Classical Candor

Recent Reases No. 86 (CD Reviews)

2026-10-13T08:39:45.021-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Schubert: Symphony No. 8 in B minor, D. 759 “Unfinished”; Symphony No. 9 in C major, D. 944 “The Great”. Park Avenue Chamber Symphony; David Bernard, conductor. Recursive Classics RC6758911

Today we think of these two Schubert symphonies as old friends, natural discmates on CD, works that have been part of the standard orchestral repertoire ever since Schubert completed putting pen to paper. However, the actual story is much different, as music critic David Patrick Stearns explains in his liner note essay: “Franz Peter Schubert’s nine symphonies represent a Viennese musical crossroad – a busy one – though when different currents came together in his final few works, nobody knew it for decades. In Schubert’s lifetime (1797-1828) Symphony No. 8 (Unfinished) was partly completed in 1822, later forgotten and not heard until 1865. Symphony No. 9 (The Great) was finished in 1827, not published until 1849, was considered unreasonably long and laughed at by orchestral musicians.” Fortunately, conductor David Bernard and the musicians of the Park Avenue Chamber Symphony (a full-sized symphony orchestra) hold these symphonies in high regard and present them here in performances that strive for balance and clarity. The music seems to simply unfold naturally, without exaggeration, an approach that is especially well-suited to the Ninth, which can become exhausting if a conductor tries to over-dramatize the score. Not here. Maestro Bernard seems to find the sweet spot between the Classic and Romantic sides of the work, an interpretive approach that comes across as neither buttoned-down nor overblown. The sound quality of this recording is also exemplary, offering an excellent stereo spread plus a sense of depth and warmth. The Stearns essay is a welcome bonus, making this CD an easily recommendable release.

Orff: Carmina Burana. Chen Reiss, soprano; Reginald Mobley, countertenor; Audivi, chorus; Detroit Opera Youth Chorus, children’s chorus; Detroit Symphony Orchestra; Jader Bignamini, conductor. PENTATONE PTC 5187 519

Back in the 1970s when I first began to develop an interest in classical music, there were a couple of compositions that seemed to get a remarkable amount of airplay. Every few days on the local classical FM station we would hear Pictures at an Exhibition or Carmina Burana – or maybe even both. In addition, it seemed as though every classical record label had new recordings of these compositions coming out, not to mention all the recordings already in their back catalogs. These days, however, things seem to have changed. FM classical radio is barely hanging on, and neither Pictures at an Exhibition nor Carmina Burana seem to be attracting much public attention. Lo and behold, however, suddenly it’s 2026 and along comes Pentatone with a new recording of Carl Orff’s greatest hit. As we have come to expect these days, it’s a live concert recording – the days of assembling such a large group of musicians for a “studio” recording are pretty much behind us. Fortunately, the first-class engineering team from Soundmirror has done a commendable job and the sound has convincing impact and clarity – not quite Telarc-class, given the restriction of live performance, but still more than adequate. The performance comes across with life and conviction, reminding the listener of how entertaining this piece can be when performed with conviction by musicians at the top of their game. For those music lovers who have not yet encountered Orff’s spectacular composition, this new performance from Detroit would serve as an excellent introduction.

Recent Releases No. 85 (CD Reviews)

2026-10-01T09:40:41.665-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Bamboo Grove. Zhou Long: Bamboo Grove for Unaccompanied Violin; Chen Yi: Xian Shi for Viola, Percussion, and Piano; Zhou Long: Tales from the Nine Bells for Clarinet, Violin, Viola & Piano; Chen Yi: Suite for Viola and Chamber Winds. Patrick Yim, violin and viola; with Kirsten Docter, viola; Catherine Ramirez, flute; Jennet Ingle, oboe; John Diodati, clarinet; Anna Marsh, bassoon; Matthew Oliphant, horn; Charles Roberts, trumpet; Riley Leitch, trombone; Paul Vaillancourt, percussion; Shuai Wang, piano; Paul Hostetter, conductor. Pentatone PTC 5187 586

In his extensive liner notes, Patrick Yim writes that “across these works, Western instruments are reimagined in striking and often unexpected ways. The violin and viola become vessels for the sounds of the erhu, guquin, yehu, pipa, xiao, lusheng, and ancient bell ensembles; intricate textures evoke the energy of Peking opera percussion and regional folk traditions such as Chaozhou xianshi. Through extended techniques sound color itself becomes an important expressive force… Exquisite orchestration, whirling timbres, finely woven textures, and impassioned lyricism define a sound world that is at one ancient and contemporary.” The program begins with Yim playing the album’s title composition, Zhou Long’s Bamboo Grove, and yes, he truly does coax some unexpected sounds from his violin. I will confess that the first time I auditioned this track, I was put off; however, as I have listened to it more, I have come to appreciate its intricacy and energy. Still, I suspect it will be the most divisive piece on the album for most listeners. The remainder of the album is more likely to appeal to bring more joy to more ears. Chen Yi’s Xian Shi is rooted in folk ensemble music from the composer’s mother’s hometown; although the melodies are rooted in another culture, they still have melodic appeal, and the energetic percussion adds extra appeal. Zhou Long’s Tales from the Nine Bells has more of a dramatic character, the instruments seeming to convey shadowy characters from those mysterious tales. It’s an absorbing musical portrait. Then it’s back to Chen Yi for the final piece on the program, the four-movement Suite for Viola and Chamber Winds, which also features percussion. Adapted from a work for cello and string quartet, it lacks the immediate melodic appeal of her Xian Shi but is still enjoyable on its own merits.

All in all, then, Bamboo Grove is an album well worth seeking out by those music lovers with a desire to broaden their musical horizons. The music is of excellent quality, as is the engineering; moreover, Yim has provided an extensive booklet essay with background information on the composers and their music. For more background on this release, here is a link to a YouTube video.

Constellations. Ravel: Le Tombeau de Couperin (transcr. Mason Jones); Pavane pour le Infante Défunte (transcr. Guy du Cheyron); Barber: Summer Music, Op. 31; Shostakovich: String Quartet No. 8 in C Minor, op. 110 (transcr. David Walter); Èlègie (arr. of Act I, Scene 2 from Lady Macbeth from Mtsensk, transcr. Nicolas Ramez). Ouranos Ensemble (Mathilde Calderini, flute; Amaury Viduvier, clarinet; Philbert Perrine, oboe; Rafael Angster, Bassoon; Nicolas Ramez, horn). Alpha Classics ALPHA 1183

This is one of those releases about which you don’t quite know what to expect, but the idea sounds like an interesting one. A wind quintet playing the Ravel sounds perfectly plausible; however, a Shostakovich string quartet? Hmmm… Intrigued by this unusual program, we gave Constellations repeated auditions, ultimately finding it to be something of a mixed bag, although not without its rewards. Right out of the gate, the Ravel arrangement came across as a slight bit off. Perhaps the problem is one of familiarity with Ravel’s original arrangement for orchestra; in any event, as played here, the weight of the horn and bassoon parts seem to thicken the sound. It is certainly well played; however, there is just something about the overall sonority that just doesn’t quite feel Ravelian. The Barber Summer Music, however, is another story, sounding perfectly balanced for this ensemble; furthermore, like most of Barber’s music, it is engaging and entertaining. Perhaps not surprisingly, it is the only composition on this album that is not a transcription: Barber composed it as a wind quintet. The transcription of the Shostakovich String Quartet No. 8 is the boldest stroke here, and the hardest to assess. On the one hand, it is certainly interesting to hear this familiar piece presented this way, but on the other hand, the original string quartet packs vastly more emotional wallop. The brief Èlègie brings the program to a peaceful, pleasant conclusion. For woodwind fans, Constellations is worth a listen, particularly for the Barber.

Clarinet Concertos by Freda Swain, Denis ApIvor, and Gerald Finzi (CD Review)

2026-09-26T09:13:55.849-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Peter Cigleris, clarinet; Jonathan Raper, timpani; Austin Beattie, percussion; Lynn Arnold, piano; John Andrews, conductor; London Mozart Players. SOMM Recordings SOMMCD 0722

SOMM continues its survey of little-known British repertoire with this release of two newly-recorded clarinet concertos, anchored by one of the great works in the genre. As I have said about the CPO label, we owe SOMM a debt of gratitude for making this repertoire available for us to hear. But their niche is a double-edged sword. For while it is fun to explore fresh names and works, the flip side is that little of this music is likely to catch on widely. The label ostensibly hopes that it sells enough offerings of familiar fare to offset the risk of recording everything else. This probably explains the pairing here of the beloved Finzi Clarinet Concerto with two items that are solid but not nearly as memorable.

Of course SOMM can hardly be expected to come out and say this. But it is curious to read the liner notes by Robert Matthew-Walker, which suggest that all three of these composers are meaningfully groupable. He writes: “Each of these concertos contains elements of restrained, undemonstrative expression, set against moments of strong drama and occasionally trenchant language by composers who knew their limitations and so, in their various ways, achieved genuine art, even if their achievements were neither fully appreciated at the time nor – certainly in two instances – recognised since.” Matthew-Walker continues: “For some listeners, therefore, these three clarinet concertos will come as revelatory experiences – certainly in the previously unappreciated music of Denis ApIvor and Freda Swain.”

If we’re fair, Matthew-Walker does somewhat acknowledge that ApIvor and Swain are not in the same exact boat as Finzi. But when he speaks of shared “limitations” and “revelatory experiences,” I can’t imagine most listeners responding to these three pieces on comparable terms. The elephant in the room is that neither ApIvor nor Swain possessed anything close to Finzi’s enviable melodic gift. And while it’s true that the latter’s long-developing craft speaks to some limitations, he had spades of “IT Factor” that explain his minor-master status. The other two fall considerably short of that mark.

The most memorable thing about ApIvor’s Concertante for clarinet, piano and percussion is its instrumentation. He does achieve a distinctive sound by writing competently for this quirky ensemble. But the themes in all of the movements amount to an angular forgettability residing in much other competent but dry twentieth-century music. The best part is its second movement, which deftly employs a simple syncopated rhythm that enriches everything else. It is a testament to how even very small elements can have disproportionately enlivening effects. But I wonder if this will be enough to prevent me from skipping the movement when it henceforth pops up on my Spotify shuffle list. Freda Swain’s “Lumine naturi” Concertino for clarinet with string orchestra and (one) horn likewise leans on its unconventional instrumentation and, perhaps, a weird title. I cannot say I found its materials terribly compelling, though the opening “pastorale” movement does have an attractively brisk outdoor feeling. But after listening to it multiple times, that’s honestly all I can remember.

A stellar Finzi Concerto here would have done much to sell the album as a whole. Alas, no. The fault lies not with Peter Cigleris, who dispatches the solo part extremely well. Rather, John Andrews and the London Mozart Players sound bogged down and spiritually uncommitted next to my preferred accounts (Naxos 8.553566 and ASV CDDCA787), particularly in the first movement. I get more warmth and, dare I say it, SENTIMENTALITY elsewhere. But if you’re one of those listeners whose relationship with emotional fervor is like a vampire’s with garlic, you’ll probably be more enthused than I was.

If any SOMM leaders or musicians are reading this, I don’t want them to get too discouraged. Classical music needs more such recordings. Knowing what’s out there is a worthwhile enterprise apart from merely finding things to which one enjoys listening. In this case, I’ve met both goals. But with all of us, the matter tends to come back to these questions: how much money and time do we have? If you have enough of both, scoop this up. If you just have time, then yeah, give it a listen. If you have limited amounts of either, stick to the beaten paths.

Recent Releases No. 84 (Streaming Reviews)

2026-09-21T10:06:33.629-07:00

by Karl Nehring

For Arvo (Extended Version). Pärt: Für Alina (Version 1); Variations for the Healing of Arinushka; Fratres (Transc. Osokins for Piano); Ukuara Waltz; Vier leichte Tanzstücke “Musik für Kindertheater” – No. 1, Der gestiefelte Kater; No. 2, Rotkäppchen; No. 3, Schmetterlinge; No. 4, Tanz der Entenküken; Mommy’s Kiss; Pari intervallo (Transc. Osokins for Piano); 2 Sonatinas for Piano, Op. 1 No. 1 - I. Allegro; II. Larghetto; Für Anna Maria; 2 Sonatinas for Piano, Op. 1 No. 2 - I. Allegro energico’ II. Largo; Partita, III. Allegro; Hymn to a Great City; Diagrams, Op. 11 – I. Unruhig; II. Ruhig; Partita, Op. 2 – I. Toccatina; II. Fughetta. III. Larghetto; IV. Ostinato; Lamentate: Fragile e conciliante (Transc. Osokins for Piano); Für Alina (Version 2); *Hymn to a Great City for 2 pianos (Live from the Martha Argerich Festival in Hamburg); Für Alina (Live from the Martha Argerich Festival in Hamburg). Georgjis Osokins, piano; *Martha Argerich, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 00028948676729

To celebrate the 90^th birthday of Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, Deutsche Grammophon released the album For Arvo on September 11, 2025 (you can read our review of that album here). Exactly one year later, September 11, 2026, DG has released what they are terming an “extended version” of For Arvo, adding two tracks recorded at the Martha Argerich Festival in June 2025. As I pointed out in my review of the original CD release, most classical music lovers should be familiar with Pärt’s music, given that his compositions have been recorded by myriad performers on a variety of labels. For those of us of a certain age, though, Pärt was once a newcomer who suddenly appeared on the scene with music unlike anything we had ever heard before. I can still vividly recall the first time I heard his music. While I was in graduate school, I had a weekend job as a security guard for a manufacturer of computer support equipment. One of my late-night duties was to drive from my post at the main plant to check on the training center, which was a couple of miles or so away. On one of those late-night drives, I found that our classical FM radio station was playing engrossing music unlike any music I had never heard before. I was spellbound! I parked in the training center parking lot and listened to the end of the piece, eager to find out what this music could possibly be. It turned out to be the landmark ECM release Tabula Rasa, featuring the music of Arvo Pärt as played by the then-young violinist Gidon Kremer and – of all pianists – the jazz icon Keith Jarrett. I have been an avid Pärt fan ever since and have auditioned and owned many of his numerous compositions over the past several decades.

About a decade after my discovery of Pärt’s music, Georgijs Osokins was born into a family of pianists in the Latvian capital of Riga in 1995. Then in 2025, Osokins released his debut album on DG, For Arvo. “This album is a declaration of my deep love for Arvo and his music,” wrote Osokins in the liner notes of the CD. “It encompasses both completely unknown pieces, and some of the most-performed works of the last forty years. It Includes both original works and the art-form of piano transcriptions. I wanted to capture the very moment of the composer’s revelation – from complex contemporary avant-garde through to pure, luminous and enigmatic beauty and simplicity.” And that aptly describes what this release comprises; fortunately, the luminous and beautiful tracks outnumber the avant-garde. The opening tracks -- Für Alina, Variations for the Healing of Arinushka, Fratres, Ukuaru Waltz; Vier leichte Tanzstücke (“Four Easy Dance Pieces”), and Pari intervallo – are all relatively straightforward, easy on the ears, and the kind of music that most fans of Pärt have grown to appreciate. Especially noteworthy is Osokins’s transcription for piano of Fratres, which offer a fresh insight into this much-loved composition. The streaming version includes Mommy’ Kiss, a short but pleasant track that was not included on the CD. The two Sonatinas and the Partita are the works that lean more toward the avant-garde; however, although they are certainly not as easy on the ear as the other selections, neither are they the kind of dissonant, pounding piano works that the term “avant-garde” might scare one into fearing – in fact, they’re quite listenable. Sandwiched between the two Sonatinas is Für Anna Maria, brief but touching, and then after Partita comes the tender Lamentate, and the simple but expressive Hymn to a Great City. The first movement of Diagrams is frankly pounding and unpleasant, not at all typical of the style of the later Pärt, while the second movement, although still atypical, is at least easier on the ear. The second version of Für Alina is recorded more distantly, producing a haunting effect. Interestingly, time seems to be almost suspended, dreamlike, but the timing is the same as for the opening track. The beloved pianist Martha Argerich joins Osokins for a performance of Hymn to a Great City – her first public performance of Pårt’s music, and then the program closes as it began, with Osokins playing the deeply haunting Für Alina. Even for those who own the original CD, this new streaming release with its additional tracks is well worth seeking out.

Brahms: Symphony No. 3 in D Major, Op. 90 (arr. for two pianos by the composer). Piano duo Adrienne Soòs & Ivo Haag

I came across this release pretty much by accident late one evening on Amazon Music. I had been listening to this, that and the other when I noticed that the algorithm suggested this for me. I had no idea that Brahms had made a two-piano arrangement of my favorite of his symphonies. Hmmmm… I figured it would be worth a listen just to see what it would sound like. I didn’t expect to find it worth auditioning more than that one time; however, much to my surprise and delight, I found it to be a deeply satisfying recording, one that gave me an even greater appreciation for one of my favorite symphonies. We music lovers should be grateful that Brahms, who was himself a gifted pianist, decided to make his own transcriptions of his orchestral works rather than turn them over to staff arrangers at the publishing houses of his day. As you might expect, the arrangement captures the beauty and spirit of this remarkable symphony. The full palette provided by two keyboards allowed Brahms to paint a colorful pianistic portrait of his symphony, which the Hungarian/Swiss piano duo Adrienne Soós and Ivo Haag reproduce with artistry and affection. To those who hold the Brahms Third Symphony in high regard, I strongly suggest you give this two-piano version an audition.

Black Mozart (Batiste Piano Series, Vol. 2) (CD Review)

2026-09-18T15:33:30.627-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Mozart/Batiste: Facile-Batiste; Alla Blues; Alla Turc Movement; Shine: Twinkle; Processional; Country Zart; Molto; Molto in Cayo Hueso; Gospel Andante. Jon Batiste, piano. Decca 199957881494

Pianist and composer Jon Batiste (b. 1986) is likely an unfamiliar figure to many fans of classical music; however, many others may well remember his 2015-2022 stint as bandleader on the popular television program, The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. (American) football fans might recall that it was Batiste who performed the national anthem at Super Bowl LIX. Back in early 2025, we reviewed Batiste’s Beethoven Blues (Verve/Interscope 602475263807), the first recording in which the New Orleans-rooted musician put his own spin on a classical composer (you can find that review here). In this new release, Batiste turns his attention to Mozart, and the results are even better. There seems to be something about the inherent tunefulness of Mozart’s music that gets Batiste’s improvisational juices flowing. He writes, “a key aspect of Mozart’s music of immense potency is how accessible and elementary it is – humble, singable melodies not overwritten – capturing the essence of childhood. There is an innocence to the sound that you can hear even without any understanding of the music… I found this music when I was a kid and some twenty years later I am still reimagining to extend the implications I see within it. I reimagined Mozart ‘black’ in the tradition of Mr., [Alvin] Batiste, imbuing it with influences from jazz, rags, stride, blues, stomps but still maintaining its core essence of modern classical music."

Listeners familiar with Mozart will hear Mozartean melodies – and no, they will not be twisted into unrecognizable strings of notes – played in joyfully blues- and jazz-influenced styles. The opening Facile Batiste offers a brief but happy take on a familiar theme from Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 16, while the next two tracks offer a couple of different takes on the familiar “Turkish March” theme. And yes, as you may have guessed, we get to hear some playful variations on the famous “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” music (which may be the most widely played Mozart piece ever that never gets him name-checked, alas). On Molto, we hear Batiste’s fairly straightforward take on familiar music from Symphony No. 40, setting us up for the next track, Molto in Cayo Hueso, where Batiste cuts loose and adds a Latin groove, taking Mozart to a beach on Key West. At more than seven minutes, it’s the highlight of the album. The closing track, Gospel Andante, finds Batiste putting a gospel spin on the piano part from Piano Concerto No. 21, known to many as the “Elvira Madigan” music, bringing the album to a peaceful close.

All in all, Black Mozart is a release that should appeal to a wide spectrum of listeners – fans of classical, jazz, soul, R&B should all find it appealing. Although I wish Batiste would have given us more extensive liner note thought about his approach to the music he chose to include, I have no quibble with the recording itself. Highly recommended.

Soler Piano Works (CD Review)

2026-09-11T05:30:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Soler! Gerardo Teissonniére, pianist. Steinway & Sons 30242\

In my December writeup of Johan Dalene’s Mendelssohn and Bruch album, I noted how often my views diverge from those of other critics. Well, here we go again. I’m already seeing what I consider to be excessive enthusiasm for this disc. Either I am living in The Twilight Zone, or some folks aren’t listening that carefully. Forgive my candor (see what I did there?), but it does get lonely being the one to say the most negative things in Google search results. Nonetheless, I have to call it like I see it. My responsibility as a critic is reporting what I hear in the recording, rather than what I hear about the recording. If that puts me alone in a corner, so be it. Thus positioned, my regretful verdict is that Gerardo Teissonnière’s playing doesn’t match his obvious sincerity. The main culprits are rhythmic inconsistency and a mediocre tone. Let’s jump in.

First off, an admission: I was unfamiliar with Teissonnière’s work before taking on this review task. I would have sampled his other performances in any case, but now I had a pressing question: does he always play like this? Yes and no. His Schubert Impromptus show the occasional wobbly stretch, but nothing to rival a crass, even poundy approach to loud dynamics. His debut recording for Steinway, featuring Beethoven’s final three sonatas, also begins to tell the tale for this latest release. Teissonnière likes big, thick chords and thundering octaves. He’s even capable of an attractively soft tone, as his Opp. 109 and 110 prove. But his biggest weakness is a lack of rhythmic control, particularly in intricate passages.

Soler doesn’t offer many of the Romantic-style textures Teissonnière clearly relishes. This music tests the performer in other respects. Unfortunately, they expose Teissonnière’s vulnerabilities to a greater degree. Runs of quicker notes sometimes sound uneven. Simpler figurations fare better in this respect. But if there is a group of four 16th or 32nd notes, especially many in succession and with lots of concurrent activity in other voices, there is a decent chance he fudges the timing of at least one. The hand-crossing passages in the R. 84 D Major sound herky-jerky. Ditto the accompaniment to the tail motive of the R. 39 D Minor, and certain right-hand thirds in the same sonata. These stretches and others throughout seem insufficiently practiced even if they weren’t. Similar issues plague parts of R. 15. Tone quality is also a problem, as when some of the rapidly repeated notes get underplayed in R. 88.

The impression I get of Teissonnière’s playing overall is that of a strong but not elite talent trying to make the most of his gifts. There are many fine moments, but strain and inconsistency rear their heads nearly as often. Soler is not Beethoven or Schubert in terms of recording saturation. But there are several other available options for his sonatas, including a quality Naxos series. Best of all is Alicia de Larrocha, whose own selections partially overlap with Teissonnière’s. If comparing her performances to his doesn’t demonstrate at least some of what I said here, maybe I really am living in an alternate universe.

Recent Releases No. 83 (CD Reviews)

2026-09-08T06:00:00.000-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Dedications. Randall Woolf: going home; Pierre Jalbert: Two Sides – I. Freely, lyrical II. Propulsive, driving; David Del Tredici: Farewell, R.W. (from Facts of Life); Bun-Ching Lam: Five Contemplations – I. Search Search II. Seek Seek III. Ennui IV. Wutang in Light Rain V. Let Go; João Luiz: MadrigAfro II: Part I – Curandeiro Part II - Movido, tempo de Afoxé; Laura Kaminsky: Ruminations; Carlos Crillo: Mariluna – 1. Reflejo de la luna sobre la superficie de el agua… 2. Y la mar se refleja en la luna; Marilyn Ziffrin: Rhapsody; Chester Biscardi: Finding Beauty in Small Places; Peter Sculthorpe: *Oh, T.I.! – I. Island Song II. Night Song. David Leisner, guitar; *w/Alan Moverman, piano. Azica Records ACD-71389

As you can see from the track listing above, the composers are all modern-day. Guitarist Leisner (b. 1953), who is also a composer himself, writes that during the COVID-19 pandemic, “artists, like everyone else, were struggling to find ways of being useful and keeping up their spirits. One idea that occurred to me was to create a series of commissions of solo guitar works by composers I greatly admire, who happen to be friends as well. Chester Biscardi, Pierre Jalbert, Laura Kaminsky, Bun-Ching Lam and João Luiz, an illustrious group, all responded enthusiastically and generously to my proposal.” He goes on to recount that there had been other pieces he had commissioned in previous years that he had not yet recorded, a piece by Marlyn Ziffrin that he had not commissioned but wished to record, and a movement from a piece by the late David Del Tredici that he desired to re-record. The album starts off promisingly with the opening going home by Randall Woolf, but listeners expecting much in the way of melodic or harmonic richness may find themselves feeling let down. Most of the compositions have a sparse sense about them, although that can be interesting in its own way, as in the compositions by Bun-Ching Lam, Laura Kaminsky, Marilyn Ziffrin, and Chester Biscardi. Adding the piano to the mix in the final Sculthorpe piece provides some welcome sonic richness.

Vesper. Thomas Adès: Forgotten Dances; Harrison Birtwistle: Beyond the White Hand: Construction with Guitar Player; Guitar and White Hand; Adès: Habanera from ‘The Exterminating Angel’; Birtwistle: Oockooing Bird (arr. for guitar by Forbes Henderson); Sleep Song; Berceuse de Jeanne (arr. for guitar by Forbes Henderson); Sad Song (arr. for guitar by Forbes Henderson); Je sui aussi; James Dillon: 12 Caprices. Sean Shibe, guitar. PENTATONE PTC 5187 518

Sean Shibe (b. 1992), who was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, of English and Japanese parentage, is one of the world’s leading guitarists. Over the past several years we have reviewed several albums on which he has appeared as a contributor, plus one of his solo albums, Camino PENTATONE PTC 5186 670), about which we observed (you can read the full review here) “none of the playing here is overtly virtuosic or ostentatious; instead, Shibe employs his skills on the guitar to lead the listener gently into a sound world of calm and reflection that is not, however, devoid of energy and color.” But where Camino had featured music by composers such as Mompou, Satie, and Ravel, this new release titled Vesper features music by composers including Adès (b. 1971), Birtwistle (1934-2022), and Dillon (b. 1950) – when I saw those names, I must confess that I was not expecting to be led gently into a sound world of calm and reflection. My exposure to the music of Birtwistle and has been limited but unimpressive. I’ve never heard any music by Dillon. That leaves Adès, whose music I have encountered reasonably often over the past few years but have never really cared for. So, then – full disclosure: from the list of composers, I was not very optimistic about this release; however, this was a guitar album, not an orchestral album, and Sean Shibe is an amazing guitarist, so I was willing to try to put my prejudices aside and give it a good listen.

So, then – did I have a complete change of heart about these composers after spending many hours listening to Camino? Well, yes and no. The opening Forgotten Dances by Adès comprises six fascinating pieces that somehow manage to stretch the limits of what can be done on the guitar while at the same time alluding to traditional dance forms. It’s a delightful set, a little quirky but highly entertaining. It was a relief to be pleasantly surprised by Adès, but alas, such was not to be the case with Birtwistle. His Beyond the White Hand: Construction with Guitar Player; Guitar and White Hand sports the longest title on the album, the longest duration (18:26), but the least amount of melodic inspiration. It broods, meanders, and draws some thumps and bumps from the guitar – overall, it strikes me as a composition more interesting to play than enjoyable to hear. He much briefer (1:55) Guitar and White Hand comes as a kind of echo, easier on the ear, but without much substance. The Adès Habanera is forceful, giving Shibe quite a workout.

The mood changes with the next set of short selections by Birtwistle, which are much more melodic and easy on the ears than the White Hand music; really, folks, it’s hard to believe it’s the same composer. (And thus you can see why I wrote “yes and no” above.) As for composer James Dillon, his 12 Caprices, which are brief little snippets – the whole set coming in at 10:35 – the gentle mood established by the preceding Birtwistle set continues, although a tad more, well, capriciously. These are pieces that are at once playful and thoughtful.

The booklet packaged with the CD contains a wealth of information about the composers and the music, plus a background narrative about the influential guitarist Julian Bream. PENTATONE has released a truly first-class production in Vesper, which earns a solid recommendation for fans of classical guitar. By the way, Sean Shibe did an NPR Tiny Desk concert at which he performed some of the music on this CD: you can find that video here. Enjoy!

Mozart & Beethoven Piano Concertos (CD Review)

2026-09-05T11:56:46.142-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Mozart: Piano Concerto No. 24 in C Minor, K. 491; Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 3 in C Minor, Op. 37; 32 Variations in C Minor, WoO 80. Rafał Blechacz, pianist; Kent Nagano, conductor; Dresdner Philharmonie. DG 486 8940

While the most recent International Chopin Piano Competition was underway, I had a debate with other classical music fans on the app formerly known as Twitter. I remarked that all of the competition’s participants could technically run circles around Alfred Cortot, and that no amount of musicality overcomes my impatience with his messy playing. I received some hard pushback for these remarks, but remained trenchant. True, more than a few competition participants produced interpretations that were pristine yet soulless. But I thought I preferred this. “Just give me the music” I said, “and stay out of its way!”

I’m still something of a heretic for being allergic to Cortot’s pianism. But as I keep listening to and reviewing new recordings of standard repertoire, I’m gradually coming around to my debaters’ general point of view. You see, I’m getting bored with “pristine yet soulless.” I have heard multiple great recordings of both Mozart’s 24th Piano Concerto and Beethoven’s 3rd. Almost all of them are decades old. Many more recordings of both works have appeared since, even many technically excellent ones. But I’m afraid I cannot recall details in most of these. Rafał Blechacz’s new and nearly-pristine performances with Kent Nagano and the Dresden Philharmonic will likely belong to this second group.

Blechacz happens to have won the Chopin Competition more than two decades ago. Yeah, his skills are the envy of most pianists: flawless technique, impeccable control, and a sheeny polish overall. But “most pianists” isn’t “all pianists.” And when I listen to Blechacz here I’m faced with excellence that outpaces individuality. What can I get in these interpretations that I cannot get elsewhere? If this were the year 1900, probably quite a lot. But it’s 2026, and the world now teems with elite technicians.

Earlier, I said that Blechacz is nearly pristine in this recording. I stand by that, but there are still some drawbacks that only bolster my preference for other interpretations. The first mostly isn’t his fault: Nagano and the Dresden Philharmonic are at times too forceful in the Mozart. Tutti passages boom disproportionately to Blechacz’s comparatively subdued approach. Once or twice the orchestra moderately obscures the soloist where both play together. In short, I don’t think Blechacz and his supporting cast are precisely matched. The Beethoven concerto is better balanced, though even here I sense that Nagano wants to do more than his soloist. Which brings us to the second problem, and full circle to my initial statements: Blechacz doesn’t take any risks. At nearly every turn he declines to really lean into the music expressively. True, his reticence is often subtle, but subtleties weigh when I have umpteen other Op. 37 and WoO 80 takes to choose from. I need more fire than he’s prepared to supply, and there are plenty of other places where I can get it.

In past reviews I have emphasized a separation of purpose between live performances and recordings. Yes, record companies have bottom lines, and artists like lucrative deals. But the business of music often conflicts with less immediate concerns. Call me idealistic, but I happen to believe that what gets recorded should merit such preservation. It should also repay consumer investment. Frankly, I can’t muster related enthusiasm for this one. Performers like Blechacz are needed to share these works in person, foster communal joy and appreciation, and thereby keep the tradition alive. But apart from their desire to make nice livings, I see less value in every pianist committing standard rep to disc. If the riposte is that this release is a perfectly fine product for people to get to know these concerti, or to listen casually, I’ll concede the point. But how many more of those do we need? And when will diminishing returns finally force some sort of reckoning?

James Brawn in Recital, Volume 3. Scarlatti: Sonatas – Ingenuity and Delight (CD Review)

2026-08-30T20:30:00.000-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Domenico Scarlatti: Sonata in D minor, K.1 ‘Toccata’; Sonata in D minor, K.9 ‘Pastorale’; Sonata in B minor, K.27; Sonata in D minor, K.32 ‘Aria’; Sonata in D minor, K.34 ‘Larghetto’; Sonata in D major, K.96 ‘La Caccia’; Sonata in D minor, K.141 ‘Toccata’; Sonata in A minor, K.149; Sonata in C major K.159 ‘La Caccia’; Sonata in A minor, K.175; Sonata in A major, K.208 ‘Cantabile’; Sonata in A major, K.209; Sonata in E minor, K.291; Sonata in A major, K.322; Sonata in B minor, K.377 ‘Bourée’;Sonata in E major, K.380 ‘Le Cortége’; Sonata in D major, K.430 ‘Un Ballo’; Sonata in F minor, K.466; Sonata in D major, K.491 ‘Le Cortége’; Sonata in C major, K.513 ‘Pastorale’; Sonata in E major, K.531 ‘Tarantella’; Allesandro Scarlatti: Sonata in D minor, ‘Arioso’. James Brawn, piano. MSR Classics MS 1829

Long-time followers of Classical Candor should be familiar with the English pianist James Brawn (b. 1971), who now resides in Shanghai. Over the years, we have covered his recordings of the complete Beethoven piano sonatas, which John Puccio, Bill Heck, and I have found praiseworthy for both their musical and sonic virtues (you can find examples of those reviews here, here, and here. In addition to his “Beethoven Odyssey” recordings, Brawn has also released two other recordings, both of which were reviewed by John Puccio: James Brawn in Recital, which featured Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition plus works by Bach, Bach-Busoni, Liszt, and Rachmaninoff (the review of that release can be found here) and James Brawn in Recital, Volume 2: The Time Traveller and His Muse, a 2-CD set that featured works by Bach, Beethoven, Brahms, Chopin, Gershwin, Grieg, Liszt, Mozart, Prokofiev, Rachmaninoff, Scarlatti, Schubert, and Scriabin (the review of which can be found here).

Travel in time more than a decade and we now have before us this most recent release in Brawn’s recital series, this one devoted to the music of Scarlatti, who was born in Naples in 1685, which makes him contemporaneous with Bach and Handel. In his CD booklet notes, Brawn includes a quotation from Scarlatti that explains where Brawn drew the inspiration for the “Ingenuity and Delight” subtitle for this release: “Do not expect, O Dilettante or Professor, whoever you may be, in these compositions any profound intention, but rather an ingenious jesting with art, to accustom you to the frankness of the harpsichord… Show yourself more human than critical, and so you will increase your own delight… Live happily.” (As an aside, I must say – with considerable delight – how personally I can relate to Scarlatti’s invitation as I reflect on how our own Ryan Ross, a learned professor of music, is a devoted fan of the Scarlatti sonatas, while I, a music lover but dilettante nonetheless, have come to love Scarlatti’s sonatas the more I have listened to them over the past few years. Yes, they truly have increased the delight of dilettante and professor alike, at least here at Classical Candor…)

Brawn writes of Scarlatti’s sonatas that they are “mostly single-movement works in binary form – compact, self-contained dramas full of musical contrasts. These pieces are not sketches or fragments, but fully formed miniatures: some wistful, others playful or bold. Together, they form a kaleidoscopic view of 18^th-century imagination, filtered through the sensibilities of one of its most original minds. Each sonata unfolds like a scene in a theatre – shifting in mood, surprising in character, sometimes masking complexity behind apparent simplicity. Their impact lies in their conciseness and immediacy. Rather than elaborate development, Scarlatti favors quick turns, sudden key changes, and textures that alternate between elegance and raw energy.” When I listen to the Scarlatti sonatas, I sometimes find myself comparing and contrasting them with some of Bach’s keyboard works (as I write this, many of my grandkids are getting ready to return to school, and thinking about comparing and contrasting takes me all the way back to junior high – now I guess they now call it “middle school” – English and History classes with their “compare and contrast” essays). They are similar in overall sound, but Bach sounds more structured, Scarlatti a bit looser. Bach can sound more formal, Scarlatti more casual. But my goodness, they both give so much pleasure, they are both such masters!

But for sheer entertainment – delight! – Scarlatti sets an incredibly high bar. Just stick this CD into your machine (or stream it, if you must), hit PLAY, and prepare to be delighted by the exuberant high spirits of the opening K.1 Toccata, a two-minute romp that will bring a smile to many a music lover’s face. Other highlights include the high-spirited K.96 ‘La Caccia,’ the gently melodic K.208 ‘Cantabile,’ the sprightly K.430 ‘Un Ballo,’ and the stately K.513 ‘Pastorale.’ Other listeners will doubtless discover other favorites, for the album is a musical treat from the first track to the last, captured in pristine sound quality. Highly recommended.

Schubert: Piano Sonata No. 17 in D Major, D. 850; Schumann: Kinderszenen (CD Review)

2026-08-27T09:44:18.851-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Arcadi Volodos, pianist. Sony 19658879292

Schubert is one of my favorite composers. I adore almost all of his music. Almost. But I’m afraid the D. 850 sonata is one of very few works by him that leaves me indifferent. Sure, it’s grand in scope and impressively crafted, not to mention one of his more technically difficult entries in the genre. But I feel that the quality of its materials is below his usual standard. Compared to D. 664, D. 784, and the stupendous D. 958-D. 960 trio, it’s the affective runt of the litter. What’s so odd is you hear the harmonic surprises and turns of phrases that so enrich his more distinctive music, but they’re in service of themes that fail to land as hard emotionally. What would be one of the stronger works by Dussek or Moscheles is for Schubert an expressive low point, however structurally ambitious.

Which makes reviewing recordings of it difficult for me. When listening, I have to keep my mind from wandering. But I know plenty of enthusiasts somehow swear by this sonata, so I buckled down and did my homework. Arcadi Volodos is an excellent pianist who is capable of compelling interpretations. What I look for in any Schubert performance is a versatility that captures his many different moods, from melancholy to glowing intimacy to moments of joy that arrive like sunbeams through the clouds. Known for his big, bright sound, Volodos is unsurprisingly more than equal to the first movement’s technical brilliance. (Indeed, I often sense his virtuosity testing the sonata’s seams.) What impresses me more, however, is his adoption of a plaintive sotto voce in the slow movement and in later passages. Overall, I think I still prefer superlative accounts by Kempff (DG 423 496-2) and Gilels (RCA 09026 61614 2), who traverse an ineffable extra inch and natively inhabit subtle shades of introspection. But while I’m a D. 850 agnostic, I feel confident recommending this performance as a generally strong alternative to more celebrated picks.

The competition stiffens with Schumann’s Kinderszenen. Perhaps consequently, Volodos’s interpretation slightly comes off as a good one trying to be great. True, he churns out some quality playing. His Nos. 2, 3, and 10 I found particularly strong, despite wearing a deliberation that is more cumbersome elsewhere. But I hear plenty of dynamic and articulative peccadillos that Volodos might mistake for artistic risks. In multiple places there is good piano-versus-pianissimo shading from one area to another (for example in Nos. 4, 7, and 12), but in others not (as in No. 11). More bothersome is when he ignores or under-observes these markings. The second section of No. 1 is too loud for piano, and ditto the opening chords of No. 13. The Schneller section of 11 is too loud for an indicated pianissimo throughout. Sometimes crescendos get mangled, as when the apex notes of the same No. 13’s opening chords (marked with that sign) are withheld dynamically. Other lapses include: a failure to fully execute marked slurring in No. 8, occasionally accenting first beats rather than last ones in No. 9, and playing the tied chord in the seventh measure of No. 13 staccato instead of maintaining its full written duration.

I should cut Volodos some slack, this being a live recording. As far as those go, the sound quality here is fantastic despite a brief crashing noise marring No. 13 at 1:15. Otherwise I had to remind myself this isn’t a studio disc, which I suppose is a testament to stellar engineering. The flip side is that the performance itself is more suited to a live concert. Which doesn’t make it a bad recorded interpretation, but I believe its misses (or liberties) better suit the stage. On CD they make it a few notches below the best. Volodos clearly attempts special moments – and sometimes succeeds. If he doesn’t quite have the same poetry for Kinderszenen as a Radu Lupu (Decca 440 496-2) or an Ivan Moravec (Supraphon 11-0359-2), who does? But there is enough interest across the entirety to justify storage space in most collections. Even the collection of an Imperfect 850-ite like me.

Elgar & Dvořák Cello Concertos (CD Review)

2026-08-21T18:42:10.011-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Elgar: Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85; Dvořák: Cello Concerto in B Minor, Op. 104. Alban Gerhardt, cellist; Andrew Manze, conductor; WDR Sinfonieorchester. Hyperion CDA68486.

In 1952, Ralph Vaughan Williams wrote the following in a letter to fellow English composer Rutland Boughton: “The truth is, I think, that when I am with Conservatives I become Socialistic and when I am with Socialists I become true blue Tory.” I feel a similar tension in multiple walks of life. With regard to classical music recordings, I have a tendency to talk out of both sides of my mouth: on the one hand I abhor performances that haphazardly heap on rubato and cheap theatrics in ladles, and on the other hand I want more than simply mechanical or workaday accounts. I am tempted to say it’s as simple as finding that sweet spot in between, but it isn’t always. Some performers go “all in” and seem to embody the music’s spirit in a way that my binary hardly tracks. Think Horowitz playing Schumann, or Bernstein at his best in Mahler.

But not Alban Gerhardt playing Elgar’s and Dvořák’s Cello Concertos. It would be unfair to say that these new performances with Andrew Manze and the WDR Sinfonieorchester sound mechanical, but they do tend toward the workaday. Actually, Gerhardt gives the game away with his liner note remarks. He writes: “I grew up with the legendary recordings of these two extraordinary cello concertos by Mstislav Rostropovich and Jacqueline du Pré. Their interpretations have shaped generations of cellists and established a powerful performance tradition that continues to resonate today. While I have always admired both artists for their intensity and individuality, I found myself questioning certain interpretive choices from early on. When I began performing these works some 35 years ago, I felt a growing need to look beyond inherited conventions and return to the sources: the scores.”

Gerhardt goes on to say that he believes in maintaining a steady pulse, and that major disruptions to it do not necessarily translate to expressive depth. Read my review of Edward Gardner’s Brahms Second Symphony to see that this argument has resonated with me. But I’d be more torn about Gerhardt’s decisions here if it weren’t for one thing: the scores of these works themselves stress an emotional fervor (with markings like nobilmente and espressivo in the Elgar, and appassionato and grandioso in the Dvořák) that he largely undersupplies. And I am not simply referring to rubato, though there could be more of that given these markings. Gerhardt also employs limited tone color and abrupt phrasing, to mention only two further elements. In other words, he is selective about score instructions in a way he chooses not to acknowledge. The result is that tempi in both works are invigoratingly brisk, but in service of playing that too frequently sounds square and perfunctory, like a kid reciting memory work at parochial school. There’s a feeling of routineness that you certainly don’t get in the great performances to which Gerhardt brashly compares his own.

The Elgar concerto suffers most from his approach. I have said elsewhere that too many contemporary performers are out of touch with Sir Edward’s sensibilities and cultural circumstances. He had, and his music reflects, values that they hardly recognize at best and disdain at worst. Paul Johnson, in his popular history Modern Times, writes that the concerto “conveys better than any words the unappeasable sadness of those days.” It represents Elgar at the end of a career he had struggled mightily to build, finding him a committed patriot witnessing the losses of the First World War and the beginning of an Empire’s decline, and a widower living his twilight years without a beloved wife who was his best friend and unfailing confidante. Rostropovich and du Pré capture these feelings and more. Gerhardt hardly does at all. The latter’s selective score-following can be heard at the very beginning, where he fudges a very clear largamentedirection in the opening figures as part of an impatient start. That sets the tone for what follows. Multiple espressivos are virtually ignored; it’s often difficult to differentiate them from unmarked soloist passages. Or observe how frequently Elgar indicates a largamente or ritardando followed by some sort of a tempo. What more does he have to do to write judicious rubato into his score?! Gerhardt’s reluctance on this point defines the proceedings. The dotted-rhythm figure at the beginning of Rehearsal 22 in the second movement is emblematic. Ideal performers dispatch this with savory relish. Gerhardt is comparatively free of gusto. Gusto, of course, is something distinct from overall tempo. Speed should not be confused with passion. Too often do Manze and his soloist blow through music that should be more deliberate. For instance, Elgar indicates Allegro, ma non troppo (quarter = ca. 108) for the march in the finale. These performers instead approach quarter = 116-118 in a manner that is almost flippant. I’m usually a fan of faster paces, but theirs is unsupported by requisite rhetorical intensity. Worst of all is the last major theme. Both soloist and orchestra strip it of its breathtaking fervor in what is a frail handling of the conclusion. This is virtually Elgar’s autumnal farewell, and should be rendered as such.

Dvořák’s concerto fares considerably better, mostly because it more easily withstands Gerhardt’s reserve. Certainly the work is grand and emotional, but it does not quite wear the creator’s tender vulnerabilities on its sleeve in the way that Elgar’s does. What we get is a boilerplate performance that goes through the motions well but unremarkably. Our performers even make attempts at passion, particularly in the second movement. Once more, however, the difference between good and great becomes apparent when we compare it to one of my favorite classic recordings: Pierre Fournier with George Szell and the Berlin Philharmonic (DG 423 881-2). Gerhardt for once doesn’t lack earnestness, but both he and his orchestra sound heavy and forced, whereas Fournier and Company supply a supple warmth that better accentuates the music’s flavor. Still, the present interpretation is sturdy, and in the final analysis a respectable option if no more.

And so here I am once again having to remain honest by dealing glumly with a new release of well-worn repertoire. The difference this time is that Gerhardt himself is explicit about what his “schtick” is, which, far from distinguishing this catalogue entry, betrays conceptual flaws that I could only speculate about if he had remained mum. But we don’t really need his justifications to know that what we have here is essentially another musician who is too afraid of being sentimental. In that sense, Gerhardt is all too typical of our times. To a certain extent I get it. Guarding against interpretive overreach is a valid precaution. But becoming one of C. S. Lewis’s “Men Without Chests” should equally be avoided.

Fusions (CD Review)

2026-08-13T11:17:36.646-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Kapustin: Piano Sonata No. 2; 8 Concert Etudes, op. 40 (selection); Variations, Op. 41; Gershwin: 3 Preludes; Earl Wild: 7 Virtuoso Etudes after George Gershwin. Nikolay Medvedev, pianist. SOMM CD 0724

When Nikolai Kapustin died in July of 2020, The New York Times failed to run an obituary. Of course, the newspaper provided glowing tributes to Kaija Saariaho and Sofia Gubaidulina when they passed away in 2023 and 2025, respectively. Not that the latter two composers should not have been recognized, but the contrast speaks to a disconnect between elite agenda-setters and the wider world of performers and music lovers. As they did with Gershwin and Rachmaninoff, critical and academic establishments tend to underestimate composers with direct appeal, especially those who shamelessly incorporate popular idioms into their works. Today Gershwin and Rachmaninoff have critical respect to an extent that belies their press treatment 75-100 years ago. True, some of this amounts to eccentric attempts to make them over as some or other kind of “modernists.” But it is clear by now that previous generations of pundits often got tripped up by their own customary snobbery.

I think a similar thing is happening with Nikolai Kapustin. His name now regularly graces concerts, competitions, and recordings. He has enjoyed the advocacy of such high-profile pianists as Marc-André Hamelin and Yuja Wang. But with occasional exceptions, his critical and academic standing remains paltry. The NYT’s omission, while lacking the vituperative flavor of early-20th-century criticism of Gershwin especially, speaks volumes about a figure some still view as a crossover curiosity rather than one of the most vibrant voices of late 20th- and early 21st-century classical music. It will be clear by now that I am firmly of the latter persuasion. Indeed, I’ll go further: Kapustin is the most recent in a historical line of great keyboardist-composers stretching at least back to Bach and Scarlatti, continuing through Chopin, Schumann, and Liszt, and blossoming anew via Rachmaninoff, Medtner, Scriabin, and Prokofiev.

This new SOMM release featuring pianist Nikolay Medvedev suggests a self-conscious advocacy of jazz-meets-classical with its title Fusions. If that is the case, I have a quibble. It is a mark of how much high modernist rot has infected our discourse that we look at what is offered here – works by Gershwin, Kapustin, and Earl Wild (paraphrasing Gershwin) – as its own special thing rather than a reflection of what high-handed commentators often ignore: popular and “classical” elements have long enjoyed interweaving throughout the tradition. Just because we are far removed from Beethoven’s incorporation of folk culture into his works, or Chopin’s massive debt to ethnic Polish dances and other vernacular manners, for example, does not mean they do not find clear reflection in what both Gershwin and Kapustin practiced. So, while Fusions is a technically correct description of what is going on here, I would love to see a point at which underlying self-consciousness becomes unnecessary.

Medvedev’s disc adds to Kapustin’s increasing traction. By my count, this performance of the Second Piano Sonata puts the total commercial release tally at just under 10 (depending upon how you count), while his selection of Op. 40 Concert Études shares company with well past two dozen others. The Op. 41 Variations here enjoy an outing in nearly as robust a crowd. In other words, the Kapustin discography alone (which scheduled future releases will only grow) is starting to reflect his true stature. It is clear to anyone who has followed this growth that Marc-André Hamelin’s and Steven Osborne’s Hyperion releases (CDA67159, CDA67275, CDA67433, and CDA67656) from the early 2000s really kick-started the present enthusiasm. In a sense, these stunning releases have been a blessing and a curse: a blessing for their effective advocacy, and a curse because of the dauntingly high bar they set for subsequent recording artists. When Kapustin heard Hamelin perform the Second Sonata in London, he gifted the super-virtuoso a signed copy of the score with a note that he didn’t think it likely anyone could play the piece better. I somehow doubt this will be true for all time, but right now Hamelin’s interpretation on CDA67656 seems consistent with Kapustin’s frank assessment.

To let the cat entirely out of the bag, Medvedev’s Second Sonata interpretation here is overall on the second tier. The culprit is the first movement, which admittedly makes fearsome pianistic demands. To a greater extent than the rest of the piece, this section at once needs firm technical command, inner-voice sensitivity, formal awareness, rhythmic drive, and a certain sense of sweep all at once. Keeping it together requires ability of a high order. Medvedev makes a valiant attempt, but his inner voices are sometimes smudged or underplayed, his phrase endings occasionally abrupt, and his narrative grip sometimes slightly off. The issue is not one of insufficient technique, but rather a shaky conception of the movement that gives the impression of drowning in its difficulties. This is all the more unfortunate because Medvedev dispatches the remainder of the sonata very solidly indeed. The resplendent Largo in particular is a thing of beauty, and shows the performer’s gift for velvety atmospheres that he will again demonstrate in later offerings.

The other Kapustin works here receive good to excellent treatment. Together with most of Ligeti’s and Glass’s études, Kapustin’s Op. 40 set is now staple late-20th-century fare. Expectations are therefore already high, and for the most part Medvedev acquits himself admirably in five of eight total numbers he has chosen. The opening and closing ones exude a polish that is substantially missing in the first movement of the sonata, while the Reverie and Intermezzo also come off very convincingly. Slightly less impressive is his Pastorale, a piece with breezy tunefulness and intricate rhythms. Medvedev slightly under-shoots the tempo, and does not consistently highlight different layers of activity. Still, the overall Op. 40 outing here is quite good. Better yet is his performance of the Op. 41 Variations, a work well on its way to canonic status. This is as good an interpretation as I have heard. Medvedev illuminates every little mood and intricacy along the way to a thrilling finish. Would that such panache and control have made their way into the sonata opening.

The remaining selections are Gershwin-focused. We get a fine account of the famous 3 Preludes, which stands tall even against ubiquitous competition. Medvedev is able to transfer what works so well in the slow movement of Kapustin’s Second Sonata to the more languid moments of this small masterpiece. Perhaps best of all are the complete 7 Virtuoso Etudes after George Gershwin by Earl Wild, which are essentially miniature paraphrases on some well-known popular songs. These accentuate Medvedev’s strengths and show that his playing can be superlatively smooth and well-judged in the right setting. Highlights include the fabulously rendered No. 5 (based on Lady Be Good) and No. 3 (The Man I Love). Perhaps the penultimate number (based on I Got Rhythm) could use a tad more melodic accentuation, but such a criticism strains at gnats compared to what Medvedev does right across the whole. Together with the Kapustin Variations, the Wild studies are the best reason to purchase Fusions.

On the whole, then, a quality release. If some playing does not quite measure up to the rest, the lows are not low enough to negate many very real highs. Most importantly, with each strong entry into the Kapustin discography his music becomes ever more difficult to ignore, and increasingly harder to square with the outdated view of music history represented by The New York Times’s obituary snub. A wise person once said that history does not repeat, but it rhymes. Gershwin won immortality out of all proportion to how he was treated by the haughty critics of his day. I predict that if Kapustin’s current slighters could read the music history books of times hence, they might be surprised at the fleeting relevance of certain present preoccupations, as well as the rising stock of specific figures now assigned lesser worth. Medvedev’s album is a sturdy brick in that long road.

Chopin Orbit (CD Review)

2026-08-09T14:01:33.969-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Sumino/Chopin: prologue; Chopin: Étude “Aeolian Harp op. 25/1; Sumino: Lydian Harp; Chopin: Prélude “Raindrop” op. 28/15; Sumino: Raindrop Postlude; Chopin: Étude “Black Keys” op. 10/5; Sumino: White Keys; Chopin: Mazurka op. 24/2; Adès: Mazurka op. 27/2; Chopin: Nocturne in C-sharp minor; Sumino/Chopin: Larghetto after 2^nd mvt. of Piano Concerto No. 2; Chopin: Berceuse op. 57; Janácek: Good Night!; Chopin: Polonaise-Fantaisie in A-flat major op. 61; Sumino: Imaginary Polonaise; Chopin: Grande Valse brillante in E-flat major op. 18; Godowsky/Chopin: Concert Paraphrase of Chopin’s Grande Valse brillante. Hayato Sumino, piano. Sony Classics 19958400662

Japanese pianist Hayato Sumino (b. 1995) holds a master’s degree in engineering, but he is also a skilled musician with a special affection for the music of Chopin. On his new Sony Classic release titled Chopin Orbit, he presents not a standard recital of Chopin piano works, but rather an album that includes Chopin’s music plus some of his own compositions as well as works by other composers. The end result is an album that maintains a consistent mood and aesthetic from start to finish, showing the high regard Sumino holds for Chopin and highlighting the range and depth of the Polish master’s creative output. Following the gentle prologue that opens the program, we then hear some Chopin pieces paired with responses; first by Sumino (his Raindrop Postlude in response to Chopin’s “Raindrop” Prelude and his White Keys in response to Chopin’s “Black Keys” Étude), then by Adès (his Mazurka in response to Chopin’s). The Sumino pieces follow very much in the style of Chopin, complementing them nicely; the Adès, however, presents an unexpected splash of notes. The first time I heard it, I frankly thought it was awful – but on further listening, I have become less harsh in my judgment. It’s, well, interesting, good-natured, fun in its own way – but does not seem to quite fit in with the rest of the program. (In his liner notes, Sumino explains why he included the piece, closing with, “the result is not so much a dance as a reflection on the idea of dance itself, disassembled, reimagined, and delicately surreal.”)

Following a Chopin Nocturne we then come to a truly entertaining track, Sumino’s Larghetto, which he explains, “is a recomposition of the second movement from Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2. Imagined through a contemporary lens, it poses the question: ‘What if Chopin were alive today, performing in a jazz club instead of a 19^th-century salon?’ The intimate and improvisatory spirit found in his music resonates naturally with the atmosphere of jazz.” Although that description might lead some to expect something hokey or vulgar, rest assured that Sumino delivers a performance that manages to capture both the spirit of Chopin and the feeling of a jazz pianist in an intimate setting. It’s utterly spellbinding.

Sumino then presents a pair of introspective compositions, Chopin’s Berceuse and Good Night! by Janácek, before raising the energy level with two more pairings. First, he follows Chopin’s Polonaise-Fantaisie with his own Imaginary Polonaise. Sumino notes that he is “mindful that the polonaise carries deep cultural meaning for Chopin and his homeland. To honor that spirit, I let my own heritage speak. While the rhythm follows the polonaise’s steady pulse, I wove in gentle waves of Japanese dance at certain moments.” Finally, Sumino brings the album to an energetic close by following Chopin’s Grand Valse brillante with Godowsky’s rousing Concert Paraphrase.

Thanks to Chopin, Sumino, and the engineers (Jonathan Allen, Philipp Nadel, and Martin Kistner), this is a release of beautiful music that should appeal to a wide range of listeners – from those just beginning to discover classical music to those who have enjoyed it for many decades. And if you want to get some young person you know interested in something other than pop music, you might try suggesting they give this one a try. You never know…

Joep Beving: Liminal (CD Review)

2026-07-24T08:02:12.426-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Beving: Through the Looking-Glass; Ida; Arcadia; From Where One Hears the Willow Speak; Wild Renaissance; Elysium; When Humans Do Algorythms; Incantation in B-flat Minor; Sfumato; Play; Heterotopia; Immanence; Ghostly Chicken. Joep Beving, piano, electronics. Deutsche Grammophon 486 8427

When I went back to look at the review we published back in 2022 of one of Beving’s previous releases, the fascinating Hermetism (the review of which you can read here), I was surprised to find that the post with the Hermetism review also included a review of a book by the esteemed music critic Alex Ross, who, sadly enough, recently left his post as classical music critic for The New Yorker. Read the review, read his book… Anyway, back to Dutch composer and pianist Joep Beving (b. 1976). He was interested in music in his youth, studied the piano, but an injury to his wrist forced him to give up serious piano study. Instead, he wound up studying public policy and ended up with a career in the advertising business, but his musical talent enabled him to work his way into composing jingles and background music for commercials. In 2010, he composed the soundtrack for a short film; then in 2015, he not only scored another short film, but he also released his first album, titled Solipsism.

Fast-forward to 2026 and we have Liminal, Beving’s most recent release for Deutsche Grammophon. Like the music on Hermetism, the music on Liminal is a collection of tunes that hover in that space somewhere between modern classical and New Age. According to Beving, “the album moves between two sides. Sometimes, I try to shape and refine sound into its purest form. Other times, the music seems to flow on its own, shifting, fading, and returning to silence as if guided by something natural. It’s less about structure and more about connection, resonance, and change, closer to ecology than architecture.” The majority of the music is on the contemplative end of the spectrum, but there is always an underlying feeling of motion and energy – the music never feels static or repetitive. The tune When Humans Do Algorythms, in fact, is quite lively and bouncy in its own way. Two especially engaging compositions are Arcadia and Wild Renaissance (you can find a YouTube video of the latter here). For those willing to explore music beyond the standard classical repertoire, but don’t want to be assaulted by dissonance, I humbly recommend this lovely album.

Korngold & Barber Violin Concertos (CD Review)

2026-07-15T07:40:33.004-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Korngold: Violin Concerto in D Major, Op. 35; Barber: Violin Concerto, Op. 14. Paul Huang, violinist; Jun Märkl, conductor; London Philharmonic Orchestra. Naïve V8121

On a whim I typed into Google Gemini, “The Barber and Korngold Violin Concertos are sentimental.” The surprisingly lengthy response I got was something along the lines of, “that’s a fair criticism, but these works are actually very soundly constructed.” Say what you want about the perils of AI (and I would probably agree), but sometimes our electronic assistants soberly reflect real tendencies of human beings. In this case, Gemini reasonably assumed I was being negative, because that’s how the term frequently gets used nowadays. When I replied that I meant “sentimental” as a compliment, and was praising these works’ fervent emotional expression, it confirmed that this indeed was long the primary definition, eclipsed since the early 20th century by pejorative connotations. If you dig even a little into these concertos’ reception histories, you will soon find more than enough to justify Gemini’s defensive pose. Or just observe how often reviewers praise a performance of Romantic repertoire because it ‘avoids dipping into sentimentality.’

Who do such critics think they’re trying to reassure? Surely not the performers and audiences who have long treasured these concertos, even as the music was being panned for flouting modernist sensibilities they scarcely shared. In other words, I think your average listener enjoys them precisely because they are so heartfelt and melodically memorable…and yes, because they remind them of the film scores some critics also like to trash. So, by this measure, performances that embody sentimentality may just strike a chord with a wide swath of people. Thus reoriented, I can tell you that Paul Huang’s interpretations here with Jun Märkl and the LPO actually do avoid much of this sentimentality, but maybe that’s not what the music really needs.

If Huang’s intention was to establish a distinctive sound, he succeeds. Especially in the Korngold. The soloists in what I would consider to be its benchmark performances (Shaham, Heifetz, and Perlman, in that order) each adopt fuller, more lush tones that capture a certain Hollywood wistfulness. By contrast, Huang’s rendition gleams with sharper edges. I wouldn’t say that he ducks the lyrical themes and climactic points, exactly, but they do come across differently in his hands. Compare, for instance, his middle movement with Heifetz’s on RCA (LM 1782). Huang is bright and clear, while Heifetz silkily weaves a web of nostalgia or some other dreamlike state. The one elicits respect, the other, love. Huang’s finale similarly undersells the music’s inherent warmth by accentuating some percussive aspects on top of his preference for cooler precision. I kept thinking how adroit he would be in Bartók. He should make those concertos a future project.

Huang’s Barber Concerto carries some of these same tendencies but lies closer to the mean. The melodic lines, particularly in the first movement, are nice and expansive. But we’re still missing a last 10% expressively. The climactic tutti is a good example, and here for the first time I’ll implicate Märkl, who holds back the orchestra just a bit. Poise and clarity are everywhere to be found both here and in the following section. Torrid virtuosity brings the performance to a satisfying close. There is a certain radiance overall. But while I can hear everything uncommonly well, I don’t always feel everything as much as I want to. Those critics so worried about dipping into sentimentality (both in these concertos and elsewhere) should be at least as worried about dipping into sterility. Somehow, they hardly ever are.

Nonetheless, I do actually recommend this recording. While it isn’t my preferred take on these beloved works, it is an incisive one that provides a credible foil to what we’re used to. It is smart and certainly effective after its fashion; I admire that in this case. So, if you have room in your collection for multiple Korngold and Barber Concerto releases, by all means go ahead, scoop this up, and listen to it occasionally. But if you’re in the market for one trusty take and no more, it's still gotta be Shaham's pairing on DG (439 886-2).

Recent Releases No. 82 (CD Reviews)

2026-07-09T10:32:35.885-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Mahler: Symphony No. 5. Grand Teton Music Festival Orchestra; Sir Donald Runnicles, conductor. Reference Recordings FR-763SACD

Mahler is one of those composers who looms almost larger than life in the world of classical music – and beyond. Even those without much knowledge of his actual music seem to have heard of him, making him a kind of cultural touchstone, a name to be dropped in casual conversation to establish one’s credentials as a hip intellectual. His symphonies are grand, powerful, colorful, tender, expressive, intimate – the listener can find all manner of emotional and musical expression within Mahler’s world. His Fifth Symphony is a prime example of Mahler’s range of expression, with its opening funeral march, agitated second movement, the tender Adagietto third movement, and rollicking finale. Mahler’s music demands excellent engineering, and as expected, Reference Recordings once again delivers just that. But what about performance? The orchestra is not exactly a household name. However, we reviewed their previous release, also under the baton of Maestro Runnicles, and found it to be quite worthy of recommendation (you can see that review of the Beethoven piano concertos here). Runnicles has the orchestra in fine form; combined with the excellent engineering, you can listen right into the heart of the music. The Adagietto is a bit on the slow side (10:05) but does not feel overly sentimentalized. Overall, this is a fine performance in top-notch sound that will stay on my shelf along with other favorite accounts such as Bernstein (DG), Haenchen (Pentatone), Abravanel (Vanguard), Abbado (DG). and Boulez (DG). Mahler fans would do well to give it an audition.

Victor Le Masne: Ravel Recomposed. Ravel: Boléro; Le Jardin Féerique (from Ma Mére l’Oye ballet, M. 35); Assez Vif, Trés Rhythmé; Jeux D’Eau, M. 30); Il Est Bon, L’Enfant. Il Est Sage (from L’Enfant et Les Sortiléges, M. 71); Mouvement de Menuet (from Sonatine, M. 40); Pavane pour une Infante Défunte, M. 19; Adagio Assai (from Piano Concerto in G Major, M. 83); Chanson Hébraïque (from Chant Populaires, M. A17); Le Gibet (from Gaspard de la Nuit, M. 55); Une Barque sur l’Océan (from Miroirs, M. 43); Lever du Jour (from Daphnis et Chloé Suite No. 2, M. 57B). Victor Le Masne, conductor, Fender Rhodes, synthesizers, piano, kalimba, drums; Christine & The Queens, vocals, lyrics (on Boléro); Adrian Edeline, guitar; Scoring Berlin, ensemble, choir; Julius Asal, piano; Colette, lyrics (on Il Est Bon, L’Enfant. Il Est Sage); Laurent Vernerey, bass; Camille Thomas, cello. Deutsche Grammophon 4867530

Those readers who have been following Classical Candor for a long time may well be familiar with the concept of a composer’s works somehow being “recomposed” by another composer. “Now, hold on just a minute, Karl,” I can already hear some of you muttering amongst yourselves, “of course I’m familiar with this concept, a prime example being what Ravel himself did with Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition, taking a piano suite and recomposing it into a beloved orchestral score.” Well, you certainly have a point, and if we give the matter a bit more thought, we might come to realize that Ravel never claimed to have “recomposed’ the music of Mussorgsky, but rather merely to have orchestrated it: i.e., taken a Mussorgsky work written for the piano and arranged it for orchestra. A more convincing case for the concept of recomposition can be made for what German-born British composer Max Richter (b. 1966) has done with Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons. Richter says that he discarded about 75% of Vivaldi’s original score when coming up with his recomposed version for solo violin, synthesizer, and chamber orchestra; however, the new version retains much of the flavor of the original. We have reviewed three different recordings of Richter’s delightful composition – or recomposition – over the years: the original version, with Richter on synthesizer, Daniel Hope on violin, and Andre De Ridder conducting the Konzerthaus Kammerorchester Berlin (you can read John Puccio's 2014 review here); an “original instruments” version, this time with Richter playing a vintage Moog synthesizer and solo violinist Elena Urioste and the Chineke! Orchestra playing on gut strings (that 2022 review can be found here); and a recording by French-born violinist Etienne Gara and the Los Angeles-based chamber group Delirium Musicum (you can read that 2023 review here). And along similar lines, we also reviewed an instance of a famous composition being not recomposed, but rather “remixed,” in the case of Gabriel Prokofiev (b.1975), grandson of Sergei, who along with conductor Yaniv Segal and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales present a version of the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth reimagined for electronics and orchestra (you can find that review here).

Perhaps it was the widespread name recognition of Ravel’s Boléro that led to that composition being chosen as the first track on this release; unfortunately, however, Le Masne’s recomposition, which turns it into a melodramatic vocal piece featuring Christine & The Queens, retains the melody but loses all of the building tension which makes Boléro interesting in the first place. It’s the weakest track on the album, not a good way to kick things off. Things get better with the succeeding tracks, with the movements from the String Quartet, Sonatine, and Piano Concerto working especially well in in their arrangements for synths. Devoted fans of Ravel’s music might find these renditions of Ravel’s music of interest, but those new to Ravel would do better to listen to his music in its original settings first. Be forewarned that several of the cuts feature prominent levels of bass – it might be best not to turn the volume up right away.

Saint-Saëns: Symphony No. 3 “Organ Symphony” (CD Review)

2026-07-04T05:30:00.000-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Paolo Bordignon, organ; Park Avenue Chamber Symphony; David Bernard, conductor. Recursive Classics RC5230977

The last time we reviewed a recording by the Park Avenue Chamber Symphony, their sparkling account of the Mahler 9 , we offered a fairly lengthy explanation of why the name “Chamber Symphony” should not be taken to mean that they are anything other than a full-sized symphony orchestra – well-suited for Mahler, well-suited for Saint-Saëns. Wording on the cover of this latest release proclaims that this is a “Live InsideOut Concerts^®Recording.” Maestro Bernard has developed methods for seating audience members amongst the orchestra to enhance their listening experience, recently earning a patent for algorithms he has developed to precisely arrange seating based on the hall, orchestra, and other parameters. Although we have occasionally expressed reservation about live recordings, the engineering on this release is remarkably good, offering a stereo soundstage that is deep, wide, and coherent. The engineering perfectly complements the music, which as the delightfully informative notes by critic David Patrick Stearns points out, abounds with subtle details. As you listen to a fine recording such as this one, it’s easy to appreciate that it’s so much more than just a showpiece for the organ.

Of the potential problems presented by the organ, Stearns explains, “Saint-Saëns breezily remarked that his symphony should do well in America thanks to the presence of many organs. In fact, the organ is the primary challenge to be solved. Great organs are based in great churches – amid acoustics not favorable to orchestras. In many recordings, the organ has been recorded separately – sometimes continents away – and synched, not always comfortably, with the orchestra. Balances that favor the organ detract from the orchestra and vice versa. ‘For 140 years, the Organ Symphony has been approximated,’ remarked David Bernard in a April 2026 piece for Gramophone Online. ‘It has never quite been performed.’ Modern digital organs are one possibility. But as Bernard reveals, the ideal solution is highly elusive.”

Is this new recording by Maestro Bernard, his Park Avenue players, and organist Bordignon that highly elusive ideal solution? The answer to that question will depend upon the expectations of the listener, of course. In terms of the precision of the playing, the transparency and balance of the sound, and the integration of the sound of the organ with the sound of the orchestra, this release is certainly top-notch. To my ears, I enjoyed not being overwhelmed by the sound of the organ; however, I believe that there may be some listeners who might wish for a bigger, more dramatic organ sound. To them, I can recommend the old Telarc with Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra and Michael Murray at the organ. But to my ears, the sonic balance on this new Recursive Classics release is perfectly suited for the appreciation of this remarkable symphony. The organ takes its place as part of the music-making, not as the main attraction.

In summary, what we have here is an audiophile-quality recording of a live performance of the Saint-Saëns “Organ Symphony” which does not highlight the organ but places it in balance with the orchestra. The CD booklet features an essay by David Patrick Stearns that offers some insights noy only into the Saint-Saëns work but also into the French symphonic scene in general. For fans of Saint-Saëns – or anyone just starting to get into classical music, for that matter – this release earns my highest recommendation.

Copland: Symphony No. 3; Walker: Sinfonia No. 5 (Streaming Review)

2026-07-01T20:30:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Sir Antonio Pappano, conductor; London Symphony Orchestra. LSO Live LSO0916

Aaron Copland’s Third Symphony has often been criticized for not being “symphonic” enough. It’s too ballet-like, too theatrical, and insufficiently structured to be a true symphony, goes such “wisdom.” (And to that the cardinal sin against pedantry: it’s too crowd-pleasing.) But as I have suggested elsewhere, the joke is firmly on these critics. They’re an object lesson in how selective historical understanding and mythmaking can turn intelligent commentators into purveyors of fiction. I’ll repeat what I’ve said here before: Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven burst onto the stage when the symphony genre was already underway. They did not determine what it must be for all time. There is no True Symphony, and especially not one forged by them in Vienna like The One Ring by Sauron in Mordor. Furthermore, Copland wasn’t a rare example of someone who failed to toe some immutable symphonic line; he was one of a large number of composers aware of classical precedent but who flouted it anyway.

Where symphonic whipping-boys like Copland (and, famously, Tchaikovsky before him) were actually heirs of Beethoven was in their conscious use of the symphony as a vehicle for monumentality. And it is difficult to think of a more monumental American symphony than this Third by the “Dean of American Composers.” Sure, you could make the case that several others are every bit as impressive in certain respects, or variously more deserving of the storied “Great American Symphony” label. (Roy Harris’s own Third is a frequent candidate in such discourse.) But in terms of monumentality, virtually no other symphony from these United States competes. A monument to what, you say? Copland himself divulged that the music captures the United States’ euphoric mood after the Allied victory over the Axis powers. Others have pointed to the finale’s incorporation of the Fanfare for the Common Man, and akin motives throughout, to suggest that the whole is also a tribute to the American spirit and landscape. If all of these associations hold (and I think they do), they’re under-served by this otherwise solid performance at the hands of Antonio Pappano and the LSO.

What’s amiss in this interpretation are subtle things that end up mattering disproportionately for the total experience. The orchestral playing is fantastic, and Pappano’s conception of the work even has a reasonable consistency of its own. But I think he misses the music’s character in several respects. In the first movement he elicits a big sound from his players. He clearly wants to hit those dynamic highs and strong brass statements. But they’re often just short of noisy, when a touch of understatement might better capture moods of steady gravitas. Equally, I find the motives sometimes a bit crimped and the pacing slightly abrupt. There’s a subtle strangeness of musical prosody that makes large swaths sound wooden.

The following scherzo movement is one of two low points. Its opening flourish proceeds promisingly enough, but the quicker outer sections are sluggish, sometimes mildly overworked, and lacking a necessary breeze. The tempo direction here is Allegro molto, but this does not even feel like Allegro. LSO personnel nail the intricate passages, but under direction that dulls their effect. It almost reminds me of someone speaking too formally in a setting that doesn’t call for it. If you’re new to classical music, imagine covering the Baja Men’s hit tune but singing, “Who Let the Canines Out?"

Movement 3 comes off best, but is still not free of such issues. The Andantino quasi allegretto tempo gets its due. Pappano correctly takes the hint and resists the lagging that burdens previous passages. His ear for sonority here is excellent, and some fine orchestral colors emerge. The latter portion of the finale likewise benefits from strong execution but remains on the heavy side. Most of all, the opening Fanfare phase sounds off to my ears. Once more, conception rather than playing is at fault. This is too pompous, too ceremonial. We need more Bob Costas and less King George…more liberty and less royalty.

If Copland 3 is a monument partially to the American spirit, that’s exactly what’s missing here. For someone who has spent so much time in the United States, it is surprising that Pappano hardly ever captures the experiential world Copland seems to be evoking. The next time he visits, someone should take him to Fenway for a ballgame and a hotdog. Or better, he might find his way to some hole-in-wall diner in Nowhere, Nebraska, where from a laminate-topped table he can hear the rhythms of surrounding conversations, and watch through a window while big John Deeres harvest corn. Or, if that’s a bridge too far, I would prescribe some John Steinbeck fiction, in which a certain psychological ease leavens even the heaviest circumstances. As it stands, Sir Antonio’s Copland has a definite European accent.

Whereas some think Copland’s Third Symphony works better as monumentality than as “symphonic structure,” George Walker’s Sinfonia No. 5 has structure to recommend it and little else. While I haven’t studied the score, I can well imagine that this music dots every integrative “i”. But absolutely nothing memorable transpires during its mercifully short 15 minutes. The decision to pair it with the Copland is a real head-scratcher, as many much more deserving companion pieces could have been chosen from the American repertoire. If another Harris 3 coupling was undesirable, what about David Diamond’s The Enormous Room, or Howard Hanson’s Elegy in Memory of Serge Koussevitzky, or one of Barber’s Essays? A sharp outing of any could have salvaged the whole project nicely and made a merely decent Copland 3 a better buy. Instead, we have multiple shades of missed opportunity.

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco: Piano Works

2026-06-28T20:33:00.000-07:00

by Bill Heck

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco: Piedigrotta 1924, Op. 32; Alghe, Op. 12; I naviganti, Op. 13; Cielo di settembre, Op. 1; Calma (A Giramonte); Terrazze; Le stagioni, Op. 33. Adriano Murgia, piano. Piano Classics PCL10347

Sharp-eyed readers may recall my review some months ago of Platero y Yo, a series of vignettes for solo guitar composed by Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, as played by Niklas Johansen. The review here illustrates the old saying that “one thing leads to another”, at least in the musical world: my interest in those works for guitar led me to the current release of the same composer’s music for solo piano.

Let’s start with a quick note about Castelnuovo-Tedesco, and please excuse a bit of repetition if you’ve read the Platero review. Born in Italy in 1895, he studied music early in the 20^th century and quickly became fascinated with the work of Debussy, who remained one of the major influences on Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s own path. He later was influenced by the contrapuntal techniques of mentors like Ildebrando Pizzeti (whose name is the basis of one of the works on this album). By the 1930’s, he was a rising star internationally, developing musical relationships with figures such as Andres Segovia, Jascha Heifetz, and Gregor Piatigorsky.

In 1939, however, he fled the racial (antisemitic) policies of Mussolini’s fascist Italy. His reputation inspired prominent American musicians to support his entry into the US and then to relaunch his career, first as a piano soloist and then as a composer. While he continued to compose in the classical tradition, he became better known (and presumably better compensated) for his work on film scores. He also taught composition, with a significant number of subsequently famous musicians in his classes. Castelnuovo-Tedesco passed away in 1968.

Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco

Contemporary listeners might be forgiven for asking why, if Castelnuovo-Tedesco was so great, has his music passed into obscurity today? Well, first, obscurity is not quite the right word. Although one would hardly call him well-known, a good number of recordings of his music are out there, especially of works for orchestra, including two piano concertos; for guitar; and for solo piano. More generally, though, I've noticed perhaps a little more interest in the works of lesser-known composers lately, particularly with the rise of independent record labels. And, if I may be allowed a little speculation, I suspect that several factors may have played a role in his relative eclipse, including not only the tendency of both concert promoters and attendees to go with safe, well-known choices but also the nature of his music. His compositions are not the sort that produce shouts of praise and standing ovations in concerts, nor are they the subject of music appreciation lectures. Whatever the causes, although Castelnuovo-Tedesco may not be top of mind for many listeners, I think that he's one of those composers whose music, once given a chance, turns out to be interesting and enjoyable, exhibiting some real depth.

Consider, for instance the first movement of Piedigrotta, the Tarantella scura (“dark tarantella”). The folk dance zips right along at first as we think it should, but storm clouds intrude in the form of odd bass lines and strange harmonies. This is not a simple country celebration, but a more emotionally complex occasion.

Or take the Fantasia e fuga sul nombre di Ildebrando Pizzetti: the music keeps trying to be a straightforward fugue, but is frequently distracted, so to speak, with all sorts of musical exclamations and interludes, not in a bad way but in imaginative variety.

Meanwhile, Murgia’s playing is fine. He conveys the music with a nice mix of control and freedom; I might have a few minor quibbles here and there but distracting mannerisms are nowhere to be found. One might ask how his performances compare to those on other available recordings, but there’s a snag: the composer's prodigious output means that pianists recording his works won’t often choose the same ones. For example, David Witten’s list of tracks overlaps this one only with the Piedigrotta 1924; same for the fine album by Mark Bennington; that of Jordi Masó has only the brief I naviganti in common; and so on. I certainly haven’t heard anywhere near every album of Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s music for solo piano, not to mention albums on which his compositions appear alongside works by other composers. But to my ear Murgia’s performances hold their own and he does have the benefit of Piano Classics engineering for superb sound. All in all, this album is a great place to start for those interested in exploring Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s work.

Hourglass: Music by Philip Glass (CD Review)

2026-06-24T07:50:24.509-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Simone Dinnerstein, director and pianist; Baroklyn, strings. Naïve V9238

In one of his film reviews, Roger Ebert commented that he judges a movie by what it’s trying to do and how well he thinks it does it. I don’t review every classical music release this way, because I place unequal value on the different things composers and performers try to do. But when tasked with reviewing the music of Philip Glass, I’m faced with special challenges that remind me of Ebert’s quip. The central problem is this: I’m a firm believer in postminimalism, and especially Glass’s brand of it; but I’m awkwardly aware that the standards by which I come down on others’ music don’t apply here. For example, see my February 11th Avril Coleridge-Taylor review. Glass flouts those standards more completely than she does. The difference is that he does so on purpose. I used to sneer at this purpose, much like the haughty critics who still do. But I no longer hate what he does. Indeed, I’m quite won over. If that makes me kind of a hypocrite, so be it.

In minimalism’s early days the emphasis was on subtle changes over extended repetitive structures. Something of that pattern carries over to postminimalism of the 1980s and beyond, but with more commercial appeal and less biting experimentalism. Repetition and commercial appeal aren’t the ingredients formalist critics tend to espouse. But I think we’ve had enough biting experimentalism in classical music during the past century to last us five more. And by now composers have integrated and ‘organicized’ everything under the sun, to cheering generations of pedants who should have been mathematicians instead of music pundits. Can we ever take a break from all of that? My focus is instead on distinctiveness and communicative power. When it comes to those, Glass has much going for him. He composes with the pragmatism of a man who once installed appliances to make ends meet, and who understands the importance of a good paycheck.

If you’re like the people I’ve just spent two paragraphs scolding, you’ll hate this new disc. It is difficult to think of two works by Glass that more epitomize his style since the 1980s. The score for The Hours is perhaps his best-known film music, deftly coloring the picture’s themes of alienation and tragedy. Here it’s arranged by Michael Riesman for piano, strings, harp, and celesta. In this guise it loses no expressive strength; indeed, it almost seems like an extension of the original that Glass himself might have scored, so often does his postminimalism leverage timbre for its most powerful effects. Nor does one necessarily need to have viewed the film for a meaningful listening experience. Maybe that’s true in order to get the most out of it. But “most” isn’t everything, and that’s what film music scoffers repeatedly fail to understand. When I listen to The Hours score I hear an “end of history” type of world-weariness that surfaces in much of Glass’s music, and that quite transcends the movie itself. He does this better than almost every other living composer I know. Many of us living through the West's turbulent recent decades have confronted the kinds of existential questions this music evokes. We Glass fans hear a singular mixture of reflection, hope, gloom, tragedy, spirituality, and more, where his detractors only hear interminable arpeggios. It’s a unique but highly communicative voice, something that has eluded the likes of Riley, Reich, and even Adams.

That same voice animates the second selection. This is not the first recording of the Tirol Concerto (Piano Concerto No. 1), but to my ears it’s the best. The Baroklyn strings’ decision to focus “on the larger beats” and wanting “every voice to have its own ebb and flow, coinciding with other voices in certain larger pulse divisions” (liner notes) pays off for the listener. Compare their sound to the competition — it works to this music’s decided advantage. The feel of large-scale pulsation with each repetition and thematic iteration is crucial to the work’s experience. Rather than feeling exhausted, the sympathetic listener comes through properly appreciating one of Glass’s grandest slow movements. The outer sections of this postmodern masterpiece appreciatively hop and sparkle here, helped by wonderful tunes all the way through. A healthy momentum keeps the music from getting bogged down. The latter must be avoided at all costs — it’s minimalism’s most tender vulnerability.

The title Hourglass is a clever bit of wordplay — Glass becomes hourglass, with a nod toward both The Hours and a nearly 60-minute run time along the way. But it also speaks to ensemble director Simone Dinnerstein's perceptive remarks in her liner notes. "When I think about the music of Philip Glass," she writes, "I think about time. The music is intricate and polyphonic. It's layered, with patterns that keep shifting in the subtlest of ways." It's "multi-linear." Quite so. If you listen carefully, there is definitely more here than initially meets the ear. But I still think that what animates everything is Glass's extraordinary melodic gift. I keep telling people that the history of Western music bears this out with few exceptions: the most successful stuff has good melody. Maybe it doesn't only have that, and maybe good melody isn't the most intellectually compelling component. Yet, this nearly consistent truth relates back to the notion that music must reach the heart and not just the head. So yes, the themes of time, cycles, waves, and pulses all contribute to splendid music and performances here. But all of it would amount to little without an X factor that resists analysis — and that's exactly from where Glass's memorable themes come.

Recent Releases No. 81 (CD Reviews)

2026-06-18T20:30:00.000-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Martinu: (CD1) Symphonies Nos. 1 & 2; (CD2) Symphonies Nos. 3 & 4 (CD3) Symphonies No. 5 & No. 6 “Fantaisies Symphoniques.” Bamberger Symphoniker; Jakub Hrusa, conductor. Deutsche Grammophon 486 7810

First, please allow me to apologize for not including the appropriate diacritical marks in the names of the composer and conductor; frustratingly enough, my computer did not make those available for me, alas. However, I hope that sharp-eyed readers will be able discern the correct typography from the album cover image. Moving on to another consideration, I was surprised to discover that (a) at the time I write this, there are only three listings for Martinu reviews on the Classical Candor website [it will show four when this review is posted, of course] and (b) of those three, none was for any of his symphonies. But what we have here is a fine new release that includes first-rate performances in excellent recorded sound quality of not just some but rather of all six of his symphonies. For fans of these works, this set will be a welcome breath of fresh air, something for which they have been waiting for a long time indeed. For those unfamiliar with Martinu’s symphonies, they are certainly pleasant, if not particularly memorable. To be honest, I have listened over and over and over again to this set, trying and trying and trying to get a handle on it. But the best I can say is what I just said: it is pleasant, at times quite interesting, but to these ears at least, is never quite memorable. For me, Martinu never quite seems to know just where he is going with his symphonies. I can enjoy them, but never do I feel they are moving me emotionally or intellectually. But having listened to other Martinu symphony recordings, I can recognize this one as especially fine; as a result, I recommend it highly to longtime Martinu fans as well as those newcomers looking to explore his music. It’s a superb account.

Walton: Orb and Sceptre; Symphony No. 1 in B flat minor; Symphony No. 2. City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra; Kazuki Yamada, conductor. Deutsche Grammophon 486 8227

The English composer Sir William Walton (1902-1983) wrote music in a variety of formats, including film scores, operas, concertos, and symphonies. Back in 2018, when my old friend and colleague from The $ensible Sound audio magazine days invited me to contribute to Classical Candor, my very first review (which you can read here) was of a recording of Walton’s Viola Concerto, which is a bit ironic, given that in the course of my otherwise quite positive review I did happen to mention that “although I have a fair number of recordings of Walton's music in my CD collection, I must confess that I seldom play any of them.” But one that I do play and enjoy from time to time is the Previn/LSO recording of the First Symphony. Compared to Previn, Yamada seems a bit less intense, missing some of the fire and drama inherent in the music, especially in the opening movement. The advantage of this new release from DG is having both symphonies on one disc, in excellent sound and smooth, professional performances. However, the vintage Previn recordings are still the gold standard.

Marilyn Crispell/Anders Jormin: Memento. Crispell/Jormin: For the Children; Crispell/Jormin: Dialogue; Crispell/Jormin: Embracing the Otherness; Crispell/Jormin: Contemplation in D; Jormin: Three Shades of a House – Morning; Three Shades of a House – Evening; Crispell: Song; Crispell: Memento; Crispell: Beach at Newquay; Jormin: The Dark Light; Crispell: Dragonfly. Marilyn Crispell, piano; Anders Jormin, double bass. ECM 2867

American pianist Marilyn Crispell (b. 1976) was trained as a classical pianist, beginning her studies at age seven at Peabody Conservatory, then later graduating from the New England Conservatory of Music in 1968. It was not until 1975 that she developed an interest in jazz, her interest having been triggered by her exposure to John Coltrane’s legendary recording A Love Supreme, which she found spellbinding. She began to hang with jazz musicians playing in an intense style that left little space between the notes. But this began to change in the early 1990s when on a trip to Europe she encountered an ensemble that included bassist and composer Anders Jormin (b. 1957). Hearing this more lyrical style of music touched something deep inside her, and before long she wound up touring and recording with Jormin’s Bortom Quintet. Since then, both Crispell and Jormin have appeared on numerous ECM albums, both as leaders and supporting players; in fact, we have reviewed some albums featuring Jormin on double bass, and those reviews can be found (here) and (here). Throughout Memento, you can feel the joy and empathy these two musicians share as they unite to create music. From Crispell’s opening piano notes of For the Children, soon joined by Jormin’s bowed bass, the music simply flows. Never is there a hint of note-spinning for the sake of virtuoso display from either player; rather, the atmosphere is one of contemplative beauty throughout. Memento is an ideal fusion of jazz and chamber music, recommended highly to fans of both genres.

Miroslav Vitous: Mountain Call. Miroslav Vitous/Michel Portal: New Energy; Second Touch; On the Way; Vitous: Unexpected Solutions; Tribal Dance; Vitous/Portal: Rehearsal in Theatre; Discussion; Vitous: Epilogue; Vitous/Portal: Delusion; Vitous: Evolution – Path Begins/Nature Opening/Fulfillment Final; Rhapsody – In You/Fun and Games/Africa/In Me/Lullaby; Mountain Call. Miroslav Vitous, double bass; Michel Portal, clarinet, bass clarinet; Jack DeJohnette, drums; Bob Mintzer, bass clarinet; Esperanza Spalding, voice; Gary Campbell, soprano and tenor saxophones; Members of the Czech National Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Miroslav Vitous. ECM 2763

It was quite a pleasant surprise to find this CD by the veteran Czech bassist Miroslav Vitous (b. 1947), who had a long and distinguished career in jazz having played with a veritable who's who of jazz stars such as Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea, Herbie Mann, Roy Ayers, Billy Cobham, Jan Garbarekand others. In 1970, he teamed with keyboardist Joe Zawinul and saxophonist Wayne Shorter to form the core of Weather Report, the jazz fusion super group. Recent back problems have forced Vitous to give up playing the double bass, although he is still active as a composer. Mountain Call consists of music that was recorded in by Vitous in Prague at various sessions from 2003 through 2010. Sadly enough, the two musicians given top cover billing along with Vitous are no longer with us, French clarinetist and composer Michel Portal (1935-2026) the revered American drum demigod Jack DeJohnette (1942-2025). Such a delight it is to hear the interplay between Portal and Vitous as the dance and weave their way through the first four tracks; DeJohnette proves that he too is an able dance partner. Some listeners may find themselves put off by Spalding’s vocals; those tracks are brief, and then the album end with an impassioned duet featuring Portal on bass clarinet and Vitous wringing sheer passion from his bass. For the many fans of Miroslav Vitous who have missed hearing him for quite some time now, ECM has given us quite the treasure.

Mahler: Symphony No. 3 (Streaming Review)

2026-06-15T06:48:04.884-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Vasily Petrenko, conductor; Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. Harmonia Mundi HMM905421.22

I have a problem with Mahler 3: I love the music in each of its movements, but I don’t really buy into the work’s broader pretensions. That business about what man, animals, flowers, the voice in his head, a little elf, yada yada, tell him? Meh. What we have here is just too many different things strung together somewhat unnecessarily to make the longest symphony in the canon. The recycled Des Knaben Wunderhorn settings could have stayed in that collection and the symphony would still have been “complete.” Heck, the six movements we have were shortened from an intended seven. (Can you imagine?!) Mahler was always a songwriter wearing symphonist garb. In the Third Symphony, he struggled to reconcile song cycle instincts with monumental symphonism, then fashioned a veneer of programmatic cohesion to hold everything together. But I don’t think he quite succeeds in having his cake and eating it, too. Great music is something distinct from a great work concept.

I suspect that Vasily Petrenko doesn’t entirely buy into Mahler 3’s pretensions, either. The very best performances have a thoroughgoing sense of sweep that resists (however vainly) its discursiveness. But this live performance is a study in self-containment. Any of its movements as one-off hearings would work fine. Experienced in succession, however, they amount to a pedestrian journey. And if there’s one thing this symphony won’t bear, it’s pedestrian treatment.

To be honest, I think Petrenko’s occasional refusal to hit the music’s highest heights also lends to a sense of indifference overall. I say “refusal” because he is more than capable of doing so. In moments of juiced drama in his Shostakovich symphony performances, he’s extremely effective. But for some reason, similar proceedings here are more muted. Perhaps tellingly, this happens mostly in the gargantuan opening movement and the drawn-out finale. There’s gusto noticeably missing from the former’s central march, with the climax falling flat. Even in performances where I don’t like some tempo decisions or balance, specifically Jascha Horenstein with the LSO (Unicorn-Kanchana UKCD 2006/7), the colors are comparatively vivid, and the drama palpable. But Petrenko strangely lays off that extra gear. Perhaps, shorn of the jaded irony in Shostakovich’s Mahler-influenced passages, he is less inclined to indulge barer sentimentality. I certainly got this sense in the finale, where the interpretation is “good” but lacking in the pure emotional energy of a Bernstein or Tennstedt reading. A lengthy sendoff to a lengthy symphony calls for something extra.

Petrenko’s middle movements are solid stuff; they convince more than their bookends. Best of all are II and III, where he at least provides sharp (if not superlative) accounts. His movements IV and V are sturdy as well: if you’re unfamiliar with this music you’ll be well served by them…until you listen to more committed accounts. Again, I can’t entirely blame Petrenko here from a personal standpoint. I find the Nietzsche text pompous, and Arnim’s a silly low point in his Wunderhorn collection. But like I always say, if you’re going to perform a piece you should try mightily to take on its assumptions. For these stretches, here is where Haitink and the Symphonieorchester des Bayerischen Rundfunks (BR Klassik 900149) shine. The music simply glows in their hands in a way it doesn't in Petrenko’s. (And going back to the Horenstein recording mentioned earlier, I have never heard the darker edges of Movement V illuminated more arrestingly!) Over 90+ minutes of a single work these differences absolutely add up.

In sum, this is not a bad recording at all. Mahler collectors will certainly want it, and everyone else can rest assured of its competency. But in every respect I care about it is outclassed by other options. I haven’t heard Petrenko conduct Mahler 4, but I suspect that work fits him better. It’s a trimmer score that doesn’t sag beneath its own weight, with a lighter complexion that will reward his apparent instinct to avoid wallowing. In fact, I look forward to such a commercial release. In that scenario those who resent both my opinion of Mahler 3 and Petrenko’s treatment of it can compare the two cycle entries side by side and see whether they still think I’m barking.

Bach: Goldberg Variations (CD Review)

2026-06-10T06:17:40.048-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Yunchan Lim, pianist. Decca 487 1517

Yunchan Lim earns his adulation. He’s one of the best things to happen to classical music recently. What a gift to have someone who’s at once so serious about his art, so flawless in his technique, and so imaginative in his interpretations without compromising musical integrity. His previous release of the Chopin Études (Decca 487 0122) was a revelation – a disc I now delightedly place with the best performances. And while I do not agree with certain rubato decisions in his 2025 Tchaikovsky Seasons release (Decca 487 1022), I’ll pay that price for the most heart-rending realizations of some of them I’ve ever heard. These live Goldberg Variations are a worthy follow-up, an encouraging indication that Mr. Lim is a performer of enduring sensitivity rather than any flash in the pan. And speaking of flash, it’s nice not to be gimmicked by hamster-wheel virtuosity, performance-practice stuntsmanship, or skimpy concert attire that *covers* only a lack of substance

But Lim certainly has his detractors, and it is against their more unfair criticisms that I find it advantageous to begin evaluating this Bach. The first thing we need to get straight is that the “historically informed performance” people, contrary to their posturing, wouldn’t know how Bach actually played his variations from a hole in the wall. Joseph Kerman (Contemplating Music, HUP, 1985) and Richard Taruskin (Text and Act, OUP, 1995) have already exposed the stubborn HIP movement’s fallacies, and I won’t fully replicate their arguments here. I’ll just first point out that the manuscript score to the Goldbergs is sparse indeed. Mostly missing are dynamics (understandably), articulation marks, and tempo indications. If anything, Bach seems to be saying, “here are the notes: decide how to play them.” Second, even if we did have more evidence of Bach's personal preferences, he’s long dead and we have instruments he never imagined. I think we can let go of the gatekeeping. Wanda Landowska reportedly said, “you play Bach your way, and I’ll play him his way.” Talented musician, terrible music scholar. Let’s not pretend to be in the know when all we’re doing is being pompous. (This seems a good place to remind certain performers that sneering at musicology as a discipline may scratch an itch, but in the end the joke’s on them.)

Critics of Lim’s Goldbergs say he plays some ornaments a little funny, or that he disrupts certain polyphonic lines while unusually bringing out some inner voices. Maybe he does. I also don’t negatively care. These detractors seem to think that the highest aim of all new Goldberg Variation recordings is to recreate the sound of the harpsichord on the piano, or to satisfy some stale formalist paradigm. I for one believe we have enough recordings of this work on the harpsichord. If that’s what you want, you’ll always have these performers to satisfy you. But do we otherwise need to be so pedantic? An unorthodox elongation of a trill’s upper auxiliary note (or some comparably innocuous thing) is still miles away from Glenn Gould’s humming and howling. There’s contrapuntal style, and then there’s artificially adding lines of counterpoint that Bach never wrote, even in a manuscript mostly restricted to notes!

But the complaint that Lim achieves a Romantic sound is for me one of this recording’s selling points. When I listen to some of these variations, I hear colors and atmospheres that the heretofore best performances on piano (Perahia, Hewitt, etc.) only began to explore. This is easily experienced in the slower, dreamier numbers (particularly 15, 21, and 25). But somehow even more impressive is the “velvety virtuosity” that Lim achieves in many of the quick pieces, fully exploiting the timbral possibilities of the modern instrument. Variations 9, 22, and 24 are emblematic of the entire performance in this respect, and bespeak extraordinary pianistic command.

If this weren’t enough, Lim also brings refreshing spontaneity with varied repeats. Sometimes his daring is breathtaking, as when he plays the right hand part an octave higher on repeat in Variation 7, or alters rhythms in a quasi-improvisatory manner the second time through No. 20. I can imagine some purists raging at these liberties, but just as easily can I imagine Bach grinning appreciatively if he could somehow listen from beyond the grave. My favorite of all is Variation 17, which in Lim’s hands is a virtuosic tour de force of piano dynamics and technical control.

The truth is that I listen to too many new recordings of familiar repertoire that are no better than highly competent (and sometimes considerably worse). “Why did we need yet another of these?” I often wearily ask myself. But then someone like Lim comes along, threads the needle of personal vs. tasteful, and revives my flagging faith in the whole industry. There really are new things that can be said with this old music. Lim certainly says some; his Goldbergs burst with flavor and are all the more astounding for having been performed live. I understand that he’s tackling the Mozart sonatas next: more well-trodden ground that risks exposing him ruthlessly. Like others, I’d love for him to champion some newer works in need of high-profile advocacy. But until then I’m more than happy to see if he can maintain his stellar showing within the canon.

In Memoriam: Sonny Rollins

2026-06-02T12:06:35.018-07:00

by Karl Nehring

On May 25, we lost a giant in the world of jazz, Sonny Rollins, the “Saxophone Colossus,” who was widely regarded as the greatest improviser on his instrument; moreover, he was widely regarded as a wise, kind, generous human being. Even those not generally familiar with jazz history may recall the famous story of Sonny Rollins and “the bridge.” In the summer of 1959, Rollins, who was already recognized as a great young talent and had released two widely acclaimed LPs. Saxophone Colossus and Way Out West, abruptly stopped touring in 1959 and instead began a daily routine of practicing his horn on the Williamsburg Bridge over New York City’s East River, often playing as much as 14-15 hours, refining his craft for two years until finally going back on tour in the fall of 1961. Then in early 1962, he stepped into the studio to record an album titled The Bridge, which featured guitar virtuoso Jim Hall. Sonny was finally forced to hang up his horn in 2014 because of respiratory illness, but he remained a beloved elder statesman in the jazz community.

In the wake of his passing, many tributes to Sonny Rollins have been posted, two of which I have included here. The first is by bassist Christian McBride (you can read Christian's tribute here), while the second is by the Detroit based jazz critic Mark Stryker, kindly made available courtesy of pianist and author Ethan Iverson (which can be found here). Stryker offers recommendations about Rollins’s recordings; ideally, late one evening soon you will look over his list, find an album that sounds promising, and give Sonny a listen.

Schubert: Hoffnung (Lieder from c. 1826). Schubert 200, Volume 3 (Streaming Review)

2026-05-28T05:00:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Samuel Hasselhorn, baritone; Ammiel Bushakevitz, pianist. Harmonia Mundi HMM 902779

While I’m usually lukewarm about thematic recording projects, this release belongs to an uncommonly compelling series. In the lead-up to the 200th anniversary of Franz Schubert’s death in 2028, Harmonia Mundi has planned five albums devoted to the productive last five years of his life. Each presents a curated selection of lieder from an approximate year, performed by baritone Samuel Hasselhorn and pianist Ammiel Bushakevitz, with a subtitle reflecting some commonality of its selections. The first release was Die schöne Müllerin (HMM 902720), featuring the 1823 cycle. Last year came Licht und Schatten (“Light and Shadow,” HMM 902747), covering songs from 1824–25. Now we have Volume 3, Hoffnung (“Hope”), my favorite installment so far.

Familiar Schubert songs feel fresher when imaginative programming reshapes their complexion. Many of the inclusions here speak to longing—particularly for a person or future not yet arrived, hence the subtitle. Tropes of wind, dreams, and the seasons thread through the choices almost like leitmotifs. Taken together, these songs somehow project their own poignant atmosphere. With repeated listens it’s clear that they effectively play off of each other. Curation is very much part of the experience here.

But inspired curation won’t save uninspired performances. What really makes this album (and series) work are Hasselhorn’s and Bushakevitz’s deft musicianship. Hasselhorn has a rich voice with a better-than-average vocal timbre. He brings versatility of range and expression, along with especially strong diction. You can hear these texts very well, not just the concordant pitches and dynamics. Words are not slurred. Such attributes are rarer than they should be; even big names like Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau sometimes underwhelm in these respects. Moreover, I can scarcely convey how refreshing it is that vibrato here does not obscure intelligibility. Bushakevitz proves himself a responsive partner. While some might accuse him of yielding too much interpretive ground, that impression probably stems from his resolute orientation toward the singer. This is a pairing sharply suited to the task at hand.

Every song here receives at least a very good performance, but some accounts are outstanding. Foremost in my affections is Alinde (D. 904). Hasselhorn and Bushakevitz never lose the thread, and bring out each stanza’s own special emotions. The point of reuniting with the song’s namesake is gorgeously colored, differentiating it from prior searching exclamations. I’d say these musicians shine most in such modified strophic territory. Das Zügenglöcklein (D. 871, No. 2) is another instance where they fully exploit the savory changes of mode and melody (although I think Bushakevitz could ping the eponymous A-Flat bell perhaps a tad more prominently).

However, a chief challenge with Schubert lieder is in the simple strophic numbers: what wiggle room can performers find to provide variety as words change but scoring does not? Despite his occasional text-slurring, Fischer-Dieskau threaded that needle better than almost anyone else. Hasselhorn and Bushakevitz bring off songs like Im Jänner 1817 (“Tiefes Leid”) and the D. 867 Wiegenlied with great sensitivity. I’d put their renditions ahead of most others’. But their very polish perhaps inhibits them in that last inch for such settings.

If this release were purely a question of musicianship, I’d rate it north of 4.5/5. Unfortunately, I must mention something that’s easy to overlook: sound quality. A reverberant, even boomy acoustic unfairly hampers the proceedings. It’s particularly noticeable in the music’s lower registers. Since Hasselhorn is a baritone, that drags him down disproportionately. Compare this recording to others with the same repertoire, and you’ll see what I mean. That said, it’s a slight annoyance that should not dissuade you. This is still a strong conceptual series with excellent performances for the most part. I’m excited for 1827!