(++++) SONORITIES

Ravel: Complete Works for Solo Piano, Volume 2—Menuet antique; Menuet en ut dièse mineur; Introduction et Allegro; Gaspard de la Nuit; Menuet sur le nom de Haydn; Prélude; Le Tombeau de Couperin; Berceuse sur le nom de Gabriel Fauré. Vincent Larderet, piano. AVIE. $19.99. 

     It is taking quite a while for the planned four-volume set of Ravel’s complete solo-piano music played by Vincent Larderet to appear: the first AVIE release in the series came out almost two years ago. But the recordings are worth waiting for with only a modicum of impatience, partly because Larderet has a firm grasp not only of Ravel’s musical style but also of the particular care with which the composer shapes the actual sound of the piano to accommodate his Impressionistic presentations and portrayals. As with the first disc in Larderet’s series, the works on this second CD are something of a hodgepodge – but happily, and unlike the situation on the first disc, this time the pieces are presented in chronological order, making it possible to hear the ways in which Ravel’s style evolved (and did not evolve) during the nearly three-decade-long period in which the music was composed. Larderet finds and brings forth grace, fluidity and coloristic sensitivity in all eight works on this CD, and is cognizant enough of Ravel’s intentions to apply those characteristics in the different ways that the pieces require. Thus, Menuet antique (1895) has an emphatic sound bordering on the harsh, while Menuet en ut dièse mineur (1904, published posthumously) is altogether gentler. Somewhat similar sonically and in mood to the C-sharp-minor Menuet is the slower and much-more-extended portion of Introduction et Allegro (1905), here receiving its world première recording in a transcription by Lucien Garban. Next on the disc, Gaspard de la Nuit (1908) offers one of the clearest of all examples of Ravel’s use of specific piano ranges and techniques for illustrative purposes, with Larderet perfectly capturing the waterfall effects of the first movement, the strangeness of the scene-painting in Le Gibet, and the very different oddity – or rather set of oddities – pervading the quicksilver changes in Scarbo. After this, Menuet sur le nom de Haydn (1909) returns to some extent to the sound world of Menuet antique, but now with much more assurance and with unashamed dissonance grafted onto the old dance form. Prélude (1913) is nuanced in its delicacy, while the six movements of Le Tombeau de Couperin (1914-1917) blend many of the aural elements of the earlier works on this disc – differently emphasized from piece to piece, and particularly well-contrasted by Larderet to showcase, for example, the comparative density of the opening Prélude with the much-greater-transparency of the Fugue that follows. The Rigaudon, Forlane, Menuet and concluding Toccata emerge here not only as differing thematic explorations but also as different sound worlds, collectively exploring a musical universe to which the rhythmic intensity of the Forlane and the gentle lyricism of the Menuet belong equally. The CD concludes with Berceuse sur le nom de Gabriel Fauré (1922) – also a world-première recording of a Garban transcription – and here the prettiness and tender warmth, with occasional hints of dissonance, combine to produce a feeling that is both lullaby-like and somewhat disquieting, as if to suggest that sleep will not necessarily be accompanied by untroubled dreams. 

     Collectively, the works on this disc showcase Ravel as a more-variegated piano composer than he is sometimes credited with being, and show how thoroughly Larderet understands not only the notes to be played but also the aural context in which to play them. Even more than the first Larderet disc, this second volume confirms the pianist as a top-of-the-line interpreter of Ravel – leading to a hope that the remaining two planned discs in the sequence will be released somewhat more expeditiously than the first two.

(++++) ADAPTING TO MODERN TIMES

Frank Martin: Piano Quintet; Trio for Strings; Quartet for Strings. Utrecht String Quartet (Eeva Koskinen and Katherine Routley, violins; Mikhail Zemtsov, viola; Sebastian Koloski, cello); Ilona Timchenko, piano. MDG Scene. $23.99. 

Igor Santos: portrait RE; George Lewis; Flux; Carola Bauckholt: Pacific Time. Ensemble Dal Niente conducted by Michael Lewanski. New Focus Recordings. $18.99. 

     Frank Martin’s music remains popular in his native Switzerland and much of continental Europe, but it has never traveled particularly well internationally. One reason may be the unusual and highly personalized way in which Martin adapted his musical style to the times in which he lived (1890-1974). Martin, in common with many composers in the early 20^th century, spent years searching for his own musical voice in the post-Romantic landscape after World War I, in which he served. Martin also spent years seeking his own personal faith: he was the youngest of 10 children of a Calvinist pastor but had a much more expansive view of Christianity than Calvinism offers. Nevertheless, Martin’s faith informed much of his music – in which, at the same time, he tried to come to grips with important secular trends, notably Schoenberg’s twelvetone method and the school that followed it. The result during his compositional career was the production of a number of works in conventional forms – albeit often without conventional harmonies – as well as ones for unusual instrumental combinations: two pianos and small orchestra; alto saxophone or basset horn, string orchestra, piano, timpani and percussion; flute, string orchestra and piano; harp, harpsichord, piano and two string orchestras; harpsichord and small orchestra; oboe, harp, string quintet and string orchestra; viola, wind orchestra, harpsichord, harp, timpani and percussion; and others. Martin, who was scarcely prolific, wrote only a small amount of chamber music, a dozen or so significant pieces in all. A few showcase his interest in less-common instrumental combinations: Rhapsodie for two violins, two violas and double bass and Sonata da chiesa for viola d'amore and organ, for example. But others, including the three works on a new MDG Scene CD, may provide better insight into the thinking underlying Martin’s compositional processes. The works on this disc collectively span the three major periods of Martin’s music. The Piano Quintet of 1919 dates from the years in which he was looking to the past and trying to find his own way through it to something more up-to-date but still respectful of older forms and approaches. Elements of Bach are clear in the four-movement work (Martin elsewhere paid direct tribute to Bach and Mozart), combined with a sound reminiscent of César Franck’s and themes that in part reflect folk melodies that Martin heard during the Great War. But already there is enough dissonance and harmonic ambiguity in this piece to show a kind of restlessness in Martin’s search for personal expression. Ilona Timchenko and the Utrecht String Quartet perform the quintet with great sensitivity, providing stylistic clarity that highlights both its more-traditional elements and those with a slight hint of experimentation. The Trio for Strings then takes matters to what may be thought of as Martin’s middle period: it dates to 1936 and is a strongly exploratory work, its chordal density, especially in the Grave first movement, sounding quite modern even today. The highly chromatic and rather frenetic second movement leads to a finale that eventually returns to a chordal dimension – and throughout the piece, lyricism creeps in here and there, as if Martin is trying to retain at least a smidgen of Romantic-era expressiveness while producing music that reflects a Schoenbergian approach without following it slavishly. Interestingly, Martin wrote little chamber music after the 1930s, turning mostly to larger-scale works – but then, in 1966, produced his String Quartet, a remarkable piece that gave the 75-year-old composer considerable creative difficulty but that repays listeners and performers alike with elements that collectively sum up much of Martin’s musical vision. The Utrecht Quartet takes the full measure of this piece and plays with real panache, finding a level of underlying stylistic consistency in its four movements despite a whole slew of disparate influences ranging from, yes, Bach, to flashes of instrumental humor, to twelvetone used with considerable subtlety, to a vaguely dancelike concluding Allegretto leggero that has an otherworldly quality about it. There is enough stylistic restlessness here and throughout his music to show that Martin never quite figured out where he might fit in the panoply of 20^th-centuiry composers; and perhaps that explains the comparative obscurity that continues to haunt his works. But these very fine performances show that even if Martin’s ultimate stylistic goal remained unsettled, his lengthy search for it is one to which it is more than worthwhile for audiences to be attuned. 

     Many of today’s composers have none of Martin’s hesitation about fitting into the latest fads and trends: they embrace them wholeheartedly, proudly proclaiming themselves members of the avant-garde through their works if not necessarily their words (although often through those as well). Performance extremes, sonic exploration, amplification, technique extension, and electronics of all sorts are among the elements enthusiastically employed by many contemporary composers, often in direct collaboration with performers who will bring the works to life. That is the situation with the three composers and three pieces on a (+++) New Focus Recordings release featuring Ensemble Dal Niente – a short CD (47 minutes) that packs a great deal of “today-ness” into its duration. It opens with Igor Santos’ portrait RE (spelled that way), which uses traditional instruments that rarely sound traditional: strings behave like percussion, acoustic sound is electronically amplified and modified, and the ensemble (led by Michael Lewanski) initially produces a constantly metamorphosing sound cloud. Then sudden chords lead into a vocal segment – not sung but spoken, with a Brazilian philosopher named Paulo Freire urging self-awareness of the oppressed. And then instruments, individually and collectively, interact with and comment on the spoken material. The totality is considerably less than the sum of its parts: as is often the case with avant-garde music, the work reaches out to listeners who will accept its approaches and techniques unquestioningly and nod their heads (figuratively if not literally) in agreement. Much the same sort of audience will find Flux by George Lewis appealing. Like the Santos work, Lewis’ aims for societal connection and commentary beyond what the instruments themselves provide. Flux is specifically tied to a painting called JamPact JelliTite (for Jamila) by Jeff Donaldson, and is supposed to be a commentary on and response to that work – which means audiences unfamiliar with it have no real basis for fully understanding and appreciating, much less judging, the musical material. Strictly on an aural basis, Lewis’ use of percussion is extensive and often impressive, although the sheer density of the sonic environment treads a thin line between music and noise (as is common in avant-garde material). The third piece here, Pacific Time by Carola Bauckholt, also focuses on percussion, but not until it has first emerged from a cloud of white noise that sounds like an extensive and extended escape of steam from a particularly large kettle, followed in turn by organized cacophony in which a largely successful attempt is made to have acoustic instruments sound as if they are electronic. There is some intriguing sound here, mostly percussive and at times involving unexpected instruments such as the güiro (a hollowed, notched gourd played by scraping a stick across its surface). But the overall point is not exoticism so much as sonic exploration for its own sake – and there is quite a bit of it: lasting more than 19 minutes, this is the longest work on the CD. All the pieces here are experiential in nature and intent, aimed less at any traditional notion of music than at audiences interested in how far musical instruments can go in nonmusical directions, being played more in ways that go against their inherent nature than in ones that explore it. To those not already committed to performances of this sort, the CD will have little to recommend it; but the “in” group that instinctively and intellectually embraces extended sounds and techniques will find Ensemble Dal Niente neatly tuned into its interests and concerns.

(++++) A TOUCH OF THIS AND THAT

Schubert: Fantasie in C, D. 934; Robert Schumann: Fantasiestücke; Clara Schumann: Three Romances for Violin and Piano; David Baker: Blues (Deliver My Soul). Shea Kim Duo (Brendan Shea, violin; Yerin Kim, piano). Blue Griffin Recordings. $15.99. 

Brad Warnaar: Cornet Concerto; Chick Corea: Concerto for Trombone and Orchestra; Jennifer Higdon: Low Brass Concerto. José Sibaja, cornet; Joseph Alessi, Paul Jenkins and Derek W. Hawkes, trombone; Steven Brown, bass trombone; Gilbert Long, tuba; Nashville Symphony conducted by Giancarlo Guerrero. Naxos. $19.99.    

     A certain delicacy of touch is generally required for chamber music, with the intimacy of duets, in particular, enhanced by performers’ attentiveness to the way the sound of one instrument, as well as the specific notes and rhythms, interacts with the sound of the other. Brendan Shea and Yerin Kim show themselves well aware of this element of effective performance, and in fact the title of their new Blue Griffin Recordings release is “Touch, Part I,” implying not only understanding of this aspect of technique but also an intent to explore it further on future CDs. If later discs follow the pattern established with this one, they will be very worthwhile indeed. What Shea and Kim show clearly here are the ways in which performers’ sensitivity to the underlying structure and emotional elements of these works determine how the music affects – that is, touches – the listener. The longest and deepest piece here is Schubert’s Fantasie, the last violin-and-piano piece he completed and a work specifically intended to be highly virtuosic for both players – the violin somewhat more so than the piano. Shea and Kim present the seven-section Fantasie in what amounts to four-movement form, gathering sections 4-7 into a single grouping that helps showcase their relationships (for example, all but section 6 are in C). The performers also effectively highlight the third and by far the longest section, an Andantino theme and variations that Schubert based on his song, Sei mir gegrüßt. This extended section is displayed as the heart of the Fantasie, with Shea and Kim weaving a carefully considered web around it through the other portions of the work. The sentimentality of the song is kept nicely in check in these variations, which are thus easier to see and feel as the cornerstone of the music as a whole. And the way the Fantasie proceeds from an almost ghostly beginning through multiple contrasting moods requires a very careful touch indeed, which Shea and Kim provide. The Schubert is a much more substantial work than either of the three-short-movement sets by Robert and Clara Schumann that precede it on this disc. But each of the Schumann pieces requires its own form of sensitivity to be fully effective, and each is, in its own way, a fantasy, although Clara’s Three Romances are not labeled as such. Still, their exploration of varied musical and emotional landscapes comes through clearly in this performance, with the lyricism of the concluding Leidenschaftlich schnell being especially winning. Robert’s well-known Fantasiestücke, originally written for clarinet and piano, require considerable warmth and are clearly designed to communicate in specific ways, which are explicitly noted in movement designations that include such words as “tender,” “lively” and “fiery.” Shea and Kim take the full measure of the material, and their own expressiveness of performance communicates clearly to listeners. They attempt something similar with the concluding work on the CD, Blues (Deliver My Soul) by David Baker (1931-2016), but this is the one element of the recording that does not quite gel. Baker’s piece certainly surges emotionally as it mixes jazz elements with traditional classical ones in a way that has scarcely been unfamiliar for the last century. But this piece wears its emotions on its sleeve more than in its heart: it is more an example of a particular kind of music-making than a flowering of over-brimming feelings. It is pleasant enough to hear but fits uneasily with what has come before. Nevertheless, the high level of engagement that Shea and Kim show for the music of Schubert and the Schumanns makes this a disc that explores those composers’ aural environment with skill and sensitivity, resulting in presentations that make a strong audience connection and can certainly be described as touching. 

     The three sound worlds on a new Naxos CD of music by Brad Warnaar, Chick Corea and Jennifer Higdon are very different from those of the Romantic era and from each other, but all flow from a similar impulse: to explore the possibilities of concertos for brass instruments that are not traditionally heard in solo roles with orchestral accompaniment. The cornet concerto by Warner (born 1950), which dates to 2017-2019, leaps about from militaristic elements to bouncily cartoonish ones and is percussion-obsessed throughout. Its early material veers into self-parody rather too often, as Warnaar places the soloist at the frequent mercy of percussive outbursts. Attempts at lyricism later on are more formulaic than heartfelt: Warnaar seems far more comfortable returning to a kind of bright intensity (with spotlight again shared between cornet and percussion instruments) in a finale that spends most of its time trying to outdo itself in brashness and, yes, brassiness. It is all just a bit too insistent and is occasionally briefly and oddly reflective of earlier concertos (Hummel’s for trumpet in particular) – likely great fun to play (and José Sibaja does so with considerable enthusiasm), but somewhat tiring to hear even with the excellent back-and-forth between the soloist and the Nashville Symphony under Giancarlo Guerrero. Corea’s trombone concerto (2020) was the final work completed by Correa (1941-2021) and is nevertheless designated on this disc as being orchestrated, with additional music, by John Dickson. There are a few trombone concertos of considerable value in the repertoire already, including ones by Leopold Mozart and (especially) Rimsky-Korsakov, but none as focused on the soloist as Correa’s, whose opening movement is almost a trombone solo throughout (although there are occasional percussion exclamations). The balance of instruments is better-maintained and the musical fabric more engaging in later movements, with the central third movement offering some fine-sounding lyrical string passages – largely reminiscent of movie music – that give Joseph Alessi plenty of chances to showcase the trombone’s capacity for lyrical expressiveness. There are also plenty of jazz inflections in this concerto, with the scherzo-like fourth movement and rhythmically dancelike, castanet-pervaded finale in particular partaking of the jazz spirit – not only in the solo part but also in the orchestral accompaniment. The work has a somewhat scattered feeling: it is not tightly unified or consistent in its approach to either the soloist’s passages or the ensemble’s. In this it contrasts with the Low Brass Concerto (2017) by Jennifer Higdon (born 1962), which calls for a quartet of soloists: two trombones (Paul Jenkins and Derek W. Hawkes), bass trombone (Steven Brown), and tuba (Gilbert Long). That makes for a fascinating combination of sounds – Higdon clearly limns the ways in which the instruments display similarities and differences. This work is in a single extended movement, which begins with massed brass-chorale material and soon expands into passages in which both individual and grouped solos appear. The orchestra remains subservient to the solo group pretty much throughout: this is a brass showcase in which ensemble elements – a prominent triangle here, flowing string passages there – serve mainly to highlight the brass sounds (and, not incidentally, to give the soloists, of whom much is demanded, some chances to breathe). Although scarcely propulsive, Higdon’s work hangs together very well as a multifaceted piece with consistent forward momentum that varies enough to provide real sonic interest: for example, a faster two-minute section that starts about six minutes into this 15-minute piece thoroughly alters the aural ambience while preserving the underlying solo/orchestral structure. In the concerto’s latter part, slower, somewhat majestic material for the solo group gives way to a level of ebullient concluding virtuosity that is as impressive to hear as it must be difficult to play. Of the three works on this CD, Higdon’s is the most convincing and the one that seems most likely to receive additional performances – if soloists of sufficient virtuosity are available. As a whole, this is a (+++) CD, the Warnaar and Corea works being less interesting and somewhat more gestural and performative than Higdon’s. That said, this is a disc that audiences intrigued by brass music – not to mention skilled players looking for additions to their repertoire – will certainly welcome having a chance to hear.

(+++) IN SEARCH OF RELEVANCE

Beethoven: String Quartet No. 16, Op. 135; Ligeti: String Quartet No. 2; David S. Lefkowitz: Green Mountains, Now Black. Quartet Integra (Kyoka Misawa and Rintaro Kikuno, violins; Itsuki Yamamoto, viola; Ye Un Park, cello). Yarlung Records. $26.99. 

Eric Whitacre: The Pacific Has No Memory. Anne Akiko Meyers, violin; Orpheus Chamber Orchestra. AVIE. $8.99. 

     Music simply is. Even when created because of and tied to a specific occasion, even when composed as illustrative of literature or art or nature, music exists in and of itself, drawing attention and communicating – or failing to do so – on its own. This is why later generations were able to overcome the (largely manufactured) animosity between the Liszt/Wagner and Brahms “schools” and their respective followers, and to find both “storytelling” and “pure” music equally worthy. And it is why so many works continue to attract listeners unfamiliar with their genesis and even with the intentions of their composers: the music has something to say on its own, even if it is not necessarily what the composers themselves thought they were saying with it. Yet none of this stops composers and performers alike from trying to imbue specific pieces with specific meanings, and – in the case of some concerts and recordings – to try to select multiple works that collectively convey a particular impression. Indeed, attempted nonmusical (or supra-musical) communication is scarcely new: the last movement of Beethoven’s 16^th and final string quartet is famously headed Der schwer gefaßte Entschluß (“the difficult decision”), after which the music is structured as Grave, ma non troppo tratto (labeled Muss es sein? and in F minor – “must it be?”) and then Allegro (labeled Es muss sein! and in F major – “it must be!”). And all this refers to – what, exactly? No one playing or hearing the quartet today needs to know that the philosophical thinking stems from a mundane dispute over payment for a subscription concert, with Beethoven himself originally jocularly adding the words Heraus mit dem Beutel! (“out with the money bag!”) but wisely omitting them from the quartet’s pages. Even the composer’s broader and far more thoughtful inclusion of language is insignificant compared with the quartet’s power to engage and involve performers and audiences in the music as music. Top-notch performances of Op. 135 reach out with a pure intensity that the members of Quartet Integra capture to excellent effect on a new Yarlung Records release. The slightly tentative opening of the first movement soon gives way to lyrical warmth that contrasts effectively with a lighter second movement that shares some similar stop-and-go rhythmic feeling. The performers thoroughly accept the Lento assai designation of the third movement, which at first seems almost static in presentation until, as it progresses, the reasons for Beethoven marking it cantante e tranquillo become clear and the movement truly sings and calms. And the finale, its attached verbiage notwithstanding, progresses strongly from chordal questioning – with particularly fine ensemble playing – to its far more relaxed, even genial main material. The result is a thoroughly satisfying performance that displays the quartet on its own – not as the last of the “the late quartets,” the context in which it often appears in recorded form, but as a work that communicates in and of itself without reference to external events or, for that matter, to Beethoven’s other pieces in the same form. The playing of the other two works on the CD is equally impressive, but the choice of this particular musical mixture proves rather odd and even off-putting rather than communicative in some sort of “meta” sense, as the juxtaposition is apparently intended to be. György Ligeti’s String Quartet No. 2 is one of those mid-20^th-century works (1968) that can usefully display an ensemble’s technical capabilities but that fails to make anything but an intellectual connection with listeners – and seems, indeed, designed more for intellect than for anything more visceral. Portions of the designations of its five movements reflect intended emotional states – nervoso, calmo, furioso, brutale, tumultuoso, delicatezza – and the music itself does reflect those words to a considerable extent. But the work remains emotionally at arm’s length (to mix a metaphor), no matter how well it is played. It is played well here: among the impressive elements of this performance are the barely there opening of the first movement, the sense of disconnection in the second, the especially clear pizzicati in the third, the sheer strength of the bowing in the fourth, and the almost palpable sense of relief and relaxation in the finale. But all this is to what end? The overall effect is of a work that (unlike Beethoven’s) is very much of its own specific time and is evocative principally of the experimentation and sonic disruptions of its era – a period piece, in other words. But even the Ligeti is less time-bound and specific in its referents than Green Mountains, Now Black by David S. Lefkowitz (born 1964). Written for Quartet Integra, this composition has some intriguingly expressive elements and displays Lefkowitz’s thorough familiarity with Monteverdi, whose Orfeo and L’incoronazione di Poppea are among the building blocks of the 15-minute piece. But the work’s emotional heart rests in a specific contemporary event that affected a particular geographic area: devastating fires that burned portions of Los Angeles early in 2025 and that, as tragic as they were for area residents, had no significant impact elsewhere and will not be long remembered – surely not as long as Monteverdi’s music, whose expressiveness continues to communicate. There is no doubting the sincerity of Lefkowitz’s creation or its meaningfulness to him and to the California artistic community, nor is the heartfelt performance by Quartet Integra lacking. But this is a case where listeners really do need to know whence the music comes and what it intends to convey in order to appreciate it – and that is an unrealistic expectation for audiences in general and will be even less reasonable as time goes on. 

     To be sure, Lefkowitz is not the only composer who felt the effects of that natural disaster deeply and personally. Eric Whitacre (born 1970) built The Pacific Has No Memory around them as well, and Anne Akiko Myers and the Orpheus Chamber Orchestra present Whitacre’s piece with deep feeling on a new AVIE recording. Indeed, Meyers’ emotive playing transcends the work’s concept and reason for being: it sounds like a wistful and sad nocturne for solo violin and strings, with the very fine orchestral playing adding to the communicative effectiveness of the solo part. Nevertheless, the piece’s concept involves considerable navel-gazing, not only through the geographical and temporal inspiration but also through the title, which Whitacre took from a line in a movie called The Shawshank Redemption and which will scarcely be meaningful to anyone unfamiliar with that film, and perhaps not even to viewers who do remember the movie. The Pacific Has No Memory lasts less than eight minutes, and it is hard to imagine who would want to spend the money for this CD – which contains nothing else – except for people personally affected by the events memorialized in the music. Ironically, when listened to simply as music and not contextualized as Whitacre and Meyers intend it to be, The Pacific Has No Memory is a work of considerable attractiveness. It is possible that when the situational circumstances underlying the piece have been forgotten, this work – perhaps retitled in a straightforward way, such as “Nocturne for Violin and Chamber Orchestra” – will prove to have some staying power, being enjoyed, its origins notwithstanding, as music that simply is music.