Classical Candor

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!

Bill Frisell: In My Dreams (Streaming and Concert Review)

2026-05-25T07:05:54.260-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Bill Frisell: In My Dreams. Frisell: Trapped in the Sky; When We Go; In My Dreams; Strayhorn/Ellington: Isfahan; Frisell: Give Me a Home (interpolation of "Home on the Range"); Why?; Curtis (A Year and a Day) [dedicated to Curtis Fowlkes]; Stephen Foster: Hard Times; Frisell: Again; Never Too Late; Brewster M. Higley/Daniel E. Kelley: Home on the Range. Bill Frisell, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, loops; Jenny Scheinman, violin; Eyvind Kang, viola; Hank Roberts, cello; Thomas Morgan, double bass; Rudy Royston, drums. Blue Note 8813766

The last time we reviewed an album featuring the American guitarist Bill Frisell (b.1951), he was contributing as part of a quartet led by the veteran drummer Andrew Cyrille (you can read our review of that compelling 2021 ECM release here). I had first become acquainted with Frisell’s playing four decades ago, from the 1986 album Bass Desires (ECM 1299) (Marc Johnson, double bass; Bill Frisell, guitar and guitar synthesizer; John Scofield, guitar; Peter Erkine, drums) and 1987’s Strange Meeting (Antilles New Directions 90627-2) by Power Tools (Frisell, electric guitar; Ronald Shannon Jackson, drums; Melving Gibbs, electric bass). Throughout the 1980s, Frisell played on numerous ECM albums both as sideman and leader, having originally been recommended to the label by Pat Metheny, who had found himself unable to make a recording gig and suggested that ECM founder Manfred Eicher consider Frisell as a worthy substitute. Frisell has gone on to make many fine recordings for other labels as well, most notably Nonesuch, some of my personal favorites being 1997’s country-tinged Nashville, 2001’s foggily mystical Blues Dream, and the extended live jams featured in 2005’s East/West. In 2019, he signed with the venerable Blue Note label, for which he has released several recordings, including the fascinating Orchestras (Blue Note 583733 2-CD) from 2024, which features his trio (Frisell, guitar; Thomas Morgan, double bass; Rudy Royston, drums) together with the Brussels Philharmonic and the Umbria Jazz Orchestra.

I must admit that that when I first auditioned his latest release, In My Dreams, I was a bit underwhelmed. I was expecting the music to be energetic, with some extended passages of virtuoso finesse; instead, what I discovered was something that struck me as laid back in the extreme. Part of my expectation stemmed from having seen the Bill Frisell Trio (Frisell, guitar and loops; Greg Tardy, clarinet and saxophone; Tim Angulon, drums and percussion) in 2024 perform a live show that was an amazing two hours of stunning musicianship. I shall never forget their opening number. With Tardy on clarinet, the three musicians played 45 minutes of music that had a classical feel about it, as though long passages could have been composed by – or at least inspired by – Debussy. They went on for more than another hour, playing music both fast and slow, tough and tender. Throughout the show, although Frisell never played fast and flashy – that’s never been his style – his playing was generally energetic and assertive. But what I heard when first I streamed In My Dreams seemed to border on the lethargic.

Some months before the release of the new album, some friends and I had purchased tickets to see Frisell and his band in concert. We were excited to see that he was going to be bringing Scheinman, Kang, Roberts, and crew; we anticipated a rollicking, high-energy evening. However, when the album came out featuring the same lineup, but sounding overly buttoned-down, at least as far as I was concerned, I found myself losing some of my initial enthusiasm for the upcoming concert, especially given that Frisell’s tour and concert likewise were titled In My Dreams. Still, because Frisell is one of my musical heroes and because live music is always rewarding, I figured that seeing the band play In My Dreams in the flesh would beat hearing it at home. As the musicians took the stage and Frisell introduced his bandmates, a large screen behind the stage began displaying a striking, colorful abstract art image, and as the musicians began to play, the image on the screen began to change, scrolling slowly from right to left as new art worked its way across the screen as the musicians played. What they played was of course similar to what I had heard on the album, but with more drama and depth. It was an amazing evening, one that exceeded my expectations. But what was especially gratifying is how seeing Frisell and company in concert changed my perception of the album, for when I went back and listened to it in the wake of my concert experience I was now able to hear it on its own terms, without preconceived notions of what I wanted it to sound like. Listening to it with fresh ears, I heard music that communicated in simple, direct ways, but was simultaneously subtle and sophisticated. In My Dreams is a remarkable amalgam of chamber music and jazz, easily and enthusiastically recommendable to fans of both genres.

Winger: Violin Concerto “In the Language of Flowers”; Symphony of the Returning Light (CD Review)

2026-05-18T20:30:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Peter Otto, violinist; Giancarlo Guerrero, conductor; Nashville Symphony. Naxos 8.559921

You know those early-18th-century violin concertos by second-tier composers that all sound almost indistinguishable? That’s how Kip Winger’s orchestral music might register when aired on classical channels in 2325. And it’s not because he comes from rock — it’s because, like most of his late Baroque forebears, he writes nice music that isn’t much more. Which would be fine, but there’s just one, typically 21st-century hangup: giving pieces flowery (literally in this case) titles the music itself scarcely justifies. This fare is no equivalent of The Four Seasons in its power of suggestion; it’s our era’s version of Giuseppe Interchangemoni’s umpteenth sinfonia, only with gaudier conceits. (I wish I could claim full credit for this joke, but it's partially borrowed from both Peter Schickele and Jim Svejda.)

The Violin Concerto is a case in point. It’s subtitled “In the Language of Flowers” and sports four such names ahead of their respective movements. The liner notes don’t really say why, except to mention general inspiration. But the piece works better without them. With simple tempo indications the listener wouldn’t be distracted into seeking connections between plants and content that are nowhere obvious. The work would more sensibly have been called Violin Concerto No. 1, with no botanical headings.

On a purely musical level, the concerto is pleasant rather than compelling. The truth is that Winger has modest compositional resources. He therefore relies on a small stock of templates to string together coherent movements: soloist passagework over ostinatos or driving rhythms, cadenza-like stretches, and tutti climaxes. The ostinatos do inject nice pep. At least you can bounce along rhythmically while you’re waiting for something to happen that never really does. These make decent claim on the listener’s attention, facile as they are. But the tutti portions are the biggest letdowns. Because he cannot merely noodle his way through them, Winger is weaker at these junctures. We need more effective perorations and memorable themes than he seems able to supply.

The Symphony better justifies its appellations. It employs a technique that provides a neat twist on the traditional “symphonic” ideal: use of the S.O.S. Morse code as a recurring motive and structural pillar. The “Symphony of the Returning Light” idea is thus fully discernible in the music. Winger’s craft here is also an upgrade from the Concerto. Bereft of a soloist to write for, and benefitting from his programmatic anchor, he can more effectively conceal his seams.

But even if the Symphony earns its title better than the Concerto, it’s limited by it, too. The intermittent Morse code (faithfully rendered in its signature electronic timbre) is easily its most memorable component. The jaunty motive that Winger overworks in the middle of the third movement (titled “Metamorphosis”) is almost an exception. But even here I had to listen once again to fully recall it; the return of S.O.S. immediately after effectively sapped what staying power it had. Something similar is true in the second movement (“Eleos”), where a simple gesture following a central hymn-like section augurs more interest but quickly sheds its promise. Without the overriding gimmick, this music is essentially boilerplate post-2000 American symphonism. We faintly discern Walter Piston, Paul Creston, and so on, but miss their heft.

Having said all this, I have a lot of respect for Kip Winger. He’s more than some rock musician dabbling in classical composition. His music may be pleasant without being particularly distinctive, but that puts him on par with most formally trained composers. Actually, it places him ahead of too many. While excessively fanciful, he’s at least not a purveyor of loaded ugliness. If these works are unlikely to become your new favorites, I can nevertheless recommend them for a reasonably good time.

William Mival: Vale – a pastoral symphony; Tristan – still; Pluen (Streaming Review)

2026-05-15T20:49:20.672-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Philharmonia Orchestra; Martyn Brabbins, conductor. Signum Classics SIGCD977

This is another instance of a chance encounter with music by a composer previously unknown to me turning out to be pure serendipity. As it happens, one of the TV streaming services to which I subscribe is Amazon Music, and a couple of weeks or so ago, after watching either some British mystery or perhaps Mystery Science Theater 3000 late one night, I decided to switch to stream some music while getting ready for bed (I have a reasonably good sounding Roku Pro Soundbar – no longer manufactured, alas – with subwoofer and four surround speakers). Something that Amazon Music does that I enjoy is recommend new releases based on its perception of your listening preferences; on this fateful evening one of its suggestions was this new Signum release highlighting a work titled Vale – a pastoral symphony by William Mival. Who?! What? I had no idea who William Mival was or is, but I’m a sucker for pastoral symphonies ((Beethoven, RVW), so even though it was getting late, I fired it up to see what it was all about. Entranced, I wound up not getting to bed until a good hour later, having listened to the whole program and now excited to have stumbled across a fascinating new composer.

Of course, one of my first orders of business the next morning after downing my usual Rich Chocolate High Protein SlimFast for breakfast was to find out just who in the heck is this composer of the music that had so captivated me the night before. Naturally enough, as I began my quest, I started playing this music again to see whether it would still appeal to me. A quick web search yielded the information that William Mival (pictured left) is a composer, broadcaster, writer, and teacher who was born in Wales in 1959. From 2004 through 2022, he was Head of Composition at the Royal College of Music in London. As I continued to audition and enjoy his music, I was mildly surprised that a contemporary composer with such an academic background (one of his major publications, for example, is a book on Stockhausen, for instance) could write such accessible music. But that is not to say that his music is simple, shallow, least-common-denominator stuff; instead, what we encounter on this new Signum release is satisfying music of substance.

The program opens with Vale – a Pastoral Symphony, which consists of six relatively brief movements, for which I have indicated the timings: I. Senza ironia [4:39]; II. Fluido, bucolica e espressivo [2:48]; III. Fluido, bucolica e expressivo (cont.) [5:23]; IV. Lento [5:50]; V. Piu mosso, fluido [6:49]; VI. Meno messo – rubato e molto espressivo[1:47]. The CD booklet explains that Mival’s program notes for the symphony refer to the Vale of Clwyd, an area of great natural beauty in Wales. However, Mival goes on to explain that “there is nothing in the symphony that directly refers to the Vale of Clwyd. In fact, it’s far more German Romantic-centered in many places. Firstly, it’s symphonic; this was something I wanted to attempt for myself. I’d heard an especially moving performance of Vaughan Williams’s Fifth Symphony, which I think is an absolute masterpiece, and I wondered whether that language could somehow be revisited – the directness and apparent simplicity of it, and a quality that is unmistakably British.” From the opening measures, there is at once a sense of direct musical communication by subtle yet heartfelt means. Like nature itself, there is peace and calm coexisting with underlying energy and unrest, the music building momentum through the first three movements before the more tranquil, reflective Lento fourth movement, which is warmly welcoming. The fifth and longest movement begins peacefully, but about two minutes in, the energy level begins to increase, with Mival then bringing the symphony to a peaceful, if slightly enigmatic conclusion in the brief final movement. Although the six-movement structure is somewhat unusual for a symphony, Vale is still a deeply moving and appealing work, a worthy addition to the roster of pastoral symphonies.

Next on the program is Tristan – still, which is the earliest of the three compositions on this release, having first been performed early in 2003. It was commissioned by the BBC, with the original idea for it to serve as a counterpoint to a concert presentation of Act III of Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde – thus the unusual title. The BBC requested that Mival use the same instrumentation that Wagner had used, which Mival did, adding only a bass drum. The resulting composition is much easier to listen to than to describe. It consists of four movements that grow progressively longer, with a total duration of nearly 19 minutes. The music has a ghostly Wagnerian presence about it, like hearing Wagner in a dream. If in Vale we were musically transported to the Vale of Clwyd, we are now being taken in some dark, mythical, enchanted forest. It’s a fascinating journey.

For the composer, however, the road ahead was not so smooth. According to the liner notes, “Mival’s audacity in writing a large-scale romantic orchestral score in 2003 would trigger another creative crisis. ‘The audience loved it, he recalls – it went down incredibly well in the hall, and it was nominated for a British Composer Award. But it was either too much, or too little for some I think – the words “time travel” were used on several occasions. I was taken aback. A lot of things dried up for me after that. So I concentrated on my teaching, taking virtually a ten-year break from composition. The piece that going again was Correntandemente, an ensemble piece, in 2015, and then Pluen came along.”

Pluen (the Welsh term for “feather”) was commissioned by the Laurence Madiano Charitable Trust in celebration of the 70^th birthday of a noted British music lover, Prince Charles, now King Charles III. According to Mival’s official program note for its premier in 2019, the piece “is a meditation on a Welsh folksong, found in an arrangement for choir by Gustav Holst; Y Glomen, ‘The Dove.’ Barely recognizable fragments of the original melody are woven into three extended variations followed by a conclusion. The durations of each variation deriving from the relative proportions of the three feathers in the emblematic heraldic badge of Prince of Wales.” Mival goes on to explain how, “I’d originally met Laurence Madiano at a fundraiser for the RCM; I sent him a bootleg recording of Tristan – still and he immediately commissioned this little piece. I thought – let’s write a folk song, basically, and see where I can go with it. I’ve always had a huge interest in Mahler, as you can probably hear in places – I’m fascinated by the way that Mahler takes simple ideas and then moulds them into something more complex. So I had a go at that with Pluen, but at the same time, I wanted to make something direct. Aaron Copland said that as a composer you need to have a language in common with the people you’re writing for, so directness has always been a part of what I do.” Over four brief movements spanning a total of approximately 11 minutes, the music of Pluen exhibits a kind of pastoral charm and a warmly British ambience that is beguiling to the ear.

I have lost count of how many times I have played this recording over the past couple of weeks, but I have no doubt that I have listened to it more often than any other recording thus far in 2026. And the more I listen to it, the more I have come to enjoy and appreciate it. William Mival may well be, in the final analysis, a relatively minor composer with a limited body of work; however, that does not mean that Mavil is not is possessed of a major compositional gift, for he, Maestro Brabbins, and the musicians of the Philharmonia Orchestra have produced a recording worthy of the very highest recommendation.

Sibelius: Orchestral Works (CD Review)

2026-05-05T10:26:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Sibelius: Lemminkäinen Suite, Op. 22; Violin Concerto in D Minor, Op. 47. Santtu-Matias Rouvali, conductor; Ava Bahari, violinist; Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra. Alpha Classics 1215

In a CD review for an academic journal last year, I quoted a line from G. K. Chesterton’s great apologetic The Everlasting Man. The same words kept going through my mind as I listened to this recording, so I am going to share them again here: “When the Professor is told by the Polynesian that once there was nothing except a great feathered serpent, unless the learned man feels a thrill and a half temptation to wish it were true, he is no judge of such things at all.” I don’t know what Santtu-Matias Rouvali feels when he reads the Kalevala’s vivid stories of Lemminkäinen. But I feel that his performance of Sibelius’s Lemminkäinen Suite with the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra misses Chesterton’s standard of conviction.

What the attuned listener needs for this music are two things: a keen grasp of the legendary, and a willingness to fully bring Lemminkäinen’s unbridled virility to life. The best performances capture the sense that these stories might actually be distant memories from a lost age, in which magic was still possible and events unfolded with a fairy tale’s inexorable destiny. We should almost remember being there, something akin to what Vaughan Williams expressed about seeing Stonehenge for the first time – that he’d somehow always known it. Additionally, at least in the first number there should be an atmosphere charged with overt eroticism. This is tied to Lemminkäinen’s specific characterization in Canto 29 of the Kalevala as a swaggering, womanizing “wanton.” (Consider, too, how Sibelius himself behaved when he traveled abroad with his cohorts or embarked upon Symposium benders. “Every note should be experienced,” he once advised young composers.)

Rouvali is a fine musician, but he disappoints on both of these crucial levels. His biggest letdown is in failing to capture the sheer passion of Lemminkäinen’s romp with the maidens of Saari. We need a vibe akin to a young man freshly dropped off at college who is away from his parents for the first time, surrounded by beautiful women and possibilities. But Rouvali leads more in the direction of the geeky reject who withdraws alone into his dorm room to play Minecraft. Musically the biggest culprit is that he doesn’t lean into the expressive passages enough. The fervent tunes and running figures need more lustiness. Mere precision is a secondary concern. Ditto the woodwind motives making up the main theme and restated in the aftermath of the climax. They’re too “brought to heel” in this performance. Crassness should be avoided but these call for ardency. My favorite recording (Saraste with the Toronto Symphony) at times feels like its wheels are about to spin off. Never mind; those folks absolutely nail the mood.

Related issues plague the remaining parts of the suite, albeit to a lesser degree. The famous Swan of Tuonela is skillfully rendered but tonally off. Once again Rouvali’s allergy to lushness dampens the proceedings. His strings supply a steely brilliance where softer resplendence is preferable. The last two pieces, Lemminkäinen in Tuonela and Lemminkäinen’s Return are markedly better, but they still lack the voltage of elite accounts. It’s not so much that Rouvali changes his approach here as he’s let off the hook by reduced lyrical demands. But even under these propitious conditions we still lack the high drama supplied by Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra, or by Leif Segerstam and the Helsinki Philharmonic. Lemminkäinen’s Return is the high point here and it’s middling. There’s plenty of pep, but we need a touch more atmosphere. Furthermore, Rouvali duplicates an unfortunate misstep that mars many other accounts: he directs his flutists to underplay an already piano dynamic when their “calls” enter at Rehearsal 6 and expand in subsequent measures. Following score directions is good, but not to the point where it’s difficult to hear principal motives. This material, while fleeting, is an important part of the musical narrative.

Finally we come to the Violin Concerto, and I’m afraid this take just pushes average. It’s not for a lack of soloist ability. Ava Bahari has an uncommonly warm tone and excels in the passages that call for it. She’s also no slouch as a virtuoso, as this finale demonstrates. While I think she could use more rhythmic snap at times (especially in her exposed passages at the beginning), mostly she’s just contained by a reticent supporting cast. One example is paradigmatic: the Largamente theme following Rehearsal 3 in the opening movement. This melodic stretch is Sibelian GOLD – one of the signature moments in all of his output. But Rouvali practically bails on Bahari! There must be robust string section support and he ducks it. Sibelius indicated espressivo and affettuoso. What more did he need to do for performers to bare their hearts here?

I don’t know Maestro Rouvali, so I won’t ascribe motivations to him. But I hope he isn’t one of those post-Sibelian Finnish artists who is embarrassed by frank displays of sentiment and nationalism. If he isn’t, someone he trusts should nudge him toward a better contrary impression. If he is, I would gently tell him that some of the very things modernist snobs consider backward or hokey about his national heritage are precisely what many of us abroad love about it. We may not all have prominent positions at London publications, nor frequent the proverbial cocktail parties, but we listen eagerly and from the gut. When someone conducts Sibelius like he’d rather be conducting Stravinsky, we notice. So embrace the feathered serpents, Maestro, and the flawed heroes from your glorious folklore. They’re not a bad look.

Shostakovich: Symphonies Nos. 2 and 5 (CD Review)

2026-04-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

John Storgårds, conductor; CBSO Chorus; BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. Chandos CHSA 5378

Do you want the “good” news first? Here it is: this is the best Shostakovich 2 I have ever heard. It rewards exactly the kind of bloodless conducting that John Storgårds has adopted for this cycle so far. All of this symphony’s little stunts and gestures that don’t add up to anything, not to mention the clunky choral send-off, get about as sympathetic a treatment in his hands as you’re going to find. By Shostakovich’s virtual admission (he disavowed this work and its successor later in life) his Second Symphony is a 20-minute self-own, and Storgårds rises to the occasion splendidly. I’m not really sure who the joke is on – the composer, the conductor, Alexander Bezymensky (the lyricist), or any fan of this music who happens to exist. Slow-clap for all involved, I guess.

Things don’t get better, but they do get stranger. To say that the best recording of Shostakovich’s worst symphony is paired here with the worst recording of his best is barely an exaggeration. Certainly, this is the dullest Fifth I’ve ever heard. The music calls for the opposite. Shostakovich wrote it at his time of greatest fear and desperation. It might have been this work or the gulag; he certainly watched plenty of his compatriots pave the way for him. At his lowest he produced arguably his finest, most distilled symphony, giving it the subtitle “A Soviet Artist’s Creative Reply to Just and Deserved Criticism.” But if you think that what he somehow meant was instead “A Soviet Artist’s Creative Cure for Insomnia,” boy does Storgårds deliver those goods.

This performance of the Fifth has little excitement and next to no character. For a fleeting moment, a sharp opening creates a sense of anticipation. But after the first few bars it’s all downhill. Storgårds seems allergic to lush lyricism, because he underplays all the beautiful tunes and their supporting textures. The more agitated moments are no better. When the opening-theme variation returns in a quasi-development section with brass and piano, it should sound menacing. Instead it’s limp. The climactic march with snare drum has no panache. The loud tutti right before the creepy closing measures is sluggish and emotionally under-committed. When the flute theme over strings arrives directly afterward, the relief it imparts must be earned. But given what it follows, this effect is muted. A spirit of dramatic reluctance hangs over this first movement and sets the tone for the entire interpretation.

The second movement is somehow even blander. The main problem is a pervasive mechanical manner. It sounds like someone directing his musicians to be as emotionally divested as possible. The biting wit that comes through in the best performances (such as those by Mravinsky, Bernstein, and Petrenko) is missing. With the Largo we rise to a respectable level. Storgårds’s obsession with unassuming clarity here pays some dividends. For once nothing gets bogged down, the balance is excellent, and the climactic points are full if still somewhat sterile. It doesn’t save the whole interpretation, but it’s the most defensible stretch here.

For the second time in this performance, a decent start fizzles quickly in the finale. The opening march theme is just not forceful enough. Storgårds seems to be doing all he can here to resist the music’s innate personality. The many calmer sections following louder surges are again listless when they should provide purposeful respite. The sendoff at the end is like someone making a feeble impression of a rousing finish. But one part is particularly instructive: the tutti Romantic theme with lush strings above brass interjections. Storgårds overemphasizes these bursts in a way that distracts from this main theme. It reminds me of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s quip that the purpose of the conductor is to find out where the melody lies. One doesn’t fully appreciate such wisdom until encountering a leader whose fetish for clarity actually interferes with the music.

Of course we know what the problem is: there are already numerous recordings of Shostakovich 5. The pressure to be distinctive too often licenses stubborn preoccupations. I certainly don’t want this music to be unclear. But Shostakovich wasn’t a chilly neoclassicist. He was the Mahlerian heir, whose predisposition was for song, dance, irony, and the theatrical. If a conductor is not prepared to begin from such premises, he should perform something else. Label management and other gatekeepers should better recognize these mismatches and refuse to cynically countenance them. Because as it stands now, they’re cranking out too many detached or mannered performances that compare poorly with solid accounts. Yes, yes: this is a good Shostakovich 2, but who cares? It’s one of two throwaway works in his symphonic cycle, included only because it’s part of the group. There’s no reason to buy this No. 5, and hence no reason to buy the disc.

Premieres (CD Review)

2026-04-25T14:20:00.000-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Premieres. Scott Wheeler: Birds of America; Avner Dorman: Nigunim (Violin Concerto No. 2); Bright Sheng: Let Fly. Gil Shaham, violin; The Orchestra Now; Leon Botstein, conductor. Canary Classics CC26

Our first encounter with The Orchestra Now conducted by Leon Botstein did not go all that well, as we found their previous release, Transcription as Translation (AVIE AV2822), to be less than inspiring listening (you can find our review of that CD here). This time around, however, we find these same musicians on a different label and taking a different musical approach; rather than transcriptions of works from the past, they are teaming with violin virtuoso Gil Shaham (b. 1971) to present three contemporary concertos for violin and orchestra. Each of these works was in fact written expressly for Shaham, who writes, “it is an honor to have premiered and been a part of the creation of the three compositions featured on this album. I treasure my friendships with Avner, Bright, and Scott, whose inspired music has already resonated with so many, and with Leon, whose singular artistry and vision made this project happen."

Birds of America is American composer Scott Wheeler’s (b. 1952) second violin concerto. It is in the typical three-movement, fast-slow-fast format, with all three movements incorporating bird-inspired sounds and themes. Although that description might make it seem as though the music might sound gimmicky or superficial, the piece sounds at once serious and playful, pleasant and substantial. Nigunim by Israeli composer Avner Dorman (b. 1975) is in four movements with a slow-fast-slow-fast pattern. It is a more intense-sounding, driven work than Birds. There are clearly discernible Jewish influences and elements, such as Klezmer music. Let Fly by Chinese American composer Bright Sheng (b. 1955) is in three movements, played without a break, with the soloist asked to insert a brief cadenza between the second and third movements. The work’s title has a dual origin: “first, it is the aural image of the violin melody just flying off in the air, an everlasting sensation when I first saw Gil Shaham perform a concert. The second inspiration of the title came from my daughter Fayfay (homonym for ‘to fly’ in Chinese). I wrote a child rhyme named after her when she was born on November 15th, 2010. And the first phrase of the song appears a few times in the composition.” It’s a rhapsodic piece, flowing and free, with Shaham given plenty of opportunity to shine. With three substantial concertos, excellent engineering, and informative program notes, Premieres is a recommendable release.

Concert Report: Pat Metheny Side-Eye III+

In my recent review of the latest release from the veteran American guitarist and composer Pat Metheny (b. 1954), titled Side-Eye III+ (you can find that review here), I mentioned that I was looking forward to attending a live concert in April by the touring version of this band. And so it was that on a pleasant spring evening in Cincinnati that my wife, one of my sons, and I sat down in our front-row balcony seats to enjoy another evening of music from Metheny’s electric band. Our son Isaac, now in his 50s, had been just a young kid when we took him and his older brother to see the Pat Metheny Group (Metheny, guitar; Lyle Mays, keyboards; Steve Rodby, bass; Paul Wertico, drums; Pedro Aznar, guitar, vocals; Naná Vasconcelos, percussion) back in the fall of 1981. Since then, sad to say, both Lyle Mays (1953-2020) and Naná Vasconcelos (1944-2016) have passed on; they are both dearly missed. Around 2019 or so, Metheny embarked on what he came to call his Side-Eye project, seeking out and jamming with talented young musicians who were familiar with his music, which led to some recordings and tours. The most recent incarnation of Side-Eye is Side-Eye III, which includes Metheny plus Chris Fishman on piano, organ, and synthesizers and Joe Dyson on drums. For the recent studio album, Metheny augmented the core trio with a number of other musicians, hence the designation “III+” in the title. For the concert tour, the trio was expanded to a quintet with the addition of Leonard Patton, percussion and vocals, and Jermain Paul, bass. Metheny and his band put on quite a show, playing for more than two hours. There were tunes from the new album, such as “In On It,” “Urban and Western,” and “SE-O;” there was a solo acoustic guitar segment from Pat, alone on stage, and there were even some old Pat Metheny Group favorites, including a couple we had hear back in 1981, “Phase Dance” and “Are You Going With Me?” The two musical and emotional highlights of the evening for me were also Pat Metheny Group tunes, both from the same 1984 album, Metheny’s final release on Manfred Eicher’s ECM label, First Circle (ECM 1278), “The First Circle” and “Más Allá (Beyond),” both of which on this night featured the moving vocal contributions of Leonard Patton. “The First Circle” is a kinetic, propulsive song that just keeps cranking up the energy level until you think you are going to burst with sheer joyful excitement; “Más Allá,” on the other hand, is more reflective. On the 1984 ECM album, it was sung by a young Pedro Aznar, then soon after the passing of his old bandmate and friend Lyle Mays in 2020, the mature Pedro Aznar, now an established musician in his native Argentina, recorded the tune on YouTube in tribute (you can watch that video here). Hearing Side-Eye III+ with Leonard Patton singing this tender melody brought back memories of Pedro, of Lyle – and with those memories came tears of both sadness and joy. Such is the power of music. Should you ever get the opportunity to catch Pat Metheny in concert – whether solo or in a group – do not hesitate, because he is one of the master musicians of our time.

Beethoven: String Quartets, Op. 59 Nos. 1 & 2 (CD Review)

2026-04-19T17:55:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Chiaroscuro Quartet. BIS-2688

I’ve always been ambivalent about period instrument performances. At times they strike me as highly effective, as in John Eliot Gardiner’s Bach choral-orchestral works with the Monteverdi Choir and English Baroque Soloists. But probably more than half the time I remain unconvinced. “It’s a different sound,” defenders tell me, “more close to the original. More authentic. You just have to get used to it.” Maybe this is true in my case. But if so, I wonder when my full conversion will finally come. Because I’ve been listening to such performances, and their supporting arguments, for nearly 30 years now, and too many of them still strike me as noble attempts at best, or gimmickry at worst.

I wouldn’t call the Chiaroscuro Quartet’s interpretations of the first two Razumovsky Quartets “gimmickry.” The group is far too tasteful and conscientious for that label. But I wouldn’t place them on the John Eliot Gardiner Bach level either. Mostly what we have here are terrific musicians who are hampered by their choice of inferior equipment for this specific repertoire. They bill themselves as an ensemble that plays on “gut strings and with historical bows.” But too often in this release I hear what could be solid performances bogged down by strings that sound shrill in robust passages, with a lack of resonance that leads to clipped or hurried execution in exposed phrases. I’m sorry, but I don’t value any supposedly “authentic” sound (I see you, Kerman, Taruskin, and others) enough to tolerate such trade-offs in two of my favorite string quartets.

Let’s take these two renditions in turn. The first opens with a well-judged movement, hampered only by under-volumed solo passages (including the opening cello line) and a brittle sound in places. But the following scherzo is the recording’s low point. It’s not only the sound here that’s a problem, but also a few unfortunate interpretation choices. Some passages seem rushed, and when we should better hear the interplay of the main motive, we instead have too many microgestures and under-realized phrases. A sense of the epic that pervades Beethoven’s middle period definitely should be heard here; instead, the impression is one of stickiness. With the slow movement, we run into sound issues again. The playing itself is wonderful, but the timbre is tinny and strained when it should lend better to a smooth intimacy. It almost reminds me of the uncomfortable buzz that results when a manual transmission driver tries to go too fast in a lower gear.

If the Chiaroscuros slip interpretively in a couple of Op. 59/1’s movements, they’re noticeably more consistent in its successor. But to be honest, this just makes me want to hear them use modern instruments all the more. Again we have a finely conceived first movement spoiled somewhat by the gut string timbres. The buzziness creeps in, especially with all of the accompaniment figures of second and third interval oscillations. The many long-held notes in the second movement come across much the same. Contrapuntal audibility again is not what it could be in the third movement, but the finale at least is nicely done, with its fleet tempo and character concealing some of these issues.

For the sake of argument, let’s say these instruments really are close to what Beethoven heard: that doesn’t mean they’re preferable now. Maybe they weren’t even then. On multiple occasions he mourned the mismatch between his conceptions and the available tools. There is no doubt in my mind that he would have preferred modern strings here. Even if he wouldn’t have, I might still disagree with him. And this is where the period instrument arguments fall apart for me. Just because these might have been the tools Beethoven had doesn’t mean they’re the tools he wished for…or should have wished for. This is what I kept thinking about as I listened. We have competent, and at times even poignant accounts here. They’re just not entirely satisfying. A niche premise can’t ultimately stand in for the experience of the music. Modern equipment is simply more capable, and when the music in question demands more (in terms of heft, tone color, resonance, and versatility of sound – things Bach’s music doesn’t demand to the same extent), I naturally regret its absence.

Eric Whitacre: The Pacific Has No Memory (CD Review)

2026-04-15T16:45:00.000-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Anne Akiko Meyers, violin; Orpheus Chamber Orchestra. AVIE AV2853

The American composer and conductor Eric Whitacre (b. 1970) is most widely known for his choral works, many of which we have reviewed here at Classical Candor, starting back in 2010, when John Puccio gave a listen to Whitacre’s first recording for the Decca label, Light & Gold (you can find that review here). A couple of years later, John reviewed another Decca release by Whitacre, Water Night (that review can be found here). Several years later, we reviewed a deeply personal and moving release titled The Sacred Veil, this time on the Signum label (that review can be found here). In 2023, Whitacre released another version of his composition the Sacred Veil, on a Decca release titled Home that featured Whitacre conducting the British vocal ensemble Voces8 (that review is here). Those recordings all featured choral compositions; however, this new AVIE recording is purely instrumental, an elegy for violin and chamber orchestra that Whitacre composed in response to a commission from violinist Anne Akiko Meyers (b. 1970), who lost her home, “a place alive with laughter, music, and the joyful chaos of my husband, our two young daughters and crazy rescue dog – never to return,” to the tragic California Palisades wildfires of January 2025.

Meyers goes on to recount, “yet from the ash and destruction, something profoundly beautiful emerged – much like the glowing fairy at the end of Fantasia, rising from Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite. I commissioned Eric Whitacre to write a new work for violin and orchestra, and as the world changed, so did his composition. Little did I know that The Pacific Has No Memory would be born from these epic tragedies. This music has become a salve for the soul – a warm, healing embrace for my broken heart. Tender and profound, it radiates love, hope, and renewal.” In a strange twist of fate, Whitacre, who had himself lived in Los Angeles before moving to Antwerp with his family in 2024, flew back to Los Angeles on January 8, 2025, only to find, as he relates in the liner notes, “the sky over the Palisades was already smudged black, homes and histories evaporating into the quiet air… The Pacific Has No Memory takes its title from a line in one of my favorite films, The Shawshank Redemption. In it, Andy Dufresne (Tim Robbins) dreams of a life near the ocean his past is a memory of a memory, distant and liquid – a place where the blue of the Pacific will give him a chance to start new, reborn. I hope the same for all who lost so much in those terrible fires.” What Whitacre went on to compose is a moving elegy for violin and chamber orchestra, lovingly performed here by violinist Meyers and the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra, who per custom and design perform sans conductor. Although the overall tone is one of sadness, it is not one of anguish. There is a feeling of calm, of peace, of resolve. Brief though it may be, this is a compellingly beautiful composition available both as a CD or via streaming. Either way, it’s well worth seeking out.

Mahler: Symphony No. 7 in E Minor (CD Review)

2026-04-10T08:55:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich; Paavo Järvi, conductor. Alpha Classics 1207

I was afraid of this: having to write another unfavorable review of a Mahler 7 recording so soon after my last one. I held out hope that Paavo Järvi and the Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich (okay, mostly Järvi) would pleasantly surprise me. For a little while in the first movement they did. But it soon became clear that this would mostly be another of the conductor’s herky-jerky hayrides. And here again I have the sensation of living in the Twilight Zone, with so many other critics celebrating its “freshness” and “personality.” I don’t set out to be negative, you know. But so be it. I’ll lay out my issues, and the reader can decide whether I’m wrong to be feeling gaslit yet again.

As any long-suffering sports fan knows, the keenest disappointments tend to follow raised expectations. The opening movement fostered such hopes: “maybe he’ll deliver after all,” I thought. It’s solid, if a little lacking in atmosphere. The best part (here and anywhere) is the sehr breit five measures following Rehearsal 39. This is convincingly lovely. Järvi also respects (barely) the multiple Nicht eilen! indications, showing a discipline I wish he would have held onto for the rest of the symphony. This first movement plus the finale constrain him in a very particular way: they feature ample changes of mood and direction. At root Järvi is an atomist. The more a piece of music lets him be so, the better his interpretations sound.

Which explains why the next movement is where things start to go off the rails. These Nachtmusik passages really need a consistently delicate touch. Järvi is simply not the man for that. The horn and other solo calls are not only too loud but unduly protuberant. The feeling is one of overworked elements, with stilted dynamics and articulation. His pace is also too fast, and more importantly too uptight. Järvi doesn’t have much respect for the “molto moderato” tag at the beginning, and he blows right past the nicht eilen at Rehearsal 79. Also, you can forget about any sense of sehr gemächlich. The worst comes at Rehearsals 84-85. The horn calls are supposed to be enchanting; instead they sound like foghorns. If you’re looking for nocturnal wonder, you’ll instead be held hostage by a man with excessive nervous energy.

This third movement is almost as bad for the same reasons. Its quick motives should sound a little sharp, perhaps. But Järvi never met an accent or crescendo he couldn’t overdo, or a warning against excessive tempi that he couldn’t ignore. I mean, come on… Mahler even UNDERLINES aber nicht schnell at the start! The trio section is better. But then the main theme races back too breathlessly. I’m not sure that the “shadowy” indication calls for such a spasmodic approach. Excessive aggression robs this music of its spectral quality.

The Serenade might be the low point. If there is any amoroso to this andante amoroso, I can’t feel it. If someone played the signature ostinato outside my nighttime window in this choppy and wooden manner, I’d close the shutters and turn to the ballgame on my TV. As for the rest, I think I used up all of my adjectives for “brusque” and “rushed” in the previous sections. By sheer contrast, the merely competent finale feels like the best relief in the world.

I want to root for Järvi. I love his charisma and energy. But I just can’t get on board with his conducting style when it comes to Romantic repertoire. (And let’s drop the modernist nonsense: this is Romantic repertoire.) His direction is too burdened with erratic microgestures, and a distracting tendency to engage in sequences of pent-up energy followed by precipitous release. It’s like sprechstimme in conducting form – the musical equivalent of talking like that creepy dwarf in Twin Peaks. Is this what we’re reduced to now – waiting cheerfully for the next installment of a Mahler cycle we all know is mannered? Maybe I’m near-sighted, but all I see is a naked emperor.

Jóhann Jóhannsson: Piano Works (CD Review)

2026-04-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

by Karl Nehring

Jóhannsson: Bad; Odo et Amo/Krókódíll; Englabörn; Jöi & Karen; Flugeldar II; Já, Hemmi Minn; Ruslpóstur; The Sun’s Gone Dim and the Sky’s Turned Black; Melodia (III); Theme from “Varmints”; Dressing Up; Linda & Walter; Indian Wedding; He Says It’s the Future; Eleven Thousand Six Hundred and Sixty-nine Died of Natural Causes; Flight from the City; Innocence; Will’s Story I; Time to Say Goodbye; Payphone; A Game of Croquet; A Model of the Universe; The Theory of Everything; Beauty; A Sparrow Alighted Upon Our Shoulder; By the Roes, and by the Hinds of the Field; Good Morning, Midnight; The Drowned World; The Radiant City; Be Over. Alice Sara Ott, piano. Deutsche Grammophon 486 7513

The late Icelandic composer Jóhann Jóhannsson (1969-2018) was perhaps best known for his film scores, such as those for the movies Sicario and Arrival. His compositions often combined elements of classical, electronic, and ambient music to create soundscapes that are contemplative and inward-focused – serious, but somehow neither morose nor depressing. We have reviewed several previous releases that have included his compositions, including his Drone Mass (Deutsche Grammophon 483 7418) in 2022 (that review can be found here) and A Prayer to the Dynamo (Deutsche Grammophon 486 4870 (that review can be found here). Although Jóhannsson’s soundtracks and other compositions often featured imaginative scoring to produce their intended effects, what we have here with this new release from the German pianist Alice Sara Ott (b. 1988) is a whole new way of experiencing Jóhannsson’s music. “What’s so incredible about Jóhann Jóhannsson’s music,” she writes, is how his compositions, originally written for larger ensembles and different instruments translate so beautifully to the piano. Within this more focused and intimate sound world, the music reveals hidden nuances and enhances clarity that are so intrinsic to his music.”

When a single CD contains 30 tracks, the average length of those tracks cannot be very long, and most of the tracks here come in at under two minutes. They are brief vignettes, sound sketches that capture the essence of a mood, feeling, hope, fear, or other mental state. Jóhannsson was primarily a composer of music for film; Ott has taken brief themes from some of his scores and transcribed them for piano, capturing their essence and revealing their direct emotional and aesthetic appeal. There is a sense of innocent yearning that runs throughout this music, a yearning for something lost – something that cannot quite ever be fully restored, but which nonetheless offers a glimmer of how things could be.

The music connects directly not to outward emotion, but to the roots of emotion, aided by the directness of the sound of the piano on which Ott chose to record her transcriptions of Jóhannsson’s music. “We decided to record most of the pieces on an old upright piano that Bergur [Bergur Þórisson, producer/engineer] has in his studio,” Ott explains in the CD booklet. “I was absolutely in love with it. It was one of the most beautiful upright pianos I’ve ever played on. The felted sound creates this sense of nostalgia, like memories of something that’s gone. The microphones were very close to the piano, so the sound feels incredibly present and intimate, almost as if you’re looking directly into his inner world.”

Not only the sound, but also the music feels present and immediate, as though offering a look not only into Jóhannsson’s inner world, but into the inner world of the listener. Enthusiastically recommended.

Holst: The Planets; Bax: Tintagel (Streaming Review)

2026-04-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

by Ryan Ross

Antonio Pappano, conductor; London Symphony Orchestra. LSO Live 0904

The London Symphony Orchestra's commitment to British repertoire continues apace, with these two 2024 live Barbican performances led by chief conductor Antonio Pappano. They pair an established favorite (Holst's The Planets) with a work that deserves equal love (Bax's Tintagel). My provisional opinion of Pappano is that he is a fine if somewhat inconsistent conductor, so I was curious how he'd handle this duo. I’d say he comes just under my benchmark. Here's a good and not a great Planets, followed by a mediocre rather than good Tintagel.

The best things about this Planets are superb recorded sound and what it does for Pappano’s handling of the numinous passages. Delicate timbres in Mercury, Saturn, and Neptune, for instance, sparkle with radiant mystery. Here is an object lesson in what’s possible when technology, orchestral skill, and conductor sensitivity work together effectively. If there were nothing more to The Planets, this would rate among its top recordings. Unfortunately for Pappano, there is. The extravert sides of this masterpiece are both more iconic and exactly where he comes up short. The marches in Jupiter and Uranus feel sluggish, with the Thaxted tune missing that last bit of earnestness. Mars is bright enough, but its aggression is blunted by a slowish main pace and positively languid middle portions. Especially regrettable is a dimmed lyrical brass when the outer sections turn to major-mode affirmation. This should sound much more battle-lusty. “Mars the Bringer of Peace Talks” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Before I go any further, I’ll confess to being a committed Baxian. This composer definitely got the short end of the historiographical stick. The same modernist snobbery that bit Vaughan Williams’s reception hard following his death doomed the once-prominent Arnold Bax to a marginality from which he’s never re-emerged. To the extent his name has been kept alive it’s thanks significantly to Tintagel, of which there are now well more than a dozen recordings. There should be even more. With perhaps 2-3 of Bax’s other tone poems, it’s some of the most compelling music to come out of Britain. If a revival of his oeuvre is still possible, it will build on these treasures.

Which is why I’m sad to report that Pappano’s Tintagel is a squandered opportunity. If you expect him to apply his best, RVW 4-style vigor you’ll be disappointed. This is a lethargic Tintagel that captures the seascape portion of Bax’s program remarks, but perhaps only on a cloudy day. It misses what he says of Arthur and Tristan, of knights and legends. Pappano and the LSO sink beneath the music’s luxurious harmonies like a leaky barge off the Cornish coast. They don’t seem comfortable with the composer’s thick textures. Compare this with David Lloyd-Jones’s definitive interpretation from over two decades ago (Naxos 8.557145), where there is a much stronger grasp of the idiom. Lloyd-Jones knew how to navigate those big blocks of sound, and to keep his orchestra from getting bogged down. His approach is bold and virile, while Pappano succumbs to flabbiness. In a world hungry for fantasy, Tintagel has the potential to capture audience imagination. Pappano’s LSO may sparkle in Holst’s cosmic mysteries, but when it comes to Bax’s immersive world of myth, the magic simply doesn’t take hold.

The nice thing about our streaming age is that I can resist recommendations on the basis of whole albums. About 4-5 tracks of this recording are well worth buying and putting into playlists. I wouldn’t mind if I never heard the others again. As someone who still loves the hard product, with its booklets and cover art, I’ll at least take the win of having piecemeal options here.