(++++) CELEBRATING THE NEGLECTED

Haydn: Baryton Trios, Volume 3—Hob. XI: Nos. 26, 50, 57, 72, 80, and 82. Valencia Baryton Project (Matthew Baker, baryton; Brett Walfish, viola; Ismar Gomes, cello). Naxos. $19.99. 

Marion Bauer: Sonata for Viola and Piano; Ulysses Kay: Sonata for Viola and Piano; Margaret Bonds: Troubled Water. Jonathan Bagg, viola; Emely Phelps and Mimi Solomon, piano. New Focus Recordings. $18.99. 

     We can thank Haydn for what little interest remains in the long-obsolete baryton, which is essentially a bass viol with two sets of strings: gut strings played with a bow and wire strings that vibrate sympathetically with the bowed ones and can be plucked by the performer’s left thumb. Or perhaps we can thank Haydn’s employer, Prince Nikolaus of Esterházy, an aficionado and increasingly skilled player of the baryton – because it was for him that Haydn composed more than 100 baryton trios, whose complexity increased with time as the prince became more adept on his chosen instrument. The third volume in Naxos’ ongoing series of Haydn baryton trios again features a group called the Valencia Baryton Project, but two-thirds of the ensemble’s members are different: only Matthew Baker himself, leader of the project, carries over from the prior releases. No matter: the viola and cello are distinctly subsidiary contributors to these works and are well-handled by Brett Walfish and Ismar Gomes, respectively. But it is Baker’s way with the baryton – including his creation of several cadenzas for the trios heard here – that is most impressive. Although all these works were written from the mid-1760s to the early 1770s, and their exact dates are generally not known because they were presented in bound volumes indifferent to time of composition, it is clear from this installment of this series that Prince Nikolaus learned over time how to play the baryton with greater facility and more emotional involvement. This is shown in individual movements, not by Haydn employing especially wide-ranging keys for these trios, which are written in the keys in which the baryton sounds best: one in A (No. 57), two in D (Nos. 50 and 72), and two in G (Nos. 26 and 80), with No. 82 in C being an outlier where home key is concerned. Interestingly, though, No. 82 is the longest of the pieces here and the one with the most-compelling first movement, an Adagio that is not only the longest movement (all these trios except No. 26 are dominated by their first movements) but also the one that plumbs greater emotional depth than Haydn usually proffers in these works. No. 50, second-longest of the pieces here, also has an especially expressive first movement (in this case marked Andante and featuring one of Baker’s cadenzas). Haydn’s inventiveness within the constrictions imposed by the need to create works for his employer to play shows through again and again. For example, although all these works are in three movements and major keys, the usual use of a Menuetto as the third movement changes in Nos. 57 and 80, where that movement is placed second; and the typical slow-movement opening is changed in No. 26, whose Andante is heard second while still being longer than the other movements combined. Also, Haydn again and again offers effective minor-key elements in individual movements, never for an extended period – so as not to disturb the overall mood of these aristocratic pleasantries – but always for enough time to provide some pleasing differences in aural color. To the modern ear, the baryton – which was never especially popular even in its own time – has a somewhat strange sound, in part because of the difference between its gut and wire strings and in part because the use of sympathetic strings throughout produces an unusual sonic environment. Still, Baker, Walfish and Gomes make as strong a case for these little-known Haydn works as they will likely receive anywhere, and these trios provide further evidence, if any were needed, of Haydn’s sophistication not only in music-making but in what today is called “managing upward,” which means keeping the boss happy. 

     The viola, which Haydn played in his baryton trios, was itself a largely neglected instrument for many years, despite occasional high spots such as Berlioz’ Harold in Italy. But it has been coming into its own for a century, and not only thanks to Walton’s 1929 viola concerto. Some composers who wrote for the viola, however, are themselves on the obscure side, and Jonathan Bagg focuses on three of them on a recent New Focus Recordings CD. The sonata by Marion Bauer (1882-1955) exists in a sound world spanning consonance and dissonance and uniting the two within a framework of expressiveness: the first movement is designated to be played rubato and the second espressivo. The three movements are all virtually the same length, lending the sonata a feeling of balance that nicely complements its flowing lines, many elements of gentleness, and well-managed balance between instruments. The sonata by Ulysses Kay (1917-1995), which is in four movements but lasts only 10 minutes, is also carefully balanced and even has some of the feeling of a Baroque work through its slow-fast-slow-fast sequence and use of ornamentation. Its harmonic world is decidedly of the 20^th century, however, and the focus on the viola points to Kay’s time studying with Hindemith. The 60-second Adagio third movement is in effect an introduction to the finale, the longest movement, which has a pleasantly rocking rhythm and more instrumental interplay than is heard earlier in the work. Troubled Water, the third movement of Spiritual Suite by Margaret Bonds (1913-1972), is here arranged for viola and piano from its cello-and-piano version that Bonds herself created after originally composing the piece for piano solo. Based on the spiritual Wade in the Water, the music flows well throughout, soars with feeling periodically, and never strays far from its underlying foundational melody. Bagg plays all three works with strong emotional commitment and thorough command of the viola’s emotive capabilities, especially when it comes to warmth of both sound and feeling. His two piano accompanists – Emely Phelps in the Bauer and Kay works, Mimi Solomon in the piece by Bonds – back him up skillfully and maintain good balance between strings and keyboard. Despite all the (++++) playing and interesting repertoire, though, this will be a (+++) CD from the perspective of many potential listeners, simply because it is exceptionally short for a full-priced release: just 32½ minutes. Whether its musical quality justifies its economic expectations will be a matter for each individual music lover to determine.

(++++) BRAHMS AND BEYOND

Brahms: Chorale Preludes, Op. 122, Nos. 4-5 and 8-11 (transcribed by Busoni); David Froom: Variations on an Early American Hymn Tune; Scott Wheeler: Beach Spring; Sheree Clement: Teeth; Frederick Tillis: Spiritual Fantasy No. 4. Eliza Garth, piano. Centaur. $15.99. 

     In 1896, suffering physically from the pancreatic cancer that would claim his life the following year, and suffering emotionally from the death of the great love of his life, Clara Schumann, Brahms wrote his last work: a set of 11 chorale preludes for organ. Based on the verses of nine Lutheran chorales, with two of those set twice, the Chorale Preludes, Op. 122 were not published until 1902 – and in that year, Busoni transcribed six of them for piano. These Chorale Preludes are short works, mostly in the three-minute range, and are notable for their simplicity and a kind of gentleness born of a mixture of grief and resignation. They contain religious feeling that is otherwise largely absent from Brahms’ music, with even Ein Deutsches Requiem focused more on consolation on Earth than on anything celestial (Brahms at one point said he was tempted to change the title from “German” to “Human”). 

     Although the Brahms Chorale Preludes sound more apt for their expressive purposes on organ and in the full set of 11, they are more accessible in Busoni’s transcriptions and better known that way – although they are not played particularly often in any form. They require a performer’s willingness to set aside and eschew the more-familiar richness of Brahms’ sound world and focus, as in many of the composer’s late piano pieces, on simplicity of delivery and an effect that is more cumulative than individuated among the movements – with the concluding O Welt, ich muss dich lassen being clearly self-referential for Brahms in its quiet tenderness, and sounding all the more heartfelt as a result. Eliza Garth clearly understands the emotional space these short works occupy, offering a spare and carefully paced reading of the Busoni transcriptions on a new Centaur disc in which she adds a 20^th-century work and three from the 21^st century to Brahms’ late-19^th-century sensibilities. 

     The overall effectiveness of this CD for listeners will largely depend on how they feel about the non-Brahms material, which is also largely hymn-based but does not fit as neatly into the Lutheran tradition as do Brahms’ Chorale Preludes. The three most-recent pieces were actually all written for Garth. Variations on an Early American Hymn Tune (2019) by David Froom (1951-2022) sounds from its title like music by Ives or paying homage to him, and in fact there is something Ivesian in the straightforward opening presentation of the basic tune and the contrasting dissonances and rhythmic alterations that follow. Froom quickly deviates from the theme’s initial simplicity of pacing and harmonization to present a piece more wide-ranging than, for example, Ives’ own variations on America. But Froom returns to some of the underlying melody’s basics often enough to keep his work well-grounded in its foundational material. The slow and quiet fadeaway ending is especially effective. 

     Beach Spring (2022) by Scott Wheeler (born 1952) is more harmonically adventurous from the start and more insistently dissonant than Froom’s piece. Wheeler persistently distorts the contours of his work’s underlying theme, and is fond of techniques such as presenting material in widely separated portions of the keyboard. There is little sense of the devout here, although the piece is not positioned strictly as a virtuoso exercise, either. Its overall effect is somewhat academic, with Wheeler ringing all sorts of changes on the thematic material as if demonstrating a multiplicity of methods of arranging and rearranging an essentially simple theme, repeatedly denying it harmonic consonance. Teeth (2021) by Sheree Clement (born 1955), which requires Garth not only to play but also to vocalize typically avant-garde verbiage (e.g., “hyena’s face”), goes even further, into electronic and pseudo-electronic realms, extended performance techniques, “prepared” piano elements, and other “look at me” (or “listen to me”) material that is about as un-hymnlike as the composer can make it. This piece is very much an acquired taste, and one that few listeners will likely choose to acquire in this context. 

     The Brahms Chorale Preludes follow the three 21^st-century works on this CD but do not end the disc. Instead, Garth concludes with Spiritual Fantasy No. 4 (1981) by Frederick Tillis (1930-2020). Distinctly modernistic in approach but without most of the off-putting elements of Clement’s work (although using some of them), this Tillis piece never quite seems sure of its direction. It does not so much meander as stop and start, as if Tillis is trying on various keyboard techniques and sounds while trying to find the best one, or the best sequence. This goes on for quite some time – the work lasts 12½ minutes and seems longer – and has already become tiresome and repetitious by about one-third of its length. Individual elements are effective enough, but there is a slapdash quality to the way they are assembled, with the work as a whole feeling disconnected not only from anything spiritual but also from any attempt to engage an audience meaningfully. The eventual quiet conclusion sounds like an evaporation. 

     Garth’s fully committed pianism is exemplary throughout and is, all in all, the major reason listeners will find this disc meaningful. But this is, on the whole, an odd recording. The music itself amounts to an uneasy juxtaposition of undeniably effective material (Brahms, Froom, and to some extent Wheeler) with navel-gazing and rather self-important and self-focused (rather than audience-focused) works (Clement and Tillis). The overall impression is that the CD is a personal statement by Garth – whether regarding piano playing or about faith is a matter on which each listener will have to opine.

(++++) IN COMPLETION

Ravel: Complete Works for Solo Piano. Hsiang Tu, piano. Da Vinci Classics. $28 (2 CDs). 

     When it comes to Ravel’s solo-piano music, the word “complete” is somewhat, shall we say, imprecise. And that leads to some interesting labeling and packaging discrepancies. Jean-Efflam Bavouzet, for example, presents a “complete” set of 15 works on two discs, while Vincent Larderet has to date recorded 13 pieces on two discs and has two more releases in planning stages, so his “complete” Ravel edition requires four CDs. Hsiang Tu’s new recording for Da Vinci Classics has its own definition of “complete,” including 14 pieces in all – omitting the Bavouzet release’s La Valse, which originated as an orchestral work but which Ravel subsequently arranged for solo piano (and also, for that matter, for two pianos). Whether or not La Valse belongs in a “complete” solo-piano release therefore depends on one’s definition of “complete.” It is certainly music for solo piano, but it is an arrangement for the instrument rather than a work originally written for keyboard – so the issue of whether or not to include it in a “complete” release is arguable either way. The same applies to other repertoire discrepancies to be found among these and other pianists’ offerings. 

     The good news: it seems that everyone who decides to record a “complete” (however defined) set of Ravel solo-piano works has a strong commitment to the material and is highly skilled at presenting it – with enough individuality of approach to make each of the various “complete” recordings very worthwhile in its own way. That is certainly the case with Tu’s, which contains Gaspard de la Nuit; Sonatine; Pavane pour une infante défunte; Valses nobles et sentimentales; Miroirs; Jeux d’eau; Le Tombeau de Couperin; Menuet en ut dièse mineur; Sérénade grotesque; Menuet antique; Menuet sur le nom de Haydn; Prélude; À la manière de…Alexander Borodin: Valse; and À la manière de…Emmanuel Chabrier: Paraphrase sur un air de Gounod. 

     Tu presents all the music with a fine blend of sensitivity and skill, and is especially effective in differentiating among the elements of the multi-movement works. Thus, in Le Tombeau de Couperin, delicacy dominates the opening Prélude, which is followed by a particularly statuesque Fugue. The gently rocking Forlane is a bit on the quick side, while the Rigaudon is emphatic and interpretatively personalized through rubato that creates something of a stop-and-start feeling that may not be to all tastes. The Menuet has sweetness as a primary characteristic, and the concluding Toccata is very peppy indeed. The overall impression is of a set of miniatures that exist independently of each other but within a carefully contrived and managed sound world – a conceptualization that is pervasive in Tu’s recording. Miroirs is another clear example of his approach. Noctuelles is delicate and particularly well-phrased, while in Oiseaux tristes Tu emphasizes slow individual notes, not just overall phrases, and his pedaling is particularly careful and well-controlled. Une barque sur l’océan comes across as a dream scene here, rather than any impression of the real world. The jaunty Alborado del gracioso has lots of character, with the elaborate hand crossings and finger entanglements tossed off with apparent ease. And in La Vallée des cloches, Tu makes sure that the sound of bells is very clearly delineated and pervasive. 

     Although Tu’s interpretative care and commitment are clear everywhere – including in the individual short pieces, which he presents as fully formed miniature worlds of their own – his emphases and performance choices will not necessarily be equally favored by all listeners. This is especially noteworthy when it comes to Gaspard de la nuit. Here the opening Ondine is a watery scene painted with eloquence, with a focus that seems to be more on the aquatic setting itself than on the titular character’s place within this world. Le Gibet is carefully paced and balanced, and certainly atmospheric, but it is not as emotive and eerie as it can be: Tu takes care not to overdo the spookiness to the point of grotesquerie, but in so doing renders the presentation a bit coolly. As for Scarbo, it is very intense, its famously fiendish difficulties tossed off with aplomb. But it is a bit over-pedaled, resulting in some blurring of the lines that, although atmospheric, produces less of a sense of a scampering, demonic creature than some other pianists proffer. To be sure, these are quibbles: matters of detail and most definitely matters of opinion. They do not change the reality that everything Tu does is carefully managed, well thought out and convincing on its own terms. One of the advantages of having multiple first-rate versions of Ravel’s solo-piano music available – a state of affairs largely tied to 2025 having been the 150^th anniversary of the composer’s birth – is that listeners will surely be able to find at least one interpreter’s approach compatible with their own thoughts about and enjoyment of this music. Certainly Tu’s recording, incorporating his particular definition of “complete,” is one whose conviction and eloquence guarantee that it will have widespread appeal.

(+++) FROM THE PAST THROUGH TOMORROW

Microtonal Music by Krzysztof Penderecki, Joseph Gabriel Esther Maneri, Isang Yun, Stepán Konícek, Manfred Stahnke, Maurice Ohana, Charles Ives, Richard Heinrich Stein, Robert Bonotto, Alan Hovhannes, Ivan Wyschnegradsky, Roland Moser, Arnold Schoenberg, and John Cage. Joshua Pierce, piano; Dan Auerbach and Tom Chiu, violin; David Gold and Anastasia Solberg, viola; Jodi Beder and Dave Eggar, cello; Johnny Reinhard, bassoon; Tom Goldstein, glockenspiel; Dorothy Jonas, piano. MSR Classics. $19.95 (2 CDs). 

Zack Browning: Sol Prophecy; Cosmic Changes; Mercury Music; Rock Galaxy; Upscale Jammer; Fate and Fusion; Jupiter LVB; Moon Venus. Neuma Records. $15. 

     It seems natural to think of microtonality as an avant-garde and decidedly recent approach to music, a system created – like twelvetone – to extend preexisting norms of sound creation, opening up new aural worlds on the basis that prior sounds and systems have been overextended and overused. Yet this is a demonstrably false simplification, with Charles Ives (1874-1954) showing, in this as in so much else, that supposedly ultra-modern musical thinking has been around for quite some time. A fascinating two-CD MSR Classics release featuring pianist Joshua Pierce and colleagues in a sampling of microtonal music inevitably includes Ives’ Three Quarter Tone Pieces for Two Pianos, parts of which appear to have been written as early as 1903 (originally for strings). And it has to be said that even Ives was not alone in early quarter-tone exploration: Julián Carrillo (1875-1965) developed Sonido Trece and Alois Hába (1893-1973) created systems involving quarter-, fifth-, sixth- and twelfth-tones, and had woodwinds and keyboards built to play quarter-tone scales. So microtonal thinking is better thought of as coexisting with other fin de siècle musical and general societal attempts to find new forms of expression for a rapidly changing world. Pierce’s recording is no historical document – the Ives work appears last on the first CD, and neither Carrillo nor Hába is represented at all – but it does provide an interesting if somewhat scattershot view of the methods by which 14 different composers have approached microtonality, and the ways in which the sounds and effects of their music differ from those of compositions written in more-traditional tonal systems. The pieces also differ significantly from each other, just as twelvetone works do. In fact, Ives’ two-piano work (in which Pierce is joined by Dorothy Jonas) and the solo-piano Drei Klavierstücke by Arnold Schoenberg (1874-1951) have little in common in their soundworlds, with Ives’ sense of flow (if scarcely lyricism) a recurring element in his material and Schoenberg’s cragginess a major feature of his. The rest of the music here is chronologically, and often sonically, all over the place. The recording opens with Miniatury for Violin and Piano (played by Pierce and Dan Auerbach) by Krzysztof Penderecki (1933-2020) – essentially a short, disconnected-sounding overture to all that follows. Next is The Feast of St. Luke by Joseph Gabriel Esther Maneri (1926-2009), in which the solo piano’s sound is delicate and bell-like. Duo for Viola and Piano by Isang Yun (1917-1995), played by Pierce and Anastasia Solberg, primarily explores the instruments’ differing sounds, after which, in Praeludium, Blues und Toccata for 2 Pianos (Pierce and Jonas), Stepán Konícek (1928-2006) showcases a complex and very attractive intermingling of sound, style and rhythm that happily lacks the sometimes dour and academic approach found in various other works contained in this release. Partota 1, written for solo piano by Manfred Stahnke (born 1951), is the longest work in this two-CD set, lasting 20½ minutes. Its dominant sound is not one of experimentation for its own sake but of incorporation of different tuning within a variegated aural landscape that incorporates both traditional and nontraditional pianistic elements. Syrtes for Cello and Piano (Pierce and Jodi Beder) is by Maurice Ohana (1913-1992) and is also extended, running 15 minutes; it has more of an “expectedly modernistic” sound in both instruments. It is followed by Ives’ work, which, along with Konícek’s, is a highlight of the recording. 

     The second CD opens with Zwei Konzertstücke for Cello and Piano (Pierce and Dave Eggar) by Richard Heinrich Stein (1882-1942), which sounds quite distinctly Romantic despite some experiments in temperament. Next is the intriguingly titled and scored Sibelius and the Cuckoo of Jarvenpää for Viola, Cello, Bells and Piano (Pierce, Eggar, David Gold, and Tom Goldstein) by Robert Bonotto (born 1962). Modest in scale (five minutes) and sensitive in instrumentation, the piece has a sometimes dense, sometimes clear texture, and leaves the overall feeling of asking more questions than it answers. O Lord Bless Thy Mountains for 2 Pianos (Pierce and Jonas) by Alan Hovhaness (1911-2000), one of Hovhaness’ many mountain-focused works, features his typical blend of slight exoticism with mysticism that is emphasized through the two pianos being tuned a quarter-tone apart. Next on the disc are three works by Ivan Wyschnegradsky (1893-1979), using three different instrumental mixtures: Meditation on Two Themes from the Day of Existence for Bassoon and Piano (Pierce and Johnny Reinhard), Chante Nocturne for Violin and 2 Pianos (Pierce, Jonas and Tom Chiu), and Dialogue a Deux for 2 Pianos (Pierce and Jonas). The first is notable for bassoon passages that work against the instrument’s natural sound, the second for the distinctly uncomforting violin part (the opposite of the usual expectation in a nocturne), the third for the extent to which the pianos overlap and seem to communicate against rather than with each other. Kabinett mit vierteltönen for 2 Pianos (Pierce and Jonas), by Roland Moser (born 1943), features a persistent echoing effect that creates a constant sense of overlap between the instruments. This is followed by the Schoenberg work and then, in conclusion, music by a composer whom listeners will likely think of quickly in association with microtones, prepared pianos and other avant-garde approaches: John Cage (1912-1992). The Cage pieces, all for solo piano, are In the Name of the Holocaust, Suite for Toy Piano, and Daughters of the Lonesome Isle. The “preparing” certainly makes the piano’s existence as a percussion instrument all the more apparent, and as often in Cage, the titles seem to reach for, or reach out for, specific audience responses: there is a suggestion of a tolling bell in the first piece, something childlike in the note sequences and sounds in the second, and a kind of plaintive extravaganza of dancelike notes in the third. Cage remains to this day an acquired taste and a somewhat divisive figure, if no longer as controversial as he used to be. But much the same may be said of many of the pieces on Pierce’s fascinating mishmash of a very generously extended program (each CD runs 80 minutes). By no means will all these works appeal to audiences at large, and it is likely that few listeners who do enjoy them will equally appreciate all of them. And because the sequence of pieces is at bottom a random one, there is no real sense here of exploring microtonal music from a chronological, theoretical or, indeed, any specific perspective. Instead there is simply a sense of display of a lesser-known element of composition that, while not nearly as ultra-modern as listeners may imagine it to be, still retains an aura of unpredictability in its multifaceted applications to the thinking of the various composers whose works are here displayed – and to the clear-headed and highly engaged performances by Pierce and his colleagues as well. 

     Microtonalism is, of course, just one of the approaches used by musical creators seeking expressiveness that goes beyond the realm of traditional techniques and looks not only to the present but also to the future. Another angle used by contemporary composers – and another one that has been around far longer than many listeners realize – is combinatorial: merging elements of one particular style and approach with those of another. Audiences generally recognize this sort of music-making through the fusion of classical materials with those of jazz, but in fact it predates the Jazz Era and persists to this day. And some composers seem particularly enamored of genre mixing – such as Zack Browning (born 1953). Browning seems to come naturally to his method of merging classical and pop-music sounds and structures, since he has performed both on classical trumpet and as a pop pianist. But in fact he has taken the mix-and-morph approach to a different, personal level, as the eight works heard on a Neuma Records release show. Just as Carrillo, Hába, Ives and other composers used microtonal concepts in individual ways, so Browning blends classical and pop elements with notions derived from nonmusical material – planetary orbits, feng shui and other systems and ideas. This could easily become yet another tired, overly esoteric “look at me” angle for someone seeking distinction by any means, but Browning seems genuinely committed to writing works that an audience will want to hear and will find engaging, perhaps even engrossing. The pieces generally turn out to work well despite rather than because of the systems within which Browning created them. So Sol Prophecy (2024), which opens this CD, uses two pianos and percussion in an attempt to explore various religious manifestations and dates – but it is effective simply as a sound portrait and does not demand, as so many contemporary compositions do, that listeners study its background and intent in order to enjoy listening to it. Similarly, Cosmic Changes (2022), for flute and harp, intends to explore the five “elements” – not the four traditional ones of air, earth, fire and water, but a fivesome consisting of earth, fire, water, wood and metal. Perhaps audiences knowledgeable about Browning’s inspiration will find specific touchstones for it within the music, but an understanding of the composer’s thinking about the piece is not needed to appreciate the well-balanced, often elegant juxtaposition of instruments throughout. The same combination of rarefied, abstruse underlying material with approachable and skillfully wrought musical lines pervades the rest of the CD. Mercury Music (2021/2025) is a percussion piece that tries to have historical relevance but that comes across well as simply an exploration of contrasting sonorities. Rock Galaxy (2023), for marimba and string quartet, incorporates bits of Mozart into a nice combination of contrasting sonic elements. Upscale Jammer (2017) is a short and vivid piano piece. Fate and Fusion (2017) combines vibraphone and marimba in ways that showcase the similarities between the instruments and their methods of sound production as well as their many differences. Jupiter LVB (2020) references the 250^th anniversary of Beethoven’s birth and is constructed with specific attention to Beethoven’s name, birth date and zodiac sign – none of which listeners need to know in order to find this piece for woodwind quintet well-balanced, nicely paced and written skillfully for the instruments. And Moon Venus (2019), for percussion ensemble, concludes the disc with an opening timpani explosion that soon turns into a pleasantly and effectively blended mixture of pop sensibilities with propulsive rhythms. The specific influences in this work are many, as indeed are the influences within all the pieces heard here, but the strength of Browning’s music lies in the way it is able to draw audiences in without requiring them to adhere to any specific set of beliefs or possess any particular knowledge about what caused the composer to create a particular piece in a particular way. Browning has a good sense of writing effectively for a variety of instruments, and the various performers on this CD are again and again able to put forth some effective advocacy for music that insists it means certain things and is derived from certain specific extramusical circumstances – but that transcends that narrow view of itself and allows listeners who are so inclined simply to enjoy the sounds that Browning wishes to produce from within whatever structure and approach he may choose to use.