(++++) STRING THINGS

Chopin: Sonata for Cello and Piano, Op. 65; Schumann: Fantasiestücke; Barber: Sonata for Cello and Piano. Marcy Rosen, cello; Diane Walsh, piano. Bridge Records. $16.99. 

Scott Wheeler: Birds of America; Avner Dorman: Nigunim (Violin Concerto No. 2); Bright Sheng: Let Fly. Gil Shaham, violin; The Orchestra Now conducted by Leon Botstein. Canary Classics. $16.99. 

Elena Firsova: Piano Quartet No. 2, “Four Seasons”; Quartet for the Time of Grief; Dmitri Smirnov: Abel; to be or not to be. Rudersdal Chamber Players (Jonas Frølund, clarinet; Christine Pryn, violin; Marie Stockmarr Becker, viola; John Ende, cello; Manuel Esperilla, piano.) OUR Recordings. $21.99. 

     The substantial emotive power of strings has long given composers a broad canvas for communicative expression in multiple forms, resulting in an exceptionally broad repertoire of string-focused music – to which composers today continue to add. It is interesting that of Chopin’s four sonatas, only one was not written for piano solo – and that is the cello sonata of 1846-1847. This G minor sonata, the last work published during the composer’s lifetime, shows that even Chopin – all of whose music includes the piano – was aware of circumstances in which strings could express feelings that went beyond those of the keyboard alone. The new Bridge Records recording by Mary Rosen and Diane Walsh explores those feelings to very fine effect. Indeed, it is the cello’s opening statement in the first movement that provides the basis of the entire work, and it is the cello’s rich sound – handled rather melancholically (with three of the sonata’s four movements in minor keys) – that gives this piece its elegantly crepuscular flavor. Rosen and Walsh are especially adept in the quiet warmth of the third-movement Largo, whose thematic beauty they bring forth to fine effect – allowing for a very well-done contrast with the finale’s elegant mixture of fast-paced material with more-lyrical elements. Rosen and Walsh bring equal sensitivity to another work of the same time period, Schumann’s Fantasiestücke (1849), in which the sudden mood changes seem particularly well-suited to the cello’s wide range of expressive capabilities (Schumann wrote the Fantasiestücke for clarinet but indicated that it could also be played by violin or cello). The music is essentially monochromatic, all three pieces being in A major (although the first starts in A minor). The tinge of melancholy that opens the first piece comes across particularly well in Rosen’s reading, its yearning eventually yielding to brighter material that sets the scene for the more-upbeat mood of the second and third pieces, in which Walsh skillfully underlines the playfulness of the second piece and the passion of the concluding one. Showing how a later composer used the cello’s capabilities in a different but equally engaging way, Rosen and Walsh also perform Samuel Barber’s C minor sonata. Dating to 1932, this early work – Barber was 22 when he wrote it – is passionate and rather dense, somewhat Brahmsian in sound and orientation. Its piano part more clearly shows the time period in which it was composed than does its cello portion, which stays firmly anchored in Romanticism. Rosen and Walsh make sure that the somewhat different approaches given to the two instruments never clash but instead complement each other, with the third and final movement fully exploring its Allegro appassionato designation. In totality, this recording successfully showcases three differing but comparable emotional evocations of string music in the 19^th and 20^th centuries. 

     The 21^st century has brought more-extended approaches to string-focused compositions, sometimes to highlight thoughts and feelings in new ways and sometimes to explore new forms of impressionistic tone painting. The three world première recordings on a Canary Classics release featuring Gil Shaham and The Orchestra Now under Leon Botstein display three contemporary composers’ views of string capability – specifically focused on the violin and even more specifically on Shaham himself, for whom all three works were written. Birds of America, the second violin concerto by Scott Wheeler (born 1952), dates to 2021 and is more interesting for its instrumental approach than the bird impressions it contains. Wheeler puts Shaham through his paces by quickly moving from jagged material to lyrical elements, from legato to pizzicato, from the violin’s lower notes to its highest range. None of this is particularly expressive of anything avian; the “bird” elements of the concerto seem somewhat tacked-on. The second of the three movements is distinguished by the prominence of flute and celeste, which nicely complement passages in which the violin’s lyrical flow dominates. The concluding movement, which opens with knocking sounds and distinct tweeting, features dancelike material that is, however, subservient to an exploration of the many elements of performance technique that Wheeler requires of the soloist. Next up on this CD is Nigunim (2011), which is labeled Violin Concerto No. 2 and is an orchestral version of Sonata No. 3 for Violin and Piano by Avner Dorman (born 1975). The work’s title refers to a concept in traditional Jewish music that indicates universality of language and communication, and Dorman tries to reference that concept through four movements that draw on Jewish musical material from various places, time periods and occasions. Dorman’s writing for Shaham is more traditionally virtuosic than Wheeler’s, with the solo instrument called on for the emotional heart of all the movements and most of their “display” elements; here the orchestra – which dutifully fulfills all its roles on this recording – mostly provides backdrop and scene-setting. The many tonal, harmonic and technical contrasts of the second-movement Scherzo are especially engaging on an intellectual level, but it is the Adagio third movement that comes across as the emotional core of the work, all the more so because much of the movement is quite quiet. The concluding Presto, filled with double stops and intense rhythms, provides a very strong contrast, with percussion coloring the musical canvas to good dramatic effect. The longest work on this CD is Let Fly (2013) by Bright Sheng (born 1955). It is written as a multifaceted single movement – actually being a three-movements-in-one concerto with a cadenza between its second and third portions. Sheng says the work’s title was partly inspired by having heard Shaham playing in such a way that music flies off his instrument into the air, and indeed that is a communicative element of the concerto: again and again, Shaham is called upon to produce an extended phrase that flips up and out at the end, as if being tossed from his instrument to the world at large. The most variegated piece on this disc, Let Fly is also the one that most thoroughly integrates solo and instrumental elements, giving the impression of a cooperative venture rather than a competitive landscape. Sheng is not shy about giving the musical canvas a generally Romantic or post-Romantic coloration: nothing here comes across as display for its own sake (not even Shaham’s cadenza) or as window dressing to prove the composer’s contemporary bona fides. That said, Let Fly is somewhat directionless from time to time, as if it could be tightened without undermining its musical argument – albeit at the expense of giving Shaham less material in which to showcase his virtuosity and expressive elegance. As a whole, this CD is certainly a (++++) release for fans of Shaham and listeners intrigued by some fine contemporary composers’ approach to string capabilities. Audiences less focused specifically on Shaham and on concertos he has inspired with be less engaged with the material and will likely find this a (+++) recording, although Let Fly is interesting enough so it could be attractive to hear in other performers’ interpretations. 

     Another string-focused CD consisting entirely of world première recordings features music by Russian expatriates Elena Firsova (born 1950) and Dmitri Smirnov (1948-2020), who were married from 1972 until Smirnov’s death. Firsova’s chamber music is particularly attractive here. Her “Four Seasons” piano quartet (2019), which arranges the seasons to start with winter and end with autumn, defies expectations of this sort of musico-seasonal exploration by treating springtime as a gradual, extended awakening rather than a burst of new life – and giving summer less than two minutes of music, all of it dissonant and disconnected. Autumn gets the longest treatment, which sounds even more extended by virtue of an opening that hangs suspended athematically, as if beyond time. The reinterpretation of seasonal norms, and of musical depictions of them, is thought-provoking even though it is not (and apparently is not intended to be) particularly convincing as anything typical of portions of the year. Quartet for the Time of Grief (2023), in which the clarinet takes the lead in an ensemble including violin, cello and piano, is more consistently expressive. A memorial to her husband and a work of expressive sorrow, the quartet is intellectually of interest in its references to Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la Fin du Temps – which has the same instrumentation and includes repeated dotted rhythms that Firsova uses as a basic building block of her own work. There is something self-referential in those rhythms as well, since they also appear in Smirnov’s to be or not to be (whose Shakespeare-derived title includes no capital letters). This work from 2018-2019 is a quartet for piano, violin, viola and cello. The viola receives more prominence than usual, and this gives the thoughtful music a layer of depth beyond what would be communicated by having the violin lead the group. Smirnov acknowledges Denmark through the reference to Hamlet, which is set there; the piece itself was a commission by Denmark’s Rudersdal Sommerkoncerter festival, and it is Rudersdal musicians who play it here with the attentiveness and intensity it deserves. But during his career, Smirnov was less inspired by Shakespeare, on a literary basis, than by William Blake, a longstanding influence on Smirnov’s music – witness Abel (1991) for clarinet, violin, cello and piano (again, the instrumentation used in Messiaen’s Quatuor pour la Fin du Temps). Smirnov’s music, based on Blake’s 1826 drawing showing Adam and Eve finding Abel’s body, is suitably suggestive of the scene and features elements of apprehension, emotional trauma, drama and sorrow, with the four instruments tending to assume individual roles rather than anything concerted and cooperative. The directness and intensity of Abel make it the most-approachable work on this disc, although the other pieces here show equally adept use of strings – alone and with other instruments – to communicate specific ideas and feelings. Although this (+++) CD is unlikely to reach out convincingly to audiences not already acquainted with the music of Firsova and Smirnov, its unusual content and very fine performances will make it desirable for listeners familiar with or simply curious about these composers and the interrelatedness of their musical productions and productivity.

(+++) SOUNDS OF NOW

Russell Platt: Songs and Chamber Music. Paul Appleby, tenor; Myra Huang, piano; Peter Kolkay, bassoon; DuoKrom (Molly Barth, alto flute; Inés Voglar Belgique, violin); Amy Dorfman, piano; Borromeo String Quartet. Bridge Records. $16.99. 

Wang Lu: Surge; Voices of the Orchard; Joseph Butch Rovan: Scattering; Anthony Cheung: Volta; Eric Nathan: In Between II. Boston Modern Orchestra Project conducted by Gil Rose. New Focus Recordings. $18.99. 

Sebastian Zhang: White Socks?!; Stuart Beatch: on queer survival; Aaryn S. Ricucci-Hill: Queer Turquoise; Darius D. Edwards: Where Will My Flowers Go?; Jennifer Higdon: Echo Dash; Xenia St. Charles Iris Llyllyth: Close your eyes, if you can; Spencer Arias: You, Me, Us. Nick May, soprano and alto saxophones; Alex Siu Lun Li, piano. Neuma Records. $15. 

     Given the fact that we are now one-quarter of the way through the 21^st century, it is no surprise that recordings featuring recently composed works are becoming increasingly common. But there remains an element of discovery for most such releases, given the comparative unfamiliarity of audiences with the proliferation of contemporary composers and their many and varied approaches to musical creativity. Some modern creators retain a strong sense of history and a well-formed ability to work within established forms while putting their own stamp on their material. One such is Russell Platt (born 1965), some of whose 21^st-century vocal and instrumental music is now available from Bridge Records. The songs here – two individual ones and one four-song cycle – were composed for tenor Paul Appleby, who performs them with style and a clear awareness of the way in which Platt combines respect for traditional forms with a harmonic language mixing post-Romantic and minimalist elements. Ably accompanied by pianist Myra Huang, Appleby brings sensitivity and a fine ability to keep the words  understandable to After Apple-Picking (2021; words by Robert Frost), Sonnet (2014; words by Elizabeth Bishop), and the four Paul Muldoon Songs. The Muldoon cycle dates to 2002 in the form heard here, but was originally written in 1992 – one of only two works on this disc with origins before the current century. The other such piece is the short Madrigal for alto flute and violin, which dates to 2022 in this form but originated in 1991. A quiet, atmospheric work in which the flute (played by Molly Barth) floats above a soundscape delineated by the violin (Inés Voglar Belgique), this piece contrasts interestingly with Sunday Variations (2022) for solo bassoon (Peter Kolkay), an equally short offering that mixes aural pointillism with more-fluid material. Of greater extent and depth is Memoir for flute and piano (2010), performed by Barth with pianist Amy Dorfman, which has more of the dissonant sound and disconnectedness of structure that audiences have come to expect in recent music – although there is room here for some lyricism as well. The most extended work on the CD is the seven-movement string quartet called Mountain Interval (2014-2016) – whose opening Introduzione immediately announces its contemporary bona fides through dissonant sound, disconnected melodic fragments, and wide-ranging thematic material. But warmth is never distant in Platt’s chamber works on this release: the second movement, The Pasture, is lyrical (if scarcely sweet) in its deliberate pace and Copland-like scene painting, and other movements pay direct tribute to Frost poems even without those works’ actual words. The brightly propulsive Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, with its occasional exclamatory dissonances, is a highlight, while …It Runs Unbridled Off Its Course (with the ellipsis in the movement’s title) certainly puts the Borromeo String Quartet through its paces before the concluding Under the Sunset Far into Vermont – the longest movement – reestablishes a sense of dissonant modernism to round off the entire work. Platt’s pieces here, both vocal and instrumental, are all well-made and respectful of tradition. Although not highly innovative, they are crafted in such a way as to give familiar forms some up-to-date window dressing that gives them impact and will make them attractive to listeners with an interest in smaller-scale works of the current century. 

     Like many of today’s composers, Platt is an academic: he is on the faculty of the Vanderbilt University Blair School of Music. Four other university-affiliated composers – all at Brown University – showcase some contemporary works for larger forces on a New Focus Recordings release. Two of the pieces on the disc are by Wang Lu (born 1982). The opening Surge brings up-to-date sensibilities to the concept of an orchestral curtain-raiser. There is plenty of sound and fury throughout, with emphatic full-orchestra swells contrasted with more-modest material. The work is performative and not wholly convincing, but showcases Lu’s ability to handle large instrumental forces. Voices of the Orchard, a brief suite adapted by Lu form his chamber opera The Beekeeper, has greater feeling and subtlety, with well-made contrasts between brighter rhythmic material and a contrasting darker undercurrent. Scattering by Joseph Butch Rovan (born 1959) is a rather peculiar experimental work that functions by having the conductor, Gil Rose, wear a wrist controller that calls up electronic sounds based on his hand movements. Technology aside, the piece has unsurprising (if intermittently effective) contrasts between sectional outbursts (the brass is prominent) and quieter material (often from its electronic elements). It is more intriguing as an intellectual exercise than as a musical exploration. Volta by Anthony Cheung (born 1982) is equally full of contrasts, indeed seeming to be all contrast, with instrumental groupings piling on each other, thematic elements (rather than actual themes) starting and then breaking off, energetic material starting and then stopping to make way for more-settled elements, and so forth. It is rather exhausting to hear and at 15½ minutes is considerably longer than it needs to be. But if it is also exhausting to play, the Boston Modern Orchestra Project gives no indication of finding it problematic: the orchestra handles this and everything else on the CD with appropriate intensity, skill and sure-handed balance. The concluding work on the disc, In Between II by Eric Nathan (born 1983), spends its first four minutes – a time that seems much longer – attempting to establish a forest milieu before the orchestra actually plays as an orchestra. Thereafter the ensemble goes through an unsurprising series of expansions and contractions, swells and diminuendos, forward-driving elements and quiescent ones. Another work that outstays its welcome, it would have been better at half its 15-minute length, but it does show – as, indeed, do all the pieces here – that today’s university-based composers continue to explore orchestral possibilities within a contemporary context, not always effectively in terms of audience connection but often interestingly from an intellectual standpoint. 

     The Brown University works are largely free of the sociopolitical gloss that is now so common in classical (or more-or-less-classical) music, but the seven pieces on a Neuma Records release featuring saxophonist Nick May and pianist Alex Siu Lun Li are exactly the opposite. The works are by queer artists and are intended to reflect and assert their life experiences through the music – making the material appealing to others in the LGBTQ+ community and its supporters but of little interest to others except insofar as the music works as music rather than as advocacy. Understandably, as with other material for “in” groups, the appeal here comes primarily from the nonmusical gloss, but it is only to the extent that the music works on its own terms that it can reach out to an audience beyond the one within which it was created. Thus, there is a pleasant bounciness to Sebastian Zhang’s White Socks?! The piece is fun to hear without knowing or needing to know that it, like the other works here, is rooted in the “I Exist Project” promoting art that promulgates queer narratives. Stuart Beatch’s on queer survival  (one of those pieces lacking capital letters in its title) is as quiet and laid-back as Zhang’s work is forthright and ebullient. Beatch’s offering is somewhat too earnest in expression and somewhat over-long despite lasting just seven minutes, but its expressive elements are intermittently engaging. Queer Turquoise by Aaryn S. Ricucci-Hill is even longer than Beatch’s work and more static, its saxophone elements more varied than its rather monochromatic piano part. The instrumental interplay is better balanced in Darius D. Edwards’ Where Will My Flowers Go? This work ties not only to the “I Exist Project” but also to the singing of Whitney Houston – but it stands well on its own, even for those without knowledge of its sources of inspiration, although it is less than original in its pop-music flavor. Echo Dash by Jennifer Higdon is the shortest work on the CD, its breathless two-and-half minutes whirling by in a flash and featuring impressively idiomatic writing for both instruments that gives May and Li quite a workout. In contrast, Close your eyes, if you can, by Xenia St. Charles Iris Llyllyth, features gently rocking motion within an essentially repetitive approach that smacks of minimalism and seems intended to lull listeners into a dreamlike state. The CD closes with the longest work on the disc, the four-movement, 17-minute You, Me, Us by Spencer Arias. A concatenation of sounds within which Arias deliberately juxtaposes strong contrasts of timbre, pacing, harmony and emotional affect, the piece feels as if it is trying to encompass a very wide variety of emotional experiences as well as some extremes of performance capability. It takes on far more than it can process effectively, being most effective when at its quietest and most laid-back, as in the second movement, You Set Me Free, and parts of the third, You Taught Me How to Fly. The opening You Broke My Heart and overreaching and somewhat too placid finale, You + Me = Us, are, on the whole, less compelling. The pieces on this CD are of interest primarily to the extent that they supersede the circumstances of their creation: although the appeal of the disc will be primarily to people who are tuned into the societal concerns that the composers seek to explore, there are at least some elements of the music that successfully reach out beyond the works’ limited target audience to provide meaning and enjoyment to a potentially wider group of listeners.

(++++) FORMS OF KEYBOARD MASTERY

Beethoven: Piano Sonatas Nos. 28-32. Paul Wee, piano. BIS. $42.99 (2 SACDs). 

Mozart: Piano Concertos Nos. 9, 13, 15, 17, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25 and 27; Fantasia in C minor, K. 475; Piano Sonatas Nos. 11 and 14. Idil Biret, piano. IBA. $45.99 (6 CDs). 

     If one were to encapsulate the pianism of Paul Wee in a single word, that word would be fearless. Wee seems thoroughly unafraid to tackle anything pianistic whatsoever, and equally unaffected by tradition when it comes to going along with or rejecting composers’ stated desires for their music. This matters a great deal in Beethoven, especially in the complexities of late Beethoven: Wee does not hesitate to do exactly what composers say they want done, while other pianists think "he could not possibly, truly, have meant THAT.” There are perfect examples in Sonata No. 29, to which the label “Hammerklavier” has stuck even though Beethoven also gave No. 28 that designation. Beethoven’s tempo indications for the first and last movements of No. 29, which “everyone knows” are ridiculously fast to the point of being unplayable, are scrupulously observed here, and the familiar music instantly takes on new character and tremendous effectiveness as a result. Similarly, Wee’s second-movement Prestissimo in Sonata No. 30 goes by in a flash, and the music is all the better for it. Yet Wee is just as much at home in the evanescent delicacy of Sonata No. 28 as in the drama in extremis of No. 29. To put it simply, Wee is afraid of nothing in this music, approaching all of it with attentive understanding that, coupled with his formidable technical skill, results in performance after performance being truly revelatory. Wee genuinely absorbs and then proffers the elements of these sonatas that lend them so much gravitas. He makes clear the structural importance of trills, which are not mere ornaments here, and does not hesitate to turn these sonatas into works of exceptional drama – the first movement of No. 29 being a perfect example. Indeed, listening and re-listening to Wee’s way with this sonata, which is Beethoven’s longest, clarifies instance after instance of pianistic insight. True, there is a slight holding back in the third movement, which is a trifle cool and not molto sentimento – it certainly does not wallow. But then the evanescence of the transition between the third and fourth movements is especially good, and the fugue, taken at Beethoven’s indicated speed, is a really amazing experience, verging on the impossible but somehow all kept tightly under control by sheer force of Wee’s will. The complexity-yet-clarity of the final three minutes is simply astonishing, the work ending in what is almost a “fugue of trills.” It is an exhilarating performance to hear and one whose elegance is marvelous to contemplate. And there are similar high points throughout this BIS release. Among them is the end of No. 30, which sounds not like a conclusion as much as an evaporation – a most impressive effect. The remarkable placidity of the early part of the second movement of No. 32 is also noteworthy: the music sounds like a berceuse. Wee is not only a master of the drama in all these sonatas but also is constantly aware of Beethoven’s repeated insistence on expressiveness: the indications espressivo in Nos. 30 and 31, cantabile in No. 32. The final three sonatas have a feeling of surveying the marvelous landscape visible from the top of a mountain scaled (via No. 29) with considerable drama and difficulty. At the same time, the final three sonatas are quite different from each other, and Wee differentiates them to fine effect. His handling of the second and final movement of No. 32 is especially notable. The section that many pianists handle as a sort of proto-jazz presentation is here not “jazzlike” at all – instead, its rhythmic irregularities are reflective of emotional emphases inherent in the music. And Wee definitely has a thing for Beethoven’s use of trills: toward the end of this final sonata movement, the trills become the work’s most prominent feature, as the music glides upward and outward into a realm beyond the earthly – to end in the perfection of utter simplicity. Wee is a thoroughgoing master of Beethoven’s late piano music, as comfortable with its subtleties as with its grandeur. His performances, impressive as they are in themselves, also set an interpretative standard against which other pianists who wish to appear undaunted by late Beethoven would do well to measure themselves. 

     It is worth pointing out that Wee, like other modern pianists, takes full advantage of a modern piano (in his case a Steinway D) whose capabilities are far beyond anything Beethoven had at his disposal: Beethoven did include, in the finale of Sonata No. 29, a bass note not available to him before but made possible by use of a Broadwood instrument he had recently received – but the newly expanded Broadwood still had only six octaves. The depth of key travel and overall resonance of modern pianos give them a sound very much at odds with what Beethoven and other composers of his time would have known – and this is especially important to remember when playing music less heaven-storming than is much of Beethoven’s. And it is this sensitivity to the composer, this ability to get “in tune” (so to speak) with compositional intent, that is a hallmark of so many performances by Idil Biret – including those of 10 concertos and three solo-piano works on a six-disc release in the ongoing Idil Biret Archive (IBA) series. Biret’s readings here were recorded between 1980 and 2019; some are live performances and some are studio recordings. The various orchestras and conductors are all at least serviceable and often very fine, and the renditions throughout show Biret’s strengths as a Mozart interpreter while also highlighting what can be thought of as flaws. She is highly attuned to the emotional content of the music and does not hesitate to bring it out – her handling of Concerto No. 22 (with the Bursa State Orchestra conducted by Ender Sakpinar) is especially compelling in this regard. But she is not interested in historically informed performance practices and does not hesitate to use modern pianos’ expressive capabilities to expand upon and underline the emotions that she finds within Mozart’s music. As a result, many of these readings sound a touch old-fashioned – not in a pejorative sense, but in the way that they unhesitatingly use Romantic-era techniques (swells, crescendo/decrescendo, pedal emphases, strong piano/forte contrasts, etc.) to communicate Biret’s feelings about what she sees as Mozart’s feelings. One good example is Concerto No. 13 (with the London Mozart Players under Patrick Gallois), which is taken throughout at a leisurely pace with very considerable warmth and which features some highly emotional and ritardando-filled sections in the finale. Interestingly, Biret, in her decades of giving concerts, was much less interested in Mozart’s solo piano works than in his concertos. One disc here includes the Fantasia in C minor, K. 475, and the 11^th and 14^th sonatas, and all are handled with aplomb, but there is something a trifle dismissive about Biret’s approach (including in the famous Alla Turca that ends No. 11), as if she would really rather be interacting with an orchestra than delivering Mozart by herself. Indeed, the way Biret manages the ebb and flow of material between soloist and ensemble is one of the great strengths of all the performances here, being especially noticeable in Concerto No. 9 (with the Württenberg Orchestra under Jörg Färber). The minor-key concertos, Nos. 20 (with the Sydney Orchestra conducted by Louis Fremaux) and 24 (with the London Mozart Players under John Gibbons) also come across particularly well, with Biret being sensitive to the works’ drama and pathos but knowing, in these cases, not to overdo any tendency to employ the emotive techniques to which modern pianos invite performers. Nothing in this six-CD set is less than impressive; certainly nothing is disappointing or of less than premium quality. Nevertheless, this is a release more for Biret fans than for devoted lovers of Mozart’s piano concertos: there is enough quality variability among the orchestras and in the sound of the various recordings through the years to make this a collector’s item mainly for listeners devoted to the particular excellences of this pianist. Biret’s blend of a light touch in more-upbeat movements with emotional emphasis in more-serious material is attractive throughout. But her determinedly older-style approach to Mozart, while convincing enough on its own terms, will not be to all listeners’ taste now that so many pianists have absorbed so many elements of historically informed performance practice – even when they continue presenting works of the Classical era on pianos of modern times.

(++++) EXTREMES OF SOUND AND SENSIBILITY

Ástor Piazzolla: María de Buenos Aires. Ce Suarez Paz, Gualtiero Scola, Alberto Maria Munafò; Orchestra Filarmonica della Calabria conducted by Filippo Arlia; Cesare Chiacchiaretta, bandoneon; Giovanni Zonno, violin; Salvatore Russo, electric guitar; Nico Fiscaldo and Filippo Arlia, piano. Brilliant Classics. $16.99 (2 CDs). 

Veni Redemptor Gentium: Medieval Music for Christmas. Concordian Dawn (Amber Evans, soprano; Catherine Hedberg, mezzo-soprano and percussion; Nickolas Karageorgiou, haute-contre tenor; Michell Kennedy, soprano; Thomas McCargar, baritone and percussion; Daphna Mor, recorder, ney, voice and percussion; Niccolo Seligmann, vielle and percussion; Christopher Preston Thompson, director, tenor, medieval harp and percussion). AVIE. $19.99. 

Kyriakos Kalaïtzidis: Christmas at the Castle. Vasiliki Nevrokopli, narrator; Psaltikon conducted by Spyridon Antonopoulos; En Chordais chamber music ensemble. Cappella Records. $17.99. 

     Stylish, surreal and suitably strange, María de Buenos Aires, Ástor Piazzolla’s self-styled 1968 tango-operita, is a remarkable exploration of the depth and extent to which nuevo tango can be used to explore life and death, the hereafter that is identical to the now, and the many moods of a complex and vivid and hellishly illuminated cityscape and the mostly unseen multitudes who inhabit it. Piazzolla (1921-1992) created the work in close collaboration with lyricist Horacio Ferrer (1933-2014), who also wrote words for some freestanding Piazzolla tangos. The interrelationship of Piazzolla and Ferrer produces a theatrical work that is unlike any other, steeped both in the sort of magical realism for which authors such as Gabriel García Márquez became famous – and in mid-20^th-century nihilism and social commentary. The Brilliant Classics release of the work features an absolutely first-rate performance by well-versed soloists and the Orchestra Filarmonica della Calabria conducted by Filippo Arlia. The totality results in a recording that is fascinating and thoroughly engaging almost in spite of itself: the story, such as it is, makes it clear from the start that the title character is a metaphor rather than (or in addition to) a person, and the combination of singing and narrative produces an almost hypnotic feeling of being involved in circumstances that are somehow meaningful even when they are virtually incomprehensible. Ferrer’s lyrics are somewhat time-bound and somewhat overly self-referential, but highly effective nevertheless, with (for example) the many references to the meaning of the tango within the story – around which Piazzolla weaves tango music – emerging both as self-serving and as crucial elements of the narrative. María de Buenos Aires is in two parts, in the first of which the title character ekes out a short-lived existence as a prostitute in the unforgiving city, only to reappear in the second part as her own ghost and eventually be reborn to repeat (presumably eternally) the depredations of her life and of an urban hellscape. Somehow this framing tale becomes, thanks to Piazzolla’s music, thoughtful and involving rather than merely depressing: María de Buenos Aires is certainly packed with social commentary, but the insistent surrealism of Ferrer’s lyrics results in a kind of distancing that prevents any sense of a hectoring message and makes the overall scene one of sadness and regret rather than despair. Brilliant Classics does not provide the libretto – a major flaw in this otherwise excellent release – and while the company says the lyrics are available online, it offers no link to them. Listeners will certainly want to search for the words, which are crucial to the communicative power of this not-quite-opera – and anyone not fluent in Spanish will need to find a translation that conveys the peculiarities as well as the power of the verbiage. The performers themselves very effectively put their roles across: Ce Suarez Paz as María and her ghost; Gualtiero Scola as a young writer who is also something of a demonic presence, and who mostly narrates rather than singing; and Alberto Maria Munafò as a payador, a kind of traveling minstrel whose songs punctuate the story – and also as the voice of several minor characters within the tale. The sound of the tango permeates every element of María de Buenos Aires, and that means the sound of the bandoneon (beautifully played by Cesare Chiacchiaretta) is everywhere. But Piazzolla also manages to weave a magical musical spell with other solo instruments: violin, electric guitar and piano all contribute significant elements to the atmosphere. María de Buenos Aires is a brooding, intense, unusual stage work that insists perhaps a bit too strongly on its meaningfulness and importance but, despite that, draws the audience into a gritty and often unpleasant world in ways that are impossible to ignore – all framed by the wondrous ways in which Piazzolla creates and re-creates tango-infused phantasmagoria. 

     Voices and instruments combined for wonders of a very different sort many hundreds of years ago – but the works performed by Concordian Dawn on a new AVIE release are in their own way as fascinating as Piazzolla’s tango-operita. The ensemble here offers 22 Christmas-themed tracks – and actually, despite its devotion to medieval music, includes two world première recordings of works by David Yardley (born 1978). Yardley writes in what can be thought of as a modernized medieval style: both This Holy Tym Oure Lord Was Born and Vox Clamantis in Deserto neatly balance very old thoughts and sensibilities with a certain cleanliness of style derived from contemporary musical sensibilities. Yardley’s pieces fit neatly into the overall tone of this very well-sung recording, most of whose works are anonymous and nearly all of which are very old indeed: there is one by Perotinus, also known as Pérotin (1160-1230), one by Mikołaj Radomski (1400-1450), and one by Guillaume Dufay (1397-1474), in addition to all those whose creators are unknown. The members of Concordian Dawn not only sing unfamiliar music but also play some very-little-known instruments, including the vielle (an ancestor of both the violin and the viola da gamba) and the ney (an ancient end-blown flute). Yet just as Piazzolla manages to make a single musical form, the tango, encompass a very wide range of expressions and emotions, so the composers on this recording – whether from medieval times or indebted to them for inspiration – all manage to entrance the ear and elevate the spirit in multilingual expressions of faith that, while seasonal, are thoroughly suitable for hearing at any time of year. Some instrumental touches are especially notable, such as the medieval harp at the start of Isaiah and Sybil’s Prophecies, the vielle opening of Kuando el rey Nimrod, and the jaunty non-vocal Orientis partibus and Personent Hodie. Among the many vocal standouts are the purity of Ave, regina cælorum, the heartfelt Dum medium silentium, and the quiet beauty of Verbum caro factum est. The sensitivity to period style, to the meanings of the words sung here, and to the underlying significance of the Christian seasonal celebration and its miraculous underpinnings, come together in this beautifully blended ensemble’s renditions of every work on the disc. The result is a CD whose sheer loveliness transcends the time period in which most of the music was created, speaking to a contemporary audience in a manner diametrically opposed to the dark cynicism of Piazzolla and Ferrer – and reflective of an equally prominent and meaningful side of the human experience both in the past and in the modern world. 

     Christmas seems to invite composers, including contemporary ones, to create works that unite the ancient with the modern in such a way as to produce new material that spans the centuries – and joins them. This is true not only for composers steeped in the form of Christianity that is most familiar to Western audiences but also for ones focused on other traditions, as Kyriakos Kalaïtzidis (born 1969) is on the Byzantine. The world première recording of Kalaïtzidis’ 2023 Christmas at the Castle, a sort of dramatic oratorio, very clearly displays the uniting of past and present within a Christ-centered spiritual universe – but one that will be so unfamiliar to most listeners that only those with a yearning for the exotic and for new perspectives on the meaning of Christmas will find this (+++) Cappella Records release compelling. Kalaïtzidis’ piece is based on a work by Alexandros Papadiamantis (1851-1911), an author well-known and highly respected in Greece but quite unfamiliar elsewhere. Vasiliki Nevrokopli (born 1968), herself an author – primarily of children’s books – adapted the story and narrates it, with musical elements provided by the Boston-based Byzantine-chant-specialist ensemble Psaltikon under Spyridon Antonopoulos, plus the chamber ensemble En Chordais. Kalaïtzidis’ piece is in three scenes: "At Papa Frangouli's Home," “At the Castle,” and “At the Temple.” It interweaves elements of the Byzantine celebration of Christmas with a secular story of shipwrecked sailors begging for rescue – a circumstance that will in turn reflect back on the meaning of Christmas, which Papa Frangouli and his flock have been celebrating by observing ancient frescoes at a now-neglected sanctuary. The basic story arc will be easy enough for listeners to follow: many tales have expanded upon the meaning of Christmas by having characters’ lives follow unexpected paths that eventually reflect on Christ’s. But the method of exploring Papadiamantis’ story will be challenging for most audiences not already familiar with Byzantine liturgy and music. Kalaïtzidis is extremely dedicated to use of traditional forms and sounds, resulting in singing in rhyming 15-syllable Greek verse for which the composer employs the eight modes of Byzantine chant – which means, for example, that there is differentiation among set pieces in Second Mode, Plagal Second Mode, and Second Mode Mesos. Audiences are of course not required to have intimate knowledge of the underpinnings of the music – and the booklet provided with this CD is a huge help, including notes by Kalaïtzidis and all the texts in original Greek and English translation. The actual sound of the music is relentlessly insistent on its historical and ethnic roots, and indeed the purely instrumental elements of Christmas at the Castle, including the very first piece, “The Shadow of God: Instrumental,” and “Instrumental Semai: Third Mode” in the second scene, are helpful doorways into the work’s overall sensibility. The heart of the work, though, is the vocal material, both narrated and sung, and listeners attuned to Kalaïtzidis’ sound world – or who wish to become attuned to it – will need to listen carefully not only to what is said and sung but also to the musical flow underlying the vocals, which draws strongly on sacred chant that bears little resemblance to more-familiar Western Christmas-themed music. Thoughtfully produced and carefully assembled to draw audiences into Papadiamantis’ world and the Byzantine liturgy, the CD of Christmas at the Castle will be a fascinating and meaningful experience for listeners seeking what for most will be a hitherto unexplored and somewhat opaque exploration of the meaning of the holiday. Although it is certainly not for all audiences, the disc will be, for those inclined to explore it, a genuine and much-appreciated Christmas gift.