugo cry on one occasion when his rivals did not. Gens was the ideal guide to a composer who penned her recital's most dramatic song, the chilling Trois jours de vendange, which took a turn for the dark side half way through. It was a dramatic moment that suggested there is much more to be made in the discovery of French song. True, Debussy and Ravel may be the acknowledged masters, but there was more than enough here to suggest further investigations will be rewarded.

Gustav Holst as seen in Dalston

Gustav Holst is still an undervalued contributor to English classical music. The Planets remains, quite rightly, one of the 20th century's most popular scores, strongly descriptive and illustrative of how it was possible to incorporate English flavoured folk tunes and some of Stravinsky's more acerbic approaches to harmony and orchestration.

Yet many of Holst's orchestral and vocal works languish relatively unheard, despite a rich discography that includes special performances from the likes of Benjamin Britten, Sir Adrian Boult, Yehudi Menuhin and Richard Hickox. Some of these have been made available again on the Eloquence label, which I shall be covering on this site shortly, and there is a fine documentary now available from Tony Palmer, which was broadcast on BBC4 in April and now available on DVD.

Now Grimeborn, the enterprising two-week chamber opera festival, should be applauded for bringing two of Holst's intriguing small scale stage works in from the sidelines. The charming Arcola Theatre in Dalston proved an ideal sized venue on Saturday night for performances of Savitri and The Wandering Scholar, with Daisy Evans' direction making the most of a space incorporating its audience on three of the four sides, the stage in the middle, in front of the small orchestra pit.

The first half brought us the story of one of Holst's unusual Sanskrit-themed works. This is the Hindu legend from the Mahabharata, where Savitri, the widow of Satyavan, appeals to Yama, the lord of death, for his return. The opera is meant to be performed outside, but here in the early evening the light was just right for Evans to successfully evoke that feeling.

Savitri lasts half an hour and is a taut, deeply felt utterance, the music tense throughout. The plot itself was not always easy to follow in this performance, with some words missed as the singers had to turn around on stage, but the emotion was clearly there from Jenny Stafford's pleas in the title role. Edward Ballard as Death was impressive, too, starting the opera with a folk-inflected melodic line that reminded us just how well Holst could write for unaccompanied voice, while Alex Berman had the measure of the ill-fated Satyavan. The chorus sang in a style predating the wordless music at the end of Neptune in The Planets.

The music was striking throughout, in fact, with Holst choosing a chamber orchestra of 16 to accompany his three vocalists. The instrumental colours were beautifully realised, especially the lean single double bass line that gave a feeling of foreboding whenever it was left on its own, and some of the more graceful wind writing up top was well played too by the members of The Little Opera Company. All three vocalists were fine, and Stafford's closing vocalise mirrored Death's opening, giving an essential bit of hope at the end of a pretty dark story. Colourful costumes helped lighten the mood, too, and Evans' use of two expressive sprites hanging on Death’s every word lent a ghoulish edge.

This proved chalk to the cheese of the second half, which was The Wandering Scholar, Holst's last stage work from 1932 and as English as they come. Here was a precursor to the Carry On films, in the shape of a full figured soprano (Stafford, again) gamely fighting off the affections of a lecherous priest (insert) while the Wandering Scholar himself, an open-faced Nick Scott, gradually took centre stage as he revealed the couple’s supposed misdemeanours. There was a lot of slapstick humour here, and Evans did a great job updating the story for the present day. The dog, hilariously played by (insert), read an edition of Nuts while waiting for the opera to start, scratching himself where he shouldn't, while Stafford, having hidden various props in the audience at the sudden appearance of her husband, commendably kept a straight face as he, Louis (Edward Ballard) hilariously tried to get them back.

Again the music was colourful, vulgar at times, and Imogen Holst's observation that the priest in her father’s opera 'would be short and clammy, would roll gently from side to side as he walks, and that there will be grease stains on his cassock' was totally borne out by the excellent (insert). The tunes were good, the script funny, and, as in the first half, there was next to no musical padding, another observation on the part of Imogen of her father’s ability to keep his music straight and to the point.

A thoroughly invigorating evening, then, with a nicely paired double bill that showed off the talents of those on stage, as well as the ability of Holst to write with flair and originality. Chamber opera established itself in the 20th century, and Holst was certainly one of its first exponents.

An Ode to Olly

Much has been made in the current Proms season of superstar visits from Gustavo Dudamel and Nigel Kennedy – and quite right too, for apart from their mere presence in the Royal Albert Hall they have asked pertinent questions about the music they have been performing.

However there has not been so much noise about an especially valuable asset of British musical life, the conductor and composer Oliver Knussen, whose health happily appears to be much improved these days. His program for Prom 19 with the BBC Symphony Orchestra, of whom he is 'Artist in Association', was characteristically imaginative – and though given to a small audience it strongly emphasised his worth to music from the 20th century and beyond.

Listening again to this Prom on the radio, I was struck by Knussen's easy conversations with Petroc Trelawny about the music. He spoke about Honegger's love of trains before opening with Pacific 231, then the similarity of Pastorale d’été to the theme from Dr Finlay’s Casebook, and later on provided a revealing nugget of how he and the composer Henri Dutilleux were strolling along the sea front at Aldeburgh. After moments of silence Dutilleux looked at the sea and exclaimed, "This is the sea that Debussy had in mind when he wrote La mer."

Such revealing asides helped put the concert in greater context, as did the linking of several threads through the beautifully performed program. We had Alpine scenes from Honegger – unusually relaxed for a piece in the musically reactionary 1920s – and from Castiglioni, whose Inverno in-ver was an extraordinary piece of frostbitten cold for the upper registers of the orchestra, given a bright metallic glare through a battery of percussion.

Fascinating, too, was the vivid Bridge tone poem There is a Willow Grows Aslant a Brook, before the three songs on wine set by Berg to Baudelaire poems, Der Wein showing once again how Knussen and the soprano Claire Booth work so well together.

This was not the first time Knussen had produced a radical program, however – he has been thriving on these sorts of concerts for years. One of the highlights of the 2007 Proms season was his Rite of Spring, coupled with Schoenberg’s Five Orchestral Pieces , the world premiere of his Violin Concerto and Henze’s Sebastian im Traum . That same season he conducted the Birmingham Contemporary Music Group, successfully reading the collective minds of the audience by repeating Webern’s Five Orchestral Pieces.

The point of these examples is to show that right now there is nobody quite so bold in their programming as Knussen – and his interpretations offer a composer’s insights to boot, often shedding new light on familiar music or revealing hidden masterpieces, as in the Castiglioni. To watch him conduct is to see somebody completely shunning the spotlight for the music’s sake – and the BBC Symphony Orchestra clearly get as much out of their partnership as he does. More power to his elbow!

Two Boys - a new age of opera?

Two Boys - composed by Nico Muhly and directed by Craig Lucas

ENO @ Coliseum, London

Two Boys can be awarded the distinction of being the first 'internet opera'. Much of its dialogue and timeline is set in cyberspace, the Coliseum transformed into an enormous chat room, the audience voyeurs to a particularly dark series of events. The plot, however, is a more traditional whodunit – one that would not be out of place in an ITV crime drama. The comparison doesn’t stop there either, for as so often happens in these two part thrillers, the first part sets the scene – only to undo a fair bit of its good work with over eager story signposts in the second.

By no means is this production a complete failure, however. The internet may not emerge with a good reputation, but the allure of its late 1990s promise is vividly portrayed by Nico Muhly and Craig Lucas, aided by animations and projections from 59 Productions. Their depiction of internet traffic is one of the highlights of the first half, accompanied as it is by opulent orchestration from the composer. It is one of the genuinely affirming moments of a half that generates considerable tension as the plot rises.

The main characters are successful rather than outstanding. Nicky Spence dons a Manchester City shirt as Brian, a football –loving teenager who ends up pitched some way between Harry Enfield's character Kevin and Philip Seymour Hoffman in Happiness. Led astray by online temptation, he falls under the spell of a number of different characters, all of which have something to do with fellow teenager Jake, given deceptive choirboy innocence by Joseph Beesley. Presiding over the two boys and their criminal activities is Susan Bickley's detective inspector Anne Rawson, wearily effective but no Jane Tennyson, despite the bottle in the office desk.

The use of text speak as the two boys become acquainted is sometimes clunky but otherwise authentic – the 'c u tomorrow' and 'omg' references are there as a representation of internet shorthand rather than for cheap laughs – and the chat room sessions bring an unusual if uneven tension to the plot in the first half. In the second they are more obviously stage managed as the mystery becomes clear to everyone but Rawson, oblivious to the internet and its inner workings.

What the plot cries out for is a distinctive and dramatic score, yet this is something only fitfully glimpsed in Nico Muhly's vocal and orchestral writing. When things are bad this is not a problem, as rasping tubas and rolling percussion are on hand to add a much-needed edge, but during the conversation scenes the music drags, looking for melodic inspiration to add to its silvery and often attractive orchestration, but rarely finding more than some attractive loops and rhythms. Muhly's admiration of Britten, Glass and Adams is evident – though after a while the mind is led to wonder what Britten himself might have done with a plot such as this.

Two Boys is a brave attempt to bring the Internet to dramatic life, an ambitious subject for a first opera from a 29 year old composer who fitfully realises the promise shown in other vocal works such as Impossible Things. He will surely go on to make more accomplished work for the stage, but for now has laid down a marker on which to build.

Barenboim and Boulez in Liszt and Wagner, Royal Festival Hall

Daniel Barenboim, Berlin Staatskapelle / Pierre Boulez
@ Royal Festival Hall, London, 13 June 2011

An irresistible combination of performers took to the stage for the latest instalment in the Royal Festival Hall's Shell Classic International season – and threw curious shades of light on the Liszt bicentenary celebrations in the process.

While Daniel Barenboim may have played the music of the composer for many decades, Pierre Boulez is not known for his pedigree in Liszt, save for some isolated performances of the symphonic poems. Yet perhaps surprisingly it was Barenboim's contribution to the two piano concertos that made for some communal head scratching come the concert's close, despite the standing ovation.

The first concerto, which ended an enterprising examination of Liszt's relationship with Wagner, a close friend, was the most difficult to understand. The opening felt constricted in tempo, and Barenboim's first statement on the piano was laboured in tempo, giving not the impression of a virtuoso bursting out of the blocks, but one holding up the progress of the music, and its momentum, in the process.

There were many fine things about this interpretation, but they derived principally from the orchestra, with a succession of gorgeous solos from flute, oboe and clarinet in the slower music. Barenboim played with great skill and finesse, but the sense of unbuttoned energy that Liszt's fast music so often conveys remained at arm's length.

The second concerto was similarly constricted at times but was generally more successful, the arrival at its crowning march theme bringing with it a far more stirring outcome. While the work has a curious structure it is notably forward looking in its harmonic language and in the relationship between piano and orchestra. Boulez especially enjoyed these aspects; despite Barenboim's instinct to conduct what is after all his own orchestra. Oh to be a fly on the wall in rehearsal!

While the two piano concertos had their interpretative issues, Wagner's Siegfried-Idyll and Faust Overture were on far more secure ground. The former especially was gorgeous, the orchestra of 30 exactly double the size employed by the composer to serenade his wife, Cosima, on Christmas Day in 1870. The sound was heavenly, Boulez controlling the seamless melodies as they unfurled with delightful restraint, concentrating on purity of line and texture.

This provided a satisfying contrast with the Faust Overture, which showcased the orchestra’s lean and earthy sound through a performance that crackled with atmosphere. Wagner is not associated with Faust normally but was obsessed by Goethe's tale at an early age. The Overture, something of a collection of themes intended for a longer symphony, provided good, old fashioned Romanticism, with Boulez showing that even at the age of 85, he remains no slouch in the conducting department.

A fascinating evening of music making, then, and a privilege to see two of the greatest classical musicians alive take the stage together, even though their combined music making raised more questions than it did answers.

Khachaturian revived

It is fair to say that the music of Aram Khachaturian has fallen off the radar rather on disc in recent years. That doesn't necessarily mean its popularity overall has diminished, for a lot of this music remains popular due to exposure in films and on television, but there is a genuine space in the catalogue for a modern digital recording that can give these scores the colourful interpretations they need.

That space can now be considered closed, thanks to the second recording in partnership from the Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra and their new principal conductor Kirill Karabits, who has made his own selections from Spartacus and Gayaneh to comfortably fill a single disc. Karabits is a charismatic Ukranian, relatively young for a conductor at 34, but one who has the measure of these stage works and their potential.

You only have to head straight to the Adagio of Spartacus and Phrygia to see what I mean, with some lovely, opulent textures, perhaps not hitting the full intensity of the composer's red blooded recording with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra, but swooning gracefully nonetheless.

It is actually in the less familiar music that these recordings fully prove their worth. During Spartacus the violins are beautifully poised, nowhere more so than in the Adagio of Aegina and Harmodius, and the charming Variation that follows. In the Dance of the Gadiatnian Maidens it is easier to trace Khachaturian's musical heritage to Mussorgsky as the orchestra responds to a mellow clarinet solo, before Karabits revs the orchestra's engine to a thrilling climax. The Scene and Dance with Crotala, meanwhile, trips along attractively, the melodies always to the fore but with a glassy clarity in the recording that suits the music well. Any more clarity and it would be spotlit, but the engineers seem to have got this one just right.

Gayaneh proves every bit as enjoyable, the raucous Lezginka shaking a leg, while the inflections of the violins' melodies in the Carpet embroidery scene are brilliantly turned. Aysha's Monologue swings nicely, the violins enjoying their melodic freedom. Just occasionally there is too much reverb in numbers such as the Scene and Dance, where the brass sound as if they are up the other end of a large room. Definition in the Sword Dance, which most people know as the Sabre Dance, is very fine, the excitement levels high throughout.

These are just the sort of recordings scores like Spartacus and Gayaneh need, with vivid orchestral colours and interpretations that are packed with charm, wit and rhythmic bounce. As such they are hugely rewarding.

Spending time with Mozart

For the last 12 days, my musical New Year diet has consisted of little more than Mozart. It was never going to be possible to donate 100% of my time to his music over this period, but other than necessary diversions (British Sea Power, Hindemith, Fujiya & Miyagi and Anna Calvi) the vast majority has been spent in the company of Wolfgang Amadeus.

The reason for this intensive study is BBC Radio 3's Genius of Mozart season, a 12 day project playing every note the composer penned on the radio. Previously the Beeb have subjected the likes of Bach, Beethoven, Webern and a memorable double act of Stravinsky and Tchaikovsky to this intensive treatment, yet the chance to hear this applied to Mozart didn’t grab me initially.

The problem – with me, at any rate – seems one borne of respect rather than love. It is easy to appreciate Mozart's genius, either through wide-eyed wonder that he had written more than 20 symphonies by the end of his teens, or through his mastery of form, instrumentation, harmony and above all melody.

Yet if you asked me who I liked more, Haydn or Mozart, Haydn would win almost every time. Finding reasons for this is difficult, but in the end I prefer his wit, his profusion of melody and above all the sense that his really is music for the people.

That said Radio 3's festival has reaffirmed some Mozart works in my mind. Few late night treats can equal listening to the Gran Partita, the serenade for 13 wind instruments. None of the piano concertos, especially no.9 and upwards of the teens, are found wanting, and the symphonies remain incredibly involving too. For me the performance of no.39 from the ever capable Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment was easily the best performance of the week.

Some Mozart I can take or leave, which isn't meant to sound dismissive and arrogant, but to say that it functions as intended – as background music - or doesn't always move me. Some of the Divertimenti (save the String Trio masterpiece) and the serenades fall into this category, while some early works do feel as if they are going through the motions. The piano sonatas, too, I find largely functional, though they retain the capability to surprise when you least expect them to.

The real winners, for me, have been found within the chamber music, which can totally absorb the mind. Each of the 'Haydn' quartets is a delight, as are the four mature String Quintets, one of the forms that Mozart truly pioneered. Also proving unexpectedly magnetic were shorter works for piano, including the Rondo in A minor K511 and the Fantasy in D minor K397. Both seem to generate the extra intensity Mozart found when working in a minor key, which can also be said of the Adagio and Fugue in C minor K546, for string quartet.

As yet Mozart's operas remain beyond my reach - the problem most certainly my end rather than the composer's, as I continue to strip away at my previous indifference to classical opera. But for now, the chamber music will do just fine.

I have grouped together some of my favourite Mozart from this intriguing series, in the form of a Spotify playlist:
The Genius of Mozart