A dozen albums for 2014

2014 has been quite a confusing year musically, but at times it has been a very stimulating one too.

For a change I thought I would combine pop and classical and write about my top dozen albums of the year – beginning with my favourite compilation of 1970s West Coast Yacht rock. Now there's a sentence from a man newly in his 40s! Yet Too Slow To Disco is a great achievement from the How Do You Are? label, one that keeps the rhythm but chooses a blissful selection of pop that wouldn't be out of place in Ibiza. Songs like Brian Eliot's Time To Grow or Ned Doheny's Get It Up For Love charm and amuse in equal measure, with a high quality threshold the whole way through.

My other compilation of the year would be Greater Lengths – An All Saints Compilation, which served to remind me just what a fine catalogue the All Saints label sit on. Brian Eno, Jon Hassell and Djivan Gasparyan are just three of the names they can boast – but the crowning glory for this release was a disc’s worth of remixes, using electronic music talent as diverse as Peaking Lights, patten and Machinefabriek. It paid off handsomely.

Sébastien Tellier returned this year with another typically colourful album. L'Aventura found him in exuberant mood, with exotic orchestrations and rhythms unexpectedly proclaiming a dalliance with samba. This being Tellier there is always a sense of cheeky impudence close to the surface, and a lot of flirting through the headphones – and all are done to great effect, resulting in a winning, hot weather album.

Hot weather is not a great feature of the Scottish East Coast, but King Creosote found plenty of sunshine on his travelogue, From Scotland With Love - music to accompany a black and white film that could easily have been made with the country's tourist board. I'm surprised not more was made of this record in the run up to the vote on independence, but Kenny Anderson's love letter to all sides of his country is beautiful, poignant, funny and wonderfully direct. Not as moving as his Jon Hopkins collaboration, but equally life-affirming and colourful.

Much darker in colour was Product of Industry, a striking techno album from Mark E that looked at the wheels of industry through music, using analogue synths to recreate mechanical processes and production lines. There is the robotic precision of automated processes, but there are human elements too, and the claustrophobia of the shop floor is painted with a stark and striking beauty. Among the dirt and grime, a valuable gem is found.

Exploring much quieter and restful domain was the Vancouver producer Scott Morgan, better known as Loscil. I don’t think I know a single person who can make music stand so still and yet make it so captivating, but Morgan somehow manages to keep his music suspended in mid air with very little happening to it. The only solution is to listen, because on an album like Sea Island he conjures up such visions of natural beauty that it brings a tear to the listener’s eye with its intensity.

Now I'm not a massive Morrissey fan, it has to be said, but World Peace Is None Of Your Business - despite the fact it has now been deleted – stood out as Moz's best piece of work in a very long time. Istanbul, its lead single, was one of the most striking songs of the year, but throughout the album Morrissey seemed determined to present some very original instrumentation and highly unusual rhythms. Mozza at the rodeo? Stranger things have happened!

Fellow Mancunian contemporaries James returned with another opus in 2014. La petite mort took a while to give its charms away, but in the end it established itself as a poignant memorial to Tim Booth’s mother and one of his best friends. Perhaps because I was going through something similar at the time the resonance between the two was too vivid to resist, but Booth presented a dignified and at times jubilant look at their lives and his response to them. Sure, James can occasionally attempt a new style and be a bit like a musical equivalent of dad dancing – Curse, Curse was that to start with – but Walk Like You and Moving On made up for that comfortably.

One of the main reasons I review new CD albums is to make new discoveries like WIFE’s What’s Between. WIFE is James Kelly, former front man of Irish metallers Altar of Plagues. The guitars may be turned down several notches, but there is an exquisite tension at work on this album, and the songs become both deeply meaningful and strongly resilient. With beefy bass and beats subtly underpinning the structures, What's Between became a thing of great poise and beauty, with several genuine spine tingling moments as either Kelly’s vocals were multi tracked or the background electronics came through to the fore. A lasting triumph.

Another 'grower' was Luke Abbott's second album Wysing Sound. I never thought I’d say this about my home county, but Norfolk has become a bit of a hotbed of instrumental techno, and Luke Abbott is one of the leaders. For this album he was keen to veer more to the analogue side of things, and to make a 'through-composed' piece of work, rather like a one-movement symphony. It works handsomely, and Abbott creates some weird and wonderful sounds as the album first settles and then generates more movement and nervous energy. A compelling listen that built even on his impressive debut Holkham Drones.

My classical album of the year is easy to pick – it's Steven Isserlis and Robert Levin playing Beethoven's complete works for cello and piano. Back in January 2007 I was lucky enough to attend a Beethoven Day at the Wigmore Hall, where the duo played all these works live, and it was clear then that they had a special understanding of and enthusiasm for Beethoven's remarkable works. The five main sonatas span Beethoven's life, so the two published as Op.5 have a strong energy and youthful drive, the third – Op.69 and in Beethoven’s middle period – is impeccably structured and full of memorable themes, and the final two, Op.102 open the door to his late period with innovative designs and brief but incredibly concentrated exchanges. Isserlis and Levin capture all that and more, and though some might baulk at the coarse sound of Levin's fortepiano – of Beethoven's time – to me it only heightens the excitement and sense of originality at work. The performances are of an incredibly high standard, and Hyperion's package irresistible.

So that’s the classical album of the year – but my pop album of the year by some distance is Todd Terje's debut, It's Album Time. In a year where a lot of the news was unremittingly bleak it made so much difference to have an album of such positivity to fall back on. It's a great piece of work this, from the lead single Delorean Dynamite through the classic suave Bryan Ferry contribution that is Johnny & Mary to the absolute winners Oh Joy and Inspector Norse, the album's trump cards. Terje writes both with the assurance of someone who knows he can make you dance but also with a sense of the progressive, so that harmonies change unexpectedly and new riffs join the party. With that and such a positive outlook, It's Album Time made its play to be the best album of the year. In my book, at least!

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.10

Introduction

Panufnik's tenth and final symphony is his smallest, lasting just over fifteen minutes. It was written in 1990 for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and Sir Georg Solti.

In his notes for the work Panufnik says that he initially wanted to write a virtuoso work for a virtuoso orchestra, but in the end he went against his instincts and wrote a work 'to demonstrate their supreme sound quality, show off their collective musicianship and humanity, and their ability to convey their intense and profound feeling'.

Once again there are geometric principles at work, however, Panufnik describing how 'the musical material of Symphony No.10 consists of tonal melodic lines with a simultaneous flow of reflected and transposed 3-note cells'. As with symphonies 7 & 9 he operates within a single movement, though this one is in four sections.

Verdict

The Tenth Symphony - Panufnik's first without a nickname - begins with a clarion call from the brass, a fanfare that soon finds itself complemented by bullish strings.

The smaller structure suits Panufnik, who keeps things moving quickly - especially in the third movement, whose percussive thrust recalls the best moments of the Sinfonia di Sfere.

Yet the most effective moments are the quietest, as the last of the four sections introduces a string chorale that alternates softly and thoughtfully before ebbing away into the distance.

Panufnik's farewell to the symphony may not be as substantial as some of the earlier works in his output, but it does leave its understated mark.

Recordings and Spotify Links

Panufnik himself can be heard conducting the Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra here. Meanwhile the consistently excellent Lukas Borowicz conducts the Tenth with the Konzerthausorchester Berlin here, part of an album including the Sinfonia Elegiaca and Sinfonia Sacra.

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.9 (Sinfonia di Speranza)

Introduction

Ever since Beethoven's Choral Symphony, a composer's ninth symphony is a huge event – and it has become a daunting prospect, scaling such a symphonic Everest.

Panufnik was no different, but his response to the challenge was to produce a massive, unbroken work of 40 minutes in length – by some distance his biggest work in the form so far. It was not only a homage to Beethoven's Ninth, 'but because the ninth decade of this century seemed to call for a new expression, a more positive response to the turmoil of our time. Living in the shadow of violence and terrorism, my thoughts of the future had too often been pervaded by pessimism: now I found myself endeavouring to write music of uplifting character, attempting to revive the springs of hope'.

He described it as 'my musical interpretation of the ideal of hope: within its notes I have tried to incorporate a spiritual message, an expression of my faith in mankind as well as my longing for racial and religious tolerance among all people'.

Once again Panufnik set out to reach his aim with the help of geometry, for as his symphonic output grew he appeared to want to challenge himself to reach greater structural achievements. The Sinfonia di Speranza, then, is in twelve 'arcs', as he details on his publisher's page.

Verdict

Despite the daunting prospect of a single, unbroken 40 minute span, I found this symphony to be the most satisfying in Panufnik's symphonic output. The long phrases are part of the reason for its success, because they draw out the music so that it becomes taut and intense. And yet Panufnik is also able to write what is essentially chamber music, including the harpsichord at the end of one section to add some ghostly counterpoint to the nervy activity.

The symphony begins with very broad strokes from the strings, moving at odds with the outbursts from the brass that provides more turmoil. However the sheer power of the strings' line carries all before it, rather like a long intonation and devotion – although you might not know exactly where it's going next the brass never shut it down.

Each of the sections proves equally dramatic. There are similarities to the Sinfonia Sacra in the conviction of the harmonic writing and surety of the long melody, but the voice of experience is now shining through more, and it feels that this is the work that captures Panufnik's overwhelmingly positive and resolute approach to his life.

Recordings and Spotify Links

The composer's recording with the BBC Symphony Orchestra can be heard here, while Lukas Borowicz conducts the Konzerthausorchester Berlin here, a recording helpfully broken down into sections.

Next up: Symphony no.10

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.8 (Sinfonia Votiva)

Introduction

There seems to be a paradox at work with the Sinfonia Votiva. On one hand Panufnik states that it is 'an abstract work without any programmatic content', but in the next paragraph he writes of how 'this symphony is dedicated to the Black Madonna of Czestochowa, the symbol for all Polish people of independence from invading powers, also of profound religious dedication'. The Black Madonna was the symbol of the Solidarity Movement in Poland, which eventually brought the Cold War to a largely peaceful close.

Perhaps aware that his complex geometrical designs were getting in the way of his ability to communicate, Panufnik chose a single circle and the number 8 as his inspirations for the Votiva. 'Seeking the architectural framework for this symphony, I created in my imagination a "mother diagram" - two large circles combined into a figure 8, which represent the two movements of the symphony, and which contain the more complex inner structures of the work.' These diagrams can be found on the website for the composer, www.panufnik.com. The two movements are very similar in construction as a result.

Verdict

Sinfonia Votiva has a pretty bleak beginning that inhabits a similar mood of introspection and impending dread as some of the Shostakovich wartime symphonies. It is however a very compelling and tense listen, and as the cold flute solo unwinds from the start, the strength of suppressed feeling is clear to hear. The icy strings add harmonies that now speak of a lifetime's experience, and the first movement ends in a mood of unfulfilled introspection.

All that changes with the second movement, which has more cut and thrust, suggesting an anger just beneath the surface but pushing forward with an irrepressible energy. As ideas are exchanged the music is revealed to have a strong depth of feeling, as though Panufnik is channeling his support for Solidarity with subtle strength.

I found the Sinfonia Votiva a tough nut to crack, but also found it the work to which I would like to return the most. It is a gripping piece of music, and the contrast between the cold and hot first and second movements is striking, one that warrants further exploration.

Recordings and Spotify Link

A taut account of the Sinfonia Votiva can be found with the Berlin Konzerthaus Orchestra conducted by Lukas Borowicz here

Next up: Sinfonia di Speranza

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.7 (Metasinfonia)

Introduction

There are a couple of works within Panufnik's symphonic output where the word 'symphony' can be rather loosely applied. The Sinfonia Concertante (no.4) is one such instance, while the Metasinfonia is another. The composer himself acknowledges this, writing that it 'could be considered as a kind of organ concerto, but I feel the title Metasinfonia more accurately depicts the form and character of the composition'. The idea of the 'organ symphony' is not a new one of course, with the famous Saint-Saëns work dating from 1886, and a lesser-known Twentieth Century equivalent completed by Copland in 1924.

Once again there is a carefully thought out structure to this work, as Panufnik explains. 'Both parts of the title, meta and sinfonia, each have equal significance. The prefix meta here relates to other words and ideas prefixed by meta - particularly metamorphosis, meaning change of shape, gradual transformation; the word sinfonia I used because the work has an extremely disciplined organic structure, even if its design goes rather far from the classical model'.

The symphonic arguments take place in one continuous movement, completed by Panufnik in 1978 for the Manchester International Organ Festival.

Verdict

Compositions for organ and orchestra often end up as a dramatic duel between the two forces, and Panufnik's Seventh Symphony is no exception, with plenty of thrills and spills. It begins with some very stern statements from the strings, which the organ responds to with big, dissonant chords – a lot of angst being worked out in the process. The string writing becomes increasingly divided, so that there are some very strong, twisted chords that make a powerful expression.

There is a dramatic intervention by high pitched timpani half way through, which leads to a quieter and much colder section, with macabre string sounds working around some ghoulish organ lines, rather like the soundtrack to a horror film.

Gradually the tension builds again until a powerful cadenza is unleashed around the 21 minute mark, the organ taking over – before an impressively wrought finish with the two forces uniting, and a rush of percussion to finish.

As the commentary implies, this is a more listener friendly work than the previous two symphonies.

Recordings and Spotify Link

Just the one recording of the Metasinfonia commonly available - and it is a vividly played version from organist Michael Oberaigner and timpanist Jorg Strodthoff, with the Konzerthausorchester Berlin conducted by Lukasz Borowicz on CPO. Coupled with the Eighth Symphony - the Sinfonia Votiva - it can be heard here

Next up: Sinfonia Votiva

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.6 (Sinfonia Mistica)

Introduction

'The title Sinfonia mistica reflects my deep fascination with the mystery and beauty of geometry', writes Panufnik, 'referring in this composition specifically to one figure which for me personally is a symbol of universal order and inner harmony.' His inspiration was not just geometrical, however. 'I wanted to convey to listeners some spiritual content, some contemplative and hidden messages by means of a meticulously structured framework, thought which I was trying to transcend the existing methods of composition.

The number SIX looms large everywhere – detailed in this entry on the Boosey & Hawkes website but there are no devilish connections, as far as we know. In the booklet notes to a fine new recording from the Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra and Lukasz Borowicz for CPO, Christoph Schlüren writes that Panufnik's account of the Sinfonia mistica's underlying structural principles 'reveals the composer entirely in his element, poised like a hermit between a medieval profession of faith and modern science'.

Panufnik completed the symphony in 1977, scoring it for a smaller orchestra of strings, double woodwind and two horns. Commissioned by the Northern Sinfonia, it was performed for the first time at the Queen Elizabeth Hall, London, in January 1978.

Verdict

Because of its geometric near-obsession, it is again difficult to separate the Sinfonia Mistica from the complicated reasoning behind its construction – so I found the best solution was to cast that aside and listen to the music.

Interestingly each of the six sections has tempo indications that begin with the word 'molto', which implies this will be a work of extremes. Sure enough, after a relatively serene introductory passage, the lower strings herald the start of something much more fractious, with repeated notes flung around the orchestra. This cuts to a slow and desolate section, before another set of repeated figures – this time three notes instead of two – is passed around the orchestra in staccato fashion. In fact the contrast between the sections becomes greater, so that the muffled fifth section is blown out of the water by a brightly scored finale, where again short staccato figures are the order of the day.

There is more rhythmic interest than melodic in this work, and because of that and the geometrical near-obsession, this is not the most immediately successful of Panufnik's symphonies – until you get to the end, where a forceful figure from the violins ensures an emphatic and extremely satisfying finish.

Recordings and Spotify link

The Sinfonia mistica is available in a recording from the Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra and Lukasz Borowicz - in vivid digital sound on CPO and on Spotify here

Next up: Metasinfonia

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.5 (Sinfonia di Sfere)

Introduction

Panufnik's symphonic output now has an explicit preoccupation with geometry – and for the Sinfonia di sfere of 1975 the composer drew a figure of the overall design, reproduced with thanks to his publisher Boosey & Hawkes:

If that looks remarkably complex, Panufnik offers a written explanation in addition. 'The title has no connection,' he says, 'with the philosophy of Pythagoras ("music of the spheres"), nor with astrology (unlike the planets which inspired Gustav Holst)' Instead, Sinfonia di sfere uses spheres of 'contemplative thoughts and emotions', or spheres that act as a framework 'enclosing meticulously organised musical material'. This was to become a preoccupation in further symphonic works, the need for a higher form of structure and organisation – and in this case, the hope that 'the listener might perhaps experience a kind of ascent into spheres of contemplative thoughts and feelings'.

Verdict

It is helpful to follow the diagram when listening to the Sinfonia di sfere, as I found it a more difficult work to listen to without it. For this is probably Panufnik's most experimental symphony, despite its seemingly rigorous structural control.

It is by some distance his most percussive, for the 'orchestral sphere' allows for 12 untuned drums to the orchestra, four to each player. In addition it contains solo roles for trumpet, horn, trombone and tuba. The percussive element is an eye-opener, because the massive rolling drums dominate the second, fifth and last of the nine sections. This in turn inspires the strings to drive forward purposefully, and the music has great momentum here.

Yet when the tempo subsides the mood is quite acerbic, as it is at the start, reprising some of the more awkward and fractious moments of the Sinfonia Sacra. This leads to a longer trombone solo that has quite a mournful tone. The third section is downbeat too, with the tuba to the fore.

In all truth this is the symphony I have struggled with the most so far, not on account of its form but its relative lack of motifs and melodies that are easy for the listener to cling on to. The Sinfonia di sfere is exciting for sure, but ultimately less satisfying.

Recordings and Spotify link

My references for the Sinfonia di sfere were two recordings - the Tampere Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by John Storgårds on the Ondine label, and the Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra under Lukasz Borowicz, part of the new CPO series. Both are excellent, though the Ondine version shades it just for the excellent recorded sound.

Next up: Sinfonia mistica

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Sinfonia Concertante (Symphony no.4)

Introduction

The Sinfonia Concertante – which bears the alternative title of Symphony no.4 – represented Panufnik's return to the symphony in 1973 after a gap of 10 years. It is on the same scale as the Sinfonia Sacra, but the two works are chalk and cheese – where that work was bold, brassy and full of big orchestral writing, the scoring for the Sinfonia Concertante is for the more subtle combination of flute, harp and strings.

In a note for the piece Panufnik details how he composed the work 'as a token to my wife in the tenth year of our marriage'. He goes on to describe how 'the two movements have many directly contrasting characteristics'. Some of these are between slow and fast, lyrical elements and dance-like elements, symmetry and asymmetry – and show the beginnings of Panufnik's preoccupation with geometry as the inspiration for his symphonic works. A diagram of the work can be found on the composer’s dedicated website.

Despite the structural concerns, Panufnik stresses that the aim of the work is a lyrical one – no doubt with his wife in mind.

Verdict

For me the Sinfonia Concertante is a feminine complement to the masculinity of the Sinfonia Sacra, with silvery string textures that complement the delicate sounds of the flute and harp. This does not make it comfortable music, however, for on occasion the string orchestra signal a sense of dread, particularly in the early nocturnal exchanges, which give a sense of something waiting in the wings, especially when the movement subsides to flute and low harp alone.

The second movement releases this pent-up energy, a lone double bass driving forward urgently, followed soon after by the rest of the strings. It remains restless, despite the calming tones of flute and harp, as a solo violin is allowed a reckless improvisation. The third movement settles down to a less troubled existence, with some nice shading through harp tremolo and calm strings.

This is an unusual piece...but a subtly affecting one that alternates between sounding genuinely creepy or having a nice silvery tone. It is distinctive in Panufnik's symphonic output.

Recordings and Spotify link

Flautist Lukasz Dlugosz and harpist Anna Sikorzak-Olek revel in Panufnik's unusual textures, and are beautifully balanced with the Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra under Lukasz Borowicz. This is part of a disc on CPO that includes the Sinfonia Rustica, plus the important orchestral pieces Polonia and Lullaby. Yet a starry cast conducted by Panufnik himself is difficult to ignore, with soloists Aurèle Nicolet and Osian Ellis. This recording can be accessed on Spotify here

Next up: Sinfonia di Sfere

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.3 (Sinfonia Sacra)

Background
In the early 1960s the estranged Polish composer Andrezj Panufnik went to the United States, to explore possibilities as a conductor as well as a composer. While there he received plenty of support from Leopold Stokowski, but did not get much conducting work. However he did receive a significant commission, to write a work in celebration of 1,000 years of statehood for Poland, due to be marked in 1966.

And so Sinfonia Sacra, the composer's third symphony, was born. Bernard Jacobson's engaging study of the composer as part of a Phaidon book, A Polish Renaissance, goes on to detail how, in tribute to Poland's rich cultural and Catholic tradition, 'it would incorporate the melody of the Bogurodzica hymn that had struck his imagination so forcibly in 1936'.

In May 1962, Panufnik's circumstances were improving, with marriage to Camilla and the prospect of a new house, when it was announced that the Sinfonia Sacra - had won a competition sponsored by Prince Rainier of Monaco.

Thoughts

Although the Sinfonia Rustica and Elegiaca are very enjoyable pieces of music to listen to, there is a noticeable tightening of the screw in the Sinfonia Sacra, confirmation that Panufnik has honed his symphonic credentials to write a lean structure where not a single note is wasted.

The piece captures the listener immediately, with a bold and uplifting fanfare that eventually resolves into pure C major. So far, so good – but then instead of continuing in celebratory vein Panufnik reveals the opening material to be a rather empty gesture, as the strings paint the picture of a barren wasteland.

It takes a while for the music to recover from this desolation, as it moves into an angry and resentful music that is high on energy but feeling in need of consolation. This arrives in the form of the hymn tune, gathering power towards the profound final pages. Here there is a huge sense of courage and strength in depth, the music moving between brief glimpses of consonance and peace and then back to discord, giving an indication of pain that won’t entirely go away – but which for now lies vanquished.

The Sinfonia Sacra is a powerful experience, a triumph of the human spirit over what Panufnik terms an 'invocation of the battle fields', which can be taken to mean the horrors of persecution and war. Its victory is hard won, but is all the more dramatic for it.

Recordings and Spotify Link

Panufnik's own recording, with the Monte Carlo Opera Orchestra, can be heard on an album here, with the Sinfonia Rustica and Sinfonia concertante. There are a number of other versions, though a particularly fine and recent account is made by Lukasz Borowicz, conducting the Konzerthausorchester Berlin on CPO here

Next up: Sinfonia concertante (Symphony no.4

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.2 (Sinfonia Elegiaca

Background

Panufnik's first published symphony, the Sinfonia Rustica, celebrated Poland through interpolations of folk tunes. The second, however, is the chalk to its cheese. Sinfonia Elegiaca reflects its composer's experiences in Poland in the Second World War.

'Tragic indeed was the fate of Warsaw', he wrote – 'in 1943, the Nazi destruction of the Ghetto, and in 1944 the Warsaw Uprising, when the Russian Army, right close to the city gates, passively watched the Germans systematically flattening almost the whole of Warsaw, killing over a quarter of a million defenceless Polish men, women and children. During this uprising I lost my Tragic Overture together with every note of music I had ever composed in my first thirty years of life'.

Then, under pressure from above, Panufnik was urged to write a 'Symphony of Peace'. This he completed, but the music was anything but peaceful – and while well received by the public, the authorities were far less certain.
After Leopold Stokowski conducted it in America in 1955, Panufnik rethought the work, turning it into what is now known as Sinfonia Elegiaca, and removing its vocal lines, casting it as a long slow movement with a fast central scherzo.

Christoph Schlüren's booklet notes for a new recording of the piece by the Konzerthausorchester Berlin and Lukasz Borowicz, on CPO, go into much greater detail on Panufnik’s feelings on the piece. 'It has no literary programme, but emotionally it expresses sorrow for the victims of the war, then protest against inhumanity, madness and violence – coming back to the lament for the dead and the bereaved – thus emphasising that their agonising sacrifice brought neither peace to the world nor full freedom to countries such as my native Poland.'

In his biographical chapter on Panufnik in the rewarding Phaidon book A Polish Renaissance, Bernard Jacobson questions the attributes of the finalised piece. 'Eloquent and accomplished though it is, the Sinfonia Elegiaca of January 1957 must also be regarded as in some ways a work of less than complete maturity. Neither here nor in Sinfonia Rustica does the composer achieve or aim for the range of poetic evocation already covered in 1947 by both Nocturne and Lullaby (the latter a daringly original work).'

Thoughts

There is certainly no shortage of feeling in the Sinfonia Elegiaca, whatever its perceived shortcomings. The opening pages are cold indeed, with the strings literally raising the music from the ground as it moves slowly and gradually upwards.

Then there is an aching cor anglais solo, the same instrument used by Shostakovich to convey pain in his own 'war symphony', the Eighth. Here it shows the pain and sorrow Panufnik clearly feels for his native country. Meanwhile the strings' slow chords seems to take their lead from the chorale O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden, which J.S.Bach uses at the start of the St Matthew Passion, though its arrangement and harmonies are much less sonorous.

The profound first movement cuts suddenly to an explosion of anger and resilience in the second section, which is effectively the scherzo of the symphony – though there is very little in the way of humour here. Instead there are shrill brass, volleys of percussion and a more folksy melody from the strings, which does at least supply some hope.
Yet soon this much more energetic music peters out, and we are left once again with the sombre mood of the opening, Panufnik unable to shift his mood and the feeling that the war and the uprising have led to little more than huge, devastating loss.

Verdict

Because of its subject the symphony leaves an empty feeling at the end, but it does so having delivered some very powerful music. The first movement, which is effectively a prayer to the lost, is extremely moving, and although the sudden change of mood is a shock it is entirely in keeping with the swift changes of feelings that so often mark the experience of bereavement. So while Panufnik's symphonic thoughts are still a little ragged, they are strong and meaningful.

Recordings and Spotify link

The new recording from Borowicz certainly does the Sinfonia Elegiaca justice, and is much better played and recorded than the composer's own version with the Louisville Orchestra, though this perhaps not surprisingly shows even keener emotion. The chosen speeds are different, too – Borowicz is much slower in the outer movements and quicker in the middle, heightening the contrast between them.

Panufnik's own recording can be heard on Spotify here

Next up: Sinfonia Sacra

Beneath the Surface - Panufnik centenary: Symphony no.1 (Sinfonia Rustica)

Introduction

This year marks the centenary of the birth of Andrezj Panufnik, the Polish composer who spent the majority of his life in England, where he died aged 77. Even for a composer his story is a remarkable one, a tale of great strength in adversity and a musical career that somehow flourished in the shape of war and deep suspicion.

Once in this country, Panufnik was encouraged by Vaughan Williams and Arthur Benjamin, both of whom supported him when in financial need, and also by Leopold Stokowski, who gave American premieres of a number of his orchestral works. When considering his achievements, Panufnik's profile is still relatively low in spite of the admirable efforts of his daughter, the composer Roxanna Panufnik, who has honoured her father’s work not just in words but in music also.

Background to the Sinfonia Rustica

Ever since the mid-1990s, when I first heard the Old Polish Suite , one of several works in which Panufnik pays homage to the land of his birth, I have wanted to explore more of his music – and am taking the chance in the form of his unconventional symphonic cycle, where works tend to be named rather than numbered. The first published symphony that survives to this day is the Sinfonia Rustica, coming in the wake of two scores that were either lost (Symphony no.2) or lost, reconstructed and then destroyed (Symphony no.1). Even the Rustica was revised itself, in 1955 – long after its world premiere in Warsaw, 1949.

Boosey & Hawkes, who publish Panufnik's work, detail how the piece 'was condemned politically as 'alien to the great socialist era', and the Polish Minister in the presence of the General Secretary of the Soviet Composers' Union supposed himself to be pronouncing the 'final verdict' when he said ‘this work has ceased to exist'!'

Happily that is not the case – and I've been using as my guide a new recording of the work from Lukasz Borowicz and the Polish Radio Symphony Orchestra, released by the German record label CPO. Panufnik himself also recorded the symphony with the Monte Carlo Opera Orchestra, in a version available on EMI.

Sinfonia Rustica won First Prize in the 1949 Chopin Competition in Warsaw, and the composer's dedicated website has a quote from Panufnik himself on the creative process. "I was always attracted to the rustic art of Poland, especially the intricate, colourful paper-cuts, worked through the long winter evenings by the imaginative and dexterous Polish peasants. These paper-cuts were usually semi-abstract, with symmetrical designs incorporating flowers, trees, animals, even sometimes people and country scenes. Using fragments of Polish folk themes as a basis for the material, I decided to compose a large-scale work in which I could transform these primitive, naive elements into music."

Panufnik divides the strings into two orchestras, one either side of the stereo picture, with winds placed in the middle and brass at the rear. The running time for the Sinfonia Rustica is just shy of half an hour.

Thoughts

Panufnik's first lasting symphonic statement is a curious combination of styles that has a strong melodic thread running all the way through it – and the fragments of Polish folk themes are difficult to shake off after a few listens! These are held in a framework where the music calls in elements of Gershwin, Stravinsky and Hindemith, but it does not feel derivative in spite of those references. Rather its invigorating spirit finds room for jazzy elements too, with excitable whoops from the horns and punchy riffs from the bass strings as the fourth movement builds up a head of steam.

There is however a sensitive underbelly to this piece, and the second movement's autumnal feel carries through to swooning violins in the third movement, both exotic and strangely sad. One melody in particular tugs at the heartstrings when heard on cor anglais.

Verdict

Although the Sinfonia Rustica feels a little underdeveloped in terms of form and design, there is plenty to enjoy here, with emotional twists and turns, memorable melodies and fresh orchestration. It is an auspicious start to the cycle!

Spotify

Sinfonia Rustica can be heard in Panufnik's own version here. Lukasz Borowicz achieves perhaps even greater freedom in his own recording, taking slightly longer in the last two movements, while he also includes the first version of the third movement.

Next up: Sinfonia Elegiaca (1957, rev.1966)

A tribute to Frans Brüggen

Even when taking into account the departures of some incredibly high profile names from the creative world this week – Robin Williams and Lauren Bacall in particular – classical music is still having a rough time of it. Claudio Abbado, Peter Sculthorpe and Lorin Maazel are just three of highly respected artists who have recently departed, and to that list can sadly be added the name of Frans Brüggen, whose death at the age of 79 was revealed yesterday.

We can be grateful this quartet lived long and extremely fruitful lives, but I wanted to focus on Brüggen this time as I absolutely love his recordings. In fact I hold him pretty much responsible for helping my initial aversion to what we awkwardly term 'period instrument' recordings, and I think he brought so much character to his interpretations he made me realise it was possible to use instruments of the time, with the sound to which we were unaccustomed, and still build cultured and individual interpretations.

The first disc of his I remember hearing was Rameau – a sparkling and colourful account of the suite Les Indes Galantes. Yet the one that made even more impact was a Philips disc bringing together middle period Mozart symphonies – the celebrated Symphony no.29 in A major, K201 and the much less known – but equally inspired – Symphony no.33 in B flat major, K319. Brüggen and his charges, the Orchestra of the Eighteenth Century, bring a freshness to this piece, but importantly for me the orchestra still pack enough heft in the bigger chords, together with a string sound that is positively luxurious for a period band.

This is only the tip of the iceberg where Brüggen is concerned, however. With his orchestra he completed a very fine cycle of Beethoven symphonies, which Universal are helpfully making available again this month, as well as an extremely enjoyable Schubert canon, featuring among other things a Symphony no.5 in B flat major that preserves the composer's fresh inspiration.

This is before we even get to his Haydn – for it's this area of Brüggen's output that appeals to me most. To me he understands Haydn's wit and good humour, but also his craft, and there is always an elegance to Brüggen's interpretations that makes the next note in each phrase so inevitable. In Haydn that helps an awful lot – and yet the surprise element of some of the symphonies is also retained. Brüggen’s music making in the London and Paris symphonies in particular has given hours of pleasure, and I would urge you to listen if you haven't before.
And how could I almost have forgotten his Rameau? Two discs leap out at me that Brüggen recorded for Philips – the highly characterful live recording of the suite for Les indes galantes, and an equally invigorating version of a suite from the opera Dardanus.

Even before his successes as a conductor Brüggen had shown unusual ability as a flautist and recorder player. In the 1960s he recorded a sizeable amount of Baroque music for Teldec's Das Alte Werk imprint, producing some ground breaking discs of Telemann, J.S. Bach and Handel – as well as exploring some of the lesser known corners of Baroque chamber repertoire.

Even in the last years of his life, when he clearly wasn't as sprightly as he used to be, Brüggen continued to conduct from a seating position – which was the case on the only occasion I encountered him in concert, where he and his guest charges, the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment, gave a typically inspiring performance of Mozart's Paris symphony.

Despite his less than ideal health, Brüggen continued to record to great effect, with recent releases bringing Mendelssohn's Italian and Scottish symphonies to life, not to mention another visit to Mozart's last three works in the form. There is quite literally never a dull note in Brüggen's recorded work – and it deserves to live on long after the sad passing of its creator.

A Frans Brüggen miscellany be found on Spotify by clicking here , including Les Indes Galantes, Beethoven's Eroica symphony, a fantasia by Telemann and symphonies by Schubert (no.5), Haydn (no.102) and Mozart (no.39).

Harkive - what music do you listen to in the course of a day?

It's Tuesday 15th July, 2014 - which means it's another Harkive day, where I am to document all the music I listen to from start to finish. Since the last such day in 2013, I've turned 40. Does that explain why I now listen to BBC Radio 2 in the mornings? Probably not, as I've always had a liking for music back to the 1970s – 1960s at a push – and that's where Vanessa Feltz was intent on taking us early on this cloudy Tuesday morning. Feltz is a much better music presenter than I would have previously given her credit for – and here she was playing The Sweet's Ballroom Blitz and Blockbuster before 6:15am! Heady stuff.

And so to the hour-long train journey into London, which always gives me the chance to listen to albums that I'm reviewing for DMC World. This is primarily a dance / electronic music website, and in the mornings I tend to opt for something that might be a bit more chilled out. That's how my choice of the System 7 remix album Out came around, but by the time I was at London Bridge I was in receipt of some pretty lively techno through remixes from Plastikman and Carl Craig. Again, an unexpected burst of energy for an otherwise lethargic Tuesday morning.

And so to Pret A Manger, for half an hour's reading and writing – in this case, writing up a concert I'd been to the previous day at the Wigmore Hall for another website I write for, Classical Source. Pret tend to opt for bursts of jazz and funk with singers that sing too many notes, but more recently they've chilled out a bit, and it was lovely to note the distinctive tones of Cate Le Bon, singing I Can't Help You, before the more generic stuff appeared and was shunted to the background of my head.

And so to work – where Tuesdays mean BBC 6Music is the radio station of choice in the office. This is wholly appropriate, because in my day job at PPL we are responsible for ensuring the distribution of monies for broadcast and public performance gets made to record companies and performers as quickly and accurately as possible. From where I sit though the radio can sometimes be frustratingly out of reach, and that was the case today – so I drifted in and out of consciousness as the daytime schedule wore on.

However I was able to pick out the squelchy bass of Roots Manuva's Witness (1 Hope), and a track of the same name by the unexpected combination of Brian Eno and Underworld's Karl Hyde, which has yielded some interesting results at times. Lauren Laverne also played The War On Drugs' heady single Burning before arriving at what is possibly my favourite single of the year so far, Morrissey's Istanbul – like the city, a startling collision of East and West that is both graceful and chaotic. Later still we had Motown Junk, a sign that recent Manic Street Preachers material is definitely worth investigating further.

As the afternoon passed in a heat haze we had Radcliffe and Maconie, still on 6Music. Unfortunately I missed them playing Ozric Tentacles, but was at hand to hear Frank Zappa's riotous Valley Girl. On my own headphones I was listening to some Benjamin Britten, some early pieces for viola and piano – which I would listen to several times before writing them up on my blog about the composer, Good Morning Britten.

Work over, it was time for 5-a-side football – which involves a round trip of two hours on a train to and from Harrow and Wealdstone. It's another chance for a load more music to review! Before football I try and psyche myself up with some more up tempo stuff, so this time I chose a compilation – the second in Bill Brewster's series of Late Night Tales After Dark. Brewster is a dance music historian, and his knowledge of all things rhythmic informs his set, so that you always end up hearing stuff you didn't know about – surely one of the prerequisites of a good compilation. Two of my choices from his selection would be the wonderful Boutade by Mugwump, an atmospheric piece of deep funk, and the crafty synth workings of Justus Köhncke's Tell Me.

These got me to football, followed by a couple of drinks and a bite to eat, before the journey home – which brought me full circle musically, with the second part of the System 7 album to cover. There is some pretty euphoric music here – not just for dancing! Some of it was from the duo as they turned remixers – their work on Japanese duo Rovo's Eclipse especially good. There is always an emphasis on melody with System 7, in spite of Steve Hillage's prog-rock past with the noodly Gong. He and Miquette Giraudy have always worked well together in this way, and I realise I've been tracking their progress for the last 20 years or so.

Mind you, this time I had a late night drunk for company – the only other person in the carriage deciding she wanted to sing Justin Timberlake's Like I Love You as loud as she could. I couldn't stop laughing as alcohol-soaked Timberlake got through my headphones to receive a techno makeover in my very confused brain. Definitely time for bed!

Beneath the Surface #12 - Panorama of American Piano Music – From Antheil to Zappa: 1911 to 1991

Composer: Various, all American

Works: Many! For a full tracklisting click here

Performers: Yvar Mikhashoff (piano)

Label: Mode

Background and Critical Reception

On Saturday May 19th, 1984, Yvar Mikhashoff (seen in the picture with John Cage) gave an extraordinary concert on Broadway.

Billed as The Great American Piano Marathon, it fulfilled a promise of Seventy Works in Seven Hours from Seventy Years, and made the most of the pianist’s friendship and contact with many of America's leading composers.

Mikhashoff, who died in 1993, began with an excerpt from Charles Ives' vast Concord Sonata, The Alcotts, while his finishing piece was the Tango by John Cage, one of four of the composer’s works to be included. He travelled by way of some of the great luminaries of American music – Copland, Gershwin, Bernstein, Nancarrow and many more. Yet he chose not to go with conventional or obvious pieces, which led to the inclusion of rarities such as the Copland Three Moods, and Gershwin's Impromptu In Two Keys.

For this album Mode revisit Mikhashoff's recordings, building a history of the century's piano music in America in his memory. What we get is therefore not so much the great works of twentieth century American piano music (some examples being Barber's Piano Sonata, Gershwin's Three Preludes or Steve Reich's Piano Phase) but more examples of compositional craft in the country, as well as intriguing morsels and rarities.

The Alcotts is once again the starting point, and the four discs unfold chronologically through works by Griffes (Three Preludes), Antheil (Sonata: Death of Machines), Morton Feldman (Vertical Thoughts 4) and John Cage (Landscape), arriving at the premiere of Nancarrow's Three Two-Part Studies, given by Mikhashoff in 1991.

Thoughts

It would of course be foolish to try and experience all this music in one sitting, but dipping in and out of Mode's compendium is a fascinating experience, providing a wholly alternative history of the piano and its development in America.

Several different 'movements' present themselves – we have minimalism from Philip Glass and Lukas Foss, a work for piano and tape from Mario Davidovsky, four differing works from John Cage, or the more bluesy approach of

A wistful performance of The Alcotts, one of the cornerstones of the American piano repertoire, makes for a winning start, while the Griffes preludes are very enjoyable too, the third lost in its own thought.

There are also some unexpected additions from composers of abroad who spent time in America – Grainger (the expansive Pastorale from In A Nutshell), Stravinsky, Bloch and Krenek, all of whom were in a sense ‘honorary’ Americans.

The range and scope of the whole collection is too much to do justice to completely in the course of a shorter review, but memorable excerpts begin with Henry Cowell’s Amiable Conversation, which could easily have been written yesterday but which is actually from 1917. The very valuable rarities are well worth hearing too, especially the first recording of Copland's Three Sonnets.

The piano itself has quite a harsh sound at times, especially in the brief souvenir of Virgil Thomson, which sounds like an unpublished piece from a Bartók sketchbook, but the producer Brian Brandt has struggled manfully to make the sound as forgiving as possible. Brandt contributes an interesting booklet note as a suffix to an excellent mini-book that looks at Mikhashoff's friendship with American composers.

Back to the music – and the second disc feels more traditional, especially in items like Roy Harris' first American Ballad, which has an attractive language. Two of the Seven Anniversaries of Leonard Bernstein make brief and extravert appearances, while John Cage's seminal piece In A Landscape makes a timeless interlude, thoughtfully played.
The third disc begins in mysterious, murky waters with the stillness of Feldman's Vertical Thoughts 4, which leads to the touching simplicity of the Armenian-American composer Alan Hovhaness's Five Visionary Landscapes. The fourth, Evening Bell, bears the accent of both countries.

It is off hearing the other sounds of Davidovsky's piece for piano and tape, Synchronisms no.6, but they are strangely effective, like being in an old curiosity shop of noises. This cuts to the spectacular feats of virtuosity in the Crumb, the tumbling figures from an excerpt from Makrokosmos. Lou Harrison's A Waltz for Evelyn Hinrichsen is delightfully graceful, part of an imaginative and spontaneous sequence of waltzes on CD3 that leads to the bluesy waltz of Tom Constanten, a simple but effective winner. Glass, in his Modern Love Waltz, is quite romantic but inevitably repetitive.

It is ironically the minimalist 'area' where the coverage of this disc is not as effective, with no contributions from John Adams or Steve Reich, and a long piece, Solo, by Lukas Foss, that I found difficult to warm to with its relentless, caustic figurations.

Yet this is a small price to pay for such an imaginative and exhaustive survey. Small portraits of the American prairies or the cities can be found at every term, and are vignettes of emotion, starting points for listening elsewhere. I will definitely follow up on Hovhaness, for instance, but will also return to the Concord Sonata, the music of Antheil, and the massive output of John Cage.

And the Zappa? It's unusually reflective, an introduction to Little House I Used To Live In. But then that’s the charm of this set, always giving new and unexpected insights.

Verdict

If you don't mind quite a dry piano sound this is like leafing through an encyclopaedia of modern American classical music. Yvar Mikhashoff is an ever-engaging guide, playing with great character and affection, illuminating the corners of a repertoire that is far bigger than anyone could possibly imagine.

Further listening

The complete Panorama of American Piano Music can be heard on Spotify by clicking here

Beneath the Surface #11 - Malcolm Williamson: Piano Concertos

Composer: Malcolm Williamson (Australian, 1931-2003)

Works: Piano Concerto no.1 in A major (1958), Concerto in A minor for two pianos and string orchestra (1971), Piano Concerto no.2 in F sharp minor (1960), Piano Concerto no.3 in E flat major (1962), Sinfonia concertante in F sharp major for piano, three trumpets and orchestra (1962), Piano Concerto no.4 in D major (1994)

Performers: Piers Lane (piano), Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra / Howard Shelley

Label: Hyperion

Audio

Clips from this new recording can be heard at the Hyperion website

The current Master of the Queen's Music is Sir Peter Maxwell Davies, a composer who has enjoyed a relatively high profile over the years. Yet the music of the previous incumbent, the Australian composer Malcolm Williamson, has not fared so well – nor has he enjoyed anything of the exposure or critical warmth afforded to Maxwell Davies.

For 28 years he held the post, right up until his death in 2003, but he was the first Master of the Queen's Music not to be knighted. Perhaps this was because he still regarded himself as firmly Australian, despite moving to the UK in 1953. A great quote at the end of the Guardian obituary in his honour sums it up neatly. "Most of my music is Australian. Not the bush or the deserts, but the brashness of the cities. The sort of brashness that makes Australians go through life pushing doors marked pull."

Williamson, a colourful character, wrote a lot of music, but it gradually fell out of favour with the critics during the 1970s. Interestingly, he appeared on Desert Island Discs in 1976, soon after his appointment – a program that can be heard and even downloaded on the Radio 4 website. His choices include Britten's Les illuminations - Britten being the composer who was initially approached to be Master of the Queen's Music. Yet later in his life Williamson was called to question for some disparaging comments about the composer – and blotted his copybook in royal circles by failing to meet the deadline for a commission for the Silver Jubilee in 1977.

Yet he did write a lot of music for piano and orchestra, which Hyperion have collected here – and which is appropriately accompanied by the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra. There are four numbered piano concertos, a Sinfonia Concertant for piano with three trumpets and orchestra and a Concerto for two pianos and orchestra, a form that was to prove popular with British composers such as Malcolm Arnold and Alan Rawsthorne.

Three of the concertos have been recorded before, but this release sees the first recorded account of the fourth.

Thoughts

In his works for piano and orchestra Williamson writes with great vigour and enthusiasm. The most substantial work, the Piano Concerto no.3 in E flat major, is also the most difficult to work out – but rewards the efforts made.

Its first movement Toccata is almost completely self-contained, but has some brilliant material – with a catchy theme, some imaginative development and instrumentation, and some punchy rhythms. There is more than a little like Stravinsky in its spiky figurations, and some crunchy harmonies, while with a soaring melody on the violins at the end, it almost sounds like a last movement placed first. The second movement, also quite fast, begins with an airy and insistent movement that suggests Poulenc, while the third starts in a haze of strings before bold piano interventions rock the boat. The work ends with a striking epilogue, with strings, high wind and piano in long notes together – brilliantly played in this recording.

The Piano Concerto no.1 in A major is also excellent. A briefly misty introduction quickly comes together into a forthright first movement which has strong hints of Prokofiev in its percussive piano writing, but also in some of the grand themes that come out. A regal tune powers the third movement for a massive finish to a very listenable work.

I found the Concerto for Two Pianos and Orchestra much tougher going. This is partly on account of my ears – I find two pianos and orchestra quite a tricky combination to enjoy – but also because Williamson seems to delight in hammering home his musical points here, and there is little room for subtlety. The slow movement is unexpectedly graceful however, with a rather moving section taking its lead from plainchant, as detailed in the excellent booklet notes to this recording. The spectacular finish means this is not a write-off by any means – as there are still some good tunes – but ultimately I found this a piece best listened to on its own.

The Piano Concerto no.2, accompanied by strings only, has the best tune – its finale, suggesting encounters with Gershwin, fizzes along and is completely catchy! The tune was in my head within minutes and stayed there for a long time. It caps a work that brims with tunes elsewhere.

Meanwhile the Sinfonia concertante with three trumpets and piano in the exotic key of F sharp major – packs a punch in this performance, brilliantly played by the three brass soloists in a way that makes an unlikely combination work. I don’t find the melodic invention as spontaneous in this work, which is not surprising given his use of serial methods while writing this work, but it is never less than entertaining. The slow movement – again with religious connections, this time drawing from the Salve Regina - is more thought provoking.

The fourth piano concerto, completed as recently as 1994, is a shorter work but it seizes the moment immediately, driving forward with great determination – a bit more mechanical in its profile maybe, but still providing melodic interest. The orchestra is a big one, and Williamson writes some forceful music for it – but again in the slow movement pulls things back for music of grace and poise, reminding us he was a stage composer too.

Verdict

If you like the piano concertos of Prokofiev or Gershwin, Williamson is but a short hop away. There is some really enjoyable music here that suggests some happy acquaintances with jazz and ragtime, as well as twentieth-century classical music. Each of these performances is superb, brilliantly played and thoroughly understood by Piers Lane and Howard Shelley.

In the slow movements especially Williamson reaches deeper emotions, balancing the extrovert faster music very nicely. Because of that balance these works – with the possible exception of the two-piano concerto – are consistently rewarding, and come highly recommended.

Further listening

This Williamson playlist on Spotify includes the composer as soloist in his Piano Concerto no.3, along with the Symphony no.1, the Organ Concerto , the Sinfonia concertante and the Concerto for two pianos and orchestra.

Beneath the Surface #10 - Mieczysław Weinberg: Symphony no.10, works for violin

Composer: Mieczysław Weinberg (Soviet, of Polish-Jewish origin, 1919-1996)

Works: Solo Violin Sonata no.3 Op.126 (1979), String Trio Op.48 (1950), Sonatina for violin and piano Op.46 (1949), Concertino for violin and string orchestra Op.42 (1948), Symphony no.10 for string orchestra Op.98 (1968)

Performers: Gidon Kremer (violin and conductor), Daniil Grishin (viola), Giedrė Dirvanauskaitė (cello), Daniil Trifonov (piano), Kremerata Baltica

Label: ECM

Background and Critical Reception

It is only in the last couple of decades that the music of Mieczysław Weinberg has emerged from hiding – and it is only in the last couple of years that his name has tended towards receiving its correct Polish spelling, as he has normally been known under the Russian spelling of Moisei Vainberg.

Yet that is a relatively small point alongside his upbringing – for to say the composer and his family led a troubled existence would be a huge understatement. As the Second World War began, Weinberg, who had studied at the Conservatory in Warsaw, fled from Poland to the Soviet Union. Tragically his family, who remained behind, were condemned to the concentration camp at Trawniki.

As the only surviving member of the family, Weinberg settled in Minsk, and then Tashkent, where he befriended Dmitri Shostakovich – whose friendship was to become a lasting one. Like Shostakovich, Weinberg was under Stalin's directive aimed at all Soviet composers, whereby they were forced to write music that pleased the ruling dictator. Yet while Shostakovich and Prokofiev were under close scrutiny, Weinberg was not subjected to such close examination after Stalin died – but the guidelines did of course continue to affect his musical flexibility. While he lived in Russia for the rest of his life, the vast majority of his music was unheard until very recently.

When the vastness of his output is revealed it is remarkable to think it was kept from public view, particularly the striking and powerful opera The Passenger, one of seven stage works that has only recently come to light in the UK in a production by David Pountney and English National Opera in 2006.

The music on this new ECM disc provides an introduction to a number of different disciplines in which Weinberg excelled. The Symphony no.10, for string orchestra, is one of twenty-two. The Solo Violin Sonata no.3 is one of many works he wrote for his first instrument, while the Sonatina for violin and piano - part of a substantial canon of chamber works centred on the 1940s – is followed closely by the String Trio of 1950. The Concertino for violin and string orchestra also dates from the late 1940s.

In a valuable booklet note for the ECM release appraised here, Wolfgang Sander warns that 'caution is advised when applying labels such as conservative, neo-classical, folklike or conformist to music that allegedly toed the official party line of life-affirming folklorism'. This is a timely reminder that Weinberg and his contemporaries, particularly Shostakovich, frequently worked double meaning into their musical statements. What they really wanted to say could be found beneath the surface of the music.


Thoughts

This is a fine Weinberg anthology, a good place to start for those new to the composer, and in Gidon Kremer it has the best possible exponent of his music.

Kremer approaches this music having already made recordings of Weinberg's contemporaries – Shostakovich, Prokofiev and Schnittke in particular – and his affinity with the composer is clear and immediate.

Weinberg was a violinist, so knew the instrument well – and Kremer instinctively grasps the phrases and figurations of the Solo Violin Sonata no.3. Kremer has a lofty valuation of this piece, though I'm not sure I would agree with his observation that it is as great as Bartók's peerless work in the form. It does however carry a powerful impact, particularly in a performance such as this. The repeated notes of the opening are agitated, as if trying to break out of confines imposed on the instrument, but the slower melody at around six minutes in is tender and reflective. Kremer himself suggests a program behind the work, one that speaks of the composer's parents, and what he says certainly tallies with the music. He is the best possible performer for this work, putting his heart and soul into it, particularly the closing pages, which are plaintive and introverted, lost in thought.

The Sonatina for violin and piano is by definition a slighter piece, and coming on the heels of the solo work it is a musical thirst quencher to hear the sound of the piano added to the violin. This work is noticeably warmer than its solo counterpart, especially in the dreamy second theme of the first movement. The relative simplicity of its language is a little disconcerting, however, and perhaps its composer is aware of this too, for the second movement is more abrasive and piercing, before the violin soars towards the end of the third. Though not as emotionally charged as the solo work, it offers a nice complement – and ends with a rather exotic harmony that certainly does not sound Russian.

The String Trio is an uncompromising piece with quite a bruising first movement, sharp in timbre and unremitting in its musical phrases. It is quite rustic at times, but there is a good deal of strong feeling here, some of it painful, though it resolves calmly. The Concertino for violin and string orchestra has a similar countenance to the Sonatina - a little more tonally direct than some of his music, but with the violin part beautifully written. Gidon Kremer brings to it an intensely lyrical tone that works beautifully.

Saving the best for last, the Symphony no.10 is a remarkable piece that manages to incorporate experimental workings with genuine expression, for Weinberg appears to have found a formula that allows him to compose in a 'serial' manner but not at the expense of melody or emotional insight. The second movement brings this into a dreamy realisation that recalls the music of Berg but is also strangely elusive, cold and distant.

By contrast the sweeping statements of the outer movements carry a majestic power that spills over into a rush of energy from each the solo strings, their combined force truly a power to be reckoned with in this performance from Kremerata Baltica. There are profound solo outbursts, too – none more penetrating than the viola at the emotional heart of the third movement, a diatribe of raw feeling that brings all the strings together, uniting in a single chord. This is music every bit as intimate and powerful as a Shostakovich string quartet.

Verdict

The parallels with Shostakovich are inevitable and flattering, but Weinberg's music is a lot more than mere parody or imitation of his friend.

Each of the works here show off his musical flexibility, and also reveal the direct and piercing emotional insights that can be found when listening to his music. That someone should suffer so greatly yet produce music of this quality is uplifting indeed, and great credit should go to Kremer and ECM for their thorough understanding of these corners of a vast musical output.

Let's hope a lot more of it is made available in the coming years!

Further listening

There is not a great deal of Weinberg on Spotify, but this playlist offers the Violin Concerto and the Trumpet Concerto, bookending works for cello and chamber orchestra.

Beneath the Surface #9 - C.P.E. Bach on his 300th birthday

Composer: Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach (Germany, 1714-1788)

Works: Cello Concertos; Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu; Magnificat; Württemberg Sonatas

Performers: Antonio Meneses (cello), Münchener Kammerorchestra; Soloists and Ex Tempore, La Petite Bande / Sigiswald Kuijken; Elizabeth Watts (soprano), RIAS Kammerchor & Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin / Hans-Christoph Rademann; Mahan Esfahani (harpsichord)

Labels: PAN Classics, Hyperion and Harmonia Mundi

Background and Critical Reception

Today is Bach's birthday. Not the great master Johann Sebastian, but his second son (and fifth child), Carl Philipp Emanuel, born three hundred years ago to the day.

Although understandably living in his father's shadow these days, C.P.E. has enjoyed a healthy resurgence in the last few decades, and recordings of his music are increasingly frequent. Getting the ball rolling were artists such as Ton Koopman, Gustav Leonhardt and Christopher Hogwood, who turned to his music as part of the 'period instrument' revival of the 1970s. But because C.P.E., like his father, was very prolific, there was still a lot of music unexplored.

One of the problems facing C.P.E. is that he does not fall into a recognisable category. Despite his birth year, he is emphatically not a composer of the Baroque period like his father, and although he died in 1788, three years before Mozart, he is not a composer of the Classical period either. This means he does not have a label, which should not be a problem – but it has held him back as people have struggled to fit him in.

More recently, though, his music has come into its own. There are indeed elements of both Baroque and Classical that can be heard, but there are also features peculiar only to C.P.E. himself. These are sometimes unpredictable, suggesting a short attention span on the part of the composer. Although C.P.E.’s music takes the on traditional forms of Concerto, Sonata and the emerging Symphony, he often moves in unpredictable directions, like he might in a 'Fantasia'. This introduces a really intriguing tension to his music, some of which is hyperactive and daring for its time, and some of which can take unexpected harmonic turns.

I chose four new discs to listen to this week – with Antonio Meneses playing and directing the three Cello Concertos, a reissue of Sigiswald Kuijken conducting the big oratorio Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt Jesu (The Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus), then a new disc on Harmonia Mundi conducted by Hans-Christoph Rademann recreating a concert from April 9, 1786, when C.P.E. conducted a charity concert in Hamburg. It begins with the Magnificat before moving on to Heilig (Te Deum Laudamus), a piece of which he wrote "It will be my swan song of this kind, and will serve to ensure I shall not soon be forgotten after my death". Finally the up and coming harpsichordist Mahan Esfahani played the Württemberg Sonatas.

Thoughts

It has been a fascinating week in the company of Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach.

The Cello Concertos I was already familiar with, but it was good to be reminded just how good a work the A minor Concerto is, with its incredibly distinctive tune. Antonio Meneses plays it brilliantly, and the accompaniment from the Munich Chamber Orchestra is consistently crisp and vital. In the slow movement Meneses is lyrical but quite understated, and in the slow movement of the F major Concerto there is some really lovely high register playing from the cellist, faultless in his intonation.

Die Auferstehung und Himmelfahrt (The Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus) is a more imposing piece, right from the start and its rather ominous intro. The murmuring bass strings suggest the depiction of Chaos at the start of Haydn's The Creation – and indeed this piece could well have influenced the later composer's thinking. The light begins to pierce the darkness at the start of the first choral number, before some terrific rolling drums depict how 'Judea trembles!'

Later there is a heavenly duet between soprano and tenor, Vater deiner schwachen Kinder, singing of how 'O Love, which thou thyself did bewail, O how every tear softens thy so friendly heart!' The triumphant final number, while quite lengthy, is a joyful hymn of praise.

Like many eighteenth-century examples of the Magnificat, C.P.E.'s is in D major. It receives an excellent performance in the new recording from Hans-Christoph Rademann, with a lovely soprano solo in the second number (Quia respexit humilitatem) from Elizabeth Watts, whose voice floats above the strings. Yet the piece that really stopped me in my tracks was Helig ist Gott, for when the choir comes in time seems to stand still. This is the piece C.P.E. wanted to be remembered by, and it is especially notable because the choir sing very slowly, in contrast to the movement going on in the instrumental parts. It gets a wonderful performance here.

I do not readily warm to harpsichord music, but Mahan Esfahani is a performer I have enjoyed for a while now, and in C.P.E. Bach he is superb. His renditions always keep the principles of freedom that C.P.E.'s music thrives on, at times made known in a torrent of notes in the right hand, like a fantasia, or through a strange alignment of harmonies that hangs in the air, as it does in the first movement of the B minor sonata.

The start of the final movement of this piece was the nearest to Johann Sebastian's music I could imagine – which made me realise how little C.P.E.'s music does in fact sound like that of his father. In addition you could almost imagine a Beethoven sonata beginning in the way the last movement of the B flat major sonata does, hanging on a cadence.

Esfahani plays with great character, humour and imagination, especially enjoying the parts of C.P.E.'s music where improvised musical thought comes to the fore.

Verdict

Any of these four recordings do the music full justice, and champion the cause of an individual composer forging his path. So it's happy birthday to Carl Philipp Emmanuel, composer of some daring and original music for his time, even though that time does not have a name!

Further Listening

Hans-Christoph Rademann can be heard in the Magnificat and Helig ist Gott on Spotify here, while Antonio Meneses plays the Cello Concertos here.

Beneath the Surface #8 - Zoltán Kodály: String Quartets

Composer: Zoltán Kodály (Hungarian, 1882-1967)

Works: String Quartet no.1 Op.2 (1908-9); Intermezzo for string trio (1905); Gavotte (1952); String Quartet no.2 Op.10 (1916-18)

Performers: Dante Quartet [Krysia Osostowicz, Giles Francis (violins), Rachel Roberts (viola), Richard Jenkinson (cello)]

Label: Hyperion

Audio

Clips from this new recording can be heard at the Hyperion website

Background and Critical Reception

It is an increasingly commonly held perception that Zóltan Kodály is the greatly overlooked composer in twentieth-century Hungarian music. His contemporary Béla Bartók gets a lot more attention on all sides, and takes considerably more credit for the successful appropriation of the country’s many folk themes within classical frameworks.

Perhaps it is because Bartók offered a stronger challenge to formal designs and harmonic boundaries, often distorting his folk melodies away from instant recognition. My experience with Kodály's music, however, is that he is often more instantly accessible and more heart-on-sleeve in the sense that very little stands between the listener and his music.

This is especially true in the case of orchestral pieces such as the Dances of Galánta from 1933, using themes from an area that now lies within Slovakia, and the Dances of Marosszék from 1930. With Bartók it is sometimes a case of needing to peel away a layer or two to see what lies beneath.

Both composers were good friends, meeting in 1905 – the same year in which the Intermezzo on this disc was written. Both Kodály and Bartók wrote with great imagination and flair for strings, completing highly expressive solo sonatas for stringed instruments (Bartók for the violin and Kodály for the cello), then completing folk-inspired duets (Bartók for two violins in 44 Duets and Kodály in the form of a Duo for Violin and Cello) but their primary form of expression in chamber music became the string quartet.

This is where the two composers' fortunes could hardly be more different, for while Bartók's cycle of six is rightly revered as one of the greatest – if not the greatest – of the twentieth century, Kodály's two contributions are hardly ever heard. This may be in part due to the sheer size of the first, which runs to over forty minutes, making it one of the longest quartet works in the repertoire. There is much less of an excuse for the neglect of the Second, though, for only the Hagen and Melos Quartets have made major label recordings of the work.

This disc from the Dante Quartet therefore fills a gap in the repertoire, including not just the two quartets but the short Gavotte and the Intermezzo for string trio.

Thoughts

Kodály is not one to do things by halves! The musical language on this disc is direct, sometimes harrowing, and sometimes reckless – but never dull.

Neither is he short of a tune or two, and even in a massive work such as the String Quartet no.1, there is a continuous melodic invention, a refusal to go back and simply repeat the ideas already set out.

This work dominates the disc, a huge presence that reveals some of the composer's other influences alongside folk song. The Slavic language of Dvořák and Borodin can be heard in glimpses here, as can some of the quartet writing of Debussy, who wrote his only quartet in 1893. Kodály tends to score ambitiously for his stringed instruments, with the result that in this work it often feels as if eight people are playing, thanks to the frequent use of double stopping.

The first movement is bracing, out of the blocks with a forceful cello utterance that sets the tone of feverish intensity. This does let up, though, and as the movement progresses there is graceful nobility to its second theme. The slow movement leaves a lasting impression, a tender piece of music that is affecting, reducing itself almost to silence on occasion through its intense contemplation before building by way of a fugue to an impressive unison statement. The third movement, a scherzo, is much shorter and more obviously folk influenced, while the finale, after a feverish introduction, presents a disarmingly simple theme in C major, which Kodály subjects to some increasingly outlandish variations and a no-holds barred ending.

At times the sheer length of this work can be daunting, and the ear can lose some of the melodies in the packed central parts of the longer movements as the music becomes notable for its gritty determination. But there is much to enjoy here, and a strength of character that remains with the listener.

The String Quartet no.2, a wartime work, has a much more compact design, the composer finding more compressed but equally direct ways of expressing himself. This is a very fine work, packed into three movements that keep the folksong influence but introduce a more elusive emotional element. The language is not as direct or heart-on-sleeve as the first quartet, but on repeated hearing becomes just as meaningful, bound together with tighter structural control and more complex harmonies. The elusive, wiry first movement and the free form second, where the instruments take on more soloistic roles, find their release in the rustic finale, where the cello leads off a dance-themed movement with gusto, its main theme reminiscent of the Dances of Marosszék.

The two 'fillers' are very attractive, the tuneful Intermezzo working really well with its noticeably 'younger' style after the weighty first quartet. The Gavotte, a much later piece, is a winsome trifle, very light on its feet and with a tinge of melancholy, but a nice encore piece.

Verdict

If you are familiar with the six quartets of Bartók then this disc is an excellent complement to that cycle. This is music that is never less than forthcoming with its feelings, and the incredibly high standard of playing from the Dante Quartet gives Kodály's music its best possible vehicle.

Further listening

There are no recordings of the String Quartet no.1 on Spotify but a Kodály playlist including the String Quartet no.2 can be accessed here, also featuring some of the composer’s best-loved orchestral and choral works – the Dances of Galánta, the Dances of Marosszék, the Psalmus Hungaricus and the Sonata for Solo Cello.