Classical CDs: Chinese poetry, rollercoasters and old bookshops

Jürg Frey: Voices EXAUDI Vocal Ensemble/James Weeks (Neu Records)

A new CD from EXAUDI is a guaranteed treat for all the senses: the sound quality is always impeccable, the CD presentation a tactile pleasure. Heck, it even smells good (a mixture of new car and old bookshop). VOICES presents the music of Swiss composer Jürg Frey (b. 1953), which is an intriguing mixture of the sophisticated and the almost naïve, a surface simplicity revealing submerged depths, a place where fragility and steely inner purpose meet. It is music that is extreme in its singlemindedness, the long spans over which gradually evolving musical material is presented is essential to its effect.

Five of the six pieces presented here were commissioned by EXAUDI, a fruitful collaboration dating back to 2016. The exception is the 1998 piece Polyphonie der Wörter, in which the singers intone two syllable words as isolated chords, separated by silences that become almost alarmingly long. I’d love to hear this live. The earliest EXAUDI commission is Shadow and Echo and Jade, a 14-minute setting of 3rd century Chinese poetry. Notes and chords hang in the air, the vowels subtly changing, but the music maintains a studied unwillingness to develop, in the terms required my traditional western music. “Shadows cannot be held; echoes cannot be harnessed” says the text, and the music is equally elusive.

The last two tracks both set Emily Dickinson, who has spoken to so many composers in such different ways. Blue Bird’s Tune is not exactly Rachmaninoff, but the melody that emerges from the top line of the chords is now sweetly flavoured, now gently soured. Because I could not stop for Death is an inexorable procession, hieratic, distanced, but also – as conductor James Weeks says in the liner notes – a “focused, intimate vocal world”. The singing by this extraordinary eight-strong line-up of Britain’s best contemporary music vocalists is unimpeachable. As Weeks points out, these pieces are so demanding, in an unflashy way, “navigating the borders between the softest possible sound and silence” but also singing “the border of their individual technical and expressive vocal identities.” As a listener, I was enthralled to explore these borders with EXAUDI as my passport. Bernard Hughes

Leaps & Bounds: Music by Lance Hulme Brno Philharmonic Orchestra/Mikel Toms et al (Divine Art)

I’ve been aware of American composer Lance Hulme for a few years – I’m a big fan of his orchestral piece Sirens’ Song – but this two-CD portrait album is a great opportunity to get to know the full range of his work. And range there certainly is. I am pleased that Sirens’ Song kicks things off, in a vibrant performance by the Brno Philharmonic and Mikel Toms. The piece, a 14-minute quasi-symphony, is inspired by the composer’s lifelong fascination with the Odyssey, with a colourful scoring and intoxicating energy. The final movement pits a long, evolving melody against beautifully-crafted orchestration that recalls Berg. It’s a fine piece.

The rest of disc 1 has a punchy and vivid saxophone nonet depicting a rollercoaster ride, a solo violin study, the entertaining JethroZen for the unlikely combination of flute and electric guitar (the “Jethro” in the title is a nod to Jethro Tull) and Caritas Abundat: Setting the Diamond, which takes us into electronic territory. This latter piece places a song by Hildegard on a “computer-generated sonic bed”, supplemented with solo cello. I liked the idea a bit more than the execution, which had a few too many ideas, and too many echoes of Vangelis, for my taste.

The title piece, Leaps & Bounds, has, according to Hulme, an “asymmetrical polymetric ostinato” but is more fun than this makes it sound. The three textural strands come together at the end in a thrilling confluence, and there is a similar restless energy in the mercurial percussion duo, Slapdash Redux. Appalachian Advent is a real change of tone, setting folksongs Hulme remembers from his childhood for soprano and piano before we finish with a spiky, sassy duo for sax and piano. The downside of this album as a miscellany of recordings made over many years in different venues and setups is that the sound varies in quality a great deal between items. But the playing is always committed and excellent, and regardless of some reservations I had about some pieces, there is much to like here – and Sirens’ Song is certainly worth a listen or two. Bernard Hughes

Mahler: Symphony No. 5 Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich/Paavo Järvi (Alpha)

Here’s a promising start to a new Mahler cycle, Paavo Järvi leading an energised Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich through Symphony No. 5 in just over 70 minutes. It’s odd how Mahler performances on record have expanded over the years; 70 minutes feels about right to me, though Bruno Walter’s 1947 New York account, nicely remastered by Sony, lasts about an hour and doesn’t feel unduly rushed. Still, a little extra legroom here does give the bigger climaxes space to expand. Järvi nails the symphony’s opening, an immaculately played trumpet solo leading to an imposing wall of sound, the Tonhalle brass superbly blended. I heard details in this performance that I’d not previously taken notice of, like the rattling snare drum and shuddering lower strings accompanying the first big flare-up. The march’s first trio is as exciting as any, and the movement’s final bars are both spooky and blackly witty, Mahler’s col legno strings really telling. The second movement is effective too, the long cello lament at 4’22” plumbing the depths and the closing chorale’s collapse genuinely moving.

Järvi’s scherzo is ideally paced, Ivo Gass’s horn solo full of swagger, followed by an “Adagietto” which flows without congealing. The finale is a delight here, a winning blend of perkiness and profundity, the closing peroration uplifting and totally free of bombast. I’ve often wondered in recent years if my long-standing love affair with Mahler’s music has finally hit the buffers. This uplifting, beautifully performed and recorded disc made me realise that the relationship still has a future. Recommended.

Prokofiev: Piano Concerto No. 2, Alexey Shor: Piano Concerto No. 1 Behzod Abduraimov (piano), Royal Philharmonic Orchestra/Vasily Petrenko (Alpha)

This is the third new recording of Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 2 I’ve heard in recent months, following excellent versions from Stewart Goodyear and Zlata Chochieva. This one, from Uzbek pianist Behzod Abduraimov, boasts an unusual coupling and luxuriant support, Vasily Petrenko’s Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in fine form. Petrenko understands the first movement’s debt to Rachmaninov, its opening minutes some of the most achingly romantic music Prokofiev wrote. Abduraimov’s first-movement cadenza is as imposing as any you’ll here, and Petrenko lets the brass off the leash when the orchestra re-enters at 1’22”, to my mind one of the greatest moments in any concerto. The scherzo zips by, Petrenko allowing a wealth of often-hidden woodwind detail. Listen to the lower strings at the beginning of the third movement, Abduraimov responding in kind. It’s exciting stuff, capped by an explosive finale, time standing still in the slow passage before the race to the finish. I’m fond of Ashkenazy and Bronfman in this work, but Abduraimov might just supplant them in my affections.

That performance is paired with a piano concerto by Ukrainian-born American composer Alexey Shor, completed in 2023, 100 years after Prokofiev premiered the revised version of his concerto. Listen blind and you’d think it was written in the mid-20^th century: a largely angst-free neoclassical score, idiomatically written, well-proportioned yet curiously unmemorable. I’ll persevere with the piece, but wish that Abduraimov had included more Prokofiev instead.

Shostakovich & Britten Sheku Kanneh-Mason (cello), with the Sinfonia of London/John Wilson and Isata Kanneh-Mason (piano) (Decca)

How refreshing to see a starry soloist with a huge following continuing to use his powers for good, cellist Sheku Kanneh-Mason’s commercial clout presumably allowing him a huge say in what he chooses to record for Decca. None of the music on this disc is popular in any conventional sense, but works like Shostakovich’s Cello Concerto No. 2 and Britten’s Cello Sonata deserve this sort of high-profile advocacy. The concerto still exists in the shadow of its more extrovert sibling; composed in 1966 for Rostropovich, this is an elusive work with fewer crowd-pleasing moments. Give the piece time and it will work its magic: Kanneh-Mason is right to describe the concerto as “containing some of the most beautiful and sweetest moments in music”, though there are some hair-raising moments too. He and conductor John Wilson take the first movement at a nicely flowing tempo, a proper largo instead of a plodding adagio, and it sounds marvellous – the harp entry 50 seconds in is spine-tingling here. Wilson’s Sinfonia of London are superb accompanists, the quirky percussion writing especially well-served. The little central scherzo is pin-sharp with raucous horns, the Odessa street song quotation suitably earthy. If you’re new to the work, brace yourself for the song’s brutal reprise near the end of the finale, one of the most terrifying passages in Shostakovich’s output. Kanneh-Mason is magnificent throughout; though taped under studio conditions at St Augustine’s, Kilburn, this feels very much like a live performance.

You’d pay full price for the concerto alone, but the couplings are equally enticing. Including Britten’s Cello Sonata, the work written in 1961 for Rostropovich to perform with Britten. I still struggle with the contemporaneous Cello Symphony, but this taut five-movement work is engaging and readily accessible. Isata Kanneh-Mason is unfazed by the piano part’s challenges and the pair close the album with a persuasive account of Shostakovich’s disarmingly approachable cello sonata. A terrific disc.

Tony Coe/Bob Cornford: 'The Buds of Time', 'The Jolly Corner', 'Music for Three' aka 'A Time There Was' Tony Coe Ensemble with Antony Pay or Alan Hacker, Chris Laurence, Delmé String Quartet (Jazz in Britain)

The works on this recording were performed on a Contemporary Music Network tour in November 1980, with "The Buds of Time" in the second half, paired in the concerts with – and following directly on from – Berg's String Quartet played by the Delmé String Quartet. The Berg and the Coe are both uncompromising works. Adorno wrote of the quartet that the "disintegration of sonata form liberates the objective forces within it," and “The Buds of Time” is in that spirit. This is not a historic accident: the premiere of the complete Lulu, with its palindromic construction had been the previous year, and such ideas are rife in Coe’s piece which is clearly written in Berg’s shadow. Coe was taught composition and influence by Bob Cornford (1940-1983), himself a pupil of Vaughan Williams who later worked with both Benjamin Britten and John Dankworth. Cornford conducted the work and was clearly influential on Tony Coe.  

The most remarkable and revelatory moment comes about three and half minutes into "Buds". Coe launches into a soprano saxophone solo of astonishing and unremitting ferocity, which lasts nearly five minutes. Coe plays with savage intent over Chris Laurence's virtuoso bass-work, Gary Kettel's frenetic percussion, and stabbing chords from the Delmés. It is unexpected for several reasons. First to hear Coe play soprano sax with such authority, as powerfully and characterfully as Steve Lacy or Evan Parker is a miracle in itself. In fact, we hear it twice, because the Jazz in Britain label has tracked down two performances of the work, and the second version is less strident and full-on. But the sheer force and presence of Coe's musicianship are what take the breath away.

Ian Carr called Coe "sophisticated, gentle and vague", and the clarinettist/saxophonist did often have an other-worldly air about hum. His hauntingly gentle playing is completely unforgettable on the ECM album Somewhere Called Home recorded in Oslo in 1986 with Norma Winstone and John Taylor, mirrored much later in another wonderful album with voice and piano, More Than You Know with Tina May and Nikki Iles from 2004. It is hard to believe this is the same musician. So, above all, this album proves the truth about the astonishing versatility of Tony Coe which is perhaps the key to his importance, his greatness. As Dave Gelly writes in the excellent 24-page album booklet: "Tony Coe could play anything.... if he liked it, he could play it." Sebastian Scotney

Fantasies Zlatomir Fung (cello), Richard Fu (piano) (Signum)

This is an entertaining anthology, cellist Zlatomir Fung’s starting point being his deep dive into the great cellists of the past during the Covid lockdowns and an examination of their repertoire. Which led him to unearth a pile of 19^th century opera fantasies for cello and piano, works which served both as handy solo showpieces and as a means for opera-starved audiences to enjoy favourite numbers. Try the Fantaisie et Variations sur des motifs de L'Opéra La Fille Du Régiment de Donizetti by the great Belgian cellist Adrien-François Servais, opening with an extended cello and piano recitative before launching into four increasingly outlandish variations on an Act 1 aria. Fung’s performance is spectacular, especially when he’s tackling the harmonics seven minutes in. François George-Hainl’s charming Fantaisie sur des motifs de Guillaume Tell de Rossini wrongfoots us by avoiding any material heard in the opera’s overture, based instead on three numbers for male voices, the cello taking the vocal line. Less interventionist is a straight transcription by August Wilhelmj of Walter’s “Prize Song” from Die Meistersinger von Nurnbërg, played here with disarming sincerity and warmth. In a similar vein is Mikhail Bukinik’s take on “Lensky’s Aria” from Tchaikovsky’s Eugene Onegin.

Fung’s own Fantasy on Janáček’s Jenůfa is a triumph, the opera’s idiosyncratic language undiluted. It's the best thing on the disc and deserves to be a repertoire standard. The Fantasia Carmèn, a recent commission by Fung from composer Marshall Estrin was conceived as a stage piece, Estrin’s conceit being that “the music takes place entirely within the mind of the cellist who is performing it as though they are creating the fantasy spontaneously”. The work’s terrifying technical demands are surmounted with ease; you’d think this was a late 19^th century concoction if it wasn’t for some rather arch spoken word snippets from Estrin and Fung, which I’d have preferred to read than hear. This is a minor gripe – I enjoyed this disc immensely. Pianist Richard Fu provides athletic, idiomatic support and the recorded sound has depth and warmth.

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