Categories
Festival-conference

Early Nights in Orkney

D James Ross reviews the
2026 St Magnus International Festival

It is hard to believe that this is the 50th St Magnus International Festival in Orkney, particularly as I attended the very first one as a student in 1976! I was very pleased to see a varied selection of early music in the anniversary 2026 Festival brochure – Orkney and early music seem to me to be a marriage made in heaven. The Festival’s founder Peter Maxwell Davies had a keen interest in Mediaeval and Renaissance music, and historically informed performances of early repertoire, often presented in the islands’ historical churches, have proved very popular in the past.

My first concert this year was a recital in Stromness Town Hall by the beguiling American-Armenian musician Lucine Musaelian, a singer who accompanies herself on the viola da gamba. Performing a selection of 17th-century love songs, gamba solos and traditional Armenian music, she held her audience entranced by the beauty of her singing and playing. With a bias towards female composers including Barbara Strozzi and the Caccini sisters, all composing in the attractive nuove musiche style, Musaelian also touched upon the wonderfully ornate repertoire of the virtuosic Concerto delle Donne composed by Luzzaschi as well as songs by Monteverdi. Observing that a painting, possibly representing Strozzi, shows a woman accompanying herself on the viol, Musaelian admitted a particular affinity with Strozzi, who with a striking extended song In medio maris provided her with the title for her programme. Musaelian’s formidable viol technique facilitated flawless accounts of complex but unobtrusive accompaniments representing up to three polyphonic lines, as in Cipriano de Rore’s Ancor che col partire, which she deftly followed with a set of viol divisions. Further solo viol numbers by Marin Marais and Monsieur de Saint Colombe took full advantage of the six-stringed viol and Musaelian’s impressive technique, but for me it was the songs, including the entrancing Armenian liturgical music by Nerses Shnorhali and Grigor Narekatsi and traditional tunes, which I found most enjoyable. Particularly intriguing was the way in which the traditional sobbing ornamentation and use of chest voice spilled effectively from the traditional material into the Renaissance songs, enhancing their emotional impact. While I expected to be familiar with much of the early repertoire, I was delighted with Musaelian’s consummate vocal and instrumental skills as well as the unique spin she put on the early repertoire, and as a bonus was pleased to recognize the traditional Armenian melody Hov Arek, a piece I enjoy playing on the duduk – it’s a small world!

Lucine Musaelian’s performances
on voice and viol of 17th-century love songs
and Armenian traditional music were a revelation.

Making a long-overdue return visit to the St Magnus International Festival after ten years, the excellent Scottish choral ensemble The Marian Consort under their director Rory McCleery contributed two programmes in as many days, a concert based on the Western Wind theme in St Margaret’s Hope Church and a programme exploring a single Scottish musical manuscript in St Magnus Cathedral. The pretty village church in St Margaret’s Hope, at which my grandfather James Louttit was an elder, has taken the brave decision to remove dingy Victorian pews and pulpit, all too familiar to me from holiday visits to the village, turning the space into a bright, flexible and above all welcoming arts venue and place of worship. Its acoustic turned out to be pleasantly intimate, ideal for the Byrd motets and four-part mass movements as well as parts of the magnificent Taverner Western Wind mass. The Consort’s performances of the Taverner had a magnificent sweep and energy which combined with their wonderfully focussed sound and pinpoint accurate intonation to produce a very powerful account. In among the 16th-century repertoire we had a selection of fine contemporary pieces, including an expressive psalm setting from Nico Muhly and Tom Coult’s Souling, a work intriguingly interweaving folkloric elements into a rhythmically rich texture. In the Marian Consort tradition we also had a world premiere by Daniel Kidan and a spectacular setting of Verbum Domini by Edmund Finnis, to my mind the finest of the wonderfully varied modern pieces. Enthusiastic applause from a capacity crowd elicited a truly lovely encore performance of John Sheppard’s meltingly beautiful Libera nos, salva nos.

The Marian Consort and their director Rory McLeery
about to perform in St Margaret’s Hope Church,
an attractive new venue in South Ronaldsay.

The Consort appeared again the following evening in the magnificent St Magnus Cathedral for a concert entitled The Auld Alliance, focussing on one of the handful of surviving Scottish Renaissance church music manuscripts, the Dunkeld Antiphoner. In fact, five of an original set of six partbooks are associated not with Dunkeld but with Lincluden Collegiate Church; nowadays the collection is more accurately referred to as the Lincluden or Dowglas/Fischar Partbooks, referencing two signatures in the manuscript. In addition to containing major works by important French and Burgundian masters such as Josquin, Pierre Certon and Johannes Lupi, all of whom featured in this fascinating programme, of particular interest are two six-part Masses probably by Scottish composers, although they are frustratingly anonymous in the manuscript. If the Mass Felix Anna, from which the Consort sang the Kyrie, Credo and Sanctus, lacks the flamboyance of the contemporary mass settings of Robert Carver (which incidentally may include the Mass Cantate, the other Scottish Mass preserved in the partbooks), it is an impressively rich and consistently imaginative work, given a beautifully effective account by the Consort. It is a piece I am very familiar with, having performed it several times around thirty years ago with my group Musick Fyne, and even having recorded it – I have to admit that it has further grown on me over the years, and McLeery and his Consort found unexpected depths in it, persuading me to return to it shortly! This concert was being recorded for future broadcast on BBC R3, and the Consort were on peak form for this important opportunity to reach a wider audience with this fine but neglected repertoire. Their opening account of Josquin’s powerful Benedicta es was simply exquisite, while Certon’s Inviolata was a revelation and the concluding eight-part Salve cereberrima virgo by Johannes Lupi was truly magnificent. If the world premiere of Emily Hazrati’s sâye seemed a little out of place in this programme otherwise so intensely focussed on a single 16th-century manuscript, it proved to be an intriguingly imaginative and innovative piece impeccably performed by the Consort – and a particular delight to have the young composer present to accept her share of the applause. An encore of the ubiquitous Tallis Canon proved a soothing conclusion to a memorable concert, of which the star was undoubtedly the enigmatic and eloquent anonymous Scottish Mass Felix Anna.

A group making their first visit to the St Magnus International Festival are Voces Thules, an ensemble dedicated to the exploration of their native Icelandic musical heritage. As one who has dabbled in the performance of the Norse sagas, I was looking forward greatly to their first programme, Sagas, Skalds, Songs, and intrigued as to just what they were going to be performing. We had reluctantly come to the conclusion that if the saga texts had ever been ‘performed’ it would have been in the form of dramatic declamation of the Old Norse text to the simple accompaniment of perhaps a Viking lyre – in fact, unambiguous internal evidence made it disappointingly clear that the sagas were generally ‘read’. Voces Thules, five male vocalists who double on a number of mediaeval instruments, were clearly going to take a very different approach. Drawing on the two rich traditions of the sagas and the oral tradition of Icelandic folk music, they largely combined the two in lively accounts of passages from the Sturlunga and Grettis sagas, using various combinations of voices and instruments and frequently resorting to drones and organum. The instruments ranged from a variety of drums and timbrels, a bunch of crotal bells, a primitive folk flute, a mediaeval symphony, Viking lyres and the distinctive Icelandic langspil, a simple bowed psaltery with drones and a melody string – the brief appearance of a plastic Aulos sopranino recorder was both disappointing and unnecessary. Generally speaking, the solo voices and the male voice consort were both very effective, while the instrumental element complemented the voices well. The group’s obvious commitment to their material and the energy of their performances were greeted with enthusiastic applause in a packed St Margaret’s Hope Church. Notwithstanding my reservations, I enjoyed these honest accounts of the sagas as well as the several items of Icelandic traditional music which followed, also given the distinctive Voces Thules treatment – my appetite had definitely been whetted for their second performance in St Magnus Cathedral in which they were to present early Icelandic sacred music, which I knew would be more firmly based on archival sources.

Voces Thules with a selection of their instruments
in St Margaret’s Hope Church, South Ronaldsay.

After a moment of trepidation when I spotted a modern ebonite clarinet lurking among the waiting instruments, I was soon swept up in the opening group of plainchants, sung with admirable subtlety and unanimity by the five male voices. As I had hoped, this time they drew on the surviving written sources of Icelandic church music to bring us a wealth of intriguing sacred material ranging from melody and drone through organum, faburden, ars nova polyphony, compelling call and response structures and simple accompanied melodies of beguiling beauty. Remarkably, the material came exclusively from Icelandic sources from the 14th to the 18th century, with one noble exception – the iconic Hymn to St Magnus : Nobilis, humilis preserved in Norway and possibly composed there or even here in Orkney. It was given a lovely and moving performance by the group, standing in the Saint’s magnificent Cathedral not twenty paces from his mortal remains in the pillar behind them. In several pieces they used the same range of instruments to enhance the vocal textures as previously, with the addition of a tenor crumhorn and small bells. The clarinet made mercifully only one appearance, playing a simple cantus, which honestly could have been played by anything – given their otherwise admirably HIP approach, the excuse ‘I know it’s not mediaeval but it’s useful’ doesn’t really cut it! My only other criticism of an intriguing and enjoyable exploration of very unfamiliar material was the hesitant (and in the Cathedral acoustic largely unintelligible) verbal commentary as well as an occasional ‘faff’ about who does what. Again, the group’s utter commitment to their material and the brilliant idea of involving the audience in the call and response of their final processional won them sustained and enthusiastic applause. Their encore from the Sturlunga saga overlooked the fact that many of their audience would probably have attended their earlier concert – perhaps this was the point at which the Hymn to St Magnus could have achieved maximum musical and emotional effect…

Voces Thules in the ecclesiastical garb
preparing to perform in St Magnus Cathedral.

My final concert at this year’s festival was a homage to the late John Wallace, whose arrangement of Giovanni Gabrieli’s Canzoni and Sonate of 1615 called The Invisible Symphony involved some thirty brass players including Wallace’s own celebrated Wallace Collection reinforced by The Cooperation Band playing an hour-and-a-half long compilation from the 1615 publication. I am a huge fan of Giovanni Gabrieli and particularly of his music for wind ensembles, so I was definitely looking forward to this programme – sadly I had more reservations about it than I had imagined. The musicians were positioned in one large circle in the centre of the nave of St Magnus Cathedral around conductor Katrina Marzella with the audience ranged in two equal blocks to the west and east of this. Essentially, notwithstanding the alternation of the musicians playing each piece, for us the sound came from the same direction, and I found my eyes straying to the many galleries, the aisles and the choir stalls, all of which could have housed musicians for the truly dramatic polychoral experience associated with St Mark’s in Venice – and surely hinted at by Wallace’s title. As it was, the conductor and perhaps the musicians were the only ones to experience the music in its full three dimensions. Further problems arose from the upper cornetto lines being assigned to trumpets – the quirky scampering figures, which work wonderfully on cornetti, sounded unidiomatic and risky on the upper brass instruments, and there were disappointingly frequent cracked and fluffed notes and a couple of car-crash moments. Sadly, the decision to stick these short pieces by Gabrieli, intended to be performed singly as an occasional splash of colour in longer liturgical contexts, into an extended suite came across as rather too much of a good thing, emphasising the relative lack of variety both of texture and performance. This is not to deny that the larger-scale pieces involving most or all of the players sounded extremely impressive in the resonant Cathedral acoustic, but to me much of the rest of the programme sounded breathless, unidiomatic – and eventually a bit tedious. The loud ovation which greeted The Invisible Symphony’s spectacular conclusion clearly demonstrated that my opinion was firmly in the minority, and to look on the bright side I am sure that this concert valuably brought Gabrieli’s remarkable music in largely unadulterated form to a whole new audience. This was just not for me, steeped in HIP accounts of this music by the likes of the Gabrieli Consort, Taverner Players and King’s Consort, and even the magnificent final peroration was tainted by the knowledge that some Wagnerian phrases had been insinuated into the texture. There was a lovely moment at the end of the concert when the five members of The Wallace Collection took their own bow – a fitting tribute to their late inspirational founder/director John Wallace.

Members of the Cooperation Band
in performance in St Magnus Cathedral.

Categories
Recording

De Wert: Nono Libro de Madrigali 1588

CD cover De Wert Nono Libro de Madrigali 1588

La Compagnia del Madrigale
57:18
Glossa GCD 922813

Although recognised, along with Luca Marenzio, as arguably the greatest of the ‘pure’ madrigalists, the reputation of Flemish-born Giaches de Wert (1535-96) has not translated into significant contemporary recognition. A quick trawl through the archives of EMR revealed only the odd work in collections, usually in association with de Wert’s significant influence on Monteverdi. The only real exceptions to this neglect I can trace are the Consort of Musicke’s recording of the 7th (of 12) Book of Madrigals (1581) (Virgin Classics, 1988) and a mixed selection of five-part madrigals by Cantus Cölln, under Konrad Junghänel (harmonia mundi, 1997). This makes this new issue of the 9th Book of Madrigals for five and six voices from La Compagnia del Madrigale extremely welcome, especially given the excellence of the six singers involved, all of whom are Italian.

Little is known of de Wert’s early years, but apparently he was taken as a child to serve as a singer at the court of the Marchesa della Padulla at Avellino near Naples. In 1588 he entered the service of the Gonzaga family, spending the remainder of his life in the employ of the powerful family in Mantua, but also in his later years in the restlessly experimental environment of the Este court in Ferrara. Book 9 was published in 1588 and consists of 14 madrigals, four scored for six voices, the remaining ten for five. The literary level of the poets drawn on is extremely high, including as it does Petrarch (five madrigals), Tasso (two) and Guarini, represented by a couple of poems highlighting the lighter and more cynical aspects of love. But more generally the mood is passionately serious, the often imitative polyphony closely woven and including telling passages of chromaticism. But despite de Wert’s close association with the sometimes reckless experiments of Ferrara-based composers, his use of dissonance never becomes a major feature of his writing. Around the time of Book 9, Wert’s close associations with Ferrara were enhanced by his hopeless love for the poet and singer Tarquinia Molza, hopeless given that as a widower whose wife had been guilty of taking part in a conspiracy to murder an aristocratic family, de Wert would hardly have been permitted to form a liaison with a lady of the court. Perhaps something of his personal agony informs the intensity of the setting of Petrarch’s canzone ‘Valle che de’ Petrarchlamenti miei se’ piena’. Here the raw pain of the chromatic inflection on the word ‘lamenti’ and its slow, melismatic lines barely lets up before culminating in the near-mystical eroticism attained by the end of the madrigal – ‘Here once I saw my lady, and along this path where naked she ascended into heaven, leaving on earth her lovely mortal body’.

At the other extreme is the enchantingly vital ‘Or se rallegri il Cielo’ (Now let Heaven rejoice). Joyously light on its feet, with exuberant, rapid exchanges between the voices, it was composed for the ‘Coronation of the Duke of Mantua’ in 1587, the duke in question being Vincenzo I, patron of Monteverdi and Rubens. But perhaps the most remarkable piece in the set is ‘Padre del ciel’, a setting of a religious canzone by Petrarch. Its progress is slow, solemn with little touches of melisma until the extraordinary peroration, the words ‘rammenta lor com’oggi fosti in croce’ (Remember how, on this day, You hung upon the Cross) set with a quiet dignity that is at the same time extraordinarily powerful.

I’ve already suggested that the performances are on a high level and so indeed they are. The blend of voices is exemplary, the purity and freshness of the two sopranos especially rewarding. Perhaps my only reservation is that there were times when it is possible to feel that the text might have been a little more passionately coloured; to suggest that while being aware that we remain in the world of the prima prattica that of Monteverdi and the seconda prattica is only just over the horizon. Yet by any standards these are splendid performances of great music that has been neglected for far too long.

Brian Robins

Categories
Concert-Live performance Festival-conference

French Festivals

Vézelay festival image 2026

For those of our readers lucky enough to be in France (whether you live there or are visiting), festival season will soon be upon us. Below are press brochures for three of the best known. Each has a wide range of events that will appeal to diverse audiences, featuring some of the leading ensembles in iconic works, as well as new groups exploring unfamiliar repertoire (or giving pieces you might know a make-over!), and entertainment for all ages, often throughout the day.

Festival de musique baroque du Pays du Mont Blanc 2026
(runs from 11-21 July)

Rencontres Musicales de Vézelay 2026
(20-23 August)

Festival d’Ambronay 2026
(11-27 September, spread over three weekends)

Feel free to send photos or reviews!

Categories
Recording

Music for These Troubled Times

CD cover Music for these troubled times

Tallis, Byrd, Bull, Gibbons, Shalygin
Dmytro Kokoshynskyy harpsichord
79:16
Fuga Libra FUG867

This is the debut recording by Dmytro Kokoshynskyy, a young harpsichordist from Ukraine. In the accompanying booklet he relates how music provides him with the solace he deeply needs in the most challenging moments of his life, that no repertoire has done so more fully than the music of the English Virginalists, and that it was no surprise to him that this music filled his mind when his homeland was invaded in 2022. For its evangelists and admirers, these sentiments regarding the English virginalist school of composers are both gratifying and humbling. Dmytro also refers to Robert Burton’s celebrated book The anatomy of melancholy (1621) so there is ample subtext behind his choice of repertory for this recording.

Listening to this disc was, is, for this reviewer a compelling experience, and the choice of repertory is one element that goes towards this. The other two elements are the quality of the music, and the incendiary commitment of the performances. The pieces selected from the works of the well-known composers tend to exist beneath their radars. Gibbons’s supremely melancholy and profound pavan is usually elbowed aside by the admittedly great pavan for Lord Salisbury. Byrd’s fantasia with its vestige of Salve regina chant tends to give way to his pioneering and unsurpassed fantasia in A minor. Even Tallis’s mighty Felix namque settings tend to be prioritized for the organ. That said, its emotional variety renders the programme all the more enthralling – it is not stuck in trouble and melancholy, and Dmytro mentions Burton’s reference to “a pleasing melancholy”, a form of catharsis. In the cinema, a good director has the confidence and knows when to insert a flash of comedy into a predominantly serious film, and here Dmitry includes sunnier works such as Byrd’s John come kiss me now, Wakefield on a green (incomprehensibly attributed elsewhere to Byrd) and the attractive anonymous arrangement of Dowland’s Can she excuse (its modern printed source given wrongly in the printed booklet but correctly above). Applauding in passing the five powerful pieces by Bull, it remains to mention two others, one ancient, one modern. Seemingly the anonymous A Ground receives its premiere on disc here, and this is long overdue, being a work of substantial proportions for the period and of considerable excellence. Finally, KHORA by the Ukrainian/Dutch composer Maxim Shalygin is a thrilling and passionate response to Burton’s book, its highly appropriate title helpfully explained in the booklet.

This is a fine recording which is both moving and inspiring. It manages to be powerful without being oppressive, the wonderful music anatomized beautifully by Dmytro, none more so than Bull’s pavan and galliard for Lord Lumley, so as to externalize his own profound, innermost thoughts. From the turmoil of the Reformation, the English Virginalists provide catharsis four centuries later for a Ukrainian harpsichordist contemplating the invasion of his homeland, who in turn encapsulates this in performance and transmits it for the world.

Richard Turbet

Categories
Uncategorized

Telemann im französischen Licht

CD cover Telemann im franzöischen Licht

Marion Treupel-Franck flute, Vicktor Toepelmann gamba/Baroque cello, Ilhae Eizinger-Kim harpsichord
72:38
Querstand: VKJK 2502

This is an exquisitely gathered selection of chamber works befittingly under the title, “Telemann in a French light”. There are no fewer than four world premieres (sonatas from the Brussels Conservatory), and several cleverly “orchestrated” pieces from the second dozen of the 36 harpsichord fantasias (1730), and menuets taken from the two sets of 50 published in 1728 and 1730. These “transmuted” works come across with a charming ease in their new guise and fit within the overall French theme. Two of the four premiered pieces, TWV 41: e9 and G12, might be termed “Sonates en Suite”, exuding some classic elements from the French suite. The other two are just as captivating in their intimate charm and fluency; G11, although in an Italianate format, incorporates French elements, while D10 overtly follows a cantabile style, so perfect for the flute, and delightfully captured here.

The neat and ingeniously transformed fantasias and menuets add to the overall charm of this brightly recorded disc, where the trio of musicians captures the intimate nature and structure of the French taste with a relished and admirable synergy.

This is certainly one of the nicest chamber CDs I have heard for quite some time and should draw the attention of all lovers of Telemann’s chamber music. The CD booklet is well laid out and has an unusually stylish font, which is lucid and charming like the music itself.

David Bellinger

Categories
Recording

Bach: Mein Geist

CD cover Bach Mein Geist

Le Banquet Céleste, Julien Barre vc piccolo
70:30
Alpha 1190

The framing of the solo Cello Suite No 6 in D by two of Bach’s cantatas, BWV 115, ‘Mache dich, mein Geist, bereit’ and No 85, ‘Ich bin ein guter Hirt,’ is a somewhat unusual format. Alpha’s note-writer tries, none too successfully, to make spiritual connections, but more convincingly also explains the practical reason for the link. Both cantatas are among a group of Leipzig cantatas from Bach’s second cycle (1724-1725) that specify the use of the violoncello piccolo as an obbligato instrument, now considered also the most likely instrument intended for the 6th Cello Suite, though it is also possible Bach also had the viola da spalla in mind for it.

As it turns out, the performance of the Cello Suite by Julien Barre, co-principal cellist of the B’Rock orchestra, is the highlight of the CD, an extraordinarily beautiful performance of this happy, airy work. Not only does Barre produce an exquisitely nuanced timbre from his instrument, but his technique is impeccable, with cleanly defined and articulated passaggi always at the command of the music. In the opening Prelude, the outdoor spirit of the movement is perfectly captured, with braying hunting calls and the energy of the chase clearly suggested, while in the succeeding Allemande the generous spatial imagery is projected with a broad expressivity that gives this most extensive of the suite’s movements a timeless, musing quality. At the other extreme, the following Courante takes us back out into the natural world on a madcap gallop projected by Barre with virtuosic delight, while the wistful Sarabande features some splendid double-stopping and clean chordal playing. And so continues to the conclusion of this treasurable performance.

On one level, the one-voice-per-part performances of the cantatas earn high commendation, too, but they are marred by a significant flaw. BWV115 is a chorale cantata composed for 5 November 1724. From the outset, the text is dominated by rhetorical demands or commands to which the Christian must attend – ‘Mache dich, mein Geist’ (Make ready, my spirit) in the opening chorale. The following aria for alto scolds the ‘slumbering soul’ – ‘Ermuntre dich doch’ (Rouse yourself!). The only other aria, for soprano, continues the theme of man’s inadequacy in the eyes of God, ‘Bete aber auch dabei’ (But pray, too). It is, as Alfred Dürr wrote in his classic study of the cantatas, ‘conceived in vividly text-related terms’. It is, however, exactly this sense of rhetoric that is almost entirely missing from these neatly turned performances. Listen, for example, to alto Alexander Chance’s singing of that alto aria, ‘Ach schläfrige Seele, wie? ‘Ah, slumbering spirit, what?’ It is neat and capable, but diction is poor, and it lacks any real penetration of the text, so it is hardly surprising that the ear is constantly drawn from the voice to the expressive oboe d’amore obbligato of Patrick Beaugiraud.

BWV 85 dates from April 1725. It takes its topic from consideration of the famous words in the Gospel of St John, ‘I am a good shepherd’, which are quoted at the outset by the bass soloist in a kind of mixture of accompagnato and arioso. The cantata is unusual in that the four soloists come together only in the brief final chorale, the chorale in the body of the cantata being for solo soprano, here beguilingly intoned by Céline Scheen, whose bright, fresh voice is one of the pleasures of the recording. Here the rhetorical element is less to the fore, though I would still like a stronger emphasis on diction. Again, one of the great pleasures of the performance is the instrumental contribution, especially once again the violoncello piccolo, which makes a splendid obbligato contribution to the alto aria.

I’m conscious that there are many admirers of Bach’s cantatas for whom the rhetorical element, the strong impact of the words, means less than it does to others, and they will doubtless place less emphasis on the topic of rhetoric. They are likely to find few reservations. Nonetheless, rhetoric meant a great deal to Bach and his fellow congregations, and if we are to understand fully the precept and message of these timeless works, it is something that should be of importance to us, too.

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Haydn 2032: No. 18 – Il maestro di scuola

CD cover Haydn volume 18 Il maestro di scuola

Kammerorchester Basel, directed by Giovanni Antonini
76:29
Alpha Classics 1092

Regular visitors to the shores of EMR will know that this splendid cycle of Haydn symphonies has featured regularly among our reviews. Here, however, is the one that got away – or nearly did. For some reason it slipped through the net, but happily that can now be rectified. For anyone needing an introduction or perhaps a recap, this integrale performed either by Giovanni Antonini’s own Il Giardino Armonico or the Kammerorchester Basel in its period-instrument guise is planned for completion in 2032, the year of the tercentenary of Haydn’s birth.

Not the least intriguing aspect of the series has been the addition of music either by Haydn himself or other composers who have some kind of relevance to Haydn (look out for a surprise inclusion on No. 19). Here, that relevance will test the knowledge of all but the most assiduous Haydn scholar; I’m not ashamed to admit failure. The CD is named after the nickname appended to Haydn’s Symphony No 55 in E flat, the ‘Schoolmaster’, though it has to be said only after his death and for reasons that appear somewhat tenuous. From that nickname stems the additional piece here, the finale of the Symphony No 5 in G minor by Franciszek Lessel, a Polish composer who arrived in Vienna to study composition in 1799. The following year, he became a pupil of Haydn, with whom he studied until 1805, when perhaps as a parting gift he received from his ‘schoolmaster’ Haydn the manuscript of the Symphony No 56 in C, which it so happens is also included on the present CD. The Lessel is particularly interesting for showing that he has his own voice, being far closer to the early Romanticism of Weber than the classicism of Haydn. It also suggests that the ‘Sturm und Drang’ febrile intensity of the key of G minor in the hands of composers like Haydn and Mozart had passed, to be replaced by a quasi-folk-like spirit that involved few intimations of tragedy.

It is that magnificent C-major symphony that is the glory of the present disc. Composed in 1774, it is a fully-scored work including trumpets and timpani. As H C Robbins Landon noted in his magisterial study of Haydn, the opening motif features all the ceremonial pomp associated with the key of C, to be immediately answered by a thoughtful lyrical theme, what HCRL terms tension-cum-release structure, a device used by Haydn on more than one occasion. Here, it works in perfect symmetry and will play a major role in this opening movement, being particularly effectively worked in the development section. The succeeding Adagio, a sonata-form movement that leaves the trumpets and drums silent, is also planned on an ample scale with a notable contribution from bassoon, which makes the main theme’s first statement. The return of timpani and trumpets in the Minuet gives it a stately character to be contrasted with the graciously flowing Trio section. The final Prestissimo is a whirlwind of passing ceremonial fanfares, humour, hints of operatic finales, interpolated solos for violin and cello, and hunting calls that leave both player and listener breathless from the profusion of events.

The ‘Schoolmaster’, which also dates from 1774, nearly reaches the same level, its highlights being the slow movement that was compared with the incipit from a lost divertimento apparently known as ‘Der Schulmeister’ and the final Presto, a rondo that spends much of time in light-footed, light-hearted mode that is at one thrilling moment jolted out of its easy existence by an outburst of clamouring windwind and horns. Rather less significant is the earlier Symphony No 29 in E of 1765. The easy-going opening movement has folk-like characteristics, Haydn modifying the indication ‘Allegro’ with ‘ma non troppo’, advice I think that for once Giovanni Antonini has overlooked, the movement being taken just that little too fast. Otherwise, these spruce, incisive, beautifully pointed and played performances have all the merits to be found in previous issues in the series. Crackling opening movements and witty finales – how many of these take us into the opera house! – contrast tellingly with the warmth and thoughtfulness of ‘slow’ movements. I promise to try not to keep readers so long from a review of No 19!

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Duality

CD cover Duality Zimmermann Vanhal bassoon concertos

Zimmermann | Vaňhal : Bassoon concertos
Ondřej Šindelář & Sergio Azzolini bassoons, Risonanza Praga
75:17
Supraphon SU 4375-2

Of the two composers here, the better-known name is that of Jan Křtitel Vaňhal, born in the Hradec Králové region of Bohemia in 1739. His biography is fairly sketchy. Vaňhal’s initial musical training and experience in the 1750s being as an organist and choirmaster in the region of his birth, but later he was sent to Vienna to study courtesy of a countess who had noted his talent. The list of compositions composed during the time Vaňhal spent in Vienna is extensive, but particularly noted for the symphonies he composed there, in excess of 100 were written at much the same time Haydn was writing his middle period symphonies at Eszterháza. According to Charles Burney, the symphonies of Vaňhal at one time headed Haydn’s for popularity in England. The Bassoon Concerto in C is a relatively recently discovered work found in the archives of Prague Conservatoire, one of two bassoon concertos by Vaňhal in that key. It is by some way the most ambitious of the three works on the present CD, being scored for an orchestra that includes trumpets and timpani, though as might be expected the central Adagio cantabile dispenses with them to enable a rhapsodic lyricism that contrasts effectively with the outer movements. Ondřej Šindelář‘s playing here demonstrates one of the major assets of his splendid technique – the ability to draw and shape long cantabile lines with gracious ease. The only complaint, and it applies to all the concertos, is that cadenzas are too lengthy, in addition to being somewhat eccentric, including fragmentary little phrases that are presumably intended to remind the listener that the bassoon is capable of humour but belong to the 21st rather than the 18th century.

Anton Zimmermann is a much less familiar name, having been born in Breitenau (Silesia), today Široká Niva in 1741. In 1763 he is mentioned as a ‘highly respected’ organist at the cathedral in Hradec Králové. In 1770, he would move to Pressburg, now Bratislava, where he would remain for the rest of his life. There he became Kapellmeister and court composer to the Archbishop of Hungary, at whose behest Zimmermann created an orchestra said by the musicologist J N Forkel to be ‘in the very first place, ahead of Joseph Haydn’s orchestra at Esterháza’. Although listed in Supraphon’s booklet as being a work of Zimmermann, it seems the outer movements of the Concerto in F for two bassoons may in fact be by Vanhal, since they are identical to those of his own double concerto. The booklet notes suggest several possible answers to this conundrum, none especially persuasive. Leaving questions as to who composed what aside, the expansive opening movement allows plenty of scope for the two players to indulge in lyrical unison passages contrasted with spirited imitation, while the central Adagio concentrates on unison cantabile writing. The work concludes with a bubbly finale with particularly felicitous wind writing. Here Šindelář is joined by probably the best-known period bassoonist, Sergio Azzolini, in a performance that combines nimble virtuosity and pure-toned lyricism to advance an excellent argument for this fine concerto.

However, both the concertos discussed above have to give way to Zimmermann’s Concerto in F, an entrancing work that, for all its modest pretensions, has an easy galant charm not matched in either of the other concertos. Notable, too, is the wind writing which, particularly in the opening Moderato, is engagingly interleaved with the solo bassoon. The central Adagio has a touching beauty, which like hints in the Moderato does not preclude moments of melancholy, while the final enters more dramatic territory, allowing for bravura passages excellently played by Šindelář. Throughout, he is given fine support by the Prague period instrument orchestra. The CD as a whole is a fine addition to the catalogue, while bassoonists in search of repertoire are strongly advised to look at the F-major Zimmermann concerto, a real gem.

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Mozart: The Horn Concertos

CD cover Mozart horn concertos Javier Bonet

Javier Bonet natural horn, La Real Cámara, directed by Emilio Moreno
73:22
Lbs Classics

We tend to think of Mozart’s horn concertos as a tidy and entertaining group of four works composed for a long-standing family friend, Joseph Leutgeb. They are in fact nothing of the kind, having been the subject of musicological detective work almost since the composer’s own time. Take, for example, the Concerto in D, K 412 & K 386b, known as No. 1, once thought to have been composed in 1782, but later shown by paper dating to have been left unfinished in 1791, the year of Mozart’s death. One fragment, the central Rondo, and a movement not included on the present CD, was completed the following year by Mozart’s pupil, Franz Xavier Süssmayr. What is included is a repeat performance of the final Rondo with the humorous running commentary Mozart added in Italian to the manuscript, much of it insulting comments directed at his friend Leutgeb, who one imagines laughing so much that he has difficulty playing his instrument – ‘Take a breath’… ‘Go, on’… ‘This is a little better’ … and so forth are among the more refined examples. Here the comments are read by the Italian actor Carlo Gianneschi; it was a happy idea to print them translated, Mozart’s scatology and all.

Another fascinating piece of ‘mozartiana’ is the fragment of a Concerto in E, K494a. Started probably at the end of 1785 or early 1786, the fully-scored and expansive exposition is on a scale that suggests this will be the most ambitious and mature of the horn concertos. But a few bars after the soloist’s entry, the orchestra just stops, to be joined in silence by the horn a few bars further on. At least one attempt has been made to continue the fragment (Roger Montgomery on Signum), but here it is played as Mozart left it, creating a mystery around the would-be work that is both poignant and quizzical. Abounding with sufficient thematic riches for two concertos, the mystery is compounded by the fact that apparently Leutgeb knew nothing about it when Mozart’s widow Constanze showed it to him. One further work that needs explanation is the two-movement Concerto in E flat, K370b and K371, composed around the time Mozart moved to Vienna in 1781 and therefore the earliest of his horn concertos. The score was left with incomplete orchestration, a slow movement lacking altogether. Its subsequent history included being cut up as a Mozart souvenir and the rediscovery of some 60 missing bars as recently as 1991. The present performance is played in a reconstruction by Robert Levin. The nature of the solo writing, which includes octave leaps and is certainly different from the Leutgeb works, has led at least one commentator to the conclusion that it is the one horn concerto not composed for Mozart’s friend. But that perhaps also applies to K494a?

One of the most prized assets of a horn player’s technique was an ability to play legato with a smooth, continuous tone. Javier Bonet quotes the Mercure de France on the subject of Joseph Leutgeb, the publication noting that he ‘sings the adagios as perfectly as the smoothest, most interesting and most precise voice would’. It’s an encomium I’m more than happy to bestow on Bonet too, since although he displays a fine technique and the necessary agility where Mozart asks for it, something not always guaranteed – ‘There you go again, torturing me …’, it is the purity of line and vocal quality of the lyrical writing that remain longest in the mind. One need listen no further than the lyrical opening of K370b to be impressed not only by the cantabile line but the glowing warmth and affection of Bonet’s playing. Only in some of the cadenzas would I part company with him, since his playing at times carries them beyond stylistic bounds and length. The orchestra playing under Emilio Moreno, a doyen of the Spanish early music scene, is stylish and fully supportive

This is a thoroughly enjoyable CD, obviously made and played not just with a high level of musicality but also with affection. ‘O damn you, you’re talented!’, to quote Mozart again.

Brian Robins

Categories
Recording

Handel: Chandos Anthems 10 & 6; Oboe Concerto

CD cover Handel Chandos anthems Musica Gloria

Musica Gloria, directed by Nele Vertommen oboe, and Beniamino Paganini harpsichord/organ
54:47
Et’cetera 1858

Musica Gloria is a young Netherlands-based vocal and instrumental ensemble whose CD ‘Georg Österreich’s Resurrected Treasures’ I welcomed warmly on this site. For their latest recording, they’ve moved forward around 30 years to give us two of the eleven anthems Handel wrote for James Brydges, shortly before he became Duke of Chandos in 1719, during his time with Brydges as resident composer (Johann Pepusch, another German émigré, was director of music). It is sobering to recognize that, had Brydges been alive today, he would almost certainly have been destroyed by the media. He elevated his country house Cannons (near Edgware) to a magnificence rarely found in England outside of royalty by means of fraudulently siphoning off large sums derived from his time as Paymaster General. So without it – over half a million pounds – no Cannons, no Chandos Anthems, no Acis and Galatea.

The Chandos Anthems were all written for the modest forces retained by Brydges, a small chorus and instrumental ensemble (without alto voices and violas) that obviously included an outstanding oboist. Here Musica Gloria field two voices-per-part along with pairs of oboes, recorders, bassoon and strings. As with the earlier CD, there is a marked impression that oboist Nele Vertommen is the driving force of Musica Gloria. Not only are her contributions to the anthems the highlights of the performances, but her playing of the solo part in the Concerto in B flat, HWV 302a, is throughout as finely nuanced and technically as assured as could be wished for.

‘The Lord is my light’ (no 10) notably sets a text drawn from no fewer than eight psalms, and ‘As pants the hart’ (no 6), which more conservatively restricts its source material to Psalm 42, are the anthems included here. Like all the anthems, they include contrasting solo and choral verses much in the style of the French petit motet, but above showing a clear relationship with the verse anthems of Purcell, a source and influence surprisingly not mentioned in the CD’s notes. Unfortunately, the performances do not match those on the earlier disc, though they may please those wedded to the Anglican tradition rather more than they do me. Like so much of that type of choral singing, there is a distinct lack of projection and communication, the performances being more concerned with making a beautiful sound than conveying a message. Diction is poor throughout, a caveat that applies equally to solos as it does to choral work. In ‘The Lord is my light’, this point is dramatically made in the mimetic choral writing at the words ‘the earth trembled and quaked, the very foundations also of the hills’, introducing the shuddering effect first used by Lully in his Isis (1677). Here it goes for little. Tempos are not always convincing either. The opening of ‘As pants the hart’ is disappointingly deliberate and understated, so by the time we reach the second, devastating line, ‘Tears are my daily food’, there has been no sense of build-up to those strong words. Obviously, as already suggested, there will be those for whom such things matter little, and they will likely find much to enjoy in the pleasing blend achieved by the beguilingly fresh-sounding voices. But there is more to this music than we are given here, and there should have been more music given on the CD, too. In this day when 80 minute CDs are no longer the exception, a mere 55 minutes is likely to raise eyebrows. So, sorry not to give more of a welcome, but the impression left is that the performers may not have been sufficiently versed in this music to bring a natural empathy to it.

Brian Robins