From the House of the Mad: Klangforum puts on a "concertante-performative Meta-Opera"

AMOPERA - a dystopian ballad

In a dead-serious context, even the dumbest joke is funny. Klangforum Wien combined high-concept avant-garde with a staging that makes the Hangover-films look like Schiller tragedies.


On Sunday evening, Klangforum lured audiences into the Great Hall for an ambitious season finale. A “concertante-performative meta-opera” was on the program. Already the descriptor “Amoper” (opera for the evening) came with a warning: words like “meta” and “performative” are often codes—either promising an audience something detached from the subject and physically involving in its own peculiar way, or, to the less inclined, something pseudo-intellectual and embarrassing. One must decide for oneself which camp one belongs to when exposed to the Belgian Needcompany.

A musician enters. He stands at the front of the stage. Silence. He dies—loudly, like Hamlet in provincial theater. No, he lives; puts on a clown nose. The rest of the musicians and two “performers” join him. They start running around the stage in circles, all of them oozing significance and wearing colorful socks. It reeks of amateur improv class at the local community center. Still no music. This goes on for what feels like five minutes, until some musicians finally dare touch their instruments and begin to intone Salvatore Sciarrino: “I begin to breathe again” from Luci mie traditrici—delicate, breathy, skewed whistling. Sciarrino in purified avant-garde form. The rest of the group keeps jogging. Theatrical garnish: musicians occasionally stand up, pull faces, and sit down again. The “performers” gradually shed their upper garments. In the background, two musicians do jumping jacks. When the musicians just pretend to play their instruments for a while, or exchange instruments among each other (to predictably modest effect), much laughter ensues. Because this is funny.

Beat Furrer’s soundscapes from die helle nacht rise from the central group of ridiculously, admirably dedicated musicians. More facial contortions. Holger Falk sounds stunning—whether miked, half-naked, or wrapped in a purple cloak. No matter how difficult or abstract the music, he delivers. A velvet brushstroke amid all the sonic thorns. Then: loosening-up exercises. Barefoot. Heavy breathing. Screaming. Percussion outbursts. The music comes from the ash-heap of the avant-garde (Xenakis) and its modern epigones (Sara Glojnarić, Michael Wertmüller, Rebecca Saunders, Bernhard Lang). At least Berio is enjoyable—because he mocks himself (For Cathy). A bass flute comes running. But only breathes through the thing. Wait, it is turning into Saunders' "O Yes & I". One of the pieces sounds like Sepultura-goes-Bohemian-Rhapsodie.

Soprano Sarah Maria Sun is no less impressive than Falk and hurls herself admirably into every role. Around her: more group contortions. Buttocks rubbing against one another. Finally, a cut: Zemlinsky—glorious. Lulu fragments—brilliant. Sciarrino (via Gesualdo)—touching. Britten—tender. A telling contrast.

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© Carlos Suarez/Wiener Konzerthaus

Briefly Noted: Grimaud's 'Water'

Water, H. Grimaud (released on January 29, 2016) DG 0289 4793426-4 | 57'03"

Hélène Grimaud was last in Washington in 2008, to play Beethoven's fourth piano concerto with the National Symphony Orchestra. This recent release is partially a live recital program on the theme of water in music, which she played in several places, captured here at the Park Avenue Armory in New York in 2014. In between these tracks -- by Berio, Takemitsu, Fauré, Albéniz, Ravel, Liszt, Janáček, and Debussy -- are ethereal "transition" pieces, recorded last summer by Nitin Sawhney. In these brief, mostly electronic pieces, Sawhney creates soundscapes on keyboard, guitar, and computer, including some pre-recorded sounds of water.

The live version of this recital, reviewed in the New York Times, sounds much more interesting than the result on disc. A collaboration with artist Douglas Gordon and lighting designer Brian Scott, the concert was staged in a pool that slowly filled with water over the course of 20 minutes: "Then, the lights darkened until the hall was almost completely dark. You heard the subdued sloshing of someone walking on the flooded space: Ms. Grimaud, of course." Some of the repertoire choices are perhaps too obvious (Ravel's Jeux d'eau, Liszt's Les jeux d'eau a la Villa d'Este, Debussy's La Cathédrale Engloutie), making Grimaud's renditions of Takemitsu's Rain Tree Sketch II and Berio's Wasserklavier stand out from the crowd. A Fauré barcarolle and Janáček's In the Mists seem like stretches thematically, especially when there are choices like Ravel's Ondine, Scriabin's second sonata, and Debussy's Poissons d'Or. That last one was reportedly Grimaud's encore at some performances.

Ionarts-at-Large: Schubert's Ghost, Ravel's Never-Ending Hum(m)dinger

Luciano Berio’s Rendering is one of the main ingredients of the excellent 2005 release “Schubert Epilog” that did so much to put Jonathan Nott’s Bamberg Symphony on the map of record buyers again. At its base are fragments of Schubert’s (presumed) attempt at writing a new symphony (after completion of his Ninth) based on earlier sketches. In Rendering, Berio creates a superb synthesis of old and new by erecting a contemporary work in which Schubert is the main ingredient, rather than guesstimating what Schubert may have intended to arrive at. Berio’s music comes in and goes out amid the Schubert fragments, like a well preserved ruin that a modern architect incorporates into a new glass & steel structure; modern but remaining true to the original proportions. The Berio-bits slowly drift apart and disintegrate before our ears, not unlike Alfred Schnittke melting straight chords into figures askew—but with less robust puckishness and much more gracious refinement on Berio’s part.

Late Schubert—extrapolated by another ten years of equal creativity—suggests greatness to the point of incomprehensibility Berio gives us a modern window through which to try… try to imagine a musical world in which Beethoven would have been “that other romantic composer in Vienna” Berio gives the listener an opportunity to glimpse at this most important musical case of “what would have been” not through a reconstruction that would invariably remain a second-guessing game, incomplete, questioned, and a pale shadow of the platonic ideal of a “Tenth” Schubert Symphony. Berio infuses confidence into the music by making the fragments part of a new whole, endowing the music with a new reality. We hear a modern work, but in it the story of the greatest composer that injudicious sex ever took from posterity. David Robertson, taking over the BRSO from the scheduled Riccardo Chailly (the dedicatee of Rendering), brought this expression to life in magnificent form and in all its subtlety, delicacy, and tear-shaped sublimity. Rendering is not a hodge-podge, it is one of the greater gifts of music; it inspires to thanks-giving.

L.Berio et al, Schubert Epilog, J.Nott / Bamberg SO Tudor M.Ravel, Daphnis et Chloé, P.Monteux* / LSO [* conducted the world premiere] Decca

To perform Ravel’s ballet music Daphnis et Chloé afterwards (or pretty much anything else, for that matter) is—to my ears—taking away from this experience. And Daphnis et Chloé—performed in its entirety, not just the two suites—is already Ravel’s longest work…(apparently, inexplicably, also the one Ravel was most proud of).

It’s a lushly expressionist extravaganza with an imaginative orchestration, including wordless choir variously humming (“bouches fermées”) and aaahhh-ing (“bouches ouvertes”)… but with one has to be in the mood for it, or else it sounds mostly repetitive and loud—a colorful kind of ‘loud’—between lulls of the same color. The BR chorus sounded great in this easy part, but contained two visual blots that were painful to look at and just as hard to avoid. Why chorus members would wear trashy glitter tank-tops on semi-see-through dresses (straight out of casting-rejects from “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert”) or ostentatiously flaunt Hedwig-and-the-Angry-Inch hairdo is as baffling as why the rest of the chorus would let them get away with it. Such excesses of narcissism gone horribly wrong, apart from being a distracting, unprofessional aesthetic affront, have no place in a musical group effort where cohesion is the highest goal.

Amidst quibbles and distractions, the orchestra played exceedingly well under Robertson who, if we count Mark Minkowski among them, is among the handful of truly exciting, ever impressive American conductors and one who I am always eager to hear. I should like to hear more of him with the BRSO.

Ionarts-at-Large: Chailly's Bold Mahler with the BRSO

Spheres of Gustav Mahler, traced in the future—well after his death—rather than in or before Mahler’s time: that’s the style of several of the great Mahler-conductors of our time, conductors that (audibly) approach the composer as the seed of all or at least much of the music that came after him. They hear the dense chords in Mahler’s Ninth and Tenth Symphonies as the organic development of what Schoenberg & Co. would soon after construct as 12-tone music. Riccardo Chailly is among these conductors, as are Michael Gielen, Simon Rattle, or even Claudio Abbado. On CD you can usually tell by the conductor’s coupling of a modern work with their Mahler. Chailly’s and Gielen’s Mahler cycles on individual discs (but sadly not in their respective, paired down boxes) are made so much more interesting by inclusion of works like Berg’s Sonata Op.1 (orchestrated) or Seven Early Songs, Schoenberg’s Jakob’s Ladder, Webern’s Six Pieces with Schubert, or Zemlinsky’s Maeterlinck-Lieder.

G.Mahler / A.Berg, Symphony No.1 / Sonata op.1 (orch.), Chailly / RCO Decca

L.Berio, Formazioni, Folk Songs, Sinfonia, Chailly / RCO Decca

L.Berio, Sinfonia, Eindrücke, Boulez / O.Natl.d.France Erato - Apex

The same is true for the concert-experience. You can, of course, stuff a Mahler program with Verdi, or Mozart, but with Riccardo Chailly—in this case at the Herkulessaal with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra on Thursday, October 14^th—you get Luciano Berio, instead. Sinfonia, to be precise, which is the logical choice in that it treats Berio not just as part of the non-linear extension of Mahler’s soundworld, but because Berio explicitly references Mahler in this 1968/69 work. It has Mahler at heart with its central movement being a collage of the Second Symphony’s “St. Anthony’s Sermon to the Fish”. It sounds like a full stomach of Mahler on a roller coaster: clarinet melodies and rhythm being the most striking reminder of Gustav, above which the fragmented rest is being given a liberal make-over with generous splashes of Strauss, Schoenberg, Bach, Debussy, and the incantations of the vocal ensemble’s chatter, cackle, and exclamations. The part was originally written for the Swingle Singers; the Vokalensemble Nova took good, robust care of it here—allowing, or encouraging, or at least (and certainly) surviving a much more aggressive, bold interpretation compared to the more effeminate performance I know from the Swingle-Singers recording(s).

Mahler’s First Symphony, in such short succession to the performance across town, afforded inevitable, direct comparison to Zubin Mehta and the Munich Philharmonic. It is an interesting comparison, too, because where Mehta seems to get interpretatively mellower with age, Chailly gets more audacious and harder—at least in Mahler. Where Mehta’s pseudo-Titan, despite several endearing qualities, was just ‘nice’, Chailly wielded a surprising iron fist.

The opening—the famous Rheingoldian, and Beethoven Ninth-ish Ur­-sound (“A” throughout the entire register of the orchestra)—was held in the must hushed tones, forever clinging to pianissimo with fascinating, compelling tenacity. Even the second theme remained moored in the domain of chamber music-like delicacy. With the ever present prospect of a rip-roaring explosion looming (and without ever calling on it), he made for one of those lapel-grabbing stretches of time where will-power seems to manifest itself in music. He steered the orchestra through the first movement like walking a dog on a rubber band, rubato-wise.

Briefly switching metaphors: So far, Chailly had let the whole thing roll downhill in neutral, not stepping on the accelerator yet, much less putting the pedal to the metal. Only at the single true climax of the first movement—and then only briefly—did he unleash the forces available to him. What followed that tense, clenched understatement, was a ballsy opening of the second movement, see-sawing with a brawny string sound and giving an immediately perceptible different balance to the symphony. The second movement took on equal weight to what preceded it as the underlying pulse went—literally—through Chailly’s body.

The Frère Jacques double bass solo was ridiculously perfect, to the point of undermining the effect of playing at the very limits of a double bass' capability. (I would love to see a performance where the conductor doesn’t pick the soloist for that phrase until two bars before he or she has to play it; that should take do the trick of instilling the necessary dread). The violins continued with real verve in a third movement far more deliberate than I normally hear it performed. Deliberation and wonderful detail in the strings came forth again in the fourth movement, too, where Chailly harked back to the soft pianissimo of the first movement, forcing that attentiveness that compels listening. This forceful and determined presentation of the might have been too humorless for some, but whether one liked the goals of the interpretation or not, there was no denying that it was superbly done. Incidentally it was one of the very rare cases with the BRSO where the interpretation outclassed the performance—a fact that can largely be blamed on the brass section (horns especially), which had a miserable day. If they got their act together on the following night for the broadcast of the performance, the BR Klassik label might have a winner of a Mahler First in the can, well deserving of a release in the near future.

Reviewed, Not Necessarily Recommended: Brahms Transcribed

Brahms, Orchestrations by Schoenberg & Berio, Steffens / State O. Rhenish Phil. / Raiskin cpo 777 356-2 Available on Amazon.com Available on Amazon.co.uk Available on Amazon.de Available on Amazon.fr

Brahms’ First Piano Quartet, op.25 in G minor, was dubbed “Brahms’ Fifth Symphony” by the orchestrator—Arnold Schoenberg—himself. (By other accounts, it was the conductor of the premiere, Bruno Walter, who coined the term.) That’s not boasting, it’s quite accurate. For one, the symphony writing of Brahms in that marvelous, blustery quartet lends itself to the orchestral arrangement, and Schoenberg did a bang-up job in the orchestration which isn’t so much Brahms but Brahms catapulted into the 20^th century of Mahler and Schoenberg himself.

There is an anecdote of Otto Klemperer, who had suggested to Schoenberg to arrange and orchestrate that quartet, premiering the Schoenberg orchestration of the Brahms Quartet in L.A. where one of the ‘Dragon-Ladies’ of the Board came up to him afterwards and proclaimed: “I don’t know what everyone’s problem is with that Schoenberg. I think that was quite beautiful.”* It is safe to say that she did not gain much insight into Schoenberg’s (actual) work, but at least she enjoyed his orchestration, which indeed – insight or not – any Brahms-lover will.

The result, despite Schoenberg’s insistence that he only ‘opened up the inherent possibilities’ of works of past masters, is a musical work of its own. Just listen to the last movement’s instrumentation which revels in surges of Hungarian color that Brahms would never have come up with. The quartet is no longer rarely heard, as it was in Schoenberg’s time, nor often played badly when it is (another of Schoenberg’s complaints and reasons for orchestrating it). But that does not negate the additional pleasure that can be gained from the orchestration.

Indeed, this monumental and stunningly beautiful work is good to have in any performance. A fine account has recently been offered by Robert Craft on Naxos—coupled with the re-working of the Monn cello concerto, which is more based on, rather than “transcribed from”, Georg Matthias Monn’s (1717 - 1750) work. The latest addition comes from cpo, Daniel Raiskin, and the State Orchestra Rhenish Philharmonic (Koblenz). It’s a lighter, not to say lyrical, performance, but neither as secure nor unashamedly bombastic as the Christoph Eschenbach’s RCA recording with the Houston Symphony (coupled with Schoenberg’s excellent Bach transcriptions of BWV 552, BWV 654, and BWV 631) on RCA (sadly oop). The finest sounding version currently available is probably Neeme Järvi’s on Chandos, because the London Symphony Orchestra delivers more of a punch and more vibrant colors than the Rhenish Philharmonic.

That said, the main attraction on this disc is not the Brahms/Schoenberg arrangement, but the Berio orchestral arrangement of the Clarinet Sonata op.120/1, commissioned by the Philharmonic Society of Los Angeles. Like Schoenberg, it’s a harmonically and melodically “straight” transcription, not a modern re-imagining of the work. Berio, no stranger to orchestrations and adaptations (Puccini’s Turandot, works by Schubert, Mahler, and Verdi), tackled this last major work of Brahms’ for reasons we don’t know. Iosif Raiskin speculates that the tinges of Mahler in late Brahms may have been a reason for the Mahler-loving Berio. Be that as it may, the result is a wonderfully graceful Brahms Clarinet Concerto. Quite different than the grandiloquent Schoenberg transcriptions—partly due to the very different source material, partly due to the airier orchestration.

Karl Heinz Steffens’ performance on the clarinet is, if anything, even better than the already admirable orchestral contribution in the Berio-Brahms. If you like the idea of transcriptions, if you like Brahms, if you don’t already have a recording of the “Fifth Symphony”, and if you like the clarinet (or if any two of these four points are true), this is probably worth seeking out.

* The same story also exists in a version where it was the manager of the L.A. Symphony who said the same thing, except substituting “melody” for “beauty”. I haven’t yet found out which one is more credible, for now I prefer the former.

Ionarts in Siena: Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia

The 64th Settimana Musicale Senese came to a close on Saturday night in Siena's Chiesa di Sant'Agostino. Conductor Antonio Pappano led the orchestra of the Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia in a program that combined two rather different halves in a challenging and satisfying concert. The first half was devoted to a landmark of the late 20th century, Luciano Berio's chimeric Sinfonia for eight voices and orchestra. Composed in several stages from 1967 to 1969, this piece is in one sense a recapitulation and analysis of the symphonic genre; at the same time, Berio refracted his main source, Gustav Mahler's second symphony, through a kaleidoscopic prism of modernist literature, other musical classics (Bach, Beethoven, Strauss, other Mahler, etc.), anthropology, and the turbulent current events of the late 1960s. The eight vocal parts were performed here by the the latest incarnation of the Swingle Singers, for whom the piece was created and who sang under Leonard Bernstein in the premiere performance, in honor of the 125th anniversary of the New York Philharmonic in 1968.

64th Settimana Musicale Senese: Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia (July 14) Concerto Italiano, Monteverdi's Orfeo (July 11) Cappella della Pietà de' Turchini (July 10) Fabio Vacchi, La Madre del Mostro (July 8)

The eight singers, the piano, and other instruments were picked up by microphones, which created the appearance of an electronic production, reminiscent of musique concrète. The Swingle Singers mostly created glistening dissonant chords in close harmonic arrangements or added to the chaotic effects of the orchestra by whispering or shouting. The first tenor -- the part sung by Ward Swingle, the group's founder -- recited most of the narration, drawn from Claude-Lévi Strauss's Le cru et le cuit, a study of Brazilian traditional mythology relating to the origin of water, and Samuel Beckett's L'Innommable. From the third movement on, there is also English commentary on the experience of listening to Sinfonia -- "it's a compulsory show," "perhaps it is a recitation, someone reciting selected passages," and "waiting for it to start -- that is the show."

The postmodern attitude, deconstructing the work and the listener's possible experiences of it, is made specific with references to the citations of the Resurrection symphony ("there was even for a moment a chance of resurrection") and with the words directed to the conductor at the close of the fourth movement ("Thank you, Mr. Antonio Pappano"). It could be characterized as the dialogue of voices inside a puzzled listener's head or like a berserk color commentary on the action. For all of its thorny problems of interpretation, the piece received a sensitive and vibrant performance in Pappano's hands, in spite of the size and awkward placement of the orchestra (part of the ensemble had to be seated off the stage in front of the audience). Some listeners may not find connecting with Sinfonia easy, however -- my concert companion was reviled with a passion both intellectual and visceral. To sweeten the taste, the Swingles gave two delicious encores: a jazzy arrangement of Bella ciao ("Una mattina mi son svegliato"), a famous post-WWII song, and a rather silly arrangement of Mozart's Rondo alla Turca.

Perugino (Pietro Vannucci), Crucifixion, Chiesa di Sant'Agostino, Siena

The second half was devoted to another work that had a long genesis, Rossini's Stabat mater dolorosa, completed in two major periods. If anything, the overall polish of this performance may have suffered ever so slightly in rehearsal time because of the complexity of the Berio. Although there were some moments lacking true unity among the extensive forces, it was a very satisfying performance. The Coro dell'Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia was excellent, a large chorus that maintained a good control of soft dynamics and was impressively unified in intonation, attack, and diction, for which Maestro del Coro Norbert Balatsch took a much-deserved bow. Soprano Emma Bell and mezzo-soprano Joyce DiDonato were an appropriately matched pair in their Duetto ("Quis est homo"), with the thick, duskier hue of the soprano voice tending toward the mezzo sound. DiDonato showed her mastery in the gorgeous Cavatina, with impressive control of soft dynamics, nicely followed by the orchestra, and breath support on those long notes.

Bass Ildar Abdrazakov was resonant and suave in his Aria ("Pro peccatis suae gentis") and the startling recitative dialogue with the chorus ("Eja, Mater, fons amoris"), a performance that makes me keen to hear his Don Giovanni with Washington National Opera next season. One can only congratulate and thank tenor Colin Lee, who stepped in to replace the indisposed Lawrence Brownlee. The Santa Cecilia orchestra again played well, with meaty brass in the Duetto, plaintive solo oboe lines, and an exciting "Inflammatus et accensus" movement, complete with revelatory trumpets for the sounds of the Last Judgment. A nice musicological touch came in the celebrated Quartetto movement, in which Ms. Bell sang a small modification of her part, notated in the score of Clara Novello at an early performance of the Stabat mater in Bologna. Although Donizetti conducted that performance, Rossini oversaw it and, moved by Ms. Novello's singing, added a little gilding to the lily. As described in the excellent essay by Guido Burchi in the program, Novello's score is now in the Fondo Gigliucci of the Accademia Musicale Chigiana's library in Siena.

Concerts continue throughout August, in Siena and nearby towns, in the 76th Estate Musicale Chigiana, including performances by violinist Giuliano Carmignola (July 21), harpsichordist Christophe Rousset (August 1), cellist Antonio Meneses (August 3), and pianist Maurizio Pollini (August 12). Reviews will be forthcoming until Ionarts is constrained to leave Italy.

Ionarts in Provence: Ensemble Intercontemporain

The Ensemble intercontemporain’s sole appearance at the Festival d’Aix-en-Provence was not to be missed. Founded in 1976 by Pierre Boulez and funded by the French Ministry of Culture, the Ensemble has been a leading exponent of music of the 20th century and later. Susanna Mälkki, the Finnish Music Director of the Ensemble, conducted the performance of the works of Luca Francesconi (1956-), Luciano Berio (1925-2003), and Ivan Fedele (1953-) at the Théâtre du Jeu de Paume.

The opening work, Francesconi’s Da capo for 9 instruments (1985-86) began with quiet flutters by clarinet and flute that were soon expanded by all. Eventually the music was flying, colorfully shooting everywhere. The technically flawless frenzy of vibraphone, harp, piano, flute/piccolo, clarinet, bassoon, and string trio caused an appropriate snapping sound of a broken harp string. Da capo was clearly the least percussive piece on the program, which seems like a rarity in contemporary classical music; yet, it had the strongest rhythm.

Berio’s O King (1967) is an homage to Martin Luther King, Jr., and consists of soft, long notes that are interspersed with strong accents that increasingly become a point of interest. Fedele’s Chord (1986) began with sharp pizzicato notes and muted French horns. The instruments – two French horns, two clarinets, violin, cello, vibraphone, and harp – were barely used in their normal function, except for the two clarinets that softly imitated each other near the end. Francesconi’s A Fuoco, 4e studio sulla memoria for guitar and ensemble (1995) featured guitarist Pablo Márquez and created an intense atmosphere with a slow, steady beat sustained by alternating single notes from different ensemble members. This was among the occasional cello scraping, key shaking of the bass clarinet, and placing of a violin bow down a marimba tube for percussive effect.

Mezzo-soprano Loré Lixenberg was featured in Berio’s Circles for voice, harp, and two percussionists (1960), a work in three parts involving three poems by E. E. Cummings. With the text distorted and mostly in slow motion, Lixenberg was in a different position on the stage for each section and often joined in the percussion herself with woodblocks, etc. Performed without conductor, Lixenberg, often finding her pitch with a tuning fork, did an admirable job leading this complex work. Fedele’s Richiamo for brass, percussion, and electronic synthesizer (1994) concluded the program and did the most to manipulate the audiences’ sense of time. This extension of time was helped by the ethereal timbres of the percussion and electronic synthesizer.

Susanna Mälkki’s sober conducting consisted solely of clear beat patterns and cues. It will be fascinating to see where she leads the Ensemble in her tenure – hopefully to Washington, D.C.!

Recent Naxos Offerings

A. Dorman, Piano Sonatas H. Willan, Choral Works J. M. Kraus, German Songs L. Spohr, StQ5t v.4 L. Berio, Sequenzas I-XIV R. Sessions, StQ4t et al.

From this month’s new releases by Naxos – by some count the largest classical record label – I aimed for mostly eclectic and obscure items to come across my desk. Interest, curiosity, and the desire to always prick my musical tastes guards against complacency of appreciation and desire. While Roger Sessions and Ned Rorem might at least be at the fringe of American music lovers’ consciousness (Rorem, at least, should be better known still, as one of this country’s most important contemporary composers), I don’t expect anyone to nod appreciatively upon the mention of Avner Dorman (b. 1975, Israeli-American) or Healey Willan (1880-1968, English émigré to Canada). Luciano Berio is a known quantity even to those who have never heard a note of his or, for that matter, plan on never hearing a note of his. A recording of his monumental miniatures Sequenzas I-XIV rounds out the batch of 20th/21st-century music.

First to Avner Dorman’s solo piano works performed by Eliran Avni. À la bonheur! This is good music – of the kind that, if it were by a prominent, preferably dead, composer, would be called “eminently pleasing” and “utterly delightful.” Since it is a new face, however, that shows his “Classical” Sonata No. 1, Moments Musicaux (some competition he’s got with other works that go by that title), Prelude No. 1 (written as an 18-year-old), Sonata No. 2 and the 2005 Dance Suite: Sonata No. 3, one is tempted to be more reserved and say things like “charming, if harmless” or “quaint and unchallenging listening.” Probably a bit of both is true, but more importantly there are some ‘damn good’ moments, too – and that these works make for very enjoyable listening. Repeat listening is even more rewarding: the playful way that the “classical” first sonata mimics anything from Beethoven to Liszt (“Romantic” would have been just as good a nickname) to popular music and has all the youthful quirks of unburdened composing. Dorman has an ear for a good tune but avoids cheapness. Come to think of it, this is “damn good.”

Healey Willan, born in 1880 and “dominat[ing] the field of sacred music” in Canada, is quite a change-up from the variously enjoyable modern fare. This is easy listening with the scent of frankincense; it sounds absolutely lovely and reverently joyful. Like that beautiful anonymous church music that is anonymous not because the composers can’t be found out, but because no one bothers to find them out. It is prettiness that leaves no questions to ask or answers to probe for. Although I have one question, come to think of it: how can a composer turn 4:35 of simple beauty into something that sounds simply unending. Not even a minute in, I thought that the four minutes must just about be up. Once “Hymn – Anthem on ‘Ye watchers and ye holy ones’” creeps across the 4 minute mark, it feels like a movement of a Bruckner symphony could have passed. Repetitively glacial.

Willan does not offend with debased schlock in the way John Rutter does (at least to these anti-Rutterite ears), that vapid candy-cane composer of one piece of choral kitsch after another. Willan is beautiful throughout and deserves no ire. He does, however, deserve a certain anonymity. His music is of the kind that will lift your spirit and calm your soul if you should step into a dark cathedral and hear the choristers from the rafters. A little tasteful organ is employed here and there… and the beautiful Missa Brevis No. XI “Missa Sancti Johannis Baptistae” strikes me as more successful than most of this disc’s other works set in English. I know people who will lap this kind of music up and I don’t blame them for it; in future I myself will turn to this disc for the purposes of mood only; not the compositions themselves. It should be said that elsewhere this disc received highest praise; David Vernier, ClassicaToday.com’s editor, would have Ontario's Elora Festival Singers declared national treasures of Canada for their (indeed) excellent singing.

J. M. Kraus, Symphonies v. 1 J. M. Kraus, Symphonies v. 2 J. M. Kraus, Symphonies v. 3

The Swede Joseph Martin Kraus (1756 – 1792) is a composer of symphonies that I cherish very much as adding spice to the diet of Mozart/Haydn in classical works. I might prefer Onslow over Kraus in that category, but either composer’s works in that genre are rewarding. Unfortunately the same cannot be said about Kraus’s songs, all the German ones of which are collected on a recording with soprano Birgid Steinberger and baritone Martin Hummel, accompanied by Glen Wilson. Steinberger and Hummel have light voices, appropriate for light songs; ditties, even. If it is said of Schubert to have picked his texts indiscriminately and with occasional lapse in taste, Kraus redeems him by some measure. Surely few examples of the Lied have such asinine, portentously funny, farm-animal humdrum lyrics as Die Henne. (The chicken cackles too loudly whenever laying an egg, her neighbor, the turkey, complains. The chicken retorts dourly. It’s a turkey alright, even if the chicken noises of Martin Hummel almost make its two minutes worthwhile.) Were it not for such superior art songs available in abundance (even Franz Xaver Mozart did better), I might not find these songs so sordid… alas, there are far too few pearls in this collections. While Ms. Steinberger is pleasant if unremarkable, I don’t particularly take to Mr. Hummel’s thin, brittle voice; a little too much taste of the dilettante reality of these songs, no matter how it suits the nature the works. Diction and pronunciation are just about perfect, making the lack of texts in the booklet (for economic reasons available only at www.naxos.com/libretti/krauslieder.html) unnecessary for the German speaker. It would be silly to blame Mr. Wilson for the lackluster accompaniment – there is only so much music he can work with. This is not likely how you’ll want to encounter this composer: try the symphonies instead!

L. Spohr, Clarinet Concertos L. Spohr, Faust L. Spohr, StQ5t v. 3

Spohr is a composer I very much like – I’ve fallen in love with his music mainly because of his opera Faust which I’ve always found sounds like Mozart might have, in his 50s, had Beethoven not existed. Clarinet lovers probably know his concertos for that instrument; if they don’t, they should. The violin concertos are lovely, if not quite on the same level. His numerous string quartets and string quintets, too, are more than worth listening to and have been served well on Marco Polo’s complete survey. Now these discs are being re-released by Naxos at a price that is much more inviting to explore his works. I’ve very much enjoyed volume 3 on the Marco Polo label, and volume 4 with the Quintet No. 7 in G minor, op. 144, and the Sextet in C major, op. 140, is similarly enjoyable. This is accomplished chamber music between Mozart and Brahms – which ought to tempt you, even if you noticed the ‘soft put-down’ “accomplished” in this sentence. I can’t earnestly recommend all of Spohr to any less-than-obsessed collector, but apart from the clarinet concertos and Faust, a disc with quartets and one with quintets ought to be listened to. This recording, offering the much earlier Potpourri (not the same as the clarinet Potpourri) and the Sextet is one of the better places to start, even if I might give the nod to volume 3 if it must only be one of the quintet CDs. The New Haydn Quartet plays more then adequately. Here might be the place to say: “…plays as well as can be imagined”; which is a favorite short cut for reviewing a CD of repertory one has never heard in a different version and saying something nice without saying anything of substance. I will refrain from that phrase, for one because I actually can imagine these works played with more zest yet, with a fuller tone, and in a slightly more rewarding acoustic. Alas, given distinct lack of competition, “good” is actually “good enough.”

Berio, Sequenzas I-XIV (Mode) Berio, Sequenzas I-XIII (DG)

Berio’s Sequenza now has two three (Mode's -full price- recording came on the market a week ago; I have not listened to it) complete recordings: the complete DG 20/21 recording with the Ensemble Intercontemporain and stunning soloists (Teodoro Anzellotti on the accordion, Christophe Desjardins on the viola, Alain Damiens on the clarinet) and now the complete-complete Naxos recording that comes with the 2002 addition “Sequenza XIV for cello” and not only has the alternative alto-sax version Sequenza IXb (present on the DG recording) but also the alternative soprano-sax version Sequenza VIIb (oboe and clarinet being the instruments of original intent). That Naxos’s three-disc set is half the price might make a purchase for the curious more likely – but it would be for naught if the performances were stale or sub-par. There is only so much I can meaningfully say about the performances of some of the wilder pieces in this collection – and I did not bother to compare the performances side by side. Listening to the impressive solo contributions of the Sequenzas disaffirms all worry: these are very fine performances indeed, whether it be Jasper Wood in Sequenza VIII for violin or Joaquin Valdepeñas' stand-out offering of Sequenza IXa for clarinet where his full tone contains virtually no ‘air’. He’s worth listening to just for the mastery over his instrument.

Not all the sequenzas are equally accessible or even equally intriguing – but generally this is one of the best points to start exposing oneself to high modernist music: the variety among the sequenzas and their individual focus make for fascinating and interesting listening, even when you are not necessarily enjoying what you hear (I’ve never much taken to Sequenza X for trumpet in C and pianoresonance, no matter how well Guy Few may play it here). Sequenza III for female voice, “a zoo of vocal and acting exhibitions,” is given to Tony Arnold, who hiccups and musico-stutters her way through this amusing, shifty work, although I liked it better when performed live by Phyllis Bryn-Julson with the Left Bank Concert Society a year ago. An excellent entry into the world of Berio – probably some of Berio’s best work – but only for those who know what they are getting into. If Carter’s piano sonata – for example – does not delight at all, Berio won’t likely yield more pleasure.

Roger Sessions’ Quintet for 2 violins, 2 violas, and cello from 1958 is significantly more dissonant than chamber music of contemporaries Bloch, Shostakovich, Hindemith – even Bartók… but compared to modernists, he still falls down squarely on the side of the latters' style. Second and third listening help his string quartet immensely: these are very good works indeed - and all those who would not want to live without the above mentioned (although I can see how living without the Hindemith could be possible) should probably wrap their ears around the work of Roger Sessions (1896-1985).