Classical CDs: Funeral marches, festivals and film noir

Quartets Through a Time of Change: music by Ravel, Durey, Tailleferre and Milhaud Brother Tree Sound (First Hand Records)

There are plenty – and I mean plenty – of recordings of the Ravel String Quartet, the majority, I would guess, paired with the Debussy Quartet, in what has become something of a programming cliché. The Brother Tree Sound quartet take the rather more enterprising approach of putting it alongside three other French quartets written between 1917 and 1919, none of which are very well-known if they are known at all. It works really well, both as exposure for the lesser names of Les Six, while also casting a fresh light on the Ravel.

Brother Tree Sound formed in 2017 and this is already their third album, the first two having engaged with newly composed music on Songs Without Words and folk music on Maid on the Shore. They are clearly not happy to just cycle through standard repertoire, although their take on the Ravel – the first and biggest piece, and definitely qualifying as standard repertoire – is very good. The scoring of this piece is almost miraculous, from the second subject of the first movement, Peter Mallinson’s viola doubling violinist Anna de Bruin two octaves below, to the ricocheting pizzicato cross-rhythms of the second, and so many other ground-breaking moments. Brother Tree Sound’s playing is vivid and intense, especially in the tortured third movement, and wild and unfettered in the finale. Of other recordings of the Ravel, I like the Quatuor Ébene but have always had reservations about their finale: this new version has the edge in that respect, and in others.

Louis Durey’s String Quartet No.1 shows its debt to Ravel from its very first bars. Durey was the youngest of Les Six, only 19 when he wrote this piece, and it is largely forgotten – according to the liner notes the parts sent by the publisher were the original 1927 printing, so it is tantalisingly close to having been lost altogether. It has a punchier harmonic language than the Ravel but if it isn’t touched with the same genius it is well worth hearing. Its distinctively French sound and touches of piquant bitonality give it an immediate appeal, and Brother Tree Sound are persuasive advocates. Germaine Tailleferre’s only Quartet also shows a debt to the Ravel, both melodically and harmonically. It is, like the Durey, extremely charming, with a Parisian insouciance that I really like. The quartet have a nice line in one moment blending their sound, in another differentiating the characters of conflicting lines. Milhaud’s Fourth Quartet was written in Brazil during the Spanish Flu Pandemic in 1918, which is not reflected in the breezy opening movement but maybe colours the dark and brooding “Funébre”, perhaps the furthest from the Ravel of anything on this terrific disc. Bernard Hughes

Joanna Marsh: A Plastic Theatre and other choral works Jennifer Johnston (mezzo-soprano), Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Orchestra/Ellie Slorach, I Fagiolini, The Lyons Mouth, Stile Antico (Signum)

The quality of top-level professional vocal ensemble singing in the UK is jaw-dropping, as is clear from just the first few seconds of this new disc. Three groups are represented: I Fagiolini (founded in 1986), plus Stile Antico and Voces8 (both active since the early 2000’s). And since singing is also an activity which expresses a sense of community – arguably like no other – it is also heartening to hear the groups combine: I Fagiolini and Voces8 form a fourteen-voice group for the lush textures and harmonies of “Now I I lay”, in which Joanna Marsh portrays a beautifully sustained, continuous and unbroken transition from the rain of winter to the first dreams of spring, setting words by EE Cummings.

There is a strong sense in every one of the first ten tracks from these groups that Marsh’s compositions are ideal vehicles to show these groups’ quality, and also to express the very wide range of timbres and emotions they are capable of. Some of the music is deeply rooted in the liturgical tradition of English music that most of these singers know from a lifetime’s involvement in it, but Joanna Marsh casts her net wider. She has said that likes to set herself the task of “matching the emotional energy of the text in the music”. The opening track, “Batter my Heart”, to a text by John Donne, achieves that through immaculate compositional craft, with every juxtaposition beautifully worked, and yet with an inexorably confident flow. “Evening Prayer”, a composition inspired by Rheinberger’s “Abendlied” also has wonderfully sustained lines. And yet Marsh has an equally strong homing instinct for texts that are less obviously poetic or inviting. Patiann Rogers’s text “Geocentric”, for example, opens with the words “Indecent, self-soiled, bilious…”. Marsh locates not just its humour and bathos, but also gives it a surprising ending, with a Spiritual vibe, charm and warmth.

The final work on the disc, A Plastic Theatre, is very different. With a centrally commanding mezzo-soprano soloist role from Jennifer Johnston, it is fully and epically orchestral and on a large scale for most of its 20 minutes. The recording is of the premiere performance in Liverpool. I found poet Katie Schaag’s concepts of ‘plastic’ and ‘plasticity’ arcane, illusory and, in the end, off-putting. That said, there is no doubting the sincerity or quality of the composer, the heft and power of her music, or indeed the commitment of the executants who include youth and children’s choirs singing with fervent commitment. Sebastian Scotney

Miklós Rózsa: Violin Concerto, Bartók: Violin Concerto No. 2 Roman Simovic (violin) London Symphony Orchestra/Sir Simon Rattle, Kevin John Edusei (LSO Live)

Stumbling across a brilliant work that you’ve never heard before is the best perk of this gig. I’ve long wondered why Bartók’s colourful Violin Concerto No. 2 has never become a concert hall standard, especially when similarly weighty concertos by Berg and Shostakovich are now almost standard repertoire. The Bartók has its gritty, astringent moments, but they’re offset by some glorious tunes. Does any violin concerto have such a seductive opening, a pizzicato bass line ringing out underneath soft, guitar-like harp chords? Composed between 1937 and 1938 for the Hungarian violinist Zoltán Székely, Bartók originally intended to write a set of variations for violin and orchestra. Székely wanted a standard three-movement concerto, Bartók compromising by having a set of variations as his central “Andante tranquilo” and a finale which revisits and transforms ideas heard in the opening movement. This live performance is tremendous, the LSO Leader Roman Simovic’s playing both steely and seductive. Kevin John Edusei provides pin-sharp backing, the finale’s dizzying final seconds especially memorable.

You’d get this album for the Bartók alone, and it’s paired with a real rarity in the form of Miklós Rózsa’s 1953 Violin Concerto. A Hungarian exile who pitched up in 1940s Hollywood, Rózsa’s soundtrack credits include music for Double Indemnity, Spellbound and Ben Hur. He lived, incredibly, until 1995, his final score written in 1982 for Carl Reiner’s delicious noir pastiche Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid. A Jascha Heifetz commission, Rózsa completed the concerto’s full score in just six weeks. It’s unmistakeably Hungarian in sound; if you’re fond of Kodaly and Bartók, you’ll love it. Simovic’s playing is phenomenal, and he’s brilliantly accompanied by Simon Rattle. If the first movement’s rocking opening doesn’t make you swoon, there’s no hope. The widescreen tutti passage at 1’12” is sensational here, and listen to how Simovic steals out of his first movement cadenza, he and Rattle nailing the impassioned coda. Rózsa’s slow movement is a smouldering nocturne, followed by a propulsive, folksy finale. I’ve been listening to this piece repeatedly for several months: it gets under your skin. It got under Billy Wilder’s skin too, the veteran director persuading Rózsa to expand the concerto’s musical material for 1970’s The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. Heifetz’s superb vintage recording is still available, but Simovic’s lush, expansive new version is beautifully engineered and boasts better orchestral playing. A stunning disc.

Matthew Owain Jones: String Quartet No. 1, Wind Quintet, Nielsen: Aladdin (excerpts arr. Jones) Ensemble MidtVest (First Hand Records)

This album’s side dish got me salivating: Carl Nielsen’s incidental music for Aladdin, composed for an epic five-act stage adaptation is delightful and really should be better known. Gennadi Rozhdestvensky’s Chandos disc of the full score is good, and Nielsen’s own seven-movement suite is easy to track down. Matthew Owain Jones arranged nine numbers for the ten-piece Ensemble MidtVest in 2020, the results both entertaining and idiomatic. Don’t dismiss this as fluff: “A Beautiful Square in Isfahan” depicts a busy marketplace by dividing the musicians into four groups, each playing different material at different speeds. Radical stuff for 1919, Jones’s transcription accentuating the music’s boldness. “Distant Festival Music” is a charmer and there’s a delectable little march lasting less than two minutes. Listen out for some lovely string playing in “Aladdin’s Dream”, placed just before the familiar “Oriental Festival March”. A delight.

Two works by Jones open the disc. His String Quartet No. 1 started life when Jones was 19, its first movement completed surreptitiously during an NYO residential course. The subtitle, ‘Deletia’, alludes to the work’s revision two decades later, the four movements ultimately reduced to two. This is highly appealing music: unashamedly tonal and thematically interesting, the second movement’s calm conclusion a moving coda. The 2016 Wind Quintet is similarly approachable, Jones following Nielsen’s example in taking inspiration from the personalities of the five Danish musicians who gave the first performance. I was taken aback by how full the textures sound; there are times when you think you’re hearing nine or ten players instead of five. Four linked sections span 17 minutes, the inconclusive final bars leaving us wanting more. Performances of all three pieces are excellent, the recording warm and detailed. Appealing sleeve art too.

Eilífð Anúna/Michael McGlynn (Anúna)

In the last column I reviewed an album of Irish choral music – Seán Doherty’s excellent Snow Dance for the Dead by New Dublin Voices – and this week is another. But Anúna’s Eilífð, which, like the Doherty, is steeped in Irishness, is cut from very different aesthetic cloth. McGlynn founded Anúna in 1987 to perform his compositions and arrangements of traditional Irish with a modern twist. They have released 18 albums, but in the 10-year gap before Otherworld in 2023 McGlynn added Japanese and Icelandic influences to his soundworld. Eilífð is a re-working of Otherworld, adding new tracks, removing others, re-recording bits and re-mastering the whole thing, turning it into something new.

The result is a fascinating blend of vocal traditions which, when heard straight through, takes the listener on a carefully-plotted journey culminating in the affirmative finale “Earth Song/Maalaulu”. The second track “Ēarendel”, my favourite, typifies McGlynn’s eclecticism, taking as its subject the Hubble telescope, explored through lines from the medieval English Exeter Book intertwined with Irish, Icelandic and Irish elements. It has a winning simplicity at the start, which becomes more harmonically complex, chords in the lower voices rising against rich jazz chords in the upper parts, and is quite enchanting.

The ”Song of the Selkie” shows Anúna as very much a family project, with McGlynn’s daughters Aisling and Lauren taking the solos with elegant directness, while Caitríona Sherlock is hypnotic in “An Raibh Tú ag an gCarraig”. There are passages on the album which are a bit fey for my taste – but the muscular final track “Earth Song/Maalaulu” has no such problem, building to a Gospel finish (featuring Isaac Cates and his group Ordained), which is unexpected, but works as one more thread in the album’s broad tapestry. Bernard Hughes

Apollo5: Anam (Voces8 Records)

Anam – the title of Apollo5’s seventh album – means “soul” or “spirit” in Gaelic, and most of the 17 tracks on the album have a Celtic connection, but there are also excursions to Renaissance Italy, Victorian Britain and present-day North America. The repertoire choices are pretty varied, although tending towards the reflective, which makes tracks like Verdelot’s forthright “Donna, se fiera stella”, the brisk and striking “Am gaeth i m-muir” by Michael McGlynn (of vocal ensemble Anúna, reviewed above) and Penelope Appleyard’s arrangement of Tom Petty welcome changes of pace and tone.

Most of the pieces are specially arranged for Apollo5, including several by familiar names from Voces8 programmes, alongside such other choral luminaries as Paul Mealor and Adrian Peacock (who also recorded the disc, with his usual care and precision). Of the new compositions, Francis Pott’s “When Music Sounds” sets Walter de la Mare in a luscious harmonic world that sounds like it has many more than the five actual voices, while Paul Smith’s “A Study (A Soul)” is a plaintive and moving response to Christina Rossetti. Teena Lyle’s “The Eternal Rose” includes herself, piper Rita Farrell and harpist Ruth Wall, giving a percussive and folky aspect to a number that uses the voices in pared-down combinations.

Rebecca Tavener’s “O Rubor Sanguinis” (to words by Hildegard of Bingen) swoops and meanders unpredictably and quite delightfully, and segues perfectly into James MacMillan’s tender, harp-decorated “Os Mutorum”. Blake Morgan’s arrangement of “Black is the colour” has a haunting grace and stillness, with a stunning opening solo by Penelope Appleyard, which then opens out into something bluesier, while Christopher Moore’s take on “Auld Lang Syne” is suitably nostalgic for a mythical Scotland. The singing throughout is first rate, of course: blend when they need it, individual voices emerging when that is called for. Bernard Hughes

Jeneba Kanneh-Mason: Fantasie (Sony)

Here’s a well-programmed piano recital, Jeneba Kanneh-Mason’s desire “to open with a big work” giving us an unusually mature and probing account of Chopin’s Piano Sonata No. 2. I like her sober take on the ubiquitous third movement funeral march, and the closing “Presto” unsettles as it should, the final minor chord like a punch in the stomach. It’s followed by a contrasting pair of Chopin’s Op. 27 Nocturnes, No. 1’s crepuscular C sharp minor the perfect prelude to No. 2’s airy D flat. All very good so far, but I was especially interested to hear the rarities on the album. Florence Price’s Fantasie nègre is an intriguing work, Price’s heady romanticism frequently swamping the spiritual “Sinner, Please Don’t Let This Harvest Pass”. Margaret Bonds’s jazz-tinged Troubled Water is a treat, its various ingredients blending more smoothly. Kanneh-Mason’s rhythmic energy is winning, and she follows it with a sweetly understated account of William Grant Still’s “Summerland”, played as if it’s being improvised on the hoof.

Debussy’s “La fille aux cheveux de lin” and “Bruyères” sound well. Two early preludes by Scriabin look backwards to Chopin; his Op.9 Sonata No. 2 is more forward-looking, packing so much into just 11 minutes. The brief second movement is exciting here, Kanneh-Mason impressive in the final pages. An impressive debut, beautifully recorded.

Antoine Préat: All That Surrounds Us (Naïve)

Franco-Belgian-British pianist Antoine Préat’s first album is a treat, a collection of French music spanning several centuries. Do read the booklet interview between Préat and journalist Pierre-Yves Lascar, the pianist aiming to show “the astonishing diversity of French music” in little over an hour. It’s shocking to learn that non-French concert producers aren’t keen on Gallic programmes (“there won’t be enough contrast…”), rightly pointing out that no one complains when someone programmes an evening of Brahms, Schumann and Beethoven. The oldest music here is Rameau’s Suite No. 2 in G, nine quirkily-titled miniatures which are brilliantly characterised here. It's no surprise to learn that Préat is also a harpsichordist; his "Les Sauvages" et "La Poule" are incredibly vivid, the latter clucking with a vividness recalling Marcelle Meyer's iconic 1950s Rameau set, still available on Erato. Fauré's early 3 romances sans paroles are sublime here, the A flat "Andante moderato" unfolding with real grace.

We get the first and second volumes of Debussy's Images, Préat’s exceptional ear for colour readily apparent. Book 1's "Hommage à Rameau" is sweetly played, and "Et la lune descend sur le temple qui fut" is otherworldly. Three songs by the contemporary composer Karol Beffa are spread across the disc, Préat accompanying soprano Marie Oppert. Setting texts by Rousseau, Verlaine and Susie Morgenstern, they're exquisite additions to the French chanson tradition. Siloti's piano solo transcription of the first of Ravel's 2 mélodies hébraïques, an evocative slice of 'world music', 1914 style. This is an absorbing anthology, brilliantly played and engineered. Préat is performing in the UK this month, giving recitals in Sunderland, Bristol and Cornwall – full details are on his website.

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