(++++) 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.

(++++) NORTHERN LIGHTS

Hugo Alfvén: Festspel; Gustav II Adolf—Suite for Orchestra; Einojuhani Rautavaara: Cantus arcticus. Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra conducted by Neeme Järvi. Chandos. $21.99 (SACD). 

     Take a step beyond Sibelius, Nielsen and Grieg and you encounter a host of Scandinavian composers whose comparative neglect is exceedingly difficult to fathom. From Franz Berwald, Niels Gade and Wilhelm Stenhammar to the late Per Nørgård, composers of intelligence, sensitivity and emotional depth continue to be heard far less often than is warranted based on the quality of their music. That makes the occasional forays into their works in recorded form all the more welcome, especially when they are advocated by performers as accomplished and engaged as the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra conducted by Neeme Järvi – and even more so when recordings offer sound quality as fine as that on a new Chandos SACD focusing on Hugo Alfvén and Einojuhani Rautavaara. 

     On the face of it, this is a curious combination of music, made even more so by the disc’s sequence, which places a Rautavaara work between two by Alfvén. Furthermore, these are very different composers, from different countries and time periods: Alfvén (1872-1960) was Swedish, Rautavaara (1928-2016) Finnish. And the music here is more notable for its points of difference than for any elements of similarity. Nevertheless, what comes across most clearly in this recording is just how worthwhile the works are and how mystifying it is that music of this quality is not heard more often outside Scandinavia itself – and, in truth, not all that frequently there, either. 

     Both Alfvén and Rautavaara lived most of their lives in the 20^th century, and all three works on this disc are 20^th-century ones, but these composers absorbed and engaged in the time period very differently. Alfvén was largely Romantic or neo-Romantic in approach, his two works played here resting comfortably in an essentially tonal environment and encompassing a thoroughly appropriate set of emotions and orchestral displays – indeed, Alfvén’s handling of large orchestral forces is exemplary throughout his music. Festspel (“Festival Play”), written in 1907, sounds like a proclamatory overture, and in that sense fulfills its mission admirably: it was produced to celebrate a newly opened building for the Royal Dramatic Theatre in Stockholm. Filled with brass and including a deftly scored polonaise, Festspel mixes celebratory elements with lyrical ones to fine effect, and would not be out of place introducing a suitably dramatic stage work. Gustav II Adolf actually is a stage work, for which Alfvén wrote incidental music in 1932. The eight-movement suite from what is essentially a history play is colorful, varied and very adeptly scored. The play’s focus is the Thirty Years War, near the end of which, in 1632, Sweden’s much-admired king died in battle at the age of 37. Alfvén’s music ranges from the prayerful to the deeply emotional to the martial, encompassing portraits not only of Sweden’s monarch but also of his main enemy. Alfvén shows himself a master of old forms, including the sarabande and minuet, as well as a clever interpreter of such dances: he includes a delightfully light bourrée for three bassoons. The battle scene that ends the suite and is its longest movement builds effectively throughout, and the overall impression of the music is one of drama, intensity, and sensitivity to multiple moods and forms of expression. 

     The expressiveness of Rautavaara is of another sort and on another level altogether. Although he was never a dedicated follower of avant-garde musical trends, Rautavaara incorporated far more unusual approaches into his music than Alfvén brought into his. Rautavaara’s Cantus arcticus (1972) is designated “Concerto for Birds and Orchestra” and was written for a university graduation ceremony – a “stage” rather different from those for which the two Alfvén pieces heard here were produced. Rautavaara’s “birds” title is quite literal and shows his willingness to think of music in ways beyond the typical: the concerto incorporates two-channel recordings of birdsong in all three movements, and the orchestral elements – although generally tonal – highlight the birdsong and are built around it. Rautavaara was quite specific about the pacing of this work: he gives note-value indications for every section of every movement. And he offered clear auditory guidance for the first movement: “Think of autumn and of Tchaikovsky.” None of these touches forecloses interpretative niceties, however, and Järvi and the orchestra are as attuned to the flow of Rautavaara’s music as they are to the pacing and balance of Alfvén’s. The Rautavaara work includes tapes of wild cranes in the first movement, larks in the second, and swans in the third – this last mildly reminiscent of Sibelius, for whom a flight of swans provided inspiration for the finale of his Symphony No. 5. Rautavaara incorporates the recorded birdsong systematically and cleverly into the orchestral texture of all three movements, bringing it in softly and gradually in the first movement before making it increasingly prominent, using it to open the second and third movements, and eventually melding it with complex orchestral textures as the concerto develops toward its conclusion. Rautavaara’s handling of the orchestra is quite different from Alfvén’s, less sumptuous and more transparent, showing just how differently these two composers conceived compositions for a full-scale ensemble. Järvi’s understanding of all the music on this disc is thorough, the pacing and the orchestral balance are idiomatic and well-executed, and even though these particular pieces fit together rather oddly when heard in juxtaposition, they demonstrate conclusively that both Alfvén and Rautavaara are composers with a great deal to communicate and a great deal of skill in putting their musical ideas across. Both deserve to be heard with considerably greater frequency, especially in performances as full of skill and thoughtfulness as these.

(+++) THE MEANDERING PIANO

Michael Stephen Brown: Chamber Music. Michael Stephen Brown, piano; SPA Trio (Susanna Phillips, soprano; Paul Neubauer, viola; Anne-Marie McDermott, piano); Osmo Vänskä, clarinet and Erin Keefe, violin; Jerome Lowenthal and Ursula Oppens, piano and narration. First Hand Records. $22.99. 

Eric Moe: Alternating Currents; Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust; Scree Slope; Now This; Rowdy Sarabande; WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN 5 YEARS. Eric Moe, piano and digital piano; Solungga Liu, piano; New York Music Ensemble conducted by Eduardo Leandro. New Focus Recordings. $18.99. 

     The expressive capabilities of the piano continue to make it an instrument of choice for contemporary composers. To be sure, modern piano compositions and presentations sometimes include extended techniques, “prepared” pianos, digital instruments and other variations on what is usually thought of as pianistic. But the willingness of some composers to present their own keyboard works remains unchanged: the tradition of the pianist/composer is a longstanding one, which Michael Stephen Brown (born 1987) and Eric Moe (born 1954) both continue. 

     A new First Hand Records recording of Brown’s chamber music showcases the composer’s performances of Four Lakes for Children (2024), Breakup Etude for the Right Hand Alone (2020), and Pour Angeline (2024), plus his accompaniment of soprano Susanna Phillips in Love’s Lives Lost (2023). All these works have personal meaning and resonance for Brown, but listeners will understandably be primarily interested in the extent to which the music communicates to them and their own lives and experiences. Thus, the “four lakes” reference is to lakes at the site of the Yaddo artists’ retreat in Saratoga Springs, New York, which are named for children who died before age 10; but for listeners, the straightforward simplicity of the music – intended to be playable by young pianists – will be the clearest element. Breakup Etude reflects the end of one of Brown’s relationships and his temporary loss of left-hand function, but its quicksilver mood changes and virtuosic single-hand requirements are its most notable elements. It contrasts strongly with the lyricism of Pour Angeline, whose title refers to Brown’s fiancée; here the quiet delicacy (inspired by Chopin) is noteworthy, although the work is rather cloying. The love-focused but very different inspiration for Brown’s setting of eight poems by Evan Shinners is another composer: Schumann, specifically his setting of Adelbert von Chamisso’s Frauen-Liebe und Leben. Shinners’ poems, unlike Chamisso’s, are not about a woman’s love and life (one Shinners poem is actually called “Parody of Chamisso”) but focus on former lovers re-encountering each other after being separated for years. The piano part reflects the varied moods of the poems to a greater extent than do the vocal settings, which are on the formulaic side. The intent is clearly to present the varying moods of what-might-have-been compared with what-turned-out-to-be. However, the tender material relating to the forgone relationship is less effectively captured than are some rather sarcastic elements, and the inevitable wistful conclusion – the longest song – is rather dour and protests too much in its attempt to present heartfelt emotion: being loud is not equivalent to being convincing. 

     In addition to Brown presenting his own material, other musicians offer three Brown works on this CD. Pas de trois (2025) is a three-movement work performed by the members of SPA Trio, for whom the piece was written. Here the vocal elements are taken from poetry by D.H. Lawrence, Rita Dove, and Brown himself. The material, especially Lawrence’s, is subtler than the texts by Shinners, if not ultimately very communicative beyond personal referents. Brown intends the words and music to reflect the dedicatees – the movements are called “Piano,” “The Violist,” and “Soprano” – but this self-referential (and self-absorbed) approach is less than fully convincing. What works here is the instrumental sensitivity, for instance in the viola pizzicati at the start of the third movement. Relationship (2018) is a five-movement duo for clarinet and viola that was commissioned by Osmo Vänskä and Erin Keefe, who perform it here. More overtly modernistic than most of Brown’s music, the work is interestingly filled with at-times-overdone exclamations and squeaks and plucks and such; its variegated techniques ultimately lead to a bouncy folk-infused and rather undanceable dance movement that, happily, seems not to take itself too seriously. Twelve Blocks for Piano (Four Hands) and Poetry, which dates to 2021, is Brown’s tribute to the two people who perform it here, Jerome Lowenthal and Ursula Oppens. They not only play piano but also recite poetry in French and English – all beneath a title reflecting the distance that Brown walked to see them during the COVID-19 pandemic. This is far too rarefied and specific a set of circumstances to communicate effectively to anyone not already involved in Brown’s intimate life – indeed, the music seems designed mostly as a personal experience for Brown, Lowenthal and Oppens themselves, although some of the non-verbal material is engagingly, even entertainingly pianistic. As a whole, this CD does a good job of being a tribute to various people and factors in Brown’s personal world but is considerably less adept at reaching out beyond him and his close acquaintances. The instrumental pieces, especially Relationship, are on the whole more convincing than the ones including vocal elements. 

     Moe’s pianism is at the service of three of the six works on his New Focus Recordings CD, including the very short (less than one-minute) Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust. The piece, written in 2014, simply repeats five notes, then six and seven, giving a sense of the flow of water. The intent is to reflect slow erosion, but it is not necessary to know that in order to absorb this miniature, since composers have used similar approaches to indicate water flow for hundreds of years. Moe also reflects something akin to erosion with Scree Slope (2019), whose personal element draws on the feeling of stepping up on a hiking trail and then sliding back down – but, again, knowing the underlying reasoning beneath the piece is not necessary to absorb its sense of forward motion that then reverses. In this case, the work continues for almost five minutes, which is longer than necessary to make its point – although it does come to a kind of revelatory conclusion at the end that seems to indicate that the slipping and sliding have been worthwhile. Moe plays digital piano on Rowdy Sarabande, a 2024 work that initially bears a passing resemblance to the Baroque dance but soon descends into intense and rather chaotic sounds made possible by using 19-tone equal temperament for the instrument. This sort of extension of technique and aural quality is typical in avant-garde music and is always an acquired taste – the feeling here, a common one in music of this sort, is that the composer is self-indulgently engaged in intellectual experimentation for which an audience is not, strictly speaking, even necessary. This CD also includes two piano works performed by Solungga Liu. The title Alternating Currents implies something electronic, but this 2020 piece actually is non-electronic and uses a non-modified piano. It basically involves alternating notes played by the pianist’s two hands, with regular rhythms interrupted by occasional interjections that range from single exclamations to trills and other decorations. Now This (2017) could as well, perhaps better, have been called “And now for something completely different,” echoing the Monty Python phrase uttered at an abrupt shift in topic. Moe is doing something akin to what the Monty Python troupe did, but without humor: the work’s title is intended to reflect the two-word phrase used in news reporting when an entirely different story is about to be presented. In practice, this means Moe creates a series of completely disconnected segments of varying mood, technique and sound, then presents them without any discernible effort to provide continuity or any type of connection until, at the end, a few elements return. Knowing the “news” connection certainly helps listeners understand what Moe is doing here, but on a strictly musical basis, it is unnecessary, since it is clear from the piece itself what is happening: disjointed material is presented for a considerable period of time (13 minutes), with a bit of this and that eventually returning. Moe also has a significant real-world connection for the all-capital-letters-titled WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN 5 YEARS: the title of this 2023 work is a typical job-interview cliché question. This is the one piece on the CD for multiple instruments: the New York New Music Ensemble includes flutes (Emi Ferguson), clarinets (Adrián Sandi), violin (Karen Kim), cello (Chris Finckel), and piano (Stephen Gosling). At 16½ minutes, this is the longest work on the 50-minute CD, but is built with the same sense of disconnectedness and rhythmic variation employed in Moe’s shorter pieces. The timbral variation made possible by use of multiple instruments helps keep the music interesting, and the periodic inclusion of taped interview questions (including the one in the work’s title) makes the piece’s intent and non-musical connections explicit. There is a touch of mechanistic rhythm to indicate the machine-like nature of business, and there are some overt if unsurprising instrumental reactions to some questions, such as an intense outburst after being asked whether the person being interviewed handles stress well. All in all, WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN 5 YEARS has numerous clever elements in addition to some unexceptional instrumental writing. Because the music’s inspiration is integrated into the work itself, audiences can respond without having to, in effect, pre-study the piece’s provenance to understand where it is coming from. This is a significant plus and helps make the piece enjoyable to hear once, even if the work goes on somewhat too long and ends (no surprise) ambiguously. Whether listeners will want to replay WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF IN 5 YEARS is, however, another matter. Indeed, the staying power both of Moe’s disc and of Brown’s is likely to depend on how closely an individual is personally attuned to these composer/performers. Close members of Brown’s inner circle are the only people likely to find that his works resonate with them; Moe casts a somewhat wider net, but in most of his pieces as well, it helps a great deal to know how he thinks and what elements of his music are designed to call up which specific extra-musical events, thoughts and feelings.