Small Craft On A Milk Sea

It's been a while since we heard anything from Brian Eno in a solo capacity, and I suspect his new album, 'Small Craft On A Milk Sea', is the closest we will get, recorded as it is with friends and musical disciples Jon Hopkins and Leo Abrahams.

The cover gives away a lot of clues to the musical content, a bleak, weather-beaten landscape akin to the planet Mars. Eno wants his listeners to imagine a film that would go with the music – a kind of addition to the 'Music for Films' project in that sense. Sure enough it proves very easy to achieve this sensation, especially if listening on surround sound or headphones.

Yet there is more – and it isn't necessarily what you might expect. The sound pictures, though often disparate, are carefully structured within the context of the album, so that there is a gradual build-up of intensity. The ambience of the beginning doesn't feel comfortable for long, its initially soothing sonorities twisting into foreboding harmonies, as if an explosion is imminent.

The storm arrives in 'Horse' and '2 Forms Of Anger', the sixth track, with the scenery suddenly hurrying past at breakneck speed, emotions fraught and close to losing control. Then, almost as soon as it arrived, the storm is past. This makes the album almost like an inverse hurricane, its eye a seething cauldron of sound.

It's this that makes 'Small Craft On A Milk Sea' so compelling, as the following ambient interludes are far from comfortable and often hint at a second wind. As an overall structure it is proof positive that ambient music can be so much more than the sum of its parts, and it provides confirmation too that Eno remains at the top of his game.

The Lied and how to sing it

For some five years now I have been a regular attendee at the Wigmore Hall of a Monday lunchtime, taking in the BBC Radio 3 concert of the day. The standard of chamber music making is consistently high, but what has been relatively new to me in this period is the world of classical song.

Early on I really struggled with vocal or operatic classical music. "A lot of shouting in a foreign language" is how I heard opera described on the radio once, and that stayed with me for a long time as I struggled to get past the barrier of not knowing the words or, worse, not being able to hear them. And now, thanks largely to the Wigmore concerts, things have changed.

A composer's songs are, perhaps not surprisingly, among the most expressive parts of their output, and it is amazing how helpful it is to either follow the text or preview it beforehand, perhaps along with a synopsis of the piece itself.

My gradual thawing through the world of song has its roots in England and France. A study of Benjamin Britten's 'Serenade for tenor, horn and strings' at university revealed this incredibly emotional music, beautifully structured and orchestrated, with plenty of room given for Peter Pears to project the words. A few years later for a birthday present I was given Anne Sofie von Otter's album 'La Bonne Chanson', and loved the Ravel setting of three Mallarmé settings – more, it has to be said, for the instrumental colour, but gradually the wonderful voice above it shone through.

Yet it's the Wigmore concerts that have really made the difference, and have gradually opened my eyes to the writing of the 'Lied' composers, Schubert, Schumann and Wolf especially.

Five of those concerts really stick out in my mind. Firstly Mark Padmore, singing 'Winter Words' in a way that brought through Britten's stunning Hardy settings, vividly pictorial. Then Gerald Finley sang a concert of Schumann and Grieg, concentrating on settings of the poet Heinrich Heine, and giving a remarkable account of the former composer's 'Belsatzar'.

Then it was Anne Schwanewilms, with the best vocal concert I have yet seen, showing amazing control of the long phrases in Debussy's 'Proses Lyriques' before the same in some sumptuous Richard Strauss. Just as important in this respect was accompanist Roger Vignoles, who proved capable of realising the quasi-orchestral textures on the piano.

Christopher Maltman also proved a surprise hit, with an imaginative program of Richard Strauss, Korngold and four songs by Gustav Holst, an unexpected source. The timeless 'Betelgeuse' was by far the strangest of the quartet, a kind of shorter cousin to 'Saturn' from 'The Planets' in its cumbersome old age, but one that resonated for long afterwards. Finally Véronique Gens, performing the Berlioz song cycle 'Les Nuits d’été', gave an especially sparkling performance of the opening song, 'Villanelle'.

So why am I sharing these five special experiences? To show, I think, that with repeated attempts to get to know a style of music better, it can on occasion be possible to achieve a breakthrough and to grow to love it, especially given the right performers and venue.

I have been very lucky in this case, though I can't yet see how this is going to happen with Country & Western!

Hyperion and 30 years of musical exploration

Something about Hyperion Records brings out the record collecting anorak in me. Of all the new release listings that I get to look at in a month, few give as much anticipation as Hyperion's.

Added to that, none have inspired so many purchases from the cover image alone! A few people would say that's the worst way to buy things, but some of my very best musical discoveries have been made that way. So as the independent record label celebrates its 30th anniversary this month, I thought I would take a bit of time to consider how influential it has been on my musical life. Bear with me while I self-indulge a bit…

The first Hyperion record I bought was a tape – of Frank Bridge works for piano trio and quartet. I'd heard the 'Phantasie Trio' on Radio 3 and liked it – and it seemed perfect Autumnal music. Beautifully presented, performed and recorded, it has a special place in my collection. With such an auspicious start it wasn't long before more followed – and next up was the revelatory John Scott CD of Dupré organ works. I have known few moments as thrilling as when the 'Prelude and Fugue in B major' erupts from the speakers, a wall of euphoric sound that few can rival, music played at the highest possible voltage. Extra enjoyment is added on headphones, when turning the volume right up reveals the background sound of St Paul's Cathedral coming in to focus, before the organ sound blazes a trail across the sky.

Two more revelatory discoveries followed - firstly the sumptuous sound of Granville Bantock's 'Celtic Symphony', with massive string orchestra and twelve harps turning their hand to some infectious folk-inflected material - and then Tatiana Nikolayeva's recording of Shostakovich's '24 Preludes and Fugues', written for her and played with strong personality. Over 3 hours the sense of a musical voyage being made, through each major and minor key, is inescapable.

For me, Hyperion has excelled on pretty much every level it turns its hand to, though chamber and instrumental music is a real specialty. The Domus Piano Quartet recordings of Fauré are terrifically exciting, absolutely on the money technically but also deeply emotional. I have also greatly enjoyed the Salomon Quartet's recordings of Mozart and Haydn, which are currently hard to find but contain great personality and humour, proof that period instrument recordings don't have to be stripped back too far. On the piano I have especially enjoyed Steven Osborne's Debussy 'Préludes', Angela Hewitt's Schumann, and the bits I have heard of Leslie Howard’s monumental traversal of the complete piano works of Liszt. Yet among their piano canon one set of recordings stands out, that made by Howard Shelley early on in the label's history of the complete Rachmaninov piano works. These are not necessarily the most fiery of recordings, but have an honesty and clarity that I really warm to.

More recently my discoveries on the label have been vocal ones. Hearing a sensational concert of Richard Strauss at the Wigmore Hall by Anne Schwanewilms prompted me to go in search of her disc on the label, and I was not disappointed. Where Hyperion have triumphed in this respect is giving creative license to their accompanists, and building a series of songs around their direction. Roger Vignoles has done it for Strauss, and each disc is a winner, presenting the composer’s vocal output sensibly and in the company of great singers such as Christine Brewer, Christopher Maltman and Andrew Kennedy.

Choral music is another strong Hyperion preserve, and here I'd go for the Corydon Singers' recordings of Vaughan Williams (especially the Dona Nobis Pacem) and Rachmaninov (the Vespers, an outstanding performance). The Holst Singers have also charmed, and earlier recordings of Poulenc and Janacek by the New London Chamber Choir have proved very striking.

Early music is another field in which the label excels, and many Kings Consort recordings have brought this field alive for me. Chief among them is Handel's 'Water Music', coupled with an equally pictorial 'Water Music' by Telemann. I tried to play the cello part for this once and couldn't, so it was great to hear a cello section that could master it! Meanwhile Gothic Voices, under the leadership of Christopher Page, have made several cleverly themed CDs that celebrate the music of Mediaeval times. 'Music for the Lion Hearted King' was one that especially left its mark.

The gathering at a recent party to celebrate the label's achievement told its own story. Artists such as Stephen Hough, Steven Osborne, Angela Hewitt and Leslie Howard were all clearly delighted to be celebrating the label’s achievement, the boundaries between their administration, marketing and creative sides completely blurred.

So a very happy birthday Hyperion – and here's to another 30 years of musical exploration. My bank manager might not like you, but you're a real asset to classical music listeners in this country!

Diaghilev and the Ballet Russes

If you are in any way connected with 20th century classical music, the Diaghilev exhibition running for the rest of the year at London's Victoria & Albert museum is a mandatory visit.

On a walk round the generously filled tableaux, a vivid picture emerges of life on and off stage with the Ballet Russes in Paris, and it was certainly no place for shrinking violets or introverts!

There are many great things to see in the exhibition, but none have the impact of the backdrop used for later performances of Stravinsky's 'Firebird'. Walking round the corner to see this huge piece of cloth is a genuinely breathtaking moment.

What also becomes clear is the sheer number of ballets commissioned and staged by Diaghilev, and all are given plenty of exposure here. As well as the obvious examples - the Stravinsky trilogy of 'The Firebird', 'Petrushka' and 'The Rite Of Spring', Debussy's 'Jeux' or Ravel's 'Daphnis et Chloé', there are other startling pieces of modernism. Erik Satie's 'Parade' features strange, mechanistic figures, two of which stand silently towards the end of the exhibition. Prokofiev's 'Chout', a noisy rabble of a piece, is represented by garish costumes, while other composers we might consider minor are also covered - Liadov, Hahn, Nikolai Tcherepnin and Florent Schmitt all writing stage works for the impresario.

There are more artefacts, with commendable space given to Diaghilev's love of arranging 'old' music. One of the masters in this discipline, Respighi, is represented by a florid letter, while there is a page from 'The Firebird', a backdrop from Milhaud's 'Le Train bleu', and four murky impressions of the 'Rite' itself. A beautiful blue background adorns the design for Stravinsky's 'Apollo', while blazing oranges and yellows stand behind Rimsky-Korsakov's 'Golden Cockerel'.

Inspired by the exhibition I turned to Spotify for a musical complement, which can be found here as a playlist:

http://open.spotify.com/user/benjammin22/playlist/594U5AK8jXv3KPxQvCnbCB

On listening to this it was a delight to rediscover the melodically attractive Poulenc suite for 'Les Biches' and Igor Markevitch's masterly conducting of Rimsky's brilliant suite for 'The Golden Cockerel'. Even without the obvious figures of Stravinsky, Ravel and Debussy, these two alone show how Diaghilev was capable of bringing out the best from his composers.

As something to brighten up the Autumn and provide creative inspiration, this is an hour incredibly well spent - and I will certainly return for more before the exhibition ends in January.

Sending classical music into Orbit

Almost imperceptibly, Decca have sneaked out a second volume of William Orbit's 'Pieces In A Modern Style'.

This may not seem like a massive event, but I remember the furore over the first album when Orbit was on Warners. Copyright issues prevented its release for a long time, and when it did finally come out in 2000 the reaction amongst many of the classical press was one of horror. It sold well, though, and introduced a lot of people to new music in the process.

Especially successful was his arrangement of Barber's 'Adagio for Strings' was hugely successful, a sort of cloudy synthesized registration that stayed faithful to the original, like a mottled Wendy Carlos. Orbit maintains this second volume is more to do with his love of the music rather than a desire to turn more people to classical music, which I firmly believe having interviewed him twice in recent years, but it may have the same effect once again.

It's fair to assume the classical press will continue in their indifference, especially when there are arrangements such as Elgar's 'Nimrod' to be heard. It seems here that Orbit has drawn from the success not just of Barber's 'Adagio' but also its remix by Ferry Corsten, who turned it into a floor filling trance music monster.

'Nimrod' ends up pitched some way in between, with some odd sounding bleeps and atmospherics that break down to a slightly psychedelic bit in the middle. Unfortunately the impact is harmed somewhat by the piece ending that bit too fast. Listening to it I was reminded of the time I tried to write a piece of trance music lifting the chords from Elgar's Cello Concerto, which was certainly unusual but petered out all too quickly once it had run its course.

Some of Orbit's arrangements stand the music on its head. 'Morning' from Grieg's 'Peer Gynt' has a very strange emphasis rhythmically, and while it loses a lot of its charm it benefits from an interesting choice of instrumentation. Likewise 'In Paradisum', which leans on Fauré's beautiful harmonic sleights in the last movement of his Requiem, while Bach's 'Arioso' tries some neat spatial tricks. Unfortunately Saint-Saëns' 'Aquarium', from 'Carnival of the Animals', is not so successful, laced liberally with cheese.

While the above proves is that these arrangements won't please everybody familiar with the originals, and might even annoy, but at no time is Orbit trying to preach from a soapbox. He simply loves the music, and wants to use his abilities in the studio to present it in a different light.

Even if the only thing to come out of the listening experience is a greater respect for the original, that surely has to be a good thing too.

More riveting than magnetism?

So goes the description of Herbert Glossner, as he talks of light directed through a glass prism in a physics class. The writer, a frequent contributor to booklet notes for ECM Records, is using this as a parallel for the music of Arvo Pärt, who himself has said, "I could compare my music to white light, in which all the colours are included". As Pärt reaches his 75th birthday it seems a good time to look again at a composer who to this day proves divisive.

There are some who would say the simplicity of Part's much vaunted 'tintinnabuli' style, relegated to 'holy minimalism' by lazy journalists, steers him away from the idea of any harmonic development. As Glossner points out, though, it is wrong to speak of tonality in the case of Pärt - better, perhaps to look at the triad itself that he has chosen with which to operate in a particular piece.

'Fratres' is a great example here. It is an incredibly flexible piece, a meditation just shy of ten minutes that has been arranged for all kinds of instrumental combinations, from violin and piano to string orchestra. It is definitely the original setting of twelve cellos that works the best, though, and this appears on the first ECM disc to feature the music of Pärt, which remains their most important classical music release.

In this version, 'Fratres' stays rooted to its pedal note of 'G' throughout, making the most of the cellos' open strings and casting a haunting spell as the melody repeats, the harmony bending in response to the melody. The cellists themselves gently knock their instruments at the end of each phrase, giving a natural resonance for a helpful punctuation point.

Since 'Fratres' and 'Cantus In Memoriam Benjamin Britten', the first examples of his 'tintinnabuli' style, Pärt has been incredibly popular for a modern composer, and his Third symphony, an important junction in his output, shows how he has drawn from early music to inform his harmonic and melodic thinking.

This too is clear from the St John Passion, which I saw at the Proms last week (reviewed on Classical Source), though less so in the Fourth symphony (which I reviewed over on musicOMH), given its UK premiere at the festival by the Philharmonia and Esa-Pekka Salonen.

It made me wonder if the adulation he receives in the West these days means he spends less time in his home country of Estonia, and if his music and its effects are now more Hollywood than Tallinn. In the two concerts I have wondered at the St John Passion and its subtle repetition and meditation, spun over an hour and ten minutes, then have scratched my head rather more at the structure and apparent lack of climax in the Fourth Symphony. This work, subtitled Los Angeles, shows just how far from home Pärt is now operating, and though its style is unmistakeably his, it feels much more preplanned than a piece such as 'Cantus' or 'Fratres'.

It will be interesting to see if Pärt continues to respond to overseas commissions in this way. When he's at his best his music truly is captivating and entrancing, but it seems that as with so many contemporary composers the early works are the best – or, for now, the best understood. Time will tell, but I will continue to head to his music of the 1970s and 1980s for an assurance of originality and truly wonderful other-worldliness.

Schumann - a birthday wish

Two centuries ago this year, one of my favourite composers was born – Robert Schumann. His influence on his contemporaries, notably Brahms, is considerable, while Elgar, Shostakovich and more recently Kurtág are just three composers to acknowledge his influence and recognise his subtle innovations and melodic skills.
In this month's Gramophone magazine, the cellist Steven Isserlis, an ardent exponent of the composer, delights in his unpredictable style, focussing on more unsung pieces such as the piano trios to prove his point, and pointing out that these, along with several Schumann chamber works, are now regular features of the concert repertoire.

And yet it remains fashionable for journalists and critics to take pot shots at him, and they find it all too easy to criticise orchestration, melodic style, harmonic invention and form. On one of the sites for which I regularly write, I have found three separate reviewers condemning the 'Rhenish' symphony as a deeply flawed work. One even goes as far as to say that 'most famous for his lieder, Schumann's skills as a symphonist are questionable to say the least'.

This, in my view at least, is utter rubbish - whichever of the composer’s four symphonies you choose to listen to. Steven Isserlis also argues on the composer's behalf, both in the characteristically passionate Gramophone piece and in an interview I did with him for musicOMH, where he affirmed Schumann to be his favourite composer.

In my opinion, Schumann proves a highly gifted melodist, an extremely perceptive mood setter, and a composer with a beautiful harmonic turn to his writing. Many of his works bear this out - and as I write I continue to discover more. Two examples will suffice, however, despite the temptation to turn to the piano music – the first the glorious Adagio and Allegro for horn or cello and piano, and the second the unfairly maligned 'Rhenish'.

That no less a figure than Oliver Knussen performed the symphony at the Proms recently shows how much esteem in which he holds the work. In the best performances this piece bursts from the blocks with an expression of undiluted joy, and in the two period instrument performances I have been lucky enough to enjoy that has emphatically been the case.

Sure, there are plenty of notes at times, and the good tunes are repeated relatively frequently, but the notion these techniques are somehow backward is a hackneyed one. Indeed, when Mahler revisited the symphonies to change some of the orchestration and form this was out of love and admiration, so that he could use them as a conductor – a fact lost on several writers who have used this as another stick with which to beat the composer.

So let's hear it for one of the 19th century's true musical greats and finest composers, and let's hope he gets his due recognition, despite the current state of misunderstanding.