(++++) TRIFLES, BUT SCARCELY TRIFLING

Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel: Complete Solo Piano Works, Vol. 1. Ana-Marija Markovina, piano. Hänssler Classic. $32.99 (4 CDs). 

     There were few exigencies impinging on Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel’s creative life, but by modern standards her compositional prowess was attenuated both by her gender and, strangely to today’s way of thinking, by her upper-class existence. Strictures associated with the expectations of her well-to-do upbringing seem to have been at least as binding upon her as ones involving her gender, which were certainly present but which did not prevent other highly skilled female musicians of the time, such as Clara Schumann, from developing and managing long, successful careers. Those two women met several times, cordially and with mutual respect, during the last year of Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel’s life, although the class differences between them were substantial. And then there was Felix Mendelssohn, Fanny’s brother and someone to whom she was so close that at various times there have been unjustifiable hints regarding how close they were – suggestions that result from a lack of understanding of familial relations in upper-class households of their time. 

     Musically, Fanny was at least moderately encouraged by Felix, who arranged for some of her works to be published under his own name to avoid any “unseemly” publication pressures on her; and she was certainly supported by her husband, the artist Wilhelm Hensel, who at one point, in 1841, provided illustrations for Fanny’s piano cycle Das Jahr. Piano works were at the center of Fanny’s music, most of them small-scale and often in the form of the sort of “songs without words” with which Felix is so closely associated. More than one-third of Fanny’s 450 or so compositions – an impressive number – are for piano, and a great many of the piano works have never been recorded before. So it is cause for celebration that Ana-Marija Markovina, who has previously recorded Felix’s complete solo-piano music, has now turned her hand – that is, both her hands – to Fanny’s keyboard oeuvre. 

     The first of two planned multi-disc releases on the Hänssler Classic label is a revelation and a delight, a success on virtually all levels. Arranged chronologically – a very wise decision – the recording allows listeners not only to hear and enjoy these generally very short pieces on their own, but also to experience Fanny’s growing confidence in her compositional abilities as she develops her own musical voice. Nothing in the 78 tracks on these four CDs – four-and-a-half hours of music in all – is profound; everything justifies Fanny’s self-evaluation to Felix that she “lack[ed] the ability to sustain ideas properly and give them the needed consistency” and was therefore only truly comfortable in brief, self-contained pieces (although her comment actually referred to Lieder, which were her primary focus beyond piano solos). 

     Nevertheless, the poise and elegance and awareness of keyboard capabilities – and desire to extend them to a certain degree – are everywhere present in these pieces. Fanny, who at age 13 was able to play Bach’s entire Das wohltemperierte Klavier from memory, emerges gradually through these miniatures as a composer with her own ideas and approaches and her own emotional compass – which is finely honed and never indulged in to excess. 

     Speaking of excess of a different sort, one would do well, before listening to these discs, to consider the single significant flaw in this highly admirable project: Markovina’s use of a highly resonant and resounding Bösendorfer piano, whose full intensity she does not hesitate to produce in the stronger chordal passages of these works. It was not until the 1880s that pianos even had the modern 88 keys, so nothing by Fanny (or Felix) was conceived for such a large and full-sounding instrument – and Markovina’s has an especially strong lower register, which would be highly impressive in appropriate music but which here sometimes overwhelms these rather slight pieces. 

     Aside from that issue – which is of little importance in the quieter and more delicate portions of the music, in which Markovina carefully keeps her pedaling in check and her touch light (pianos of Fanny and Felix’s time had less key travel) – the playing here is first-rate throughout. There are many, many highlights to be heard in pieces that are frequently labeled simply Klavierstück or Übungstück. On the first CD, catalog numbers H 37 and H 42 are distinctly Bachian, while H 71 connects clearly to Beethoven. The longest work on this disc, at seven-and-a-half minutes, is H 44, labeled Sonatensatz and having a modicum of sonata scale. H 67 is especially bouncy and technically interesting, requiring a particularly light touch, while H 74, a Larghetto in E-flat minor, is the first piece in this collection showing Fanny starting to develop her own voice. Interestingly, the last work on this CD, H 108, has the sort of sound that is sometimes referred to as “Mendelssohnian,” based on Felix’s music. 

     The second CD in this set contains 17 works, 16 of them in minor keys: in these pieces Fanny is often striving for tinges of melancholy, although scarcely anything deeply emotional or tragic. There are still many echoes of earlier composers present, notably in H 114, labeled Tokkate and very clearly imitative of Bach. This CD includes an actual three-movement sonata, H 128, which is the only major-key work on the disc (in C) but dips repeatedly into minor to make its points. The third CD contains a much larger sonata, Ostersonate, H 235, laid out in four movements; at 26 minutes, it is the longest piece in this set by far. It is not particularly cohesive, but it does show Fanny coming to terms with material on a broader scale. Even more interesting here is H 253, labeled Fantasie, which sounds quite different from everything else on the disc and is exploratory of emotions and techniques in some more-forward-looking ways. By the fourth CD, the extensive use of minor keys diminishes somewhat in favor of tempo indications intended to show what feelings Fanny wants to elicit: agitato, con espressione, con sentimento and more. Some highlights here are H 269, labeled Duett für Tenor und Sopran and indeed sounding like a song without words, and H 294, which is impressively emotive and graceful – although here Markovina’s pounding chords are just too strong and intense for the music’s filigree. But this piece and the two that follow on the CD, H 302 and H 304, certainly show Fanny reaching for wider sweep and scope, and so do other pieces on the disc, such as H 393 – where, again, the very strong chords are a bit too much for the music, but the piece makes its points nicely nevertheless. The final four works on this disc and thus in this collection all carry a designation of Lied and show Fanny thinking in songful terms even when, as here, the vocal element is absent – or rather is “sung” by the piano. Comparisons with Felix’s music are inevitable and serve to show that this brother and sister were in many ways similar in creativity and thought patterns, despite their everyday lives moving in very different directions. It will surely be as fascinating to hear the second volume in Markovina’s comprehensive performance of Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel’s piano works as it is to visit and revisit the works offered in this first, highly welcome and thoroughly enjoyable volume.

(++++) A SENSE OF DISQUIET

Prokofiev: Symphony No. 6; Valentin Silvestrov: Quiet Music. Aarhus Symphony Orchestra conducted by Dmitry Matvienko. OUR Recordings. $21.99. 

Wolfgang von Schweinitz: Plainsound Music for Ekmeles—“DADA NONO & REJOICE”; Katherine Balch: forgetting; George Lewis: Lone Coast. Ekmeles vocal ensemble (Charlote Mundy, soprano; Elisa Sutherland, mezzo-soprano; Timothy Parsons, countertenor; Tomás Cruz, tenor; Jeffrey Gavett, baritone and director; Steven Hrycelak, bass). New Focus Recordings. $20.99. 

     A peculiar pairing whose admirable intentions are not quite brought out through actual performance marks the recording debut of Dmitry Matvienko (born 1990), who became Chief Conductor of the Aarhus Symphony Orchestra in the 2024-2025 season. The second strongly World War II-influenced symphony by Prokofiev, No. 6 of the eight he wrote (including two very different ones that both bear the number 4), is a three-movement work that is conceived on a large scale despite not being especially lengthy (it runs 40-45 minutes). Matvienko has an unusual and unusually intense approach to it that is apparent from the distinctive, dramatic snarl of sound at the opening of the first movement. In this movement Matvienko emphasizes dissonances and the futile attempts of lyricism to compete with them. Individual lines of different sections of the orchestra are well-played against each other: the ensemble is highly responsive to its conductor. The movement has an expansive feeling although its actual pace is not slow. The brass are especially warm and rounded. The ponderousness of the marchlike section is highlighted here, with timpani, wood blocks and other percussion very emphatic in accenting specific points. The overall impression is of a fragmentary design that only gradually coalesces. The second movement hews to dissonance at the start but soon becomes more flowing than the angular first movement. But it is still unquiet: Matvienko allows no sense of relaxation anywhere, keeping  the movement feeling tense throughout and giving very little respite from the first movement. The pacing is quicker than the Largo tempo indication, which is one reason for the tension; in addition, Matvienko focuses on exclamatory elements (notably, interjections by brass and percussion) that disturb whatever peace the themes may hold. There is little of gentleness here and little relaxation. The finale opens in quick and bright mode, but there is still underlying tension: the music sounds driven. Long lines in the strings provide little warmth. Matvienko focuses much more on the intense rhythmic elements and seizes on anything even remotely jagged – snare drum, trumpet calls – giving short shrift to the almost-lyrical elements in the strings and winds (particularly clarinets). The movement’s second-half overlay of themes in different instrumental groups has a competitive feel to it. And the recurrence of slow material from the first movement comes as a surprise after the headlong pace to that point. Matvienko prolongs the late-movement silences into anticipatory predictions of what turns out to be an ending that positively growls. This is the opposite of an expansive reading of the symphony – it is compressed and intense. Likely for that reason, Matvienko sees Quiet Music by Valentin Silvestrov (born 1937) as a place of repose after Prokofiev’s intensity. This short three-movement work for 18 string players certainly contrasts strongly with the Prokofiev, even more so in light of Matvienko’s handling of the symphony. The first movement of Quiet Music, called “Waltz of the Moment,” has a hesitant rhythm: it seems to want to be a waltz but never quite becomes one. It keeps reaching for flow in three-quarter time without ever quite obtaining it. There is nevertheless a gentleness to it, mostly a feeling of resignation; and it does not end but simply fades. The second movement, “Evening Serenade,” continues to produce a sense of quiet meandering that is slightly melancholic. There is little here of forward motion: the overall impression is one of stasis. The pizzicati are pretty but provide little contrast to the legato material – in all, this is monochromatic music. The very short third movement, “Moments of the Serenade,” has a gently rocking feeling and comes across not so much as minimalist as being intentionally soporific. The pairing of this work with the Prokofiev certainly deserves admiration as an unusual aural experiment, and the exemplary playing both of the full orchestra and of the reduced string complement helps make this OUR Recordings release a fascinating one. But there is something calculated in the juxtaposition of the two works: the Prokofiev interpretation is unusually intense and acerbic, as if specifically designed to contrast strongly with Silvestrov’s ultimately rather unconvincing foray into calmer regions. The disc as a whole makes an impression that is stronger intellectually than emotionally: it is more admirable than gripping. The handling of the Prokofiev itself, however, is intriguing enough to point toward a fascinating cycle of the composer’s symphonies should Matvienko have the opportunity to record one. 

     The whole notion of “quiet music” is, in a sense, one that deliberately defies expectations, music being inherently something different from silence (John Cage’s notorious 4’33” notwithstanding). To an even greater extent, the vocal ensemble Ekmeles offers singing that does not sing at all on a (+++) New Focus Recordings CD that actually bears the title “Nonsongs.” The 50-minute disc includes two very extended works and one much shorter one, all of them assertively avant-garde in nature. Wolfgang von Schweinitz’ Plainsound Music for Ekmeles—“DADA NONO & REJOICE” (created in 2024 and titled and spelled exactly that way in good solid avant-garde fashion) is a very lengthy exercise in pitch adjustment that requires sensitivity to microtonality and the ability to navigate it vocally. Ekmeles’ skill in the complexities of the material is much in evidence here, but the complexity is the meaning: the vocalizings are nothing but syllables as pronounced in seven languages (English, French, German, Hebrew, Latin, Russian and Spanish). The skill with which the singers (more accurately, vocalizers) navigate the requirements of the piece is impressive on an intellectual level, but the work makes no attempt to connect meaningfully with any audience besides the composer and performers: it is ultimately vapid in terms of content while brimming with technique. And it goes on and on long after making its points about ways in which vocal presentations, like instrumental ones, can be extended beyond the normative ones. For the other works on the disc, voices alone are not quite enough. Katherine Balch’s forgetting (from 2021 and spelled without a capital letter in a typical avant-garde affectation), the shortest piece on the CD, adds percussion in the form of ratchets to the vocal sounds: the singers/vocalizers use percussive elements along with both pitched and non-pitched expressions to create one of those immersive sonic environments that seem designed to pull listeners, for a time, into an otherworldly space – not, however, for any revelatory purpose, but simply to demonstrate ways in which the everyday world can be modified to allow experience of a different sort of sonic palette. George Lewis’ Lone Coast (2023) takes the vocalizers-with-percussion-instruments notion a step further, giving the members of Ekmeles gongs that produce a kind of gamelan resonance and adding an accordion (played by Iwo Jedynecki) to the overall mixture. Again, extended techniques are de rigueur here in a lengthy presentation of technical prowess that challenges performers and listeners alike without really repaying the effort required of an audience to follow the piece’s metamorphoses. The use of gongs and accordion does give Lone Coast a more engaging overall sound than the other pieces on the disc possess, but as with the von Schweinitz work, the soundworld is well-established within a short time period and continues to present itself long after it has made what points it has to make. As is so often the case with ultra-modern compositions, the works here will speak clearly and informatively only to audiences that have determined, well before hearing them, that the pieces and their composers have something worthwhile to say. Or, as the case may be, vocalize.

(++++) VOICES OF BELIEF AND INCLUSION

Christopher Tyler Nickel: Stabat Mater; Magnificat; A cappella Motets; Accompanied Motets; De profundis. Catherine Redding, soprano; Vancouver Chamber Choir and Vancouver Contemporary Orchestra conducted by Clyde Mitchell. AVIE. $19.99. 

My Brother’s Keeper: A Musical Portrait of Black Brotherhood. New York Festival of Song. NYFOS Records. $20. 

     Self-limited by design but musically involving enough to have the potential to be of interest beyond their core audience, the liturgical works of Christopher Tyler Nickel (born 1978) have an element of reaching out in their very conception: Nickel is Protestant but sets traditional Catholic texts that, in his view, have communicative potential beyond their original purposes. Nickel is far from alone in this thought: despite Bach’s Lutheran faith, one of his greatest achievements is grounded in Catholicism – his Mass in B minor. Nickel has a way of reimagining, if not exactly reinterpreting, the sacred, and his Stabat Mater (2021) is a particularly good example of how he does so. The text meditates on Mary’s suffering when Christ is crucified, and traditionally uses choral forces to show how one woman’s anguish reaches out to all. Nickel turns this around, setting the text for a single soprano without chorus – and using unusual instrumentation (strings and four oboes: standard oboe, oboe d’amore, bass oboe and English horn). The winds’ range is close to that of the human voice, and there is a level of melancholy inherent in the sounds that oboes produce, so the instrumental backup reinforces and subtly accentuates the words, which Catherine Redding sings very movingly. She is abetted by Clyde Mitchell and the Vancouver Contemporary Orchestra, whose members handle Nickel’s work with the same care and engagement they have brought to it in previous AVIE releases. The Stabat Mater opens this disc and the Magnificat, in some ways its emotional opposite, closes it. Although this Magnificat (2024) is less overtly celebratory and somewhat more restrained than famous examples from the past, it is brightly proclamatory in its own way and makes very good use of significantly larger forces than Nickel employs for the Stabat Mater: the Magnificat uses choral forces (the clear-voiced 17-member Vancouver Chamber Choir), strings, two oboes, bass oboe, heckelphone, four French horns, and tuba. Between the Stabat Mater opening and the Magnificat conclusion are shorter works created and performed with equal care. There are two A cappella Motets and four Accompanied Motets (2024) that were not written to form a set (or two sets) but that, when performed as one (or two), showcase the differing ways in which Nickel hews to liturgical traditions or modifies them for expressive purposes. The motets’ moods run the gamut from austerity (Kyrie, an adaptation from Nickel’s Requiem) to affirmative brightness (O magnum mysterium). Also on this disc, and of particular interest, is De profundis, the Latin version of Psalm 130 (“Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord”), which in Nickel’s 2021 version is set as chamber music: it uses the same forces as the Stabat Mater except for replacing the orchestral strings with two cellos, thus producing a level of intimacy that goes well with the plaintive nature of the text. By their very nature, Nickel’s sacred works are intended for audiences steeped in traditional expressions of religious faith, specifically those of Christianity. But the musicality of Nickel’s pieces, and his willingness to follow the generally well-known words’ underlying emotions in directions not always taken by prior composers utilizing the same texts, produce pieces that connect on levels beyond their surface: none of these works will likely result in anyone’s conversion to a particular belief system, but all of them show ways in which a specific form of spirituality can reach beyond itself to touch listeners who do not necessarily share its precepts. 

     The desired audience for a new NYFOS Records release turns out to be narrower than the one to which Nickel’s sacred music reaches out, even though the composers represented on the CD are more diverse. Blacks are the expected and wished-for listeners here. Black men, in particular, are the target, reflecting the gender and skin color of the seven-member ensemble presenting the material: Steven Blier, Joshua Blue, Will Liverman, Joseph Parrish, Alan Williams, Jorell Williams, and Chaz’men Williams-Ali. The group members show their musicality in multiple roles, sometimes singing and sometimes as pianists/accompanists. Vocally, Blue and Williams-Ali are tenors; Liverman, Parrish and Jorell Williams are baritones; and Alan Williams is a bass-baritone. Liverman both sings and plays piano on one track, his own arrangement of Some Enchanted Evening by Rodgers and Hammerstein – an approach that underlines that of the CD as a whole, in which older material is rearranged or repurposed to fit the ensemble’s setting and messaging, then juxtaposed with more-recent music. Brahms’ song Die Schwestern (“The Sisters”) is an especially clear example of how the entire New York Festival of Song disc is conceived, here being recast as Die Brüder while retaining its words about closely bonded siblings who find themselves conflicted by their attraction to the same person. Blackness and gender are kept in the forefront not only on this track but also throughout the (+++) recording, which quite intentionally excludes listeners who are physically different from the performers. As for the music, it includes Three Dream Portraits by Margaret Bonds, Huddie Ledbetter’s Sylvie, William Grant Still’s A Black Pierrot, works by ensemble member Jorell Williams (Americana and Hold Fast to Dreams), and several arrangements designed to showcase both the group’s voices and those of its individual members. Contemporary composers often put a sociopolitical stamp on their works, requiring audiences to learn about and hopefully agree with a specific stance in order to get the full benefit of the music. This disc, under the title My Brother’s Keeper, does the same thing from the perspective and viewpoint of the performers rather than the composers – whose pieces are modified to fit the ensemble’s interests if they do not already do so. There is some well-sung material here and some good music-making, but in many ways that is not the point of the CD. It is a “cause” recording, whose makers would presumably be happy if the music enlisted new members to their interests – but which, on the face of it, is intended only to welcome listeners who are already members of the group for which the entire project was designed.

(++++) POISED AND PLEASANT IF NOT PROFOUND

Vivaldi: Concerti per vari strumenti II. Les Musiciens du Prince – Monaco conducted by Gianluca Capuano. Naïve. $16.99. 

Conradin Kreutzer: Septet; Friedrich Witt: Septet. Charis-Ensemble (Dietheim Adorf, clarinet; Stephan Rudiger, bassoon; David Bryant, horn; Rainer Sonne and Brigitte Rocholl-Gerlinghaus, violins; Christina Lohss, viola; Anette Adorf-Brenner, cello; Norbert Brenner, double bass). MDG Preziosa. $23.99. 

David Balakrishnan: Island Prayers; Darkness Dreaming; Groove in the Louvre; Rhiannon Giddens: Pompey Ran Away; Jerod Impichchaachaaha’ Tate: Little Loksi’; Terence Blanchard: Turtle Trajectory. Turtle Island Quartet (Gabe Terracciano and David Balakrishnan, violins; Benjamin von Gutzeit, viola; Naseem Alatrash, cello). Azica. $16.99. 

     The remarkable facility with which Vivaldi approached the creation of concertos for instruments of all kinds is very much on display on a grab-bag of a disc that is Volume 75 of the ongoing and outstanding Vivaldi Edition from Naïve, which is exploring works by Vivaldi found at the Biblioteca Nazionale in Turin. The performers this time, members of an ensemble called Les Musiciens du Prince – Monaco, are new to the series, and they and conductor Gianluca Capuano prove just as adept with Vivaldi’s music and with period performance practices as have all the other fine contributors to this long-running sequence of first-rate recordings. The six concertos on this CD – which is the second in the Vivaldi Edition with the all-encompassing label Concerti per vari strumenti – are quite varied indeed. RV 535 in D minor is for two oboes, which expertly weave lines around each other when not playing in unison; despite the key, the work, as usual in Vivaldi, is scarcely dark. RV 543 in F is for oboe and violin, and here Vivaldi contrasts the wind and string sounds to good effect while keeping the music moving in his usual upbeat manner. RV 553 in B-flat is for four violins, but sounds most of the time like a work for two pairs of the instruments – here Vivaldi elegantly balances the demands of a soloist-focused concerto with the style of a concerto grosso. RV 555 in C has the most-varied scoring of any work here, uniting and contrasting winds, bowed and struck strings, and harpsichords – it is scarcely conceived on a grand scale, being as short as Vivaldi concertos usually are, but its complex instrumentation gives it a high level of aural attractiveness as well as the generally celebratory manner associated with its home key. RV 557, also in C, is a kind of double-double concerto, featuring two violins and two oboes – but it is the violins that dominate the two fast movements, while the central Largo includes two recorders, basso continuo, and zero oboes: wind players in Vivaldi’s time played more than one instrument and likely switched from their outer-movement oboes to the recorders, giving the concerto an unusual overall instrumentation. Finally, RV 570 in F is known as La Tempesta di mare and is for transverse flute – rather oddly replaced by recorder in this performance – plus oboe and bassoon, and features an unexpected solo-violin part in the first movement. The bright and lively playing throughout the CD and the unfailing inventiveness of Vivaldi put on display in all these varied concertos make the disc, like so many others in the Vivaldi Edition, a real pleasure to hear. The music is not especially consequential – it is exploratory of sonorities and instrumental design, but always within a comparatively rigid formal structure. And yet it is always charming and elegant, and the little structural surprises with which the concertos are peppered keep them fascinating. 

     “Fascinating” is a bit of an overstatement where the septets of two little-known composers of Beethoven’s time are concerned – but it is certainly intriguing to hear what lesser lights of the late Classical and early Romantic era were producing purely to bring their audiences pleasure. Conradin Kreutzer (1780-1849) and Friedrich Witt (1770-1836) were accomplished composers, and if they made no attempts to produce heaven-storming works along the lines of Beethoven’s (Witt and Beethoven were born in the same year), they certainly did know how to meld a chamber ensemble skillfully and produce music that brings considerable listening pleasure in part because it does not attempt to be challenging. Kreutzer’s six-movement Septet in E-flat is for clarinet, bassoon, horn, violin, viola, cello, and double bass, and has some characteristics of an updated Baroque suite because of its unconnected movements and Kreutzer’s determination to provide material in a wide variety of tempos and forms – the latter including both a Menuett and a Scherzo. A recent MDG Preziosa recording of this seldom-heard work is not exactly “new,” being a performance by the Charis-Ensemble dating all the way back to 1986. The CD sounds remarkably good, however, and the players take the music quite seriously without ever being heavy-handed in their performance or trying to make the material communicate more meaningfulness than it can comfortably contain. The second movement, Adagio, is the longest and is a good example of what the work does and does not try to be: the slow pacing is more of the meandering variety than that of emotive depth. There is surface-level charm throughout Kreutzer’s Septet, and that is more than enough to make it enjoyable to hear even if the impression it leaves is one of evanescence. Witt’s Septet, although shorter, is more likely to stay with listeners – because of Witt’s considerable skill in writing for winds. Witt wrote a symphony once attributed to Beethoven, and two of his other symphonies were favorably reviewed by E.T.A. Hoffmann, but his music is almost never heard anymore – and on the basis of this Septet, that is something of a shame. The work is actually for eight instruments: clarinet, bassoon, horn, string quartet, and double bass – with the bass present to reinforce the cello line, much as in Beethoven’s Sextet, Op. 81b, which calls for seven instruments. Witt’s work is in F and in four movements, and the clarinet, bassoon and horn parts are out front and sufficiently distinctive throughout to give the work a warm and pleasant quality from start to finish. As in Kreutzer’s piece, Witt makes no attempt to produce anything profound, but there is certainly songfulness in the Adagio cantabile and considerable bounce and lyrical flow, nicely blended, in the other three movements. Listeners who enjoy music of this era – even (or perhaps especially) unchallenging works that must have been crowd-pleasers in their day – will find this CD very pleasurable indeed. 

     Contemporary chamber works sometimes strive for greater meaningfulness than they actually possess when they are heard. An Azica CD focused largely on compositions and performances by David Balakrishnan (born 1956) is one example. Balakrishnan and the other members of the Turtle Island Quartet try to mix and match musical approaches, forms and types on the disc, all for the purpose of producing a kind of portrait of the wide range of styles and concerns of American concert-hall (if not exactly classical) music. This is a lot of freight for these sincere but generally lightweight pieces to carry. Balakrishnan’s Island Prayers, for example, has three movements that are supposed to trace a common trajectory, from seriousness to joy. They do so to some extent, but not in any especially distinctive or distinguished way: the piece wears its emotional heart on its figurative sleeve and is interesting enough, but scarcely deeply expressive. Also here are Balakrishnan’s Darkness Dreaming, whose intense opening promises profundity that the rest of the piece never quite delivers, and Groove in the Louvre, whose amusing title is a high point in a work that possesses touches of humor and an improvisational feel – which make it actually quite listenable without making it seem to have anything particularly trenchant to communicate. The quartet members do throw themselves into all these works with enthusiasm, and the impressive performances are a major point of interest on this (+++) CD. Three non-Balakrishnan compositions expand the range of material heard here. Pompey Ran Away by Rhiannon Giddens (born 1977) is essentially a brief history of fiddle playing, using “fiddle technique” and a background awareness of Copland to produce a pleasant aura of sound. Little Loksi’ by Jerod Impichchaachaaha’ Tate (born 1968) is based in Chickasaw stories and music but actually sounds mostly like an extension of Giddens’ tribute to old-fashioned fiddle playing – and unlike Giddens’ work, somewhat overstays its welcome. And Turtle Trajectory by Terence Blanchard (born 1962), intended as a tribute to this quartet, certainly gives the players something of a workout but does not have all that much to offer to a broader audience. All the music here is made attentively and with a good sense of string-quartet capabilities and aural possibilities in contemporary music. And every piece on the disc has elements that make it worth hearing once. But there is little staying power in these works, little in them that will likely lead listeners who are not also string players to be affected by the music in ways that make them want to hear the music repeatedly.