Submitted JANUARY 2001

Russian composer Edison Denisov (1929-1996) was just old enough when he began his career to be immediately censored by the Stalinist-run Culture Ministry—like every other Russian composer of his day. However, as time went by, those strictures weakened and his music gained in popularity, particularly when he turned to composing music for the international film community. This disc contains three suites (orchestrated and arranged by Yuri Kasparov) from movies that best represent Denisov’s work in this genre. While perhaps not as distinct as Prokofieff’s Alexander Nevsky suite, they are a few notches above Shostakovich’s film work. They certainly are not the product of Soviet realism. As for the music itself, Une Etoile Sans Nom/A Nameless Star (1978) has flourishes of turn-of-the-century European Romanticism, while Un Mari Ideal/An Ideal Husband (1980) is a bit more modern (using collage techniques) and briefly tapping into elements of American jazz and ragtime music. It’s still a romantic masterpiece. La Tortue Tortilla/Turtle Tortilla (1960) is based on a Russian version of Pinocchio and has even more elements of jazz (and swing as well) than An Ideal Husband. Strangely, the Orchestre de la Cinematographie Russe takes to the jazz sequences quite well. There’s a very confident trumpeter in the orchestra who’s got his Harry James down solid. Sonics and overall orchestral performances here are quite good. And while A Nameless Star might seem a bit dated, An Ideal Husband and Turtle Tortilla are very much worth a listen. Overall, a fine release from Le Chant Du Monde.

Haukur Tomasson (b. 1960 in Iceland ) is one of a generation of young composers who is successfully mixing of some of the atonal collage techniques of his Scandinavian elders, at the same time infusing his music with strong elements of non-nationalistic romanticism. A fine example of this is his Concerto for Violin and Chamber Orchestra (1997). Some of the cadenzas are right out of the 19 th century, where the soloist (Sigrun Eovaldsdottir) plays several long—and quite breath-taking—passages, unaccompanied and uninterrupted by the orchestra. The orchestra, when it appears, is often mere backdrop. It’s a powerful showcase for any violinist who happens to tackle it (and in this case soloist Eovaldsdottir tackles it very well). One minor technical fault of the work is that the percussive elements that close the second movement have a tendency to get out of hand. But the work itself remains impressive, mostly because the manner in which Tomasson handles harmony and harmonic structures. Both Arhringur (Annual Ring) of 1994 and Spirall/Spiral of 1992 are works based entirely on the outwardly rippling effect of harmonic clusters. Also present in both of these works are elements of advanced serialism (more Boulez than Stockhausen). But, again, harmonics are not lost, only the logic of serial patterning is retained. The final work of this release is Stemma (of 1997). “Stemma” means chant, and the chanting here is done by alternating elements of the orchestra, with some of the same rippling harmonic effects found in Arhringur and Spirall. Anyone following the evolution of Scandinavian music will find quite a lot here to admire. The overall sound tends to be tinny at times with a bit more spaciousness than suits the focused quality of the music. Still, all of the performers involved are expert and they approach this music with considerable affection. Can’t ask for more than that.

This is a reissue of a 1993 EMI (64687) release of three works centering on two of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories and one poem. The French have always had a love affair with Poe, starting with the Symbolist poet Charles Baudelaire who translated the bulk of Poe’s work into French. Claude Debussy, a near-contemporary of Baudelaire, read these poems and set out to write a lyrical drama on The Fall of the House of Usher. La Chute de la Maison Usher, the longest work here at 22 minutes, has all the lyrical moodiness of Debussy’s mature period, and this suits the music (and libretto) just fine. Jean-Phillipe Lafont (baritone) is the hypochondriacal Roderick Usher, Pierre-Yves Le Maigat (bass-baritone) is the bewildered friend and Christine Barbaux (soprano) is the doomed Lady Madeline Usher. All vocal parts are sung very well and the orchestral matrix is nicely moderated throughout. This is not one of Debussy’s better-known works and that’s a shame. Debussy fans will want this as part of their collection. Andre Caplet (1878-1925) knew Baudelaire personally and was inspired to write a tone poem for harp and string orchestra based on the moods of The Masque of the Red Death.Le Masque de la mort rouge is much more rooted in the compositional techniques of the early 20 th century; it’s more roughly textured than the Debussy, or the Schmitt to follow. The harpist, Frederique Chambreling, does an admirable job and the work, as a whole, is quite alluring. Andre Caplet’s output was quite small, but this piece shows that he was a very competent composer. Etude pour “Le Palais Hante” by Florent Schimtt (1870-1958) which closes the disc, is tone poem based on the Poe poem “The Haunted Palace”. The mood of the work is more Delius than Debussy, but it still is a delight. The physical sound here could have used a tad more moderation at the high end; the brasses and winds tend toward shrillness in places. Still, it’s a work that should be better known than it is. I don’t know if Poe fans will go for this music, but the rest of us should.

American composer Lucia Dlugoszewski (1934-2000) wrote a kind of music that’s hard to pigeonhole, but can, at the very least, be described as freely atonal. Her forte is pure sound, and the sounds she comes up with are actually quite interesting. Disparate Stairway Radical Other (1995) is for string ensemble and is an outgrowth of a dance project called Journey of a Poet. The strings are taken through rough pizzicato passages with all sorts of strained glissandi interspersed throughout. The White Oak Ensemble performs this very well and the sonics are stellar. Exacerbated Subtlety Concert (Why Does a Woman Love a Man?) is a 1997 composition that closely resembles (in strategy but not intent) some of John Cage’s works for prepared piano. The prepared piano in this case calls for the strings to be covered with several varieties of paper, hairpins, rubber wedges, thimbles, Gerbers’ baby food jars, tuning forks, and combs. Dlugoszewski herself performs this work; she also runs wires (like dental floss) through the piano strings. This work might remind the listener of similar sound structures in the music of Toru Takemitsu. It has a very zen-like meditative quality to it. Tender Theatre Flight Nageire (1978) is for brass quintet and non-pitched percussion (with the composer handling the percussion duties). This is a more dynamic work, thanks to the brass ensemble (Gerard Schwarz is one of the trumpets). Again the work is played with affection and precision, and the sonics are very good. The percussion employed here is very diverse; Dlugoszewski even uses a wobble board to great effect. Finally, Space is a Diamond (1970) is for solo trumpet and Gerard Schwarz gets a wide range of sound out of his instrument. The performance is confident and the physical sound is warm and intimate. Dlugoszewski did not write much during her career, but what she left behind is of merit. She was certainly doing things in the 1970s that were quite radical and very much forward-looking. Overall, this is an excellent collection, if for somewhat specialized tastes.

The works contained on this disc are, according to the booklet, the best from Danish composer Matthias Ronnefeld’s short career. Born in 1959, Ronnefeld died in 1987 of advanced diabetes. He leaves behind compositions heavily influenced by the serialism of Alban Berg, particularly in his vocal works, and the pointillism of Gyorgy Ligeti, especially in his chamber compositions. Grodek (1980) is for chamber orchestra, mezzo-soprano and soprano. Both Berg and Ligeti are the main influences, with the female voices trading off the lines of a Georg Trakl poem. Capriccio (1982) is an eerie, Bergian exchange between a violin and harpsichord. Though played expertly (Christian Tetzlaff on the violin and Lars Ulrik Mortensen on the harpsichord), the violin is a bit too prominent (or the harpsichord too recessed) to suit the work. It’s still quite interesting. Vier Lieder fur Dulcinea (1981) is an art song, again influenced by Berg. Unfortunately, the soprano, Daniela Bechley (whose voice is quite sublime), is fairly clobbered by the piano, which tends more often than not to be bombastic. Konzertstuck fur Orgel (1980) is, perhaps, the most interesting work here. It’s a 12-minute piece for solo organ (Jens E. Christensen is the soloist) and is an adroit mixture of Bach and Ligeti. Andante fur Viola and 5 Instruments (1979) is a very restrained work, with each element’s role quite clearly articulated, for a change. Sieben Lieder nach dem Hobelied Solomos (1981) is a collection of seven art songs for soprano and has many of the same Bergian elements as the earlier Grodek. Seiben Leider, however, shares many of the same sonic flaws as the other vocal works on this release. The voices are far stronger than the projection abilities of any of the other instruments, except the brasses. And this is the major flaw of this release. The music requires far better balances than exist here. This isn’t to say it’s an extraordinarily bad recording, but better production values might have help improve the quality of this difficult music.

Armenian composer Boris Parsadanjan (1925-1997) got his musical education at Moscow ’s famous Gnessin School where everyone (at the time) was under the influence of Shostakovich. Though Parsadanjan went on to Tallinn to study composition with Heino Eller, he still ended up composing in the shadow of Shostakovich. His String Quartet of 1974 is a very close Shostakovich knock-off. The shrill violins and deep bass cello lines found in Shostakovich are all there. In fact, it’s hard to distinguish this work from any one of Shostakovich’s early string quartets. This holds true for the Sonata for Violin and Cello (1975). This work has a curious sound quality to it: the violin sounds as if he’s playing about ten feet away from the microphone. Both roles here are performed excellently; you just have to get used to the distance of the violin. (This work may have been recorded on an open stage rather than a closed studio.) Concerto for Flute and Orchestra (no date given) will also remind the listener of the merry opening and closing movements of Shostakovich’s 9 th Symphony. The flutist, Samuel Saulus, does a bang-up job here and the overall sonics are very good. Parsadanjan’s Seventh Symphony (no date given) is much more contemporary in its use of atonal compositional techniques, but still the ghost of Shostakovich lurks in the background. Only the Seventh Symphony contains sparks of originality, but that may or may not be enough to warrant the purchase of this disc, particularly when the sound quality varies from work to work. So it’s up to you.

Leonardo Balada (b. 1933), a contemporary Spanish composer heavily influenced by native Catalan Folk music, manages to transcend the presence of Manuel De Falla with this release. Witness the extraordinary Violin Concerto of 1982. It comes in at 26 minutes with much of that time given over to the pyrotechnics of soloist Andres Cardenes whose skill easily matches the temperament of this beautiful work. (You will not find the specter of De Falla haunting the pages of the Violin Concerto anywhere.) In fact, Balada will take his influences from any source that works for him, Spanish or otherwise. Folk Dreams compiles three folk melodies from not only Spain , but Latvia and Ireland . The Latvian melody, called “Line and Thunder” is particularly striking. Sardinia of 1979 evokes more of a western Mediterranean mood than a specifically Spanish one, with all sorts of playfully shrill violins and dance motifs. Flamenco rhythms inform the Fantasias Sonoras (1987), which is something of a concerto for orchestra; certainly no instrument or instrument section goes unused. This highlights Balada’s compositional abilities. He has an ear for common melodies and an ability to incorporate them in a wide range of rhythmic structures, some of which are dance oriented, others, as in Fantasias Sonoras, are simple melodic cells cast into all kinds of interesting variations. The Barcelona Symphony Orchestra takes to this music quite well and the sound quality—typical for Naxos these days—is rich and full. Give this one a listen.

Gerald Finzi (1901-1956) wrote his Concerto for Clarinet and Strings (1948) as a post-war commission, but the work draws all of its spiritual power from pre-World War Two British Romanticism—principally Bax, Delius, and Vaughan Williams. The beautiful second movement, for example, rivals the best of Vaughan Williams without sounding anything at all like that composer. Most of what Finzi wrote in his (relatively brief) lifetime was for the human voice. In the Concerto for Clarinet and Strings, the clarinet’s role is very much like that of a human voice. Soloist Margaret Donaghue’s main strength lies in her self-effacement: she completely disappears into the role, letting the music emerge to tell its own tale. This may very well be Finzi’s best purely orchestral work, and if you haven’t heard it, you’re in for a treat. The Brahms’ Sonata No. 2 in E flat, which follows, was originally for clarinet and piano. Conductor Thomas Sleeper orchestrates this version, vastly improving upon the work (if such a thing is possible). The full orchestra provides an extraordinary depth to the piece, but without drowning out the clarinet. Brahms’ aficionados might think this a violation, but they should give it a listen first. It’s quite a delight. The last work here, Richard Strauss’ Romanze for Clarinet and Orchestra in B flat Major rounds out this disc of three powerhouse romances for clarinet. The physical sound throughout is warm and intimate. It also helps to have a well-matched soloist and orchestra, and a conductor who knows the heart of these works. I very much recommend this disc, especially for the Finzi.

Part of what makes this job fun is the occasional disc that knocks my teeth out. Rene Eespere (b. 1953) is an Estonian composer who writes like no one you’ve ever heard. Staunchly Romantic, Eespere belongs in the tradition of Arvo Part and Heino Eller, but without sounding like either of those men. Eespere employs familiar tricks of the Romanticist’s trade, but updates them (or goes retro) when it suits the music. For example, his Concerto Ritornello for Chamber Orchestra (1982/1993) employs baroque rhythmic structures, yet it canters along with an unusual spiritedness not found anywhere in the Baroque era. The Concerto also has a gorgeous violin (cast in the ritornello mode) that adds to the breathlessness of the work. Extra mention must also be made here of the studio sound with its uncharacteristic richness and depth, particularly in the lower registers. I don’t know how they did it, but it sounds unlike anything I’ve ever heard. The same kind of energetic momentum imbues the Concerto for Flute and Chamber Orchestra (1995/1998). Again, Eespere instills his music with constantly moving parts, carrying the listener along a definite journey. The same can be said for the Concerto for Viola and Chamber Orchestra (1996/1998), where the viola’s dour temperament rules, evoking the dark winter days common to northern Europe. (This work might remind you of the spells cast by American composer Samuel Barber.) The soloists in these last two works—Neeme Punder on the flute and Maano Manni on the viola—conduct themselves very well, especially flutist Punder who manages not to sound flighty on one hand or shrill on the other. But part of what makes these compositions work is the tightness of the writing and the fact that they are for the limited forces of a chamber orchestra. If you’re a Romantic at heart (even a closet Romantic will do), then I very much recommend this release.

Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897-1957) was the student of Alexander Von Zemlinsky (1871-1942) and their music, particularly these two sextets, reflects the spirit of late 19 th century Vienna. Their music, in other words, bears the heavy Romantic influence of Richard Wagner. They also happen to be nearly identical in spirit, mood and execution. Still, neither of these sextets are the kinds of “private” documents found in the quartets of Bartok or Shostakovich. Both are easily accessible; both are delicious Romantic aperitifs. The energetic Korngold Sextet in D, for example, has a set of dolorous inner movements of uncharacteristic charm, performed very well here by the Weiner Streichsextett (the two cellos are outstanding). The alert listener might even find some comparisons to Dvorak’s Sextet in A.

Alexander Von Zemlinsky did not write a work for string sextet, per se. His Two Movements for String Sextet (of 1896) is composed of the surviving outer movements of a string quartet that Johannes Brahms “improved” by mercilessly gutting it. (He claimed that Mozart had set the standards long ago and even he—Brahms—abided by those standards.) The two fragments lay around for years until Zemlinsky published them as they were. Curiously, the two movements sound nothing like Brahms or Mozart and go quite well with the Korngold that precedes it. The final work here, Zemlinsky’s “Maiblumen bluhten uberall” for Soprano and String Sextet (of 1890), is another fragment of a failed string sextet to which Zemlinsky later applied the text of a Richard Dehmel poem. Soprano Juliane Banse’s voice is a fine addition to the modest forces of the string sextet. Each work, however, has a judiciously controlled studio setting that helps bolster the natural warmth of this music. These compositions might be obscure, but they’re very much worth one’s time, especially Zemlinsky’s beautiful “Maiblumen bluhten uberall” for Soprano and String Sextet. It’s a rare gem all of it’s own.

This disc highlights the virtuoso talents of violinist Camilla Wicks. Though Wicks was born in America and took her major music lessons here, she spent her busy adolescence back in Norway where, among other things, she became friends with Norwegian composer Bjarne Brustad. The Brunstad Violin Concerto No. 4, of 1963, is a freewheeling, energetic—and thoroughly Romantic—affair with long cadenza sequences liberally placed throughout the three movements. Wicks’ performances here are virtually flawless. The same holds true for the Walton Concerto for Violin and Orchestra (1938/39). The Walton, however, is more balanced, trading off between the role of the violin and the role of the orchestra (i.e., fewer cadenzas). It’s obviously the better-known work, but the Brustad could use more exposure. Now the bad news: these are both concert performance recordings even though the booklet doesn’t say so. Between the movements of both works you can hear the orchestra shuffling their scores, the audience shifting in their seats, throats being cleared. Heavy applause follows the conclusion of both works. The audience ambiences in the Walton are less obtrusive, but present nonetheless. Also on the downside: the Brustad Violin Concerto is a mono recording. It’s hardly noticeable, but you can detect a slight flatness to the sound. However, to Wicks’ credit as a performer, one’s attention early on becomes focused on her. Wicks’ abilities are exceptional and I rate these very high. And if these are the only Camilla Wicks recordings on the market, then that factor alone is enough to recommend this disc. On the other hand, overall sound features are also important, and while the physical sound isn’t entirely bad here, the audience noises are a bit off-putting. The decision is yours.

The string quartet was Ernst Toch’s forte. He published twelve official quartets in his lifetime (1887-1964), but as many as seven were lost during the Holocaust. (The composer also junked five juvenilia quartets when he turned 20.) Born in Vienna, Toch received his education there, but as Europe became unsettled after World War One, he immigrated to the United States. While Toch’s latter style became heavily influenced by avant-garde trends, his early music, as exemplified in these two string quartets, Opus 12 and Opus 15, are very much of the early 19 th century and profoundly Germanic. Mozart is the model here, both in structure and execution. String Quartet Opus 15 in G Major has a typical allegro-andante-vivace-allegro structure common to Mozart, but Toch throws in several catchy folkdance melodies, especially in the first movement and the third. The String Quartet Opus 12 in A Major is a more delicate affair and Mozart to the core. The performances of the Braude Quartet are de rigueur for this kind of music, but the specters of Mozart and to some degree Beethoven give these works a mechanical character that drains the spirit from them. (And why not record the latter quartets instead of these two lazy Viennese knockoffs?) It doesn’t help much that the studio ambience provides a bit too much airiness to the violins and not enough underscoring depth to the cello. That aside, this is very safe music. And if you’re a fan of the string quartet, as descended from Mozart, then this disc might provide some pleasure for you.

Alexandre Tansman (1897-1986) was born and educated in Poland and in his youth had the great good fortune to travel to Paris where he became friends with Ravel, Honegger and Milhaud. But if his symphonies are filled with French flourishes, Tansman’s chamber works are clearly American. Tansman had moved his family to Hollywood before World War Two broke out; consequently, his music exhibits some of the dramatic elements of American film and especially jazz. Partita (1955) begins with quite somber European moods, especially on the cello, but shifts over to more urban rhythms that conjure the hustle and bustle of New York City. Deux Pieces (1931) shows clear traces of Darius Milhaud on the cello, but the piano has a nice understated role, tossing in off-key notes, giving the piece a unexpectedly goofy character. (You can tell that cellist Alexander Zagorinsky and pianist Alexei Shmitov are having fun.) Sonata for cello and piano (1930) is more updated into the realm of modern jazz, but without crossing the line entirely. Quatre Pieces Faciles (1981) is a very brief assembly of “four easy pieces”. Of all the works on this release, it’s the most Russian in flavor. All told, the performances here are first-rate and the physical sound is good, if a tad too narrowly focused at times. A bit of sonic depth would have served the exuberant spirit of the music more. It’s still a fabulous release.

While the music of Scottish composer James MacMillan (b. 1959) shows the clear influences of 20 th century Modernism, his heart and soul remain strongly allied with the Romantics, especially those of Great Britain. His Sinfonietta (of 1991) is a gorgeous affair that begins with a long melancholy introduction that sets the stage for periodic clamorous intrusions that might remind the listener of Giya Kancheli’s compositions. However, MacMillan’s disruptive gestures are not nearly as explosive as those found in Kancheli. Despite these gestures, the Sinfonietta’s meditative core holds the piece together throughout. Cummock Fair (of 1998/99) for piano and string orchestra, an energetic concerto grosso, gives the piano (Graeme McNaught) a turn at a nicely shaped obbligato role. Again, the disruptive, discordant statements appear, but these are mitigated by the easy-going lyricism of the work (with some familiar folk tunes tossed in for good measure). MacMillan’s Symphony No. 2 (of 1999) shows clear influences of Pierre Boulez as well as some of contemporary Scandinavians (both Leif Segerstam and Einojuhani Rautavaara come to mind). Still, MacMillan’s penchant for melodic grounding resonates through the work. His pizzicato atmospherics, though, are a wonder to behold. This music is given a very sympathetic reading by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra, especially in the Symphony No. 2. The sonics are also top-notch, typical for Bis productions. MacMillan clearly has something new and fresh to say.

The music of Peter Eotvos is filled with high atmospherics, strange sound effects and peculiar uses of the voice—all to the delight of the human ear. This release of three works for full orchestra has one clear masterpiece and two close contenders. Atlantis (1995), the tour-de-force, is for full orchestra, boy soprano, baritone and an excellently miked cimbalom. Based on a text by Sandor Weores, the three long sections of Atlantis resonate with vaporous sounds (the cimbalom, tight, eerie strings) and throaty undercurrents from bassoons and kettledrums. The vocal lines are bright and robust. (The boy soprano is Kolner Domchor and the baritone is Dietrich Henschel.) The sound engineering on Atlantis is spectacular, due, in part, to the fact that this is a live performance recording and everything has a grand spaciousness. No studio could possibly match the sonics achieved here. Atlantis also contains some of the spookiest sounds ever to come out of a cimbalom. Like Atlantis, Psychokosmos (1993) also employs the cimbalom, this time in a more featured role (Marta Fabian does the honors on this piece as well as on Atlantis). Also like Atlantis, Psychokosmos is a coherent meditative work, despite its raging atonal spirit. Shadows (1996) highlights the flute and clarinet and will remind the listener of some of Toru Takamitsu’s Zen-inspired writing for winds and strings. The WDR Symphony Orchestra takes to this music with both skill and aplomb. One caveat: The recording of Shadows is littered with coughs and shufflings that are very pronounced and quite disruptive (common with many live recordings). But the mesmerizing Atlantis on its own is worth the price of admission. This disc puts Peter Eotvos on the map.

The chamber music of contemporary Irish composer Ian Wilson draws its inspiration from modern art. Musically, Wilson employs collage techniques where he can use a wide range of atonal sound textures (and a little bit of jazz) to duplicate what he sees in 20 th century art. (Wilson has also learned quite a lot from studying the string quartets of Alfred Schnittke.) String Quartet No. 2 “The Capsizing Man and other stories” best represents Wilson’s writing style and, to his credit, his ideas remain both lucid and logical. The Vanbrugh Quartet takes to Wilson’s brand of dissonance very sympathetically. There’s a delicate high octave choir in the second movement that’s at once shrill and mesmerizing—very hard to pull off successfully. (Credit here should also go to the session producer. We often forget how important the sound engineers are in classical music recordings. They, too, have to have a sympathetic ear.) Winter’s Edge – String Quartet No. 1 is a more robust and youthful work, with all kinds of angular twists and turns; the full studio ambience, however, helps prevent Winter’s Edge from becoming acerbic. As it is, the Vanbrugh Quartet clearly knows how to keep the piece’s natural aggressiveness in check (their performances are never over-the-top). The final work, Towards the Far Country – String Quartet No. 3, employs a more assertive collage technique, but it’s also interspersed with brief solo or duet moments (the cello has some dandy solo passages) that help maintain the work’s songlike character. And the coda is a wonder to behold—it’s unexpectedly calm, meditative and sweet. These quartets will probably appeal only to those with very modern tastes, but the performances are excellent and the sound couldn’t be better.

The music of Scottish composer James MacMillan (b. 1959) is mostly a hit-or-miss affair. When his ideas work, they work spectacularly. (See for example his Symphony No. 2, on BIS 1119.) When they miss, they’re quite wide of the mark, as on this release from Black Box of works centering on the cello. The broader array of orchestral forces clearly allows MacMillan to flesh out his ideas and give them considerable intellectual depth. But in a simple sonata setting, his ideas merely appear vapid. The good news, however, is that this disc brings cellist Raphael Wallfisch back into the public eye (or ear, as the case may be). Mr. Wallfisch has a huge discography of performance work on the Chandos label and has yet to turn in an uninspired performance. His work on this release is no exception. Fourteen Little Pictures takes the cello—accompanied by the piano—through several primly characterized variations, and these variations only hold together because of Mr. Wallfisch’s sympathetic readings of this music. Wallfisch’s inclinations are to highlight the natural warmth of the cello while the pianist, James York, merely bangs away at his instrument. (None of this is Mr. York’s fault, either. It’s the writing.) Mr. York, however, does manage to exonerate himself on Angel, a four-minute affair of single notes interspersed by long stretches of silence, a la Morton Feldman, but without Feldman’s broken rhythms or fractured tonalities. The major work here is the Cello Sonata No. 1 and it has more to redeem it than any other work on this release, due, in large measure, to Mr. Wallfisch’s abilities. The bracketing movements of this work are filled with gorgeous cello passages that almost make this disc a worthwhile addition to anyone’s collection of contemporary classical music. As it is, composer MacMillan needs a clearer sense of direction, a greater vision to give his music meaning. These works, however, come across as mere graduate student noodlings, despite the fine efforts of Mr. Wallfisch and Mr. York.

American composer David Ward-Steinman draws considerable inspiration from a great many British composers of the last 50 years or so. In his music you can hear the dashing spirit of Malcolm Arnold, the quirky pacing of Havergal Brian, and Arnold Bax’s staunch romanticism (without any of his moroseness). These elements are particularly evident in Ward-Steinman’s Cello Concerto (1964-66), a effervescent affair that takes the cello through several mercurial transformations, all to the delight of the listener. Howard Colf’s performance on the cello is both adroit and sympathetic, but in this piece, the overall sonics are very strange. The concerto is a bright, cheerful affair, entrancing throughout, but here and there the sound of the cello fades, leaving in its wake a very peculiar echo. In the third movement (at 3:48, to be precise), the miking on the cello is dead-on, then suddenly (and inexplicably) the echo appears. This only lasts a few bars, then everything returns to normal. I can’t imagine how it was done or whether it was done intentionally. Still, for all that, the Cello Concerto is a beautiful work and has much to recommend it. The echoing effect is not present in the Cinnabar Concerto for viola and chamber orchestra (1991-93). Karen Elaine Bakunin is the soloist and she takes to her role with confidence and élan, even if the work is not as perky as the Cello Concerto (but then the viola is not a particularly perky instrument). The last work here is the very dynamic Chroma Concerto (1985) for multiple keyboards, percussion, and chamber orchestra. It’s a wild ride of prepared piano sounds and computer effects. Through it all Ward-Steinman keeps it alive with a blithe romantic spirit. All the performances here are quite good, particularly those of the Moravian Philharmonic Orchestra of Olomouc of the Czech Republic which backs everybody up. They seem a natural for this kind of music. I can recommend this disc for the sheer pleasure of the music, despite the slightly distracting resonant echo of the cello in the Cello Concerto.

And then I quit. I got $25 for each review and had to turn them in yesterday (which was never soon enough for my two editors) and so I quit ClassicsToday.com. But it still is a good source for almost instant reviews of classical music. Go there at ClassicsToday.com.

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