(++++) MINING THE PAST

Holst: Sāvitri; Choral Hymns from the Rig Veda, Third Group; Four Songs for Soprano and Violin; The Evening-Watch; Hammersmith—Prelude and Scherzo; The Perfect Fool—Ballet Suite; The Planets. Ariadne. $24.99 (2 CDs).

Josef Tal: Exodus; Walter Kaufmann: Indian Symphony; Marcel Rubin: Symphony No. 4, “Dies Irae.” The Orchestra Now conducted by Leon Botstein. AVIE. $19.99.

     Gustav Holst (1874-1934) turns out to be an Impressionist of a very specific, unusual and engaging kind. The fascinating artistic rediscovery of Holst on a two-CD Ariadne release provides an unusual chance to hear and contrast Holst’s one super-big hit, The Planets, with the occasionally performed Hammersmith—Prelude and Scherzo, and with various other pieces that are considerably more obscure. Holst’s preoccupations with the music and culture of India, with astrology, with the concept of English “national music,” and with scene-painting of various sorts make for a highly varied body of work that is difficult to characterize because, as this recording shows, its character is fluid and keeps shifting. This release delves deeply into the past for its performances, which date to 1945-1965. Other than The Planets, the half-hour chamber opera Sāvitri is the longest work offered, and its odd sonic otherworldliness gives it as much of an evanescence as portions of The Planets possess. Holst wrote his own libretto for this work about tricking Death by accepting a boon and then cleverly asking for life – which is attainable only by banishing Death, at least for a time. The verbiage is philosophical and repetitive, and the flow of set pieces gives the work more expansiveness than its modest total length would indicate. Soprano Arda Mandikian, tenor Peter Pears, baritone Thomas Hemsley, and the English Opera Group Chorus and Orchestra under Sir Charles Mackerras perform in this live recording from 1956. Several other vocal works are presented after Sāvitri. The third of Holst’s four collections of Choral Hymns from the Rig Veda includes elegant scene-painting in four settings for female voices and harp – a highly evocative and very skillfully employed combination. The title is a trifle misleading, since these are not traditionally religious works but portraits of specific circumstances and the gods associated with them – this being perhaps clearest in the second of them, Hymn to the Waters. The live recording here, from 1965, features Michael Jefferies on harp and the Purcell Singers under Imogen Holst, the composer’s daughter and advocate and a fine composer in her own right. Four Songs for Soprano and Violin – another very interesting aural mixture – features Honor Sheppard and Nona Liddell in another 1965 performance. These are settings of medieval religious poetry that provide a fascinating complement to and contrast with Holst’s handling of Sanskrit hymns. Next on the CD, The Evening-Watch for mixed chorus, also from 1965, again offers Imogen Holst and the Purcell Singers, here with mezzo-soprano Pauline Stevens and tenor Ian Partridge. This choral work is the first of a set of two motets and is based on a text by a 17^th-century English metaphysical poet – further demonstrating how wide a net Holst cast for content as well as sound. The first CD in this release concludes by showing Holst as an entirely instrumental tone-painter, with his Hammersmith evoking a riverside district of London – first the river itself, then the people in the area, and then the river again, underlining its foundational importance to the population. The 1965 performance by the BBC Symphony Orchestra under Norman Del Mar is an effective and fine-sounding one. There are, however, limits beyond which even the best audio restoration cannot go, and the second disc in this release bumps up against them. It opens with the ballet music from another short Holst opera, The Perfect Fool – unfortunately not the entire work, which is deucedly difficult to come by. This is a recording from 1945 by the NBC Symphony Orchestra under Malcolm Sargent, and yes, that is the orchestra long conducted by Arturo Toscanini – and the recording was made in the notorious Radio City Studio 8-H whence so much Toscanini material emerged in so disappointingly compressed and ill-sounding form. Sargent does a fine job with the music itself, but even with highly skilled modern restoration techniques, the muddiness and stolidity of the aural experience are, if not execrable, certainly far from admirable. These conditions are equally disappointing in The Planets, a 1946 recording from a better venue – Symphony Hall, Boston – featuring the Boston Symphony Orchestra and Women’s Chorus under Sir Adrian Boult, who knew the score inside-out and had conducted the work’s world première performance. But even with Arthur Fiedler as chorus master, the voices here do not stand out for clarity, and the orchestra sounds anything but pinpoint-accurate in attack and sectional balance. Thankfully, there are much better versions of these works otherwise available, and equally thankfully, this CD – best thought of as a bonus accompanying the first one in this two-CD set – does have substantial historical value. It is the first disc, though, that is truly revelatory of Holst’s subtleties of sound, of thought, of philosophy, of musical expression.

     There is a direct connection with India, but a very different one from Holst’s, on a  new AVIE release featuring rediscoveries of works from the 1940s by 20^th-century Jewish composers who were displaced by the Holocaust. The expressions here are more directly experiential and much less emotional/intellectual than those of Holst. Leon Botstein and The Orchestra Now start with a sensitively played exploration of Exodus for baritone solo and orchestra by Josef Tal (1910-2008). The familiar Biblical story of the escape of the Jews from slavery in Egypt – obviously a tale with tremendous resonance for Tal – is interpreted by the composer in five movements that draw on the Psalms as well as the book of Exodus itself; the work is sung in Hebrew, with the emphatic baritone solo supplied by strong-voiced Noam Heinz. Although Tal was influenced by Schoenberg, Exodus is by no means strictly a twelvetone work – though it does not disclaim 20^th-century compositional techniques in general. Its most dramatic portion, The Passage of the Red Sea, is handled with strength and commitment, and the celebratory material that follows is effective in a rather cinematic way. The work is well-made, but somewhat superficial: it is difficult to imagine it withstanding repeated hearings particularly well. Next on the disc is Indian Symphony by Walter Kaufmann (1907-1984). This work was actually written in India, to which Kaufmann escaped before making his way to England (and eventually the United States). The symphony deliberately incorporates a raga into its construction, but its aural landscape is emphatically that of Europe despite some passes at exotic-sounding harmonies and rhythms – the gentle repetitiveness of timpani in the second movement being especially effective. The overall effect of the work is somewhat on the bombastic side, with the third movement in particular sounding if anything rather too determinedly triumphant and cheerful. More substantial than the Tal and Kaufmann works is Symphony No. 4, “Dies Irae,” by Marcel Rubin (1905-1995). Indeed, Rubin’s piece, the fourth of his 10 symphonies, is nearly as long as the other two works on this disc put together (although for some reason the CD lists this 35-minute symphony as lasting 10 minutes and 19 seconds). Rubin’s symphony starts with an extended Kinderkreuzzug (“Children’s Crusade”), whose highly effective string-solo opening sets the stage for an increasingly difficult and dramatic, rhythmically variable and often quite intense exploration of wartime, war-torn themes that surely reflect Rubin’s personal experiences to a considerable degree. The symphony, far from building to a triumphal or exuberant overcoming-obstacles sort of conclusion, ends with a rather brief and surprisingly melancholy third movement, labeled Pastorale-Andante, that is all the more affecting in its deliberate avoidance of the deepest sorrow or the celebration of horrors overcome. Whether this work is titled Dies Irae or War and Peace (its original label), it is all the more effective for eschewing easy and overt scenes of horror or quiet – indeed, it is in no way overdone or exaggerated, and is all the more moving as a result. Taken as a whole, this is a (+++) CD, because the pieces by Tal and Kaufmann, although admirable in intent and well-crafted, are not especially revelatory or memorable outside their historical context. Rubin’s Symphony No. 4, on the other hand, has about it a timeless quality that transcends its actual time period and gives it continuing resonance and relevance even some 80 years after it was composed.

(+++) UNIFYING FACTORS

Khachaturian: Gayane (excerpts); Spartacus (excerpts); Masquerade Suite. Mikael Ayrapetyan, piano. Grand Piano. $19.99.

Chopin: Études, Op. 10; Stravinsky: The Firebird (excerpts); Antonio Molina: Malikmata; Ramon Tapales: Mindanao Orchids; Lucio San Pedro: Salamisim (Remembrance). Ross Salvosa, piano. MSR Classics. $14.95.

     The thinking that unites a concert or recital, whether live or recorded, is far more obvious in some cases than in others. Mikael Ayrapetyan is well-known for performing piano works reflecting his Armenian heritage, having explored the music of many Armenian composers. So it makes sense for him to offer an entire Grand Piano CD devoted to works by Aram Khachaturian (1903-1978) – and, for the sake of novelty and exploration of material in a form in which it is not well-known, to devote most of the recording to world premières. Thus, the excerpts from the 1942 ballet Gayane and the 1954 Spartacus are heard here for the first time in recorded form. The original versions of these works are well-known (at least in excerpted form), but not so the piano arrangements: Gayane was arranged by A. Tseitlin (1962) and Vily Sargsyan (2005), while Spartacus was arranged by Emin Khachaturian, the composer’s brother (1975), and Sargsyan (2005). Ayrapetyan is a strong and willing advocate for this music, playing it sure-handedly and with sensitivity to its cultural and folk-music roots as well as its drama and theatricality. But unfortunately, the piano can only go so far with material that is distinguished in part by the composer’s idiomatic and highly engaging orchestrations. Gayane is one of the “Socialist realism” scores so beloved of the rulers of the USSR, with the titular heroine standing up to her lazy and criminally inclined husband and eventually finding happiness with the commander of the local Soviet frontier guard. The extremely familiar Sabre Dance is but a small part of the ballet, although it has become ubiquitous in multiple media; other numbers show Khachaturian’s impressive command of mood-setting and rhythmic variety. The multiplicity of emotions comes through even more clearly in Spartacus, with the extended and highly emotive Adagio of Spartacus and Phrygia being a high point of the work and unsurprisingly being exceptionally well-known. Indeed, there is so much effective music in Spartacus that the composer was able to create no fewer than three suites from the ballet – with the arrangement performed by Ayrapetyan being, in effect, a fourth. But for both Gayane and Spartacus, the piano arrangements simply pale when compared with the orchestral ones: Khachaturian was so adept at assigning evocative instrumental lines appropriately than the comparatively monochromatic sound of the piano, no matter how well played, never really does justice to the quality and theatricality of the material. This is apparent as well in the Masquerade Suite (1944), arranged for piano in 1946 by Alexander Dolukhanian. This is the one work on this CD that has been recorded before, but it is easy to hear why the piano version has never caught on as the orchestral one has. The sway, elegance, rhythmic effectiveness and sectional balance that are everywhere present in the original become coloristically diminished, even unidimensional, on the piano – again, no matter how well they are played. Ayrapetyan’s piano sound also suffers to some extent from his use of a Fazioli instrument: these are very fine pianos with unique sonic capabilities that set them apart from the much-more-common Steinways, but the Fazioli does not fit the aural palette of Khachaturian particularly well, taking these arrangements even further from the originals than their performance on any piano already does. Listeners who are assembling a collection of Armenian piano works in suitably authentic and sensitive performances will gravitate to this disc for the excellence of the pianism, but the music itself is unified as much by its less-than-exemplary reflection of the original orchestral material as by its national origin.

     The foundational “glue” of an MSR Classics CD featuring pianist Ross Salvosa is much less apparent and much less relevant to the material on the disc. This is one of those “personal expression” CDs, with Salvosa selecting otherwise unrelated music because, to him, all the works express some sort of societal thoughts or feelings that parallel his own sociopolitical beliefs and stances. Unless a listener chooses to read about Salvosa’s non-musical thinking and try to hear these works in the context in which he mentally places them, there is really nothing here to explain why these specific pieces are juxtaposed with each other. Therefore, the CD becomes one to hear simply on the basis of Salvosa’s pianism – and his skill at interpreting, in particular, Chopin’s Op. 10 set of Études, which takes up 30 of the disc’s modest 52 minutes. Like some individual Khachaturian pieces, several of these études have become hyper-popular and have emerged in multiple guises beyond the concert hall and recording studio. A  challenge for pianists, then, is to keep the very-well-known works fresh while providing an integrated view of the set of études as a whole – even though they were in fact composed during a multi-year period. The underlying technical challenges of these works, which after all are labeled as “studies,” ideally take a back seat to the pieces’ expressiveness, which is what made Chopin’s Op. 10 revelatory and near-revolutionary in its time. Salvosa certainly has no apparent trouble with even the most-difficult technical elements of the material, but he tends to fall somewhat short in the more-emotive pieces, including No. 3 (known as “Tristesse,” although not so named by Chopin) and No. 6, both of which are on the perfunctory side emotionally. The faster études tend to come across better – No. 8 is particularly well-handled – and the concluding No. 12 (“Revolutionary”) is delivered with considerable flair. These études are followed on the CD by three excerpts from Stravinsky’s The Firebird, arranged for piano by Guido Agosti. Like the Khachaturian arrangements played by Ayrapetyan, these Stravinsky versions are reductions, not only in literal sonic terms but also in impact. Taken at face value, though, they are well-handled by Salvosa and are rhythmically effective, especially the opening Danse infernale du roi Kastchei. The disc also includes three encore-like brief works that, however, are placed at the start of the CD rather than the end. Malikmata by Antonio Molina (1894-1980) contrasts a gently nocturne-like scene with more-intense material; Mindanao Orchids by Ramon Tapales (1906-1995) is a mixture of ostinato and crescendo; and Salamisim (Remembrance) by Lucio San Pedro (1913-2002) is a pleasant, mostly gentle, largely arpeggiated, dancelike piece. The musical associations of these short 20^th-century works with the Stravinsky and Chopin material are by no means apparent, and the inclusion of these comparative trifles with Chopin’s études may have meaning for the pianist but makes no identifiable connection from a listener’s standpoint. The disc as a whole is clearly a personal statement and is certainly well-played, but will be of interest primarily to anyone who finds the juxtaposition of material as personally meaningful as it appears to be to the performer.

(++++) SYMPHONIES REIMAGINED

Nielsen: Symphonies Nos. 1-6; Clarinet Concerto; Overture to “Maskarade.” The Royal Danish Orchestra conducted by Thomas Søndergård, Alexander Vedernikov, Leonard Bernstein, Sir Simon Rattle, Michael Boder, Paavo Berglund, and Michael Schønwandt. Naxos. $59.99 (4 CDs).

Haydn: Symphonies Nos. 99-101. Danish Chamber Orchestra conducted by Adam Fischer. Naxos. $19.99.

     A superb tribute to the world’s oldest orchestra that not coincidentally highlights the exceptional interpretative abilities of seven conductors, the new Naxos cycle of Nielsen’s symphonies offers an unusual “ship of Theseus” opportunity to hear ways in which the Royal Danish Orchestra has and has not changed between 1965 and 2022 – the dates of these performances. “Ship of Theseus” is a longstanding thought problem that asks, if the original ship of Theseus is replaced bit by bit as its parts deteriorate – so there comes a time when not a single original plank or fitting remains – is it still the ship of Theseus? The philosophical arguments about this can be abstruse, but the reality is that every long-lasting orchestra is a ship of Theseus, since the members and their instruments are replaced over time until not a single one of the originals remains. This is, if anything, truer of the Royal Danish Orchestra than of others, since the ensemble traces its roots to 1448. It does have some continuity, although not since that distant date, since it maintains and utilizes some hundreds-of-years-old instruments, including violins by Amati, Guarneri and Stradivarius. But the fact remains that the Royal Danish Orchestra of 1965 is not the Royal Danish Orchestra of 2022 – although, in certain intriguingly philosophical as well as musical ways, it is. That is because the orchestra retains and cultivates a certain sound all its own, a certain handling of sectional balance and performance practices within sections that is passed along from member to member as the specific composition of the orchestra changes through the years. The highly intriguing result is quite apparent in this release: this ensemble has a carefully developed and quite recognizable sound, unlike the more-homogenized sound of other first-rate orchestras around the world.

     Leonard Bernstein knew that the Royal Danish Orchestra had much to show and teach him when he arrived in Denmark in 1965 to lead the ensemble in Nielsen’s Symphony No. 3 (“Sinfonia Espansiva”): he famously insisted that he needed to learn from the orchestra how to play Nielsen, who was among the group’s second violinists for 16 years, and what the resulting sound should be. And then Bernstein just as famously (and typically for him) made the performance his own, not hesitating to put his own stamp on the music by, for example, speeding up the symphony’s very end even though the composer did not call for this. Bernstein’s performance, which includes the wordless voices of soprano Ruth Guldbæk and tenor Niels Møller in the second movement, remains a touchstone for this symphony, and its inclusion in this set is most welcome. But the other readings here do not take a back seat to it. All but Bernstein’s and that of Symphony No. 6 are live recordings, and the conductors’ substantial if differing flair for concert performance comes through everywhere. Symphony No. 1 gets a fine blend of Sturm und Drang and lyricism under Thomas Søndergård in a performance from 2022. No. 2 (“The Four Temperaments”) features finely honed differentiation among the four movements in a 2020 reading led by Alexander Vedernikov (although the uncalled-for speedup at the end is even more intrusive than Bernstein’s in Symphony No. 3). No. 4 (“The Inextinguishable”) unleashes tremendous drama, nicely leavened with well-thought-out lyrical moments, in a 2013 performance conducted by Sir Simon Rattle. No. 5 is played to the hilt in a vividly compelling 2015 reading led by Michael Boder. And No. 6 (“Sinfonia semplice”), a 1989 studio recording conducted by Paavo Berglund, is filled with wit and witticism and oddities galore, just as Nielsen intended. The symphonies fit on three discs, with the fourth CD in this set designated as a bonus – and quite a bonus it is, including the Clarinet Concerto with soloist John Kruse, conducted by Vedernikov and recorded live at the same concert where Vedernikov’s reading of Symphony No. 2 was heard. Then, at the very end of the last CD, for an all-too-brief encore, there is a live recording from 2006 of Michael Schønwandt conducting the ebullient overture to Maskarade – generally a crowd pleaser wherever and whenever it is heard, but offered here with an odd and underwhelming fade-out ending. To be sure, this fascinating multi-disc release is not necessarily the “best” recording of the symphonies – for one thing, a cycle featuring a single conductor may be a good deal more revelatory than one featuring a single orchestra, and such conductor-focused sequences are available featuring Schønwandt (whose four-minute contribution here is distinctly minimal) as well as Sakari Oramo, Herbert Blomstedt, Sir Colin Davis and other notable conductors. But all the performances in this set contain worthwhile elements aplenty, and collectively they serve to demonstrate not only the many fascinations of all the Nielsen symphonies but also the tremendous performance capabilities that the Royal Danish Orchestra has retained and refined through the years, decades, and, yes, centuries.

     A smaller Danish ensemble of more-recent provenance, the Danish Chamber Orchestra was founded in 1939 and is currently going through its own reconsideration and re-evaluation on Naxos. This, however, is primarily a focus not on the musicians but on Haydn, whose symphonies Adam Fischer has conducted for decades and even assembled at one point into a complete set. Fischer continues to think about the symphonies and rethink them, and is now engaged in recording new versions of the last two dozen – with the latest CD in the series, the third, including Symphonies Nos. 99-101. The Danish Chamber Orchestra is a good size for these works, containing about as many players as did the 40-member ensembles for which the symphonies were originally written. The verve and enthusiasm with which the players approach the symphonies are everywhere apparent, even if Fischer himself sometimes tries just a little too hard to produce readings that differ from those he has offered in the past – and from those of other conductors. On balance, though, these reconsiderations are uniformly worthwhile and often a lot of fun to hear, with Haydn’s wit combining to excellent effect with his melodic skill and ever-present sense of balance and poise.

     On the latest CD, Symphony No. 99 starts with a nice emphasis on the opening chords, followed by a quick main section with a pleasantly light touch. The use of timpani for emphasis is well-handled, and the clarinets – used for the first time by Haydn in this work – give the winds a different character from those in earlier symphonies. The second movement features gentle pacing with nice wind touches; the flutes are standouts here. The movement’s central part with scampering winds makes a pleasant contrast. The third movement is bouncy with a real sense of “swing,” and there is a pastoral feeling to the wind-dominated Trio, which flows well into the repeat of the Menuet. The finale features a very light touch at the start and good pacing throughout, and the delicacy of the playing is notable in all sections of the orchestra. In Symphony No. 100 (“Military”), the opening features good, gentle flow that builds well, with particularly effective timpani; there follows a genuinely jaunty main theme with very good wind/string balance. This first movement is pleasantly speedy, and its pauses and sudden dynamic changes are well-handled. The second movement is paced just right for an Allegretto, and the “military” elements are brought clearly to the fore. It is easy to see why this symphony became so immediately popular and has remained so: the percussion exclamations, surprising when first heard, provide unusual and impressive aural color thereafter. There is nice angularity to the Menuet, with good timpani and brass touches, and the wind-led Trio contrasts well. The finale is very quick: Presto, as marked. Bright and upbeat throughout, it features a scurrying theme with unexpected pauses that are very effective. Timpani emphases are well done, and the orchestra’s dips into very quiet sections make for a delightful contrast, especially when followed by sudden timpani-underlined outbursts. The eventual re-entry of the "military" elements is genuinely surprising here and makes for a highly enthusiastic conclusion. Symphony No. 101 (“The Clock”) opens with an especially atmospheric Adagio before the main Presto section, which provides a strong contrast and is quite rapidly paced. As a whole, the movement is jaunty and jovial. In the second movement, the “ticking” rhythm is distinct, there is a good Andante pace, string clarity is very good, and wind touches are nicely handled. There is good rhythmic accentuation in the extended Menuet, whose unusual-sounding Trio is well-managed in the contrast between strings and winds. The dynamic contrast between the movement’s quieter and louder sections is particularly effective. The clarity of individual notes is notable in the very bustling Vivace finale. The decorative violin line is brought out especially well, with notable brass accentuation, and the movement’s softest sections are very well contrasted with fortepassages. All three of these symphonies are interpreted very effectively and played with considerable aplomb, making it apparent that even though Fischer says he has changed a number of his thoughts on and approaches to Haydn over the years, he still has a firm grasp of the composer’s many appealing qualities – and is fortunate to have an orchestra that communicates those pleasures so consistently and with such a high degree of skill.

(++++) PIANISTIC PROWESS

Arno Babadjanian: Prélude et Danse de Vagharshapat; Impromptu; Capriccio; Sonate Polyphonique; Élégie; Gérard Gasparian: Ballade; Poème; Aram Khachaturian: Toccata; Adagio de Spartacus et Phrygia; Komitas: Danses pour Piano. Jean-Paul Gasparian, piano. Naïve. $16.99.

Brahms: Piano Concerto No. 2; Franck: Les Djinns; Weber: Concertstück in F Minor. Joshua Pierce, piano; Bohuslav Martinů Philharmonic Orchestra conducted by Kirk Trevor (Brahms, Franck); Slovak State Philharmonic Orchestra, Košice conducted by Bystrìk Režucha (Weber). MSR Classics. $14.95.

     The thrill of discovery is alive and well on a new Naïve CD on which Jean-Paul Gasparian explores his family’s Armenian heritage – both directly and indirectly. Only one of the four composers whose works are heard here, Aram Khachaturian (1903-1978), will likely be known to most listeners, but one of the others is hyper-familiar to the pianist: his father, Gérard Gasparian (born 1960), whose two works are very well-made and highly expressive. Ballade does seem to be telling a distinct if unspecified story, while Poème, which is a world première recording, has an impressively delicate expressiveness that veers close to sentimentality but stops short of becoming cloying. Both the works are based on Armenian songs and folk material – a foundational element in almost all the music here. The primary focus of the disc is Arno Babadjanian (1921-1983), whose works bespeak considerable familiarity with folk music and attentiveness to melodic and harmonic richness – with an understanding of 20^th-century compositional techniques but without being slavishly beholden to them. Prélude et Danse de Vagharshapat combines a warmly evocative 90-second introduction with a strongly accented and rhythmically expressive dance. Impromptu ranges from the sweet and naïve to the emphatic, while Capriccio offers a pleasantly varied series of moods and feelings. Sonate Polyphonique is the most distinctly modern-sounding piece here, showing Babadjanian’s thorough command of dissonance and rhythmic and harmonic alterations. The central movement, Fugue, has the strongest contemporary sound, although the opening Prelude and concluding Toccata partake of similar sensibilities to some degree. Élégie contrasts strongly with the sonata, being warm, thoughtful and overtly emotive throughout. As for the other composers to whom Gasparian devotes himself with unerring skill and understanding, Khachaturian is here represented by a very strongly accented Toccata, whose contrasts with the similarly titled Babadjanian sonata movement are considerable – and whose intense forward drive, briefly interrupted for more-lyrical material, sweeps performer and listener alike into a highly evocative aural space. And Khachaturian’s Adagio de Spartacus et Phrygia, the work on this CD most likely to have been previously heard by listeners, is delicate, comparatively simply harmonized, lyrical, emotionally expressive, and thoroughly engaging in Gasparian’s first-rate, beautifully balanced performance. The CD concludes with four Danses pour Piano by Komitas (Soghomon Soghomonian), an Ottoman-Armenian priest who lived from 1869 to 1935 and is considered the founder of Armenian national music. All four of these dances – Yerangi, Unabi, Marali and Shushiki – are presented with an understanding of their folkloric roots as clear as anything to be found in Bartók or Kodály. Yerangi is moderately paced and quiet, Unabi more rhythmically varied, Marali attractive in its hesitant rhythms, and Shushiki delicately expressive. Gasparian’s sensitivity to all this music comes through with abundant clarity, and the CD, although intended as an exploration of the pianist’s own family history, is far more than a personal indulgence: it offers the chance to become familiar with some highly worthwhile but little-explored nooks and crannies of keyboard material.

     The pianism is just as impressive on an MSR Classics release featuring Joshua Pierce, but the works are far better known than anything Gasparian performs. And the Pierce CD is a bit disappointing when it comes to the orchestral accompaniment, which is not quite at the same level as the pianism. The specific choice of repertoire on this (+++) disc is also a touch odd – the three pieces have little in common except for their 19^th-century origins, although even there, Weber’s musical time period differs from that of Brahms and Franck. Thus, what unites the works is simply the excellent pianism that Pierce brings to them. The disc is a remastering of performances from 1999 (Brahms and Franck) and 2003 (Weber), and the sound is quite good. Pierce fully understands the grand symphonic scale of the Brahms concerto, giving it a big sound that borders on the portentous but not the pretentious. He plays with warmth, a strong sense of rhythm, and an understanding of the participatory nature of the piano part – which never fully dominates in this concerto. But because this is essentially a symphony with piano obbligato, the orchestra is crucial to a fully successful performance, and the Bohuslav Martinů Philharmonic Orchestra under Kirk Trevor is not (or was not in 1999) quite of the same quality as the pianist. The lovely cello solo at the start of the third movement is less than impressive, and while everything in the concerto is played with strength and fervor, the orchestra’s overall sound and sectional balance are not quite at the top level. Matters are somewhat better in the Franck symphonic poem Les Djinns, which is overtly an orchestral work with piano obbligato – but the piece, while it has some interesting moments, is scarcely substantive enough to turn this disc into a must-have. Actually, the most completely successful performance here is of Weber’s Konzertstück (here spelled Concertstück). Originally planned as a piano concerto, this ended up as a single-movement, four-section piece with an explicit program that Pierce brings forth with considerable skill. Emotionally, the piece is about separation, anxiety, fear, worry – and then, in its third and fourth (major-key) sections, triumphant return and overwhelming joy. Pierce and Bystrìk Režucha pace the work rather quickly, especially in the march and concluding section, and the result is a strong and effective contrast with the worry and emotional indulgence in the first portions of the piece. As a whole, this is a pleasant CD whose works are likely already in the collection of most classical-music lovers. So for most people, there will be no overwhelming reason to acquire these versions of the pieces – except, of course, if listeners have a particular interest in Pierce’s very fine pianism.