(+++) VOCAL FEELINGS

Hilary Tann: Sacred Choral Music. Capella Clausara conducted by Amelia Leclair; Heinrich Christensen, organ. Navona. $14.99.

Forgotten Voices: A Song Cycle for Voices and Strings. Allison Charney and Adrienne Danrich, sopranos; Jesse Blumberg, baritone; Mark Risinger, bass; Kelly Hall-Tompkins and Ling Ling Huang, violins; Andrew Gonzalez, viola; Peter Seidenberg and Alexis Gerlach, cellos; John-Paul Norpoth, double bass. AVIE. $17.99.

     Special reasons and specific orientations are de rigueur for the appreciation and enjoyment of some contemporary vocal works. Straightforward religious sentiment underlies all the pieces on a Navona CD featuring liturgical choral and organ music by the late Hilary Tann (1947-2023) – and it helps to have some familiarity with Wales, since Tann’s Welsh background and focus are evident in many of the pieces sung by Capella Clausara under Amelia Leclair and played by organist Heinrich Christensen. The divisions on the disc are traditional sacred ones, with organ pieces introducing Advent, Lenten, Whitsun, and Michaelmas – all performed by Christensen with sensitivity and entirely suitable solemnity. After each organ prelude are sung pieces for specific vocal groups: first, The Moor and Wellspring for sopranos and altos; second, Wales, Our Land for flute (Vanessa Mulvey) and the full chorus, and That Jewel Spirit for flute, organ and full chorus; third, Measuring the Distance for two solo voices, flute, organ and full chorus, and Children of Grace for two soloists, organ and full chorus; and fourth, Three Psalms for the full chorus – Luminaria Magna (Psalm 36) including organ, Incline Thine Ear (Psalm 86) including organ and trumpet (Geoffrey Shamu), and Praise, My Soul including organ and two trumpets (Shamu and Liz Jewell). Tann’s expertise in producing religious music for individual voices, massed voices and organ alone is clear throughout this disc, and her frequent references to Wales give the material an unusual orientation for works that sonically are very mainstream indeed: nothing here would be out of place in a church service. The chorus sings with a strong sense of commitment although with sometimes less-than-perfect clarity – specific words get lost or under-emphasized at various points. The music proceeds with a gentle flow typical of works with a sacred purpose, and the pacing is deliberate throughout: an audience not in the right frame of mind for this material will likely find it monotonous despite the variability of the vocal portions. For religiously inclined listeners without direct ties to Wales, Three Psalms will be the high point of the CD, and the comparative familiarity of the psalms’ words will make these choral pieces easier to follow and understand than some of the other works here. Trumpet use in the final two psalms gives them a more magisterial air than the other music on the disc, although the singing itself – to notes that are clear, consonant and unashamedly old-fashioned – is much the same for these pieces as for all the others. Tann’s devotional bona fides are clear throughout this recording, and her expressive presentation of sacred as well as Wales-focused material, although it may be of interest only to a limited audience, is handled with skill and invites listeners to share in Tann’s own feeling of uplift.

     The “uplift” element is entirely secular on a very well-meaning but rather oddly conceived and presented AVIE recording with the title Forgotten Voices. This is 100% a “cause” CD, and anyone not fully supportive of and committed to the specific cause in the same way as those involved in it will find the disc puzzling at best, off-putting at worst. The idea here is to draw attention to the residents of homeless shelters, to humanize them and show that they are just like everyone else – but without naming any of them or identifying them in any other way, even though it is their words that make up the vocal portions of the disc. The CD draws from concerts that have been given at shelters since 2005, with compositions by 15 contemporary composers who no doubt feel their work is contributing to the cause: Steve Sandberg, Jeffrey Scott, Errollyn Wallen, Jon Grier, Ellen Taaffe Zwilich, Courtney Bryan, Kelly Hall-Tompkins, James Lee III, Kevin Puts, Kamala Sankaram, Gabriel Kahane, Carlos Simon, Angélica Negrón, Beata Moon, and Paul Moravec. Whether these composers and the people performing their music are actively helping shelter residents find places to live, or are contributing from their earnings to shelter upkeep or other everyday necessities, is never explained and seems not to be the point. The project was commissioned and pulled together by Kelly Hall-Tompkins and the organization she founded, Music Kitchen, which says it offers “Food for the Soul.” It would perhaps be curmudgeonly to suggest that many residents of homeless shelters need food first for the body – in Bertolt Brecht’s words in Kurt Weill’s Die Dreigroschenoper, “Erst kommt das Fressen, dann kommt die Moral.” (It could just as well be “die Musik.”) But since Music Kitchen does not reveal who any of the homeless people whose words are used on this recording are, there is no way to know what specific, individual needs those contributors may have, or whether those needs were or are being met. So the project comes across as a very well-intentioned but perhaps somewhat misguided attempt to advocate for the essential humanity of the homeless as a general principle. “Thank you so much for being here.” “Thank you from the bottom of my heart.” These straightforward words and others like them are the texts included in music that is quite well-made and nicely varied: all the songs are crafted with skill and sung with feeling, and all the instrumental playing is at a high level. Certainly the musical participants feel they are contributing to a greater societal understanding of who the homeless are, and hopefully the contributors of the lyrics received, at least during the performances at their shelters, emotional and psychological uplift. But although this is a strictly secular endeavor, it will be hard for listeners familiar with the famous song Des Antonius von Padua Fischpredigt – “Saint Anthony of Padua’s Sermon to the Fishes,” so memorably set by Gustav Mahler – to avoid thinking, “Das Predigt hat gfallen. Sie bleiben wie allen.” That is, the sermon – or in this case the musical presentation – was splendid, but afterwards, everything was the same. Wishing that this sort of musical experience will have a permanent impact on shelter residents or CD listeners is, alas, as naïve as Saint Anthony’s piscine preaching.

(++++) PIGEON ON THE BUS FOR US

Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!—20^th Anniversary Edition. By Mo Willems. Hyperion. $19.99.

     The marvelous wordplay of Gertrude Stein gave us not only “a rose is a rose is a rose” but also “pigeons on the grass alas” – a rhyme that even made its way into opera (Virgil Thomson’s Four Saints in Three Acts). This goes to show that pigeon humor has a way of connecting with audiences of all sorts, over quite a long time period – Thomson’s opera dates to 1928. Well, Mo Willems’ particular take on pigeonry (pigeonification?) has staying power, too: his deliciously absurdist Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus has now been around for two decades and, lo and behold, has spawned an all-new edition that includes nothing less than a board game. That is in addition to pigeonish spinoff books such as The Pigeon Wants a Puppy! and Don’t Let the Pigeon Finish This Activity Book!

     Willems’ work has staying and spinoff power because it is too ridiculous for anyone to resent and too good-humored and silly to cause anyone to take offense. The pigeon is entirely unrealistic, not at all anthropomorphic in appearance – just a cartoon character made up of a couple of shapes piled upon each other and colored. Yet the character is highly expressive, bending in all sorts of impossible directions and frequently posing with hands on hips, assuming pigeons have hips. (And hands.) Furthermore, this is a very talky pigeon, making just the sorts of comments, demands and pleas that a child in the 3-7 age range might make: “No fair!” “I bet your mom would let me!” And so on.

     Also, the pigeon pouts. And claims to suffer: “I have dreams, you know!” And is willing to be a bit sneaky to get what he wants: “How ’bout I give you five bucks?” And indulges in a two-page-spread temper tantrum that is utterly hilarious from a kid’s standpoint and all too familiar from a parent’s.

     Why, exactly, does the pigeon want to drive the bus? Motivation is never given beyond the “I have dreams” comment – and that is yet another thing that makes Willems’ book work so well, since “just because” is a major human motivation during childhood (and, if we are honest with ourselves, during the adult years as well). And one of the best things about Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! is the pigeon’s indomitable spirit: failure is not discouraging at all, but is met with an altogether new, equally preposterous daydream, as the non-bus-driving pigeon spots a huger-than-a-bus 18-wheeler and imagines being in its cab , zooming along the road, on the book’s wordless final page.

     Willems is really onto something here, the overriding sense of humor and underlying hint of pathos resulting in a hilarious but maybe-just-a-bit-almost-real story about wanting what you cannot have, no matter how hard you wish, and learning how to switch your wishing to a different track when you must (not literally a different track, by the way, although it is easy to imagine the pigeon wanting to drive a train).

     The board game bound into the back of the 20^th-anniversary edition of Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! is enjoyable in its own right: players (two to four of them) have to get the bus through town and to its depot without letting the pigeon drive. The game is a simple extension of the theme of the book itself – and one element of Willems’ magic is that the pigeon’s saga stands up so well to this sort of expansion (there have even been pigeon-centered stage and film productions). The new edition of Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! shows that the original book has lost none of its original charm, with its simplicity and ridiculousness having come through the past two decades intact. Which is more than can be said for most other books and, indeed, most other elements of life. Pigeon still a star? You are!

(++++) SYMPHONIES ON A GRAND SCALE

Rachmaninoff: Symphonies Nos. 1-3; The Isle of the Dead; Vocalise; Symphonic Dances. Detroit Symphony Orchestra conducted by Leonard Slatkin. Naxos. $24.99 (3 CDs).

Bruckner: Symphony No. 6, transcribed for organ by Eberhard Klotz; Aequales Nos. 1 and 2 for Three Trombones, transcribed for organ by Hansjörg Albrecht; Improvisation by Hansjörg Albrecht: Bätruef (Alpine blessing), Thunder & Rain Machine; Andrea Lorenzo Scartazzini: Brucknerblume—Window on Bruckner’s 6^th Symphony. Hansjörg Albrecht, organ. Oehms. $14.99.

     Monumentalism came to the symphonic world after Beethoven’s Ninth, as the size of orchestras grew and the desire to make music as expressive as possible flourished during the Romantic era. Famous Romantic-era symphonies, from Berlioz’ Symphonie fantastique to the four by Brahms, were not actually as long as Beethoven’s Ninth, but they conveyed a sense of scope and grandeur that made them seem increasingly weighty. Eventually, certain symphonies – notably by Bruckner and Mahler – did become longer than Beethoven’s Ninth as well as far more heavily scored. And the feeling of depth, emotional intensity, extensive scoring and a certain grandiosity persisted through the end of the Romantic era and well into the 20^th century, even in symphonies whose length was more along the duration of those by Tchaikovsky. Rachmaninoff is a prime example of this phenomenon: his three symphonies last between 40 and 55 minutes – Tchaikovsky-symphony length – but they feel very large indeed, thanks to the sumptuous scoring and the very broad emotional expressiveness that permeates them. The Naxos re-release of performances by Leonard Slatkin and the Detroit Symphony Orchestra – recorded at a time when the ensemble was as good as any in the United States – offers first-class interpretations of Rachmaninoff’s symphonies and gives them all their emotive due while minimizing their inescapable tendency toward bloat. Slatkin simply refuses to let the symphonies bog down: he sees them, correctly, as huge musical canvases packed with memorable tunes, very high emotional engagement, and a strongly Russian sound that pervades and underlines their sensibilities. The repackaging of these releases simply involves placing the three original CDs, each in its original jewel case and with its original booklet, within a cardboard box – so there is no update of any kind here. But because the set is well-priced and the performances exemplary, these recordings can easily be a first choice for anyone interested in the Rachmaninoff symphonic canon. Symphony No. 1, the most sprawling and least tightly knit of the three, here has considerable snap and strength, from the highly dramatic opening of the first movement to the genuinely furious Allegro con fuoco finale. No. 2, the best-known and longest of these symphonies, emerges with the inexorable flow of a broad river, pulling listeners into its sound world from the very beginning and immersing them in beauty after beauty, to such a point that the thrice-familiar Adagio is simply a crowning loveliness that lets the composer provide a highly dynamic finale. No. 3, in three movements and the shortest of these symphonies, is tight and taut in a way that the others are not, successfully balancing strongly expressive material with intense, even acerbic elements. These performances, which date to 2009-2012, showcase the Detroit Symphony at its pinnacle, responding to every nuance of the music and every command of Slatkin as conductor: there is a unity to the orchestra that is altogether remarkable, and the sound of its sections – notably strings and brass – is just right for this repertoire. These are far more idiomatic performances than might be expected from an American orchestra – and the players’ near-intuitive understanding of Rachmaninoff’s musical world also extends to the shorter works offered with the symphonies. The CD of No. 1 also includes the gloomily atmospheric, vividly imagined, exceptionally well-orchestrated The Isle of the Dead. No. 2 is paired with a small and highly popular filler item, the Vocalise from Op. 34, here played with simplicity and beauty that contrasts well with the sensibilities of the symphony. And No. 3 is joined by Rachmaninoff’s final composition, Symphonic Dances, a work that is essentially a symphony itself and that lasts almost as long as the symphony it accompanies on this disc. Indeed, the pairing of Symphony No. 3 and Symphonic Dances is just about perfect in terms of providing insight into Rachmaninoff’s late compositional style. And Slatkin’s wholly admirable handling of both works clearly shows both their similarities and their differences, while allowing the monumentality of Rachmaninoff’s thinking to come through without the feeling of pomposity that is sometimes conveyed by less-sensitive performances.

     Sensitivity is also pervasive in the seventh Oehms release of versions for organ of Bruckner’s symphonies: Hansjörg Albrecht is a marvelous guide through this strangely captivating if completely inauthentic project. The Eberhard Klotz transcription of Symphony No. 6 is particularly well-done, with the organ frequently sounding just like the orchestral sections it is intended to replicate. There is only one version of this symphony – a real rarity for Bruckner – and it is an architecturally clear one, the work flowing and building naturally through its complexities and proceeding toward its eventual climax with seeming inevitability. The Sixth is full of oddities. The first movement is marked Majestoso (erroneously shown as “Maestoso” in the Oehms booklet – a significant but thankfully rare error in this series). It is indeed a magisterial movement, and one that seems to fit the organ particularly well. The second movement is the only Adagio in sonata form in Bruckner’s numbered symphonies (No. “0” also has one). And the third movement is slower and more serious than Bruckner’s other Scherzo movements – and is virtually athematic, being focused mostly on rhythm. Somehow the finale pulls all the strange elements together in a highly satisfactory way – and Albrecht, as he has throughout this series, makes the most of the concluding movement and shows it to be a thoroughly satisfactory capstone to this somewhat problematic work. The quality of the transcription and performance here raises this disc above the level of a curiosity, turning the CD into a genuinely thought-provoking interpretation of the symphony and a very well-handled opportunity to hear it in a new and different light, which is somehow quite an appropriate one. The run-up to the symphony on the disc is also quite special. First comes the sound of bells and Albrecht’s transcription of Bruckner’s first Aequale for three trombones. Then Albrecht improvises a version of a Swiss Catholic blessing and protection ritual known as Bätruef – and briefly employs the world’s only known rain machine in an organ. This is a tin-wood drum with metal balls that dates to 1862 and is found in the organ used for this recording, at the Hofkirche Luzern. The sound is genuinely strange – and is quickly followed by Albrecht’s transcription of the second Aequale. And then comes the latest “Bruckner Window,” a feature of this series in which contemporary composers create music that is drawn from, comments on, takes off from, or (in this case) leads into each Bruckner symphony. Brucknerblume (“Bruckner Flower”) by Andrea Lorenzo Scartazzini (born 1951) uses the second theme of the first movement of the Sixth as the basis for a wide-ranging (and at times quite dissonant) sonic display that eventually ends with a kind of musical question mark – after which Albrecht’s opening notes of Bruckner’s Sixth emerge as if from behind a curtain. Scartazzini’s work is certainly not Brucknerian in any meaningful sense, but as a tribute to the composer and an exploration of the experiences that today’s musicians and listeners may have when hearing the music, it is effective and thought-provoking. Indeed, this entire CD is thoughtful as well as emotionally expansive, allowing Bruckner’s music all the time and space it needs to come across to audiences as effectively as possible.

(+++) FULL BLOWN

Alexander Tcherepnin: Sonata in one movement for clarinet and piano; Stacy Garrop: Phoenix Rising for Solo Clarinet; Leo Sowerby: Sonata for Clarinet and Piano; Shulamit Ran: Spirit for Solo Clarinet; Teresa Reilly: The Forgiveness Train for two clarinets; Robert Muczynski: Time Pieces for Clarinet and Piano. John Bruce Yeh, clarinet; Patrick Godon, piano; Teresa Reilly, second clarinet. Cedille. $16.

Robert Raines: Music for Flute. Robert Raines, flute; Florida State University Graduate Flute Ensemble conducted by Matt Thomas; Raines Ensemble conducted by Eva Amsler; Southern Illinois University Flute Choir conducted by Douglas Worthen. MSR Classics. $14.95.

Kevin McKee: Music for Brass Quintet. Brassworks (Jason Bergman and Seretta Hart, trumpets; Laurence Lowe, horn; Will Kimball, trombone; Dan Bryce, tuba); BYU Honors Brass Quintet (EJ Miranda and Branden Haynie, trumpets; Weston Sims, horn; Will Kimball, trombone; T. Kinder, tuba). MSR Classics. $14.95.

     Interesting explorations of little-known works for wind and brass instruments may be just the thing for audiences looking for something unfamiliar but, in most cases, not exceptionally avant-garde. The six works on a Cedille CD featuring clarinetist John Bruce Yeh are drawn from time periods ranging from the mid-20^th century to the 21^st, include four world première recordings, and showcase the clarinet in a variety of guises. Sonata in one movement for clarinet and piano by Alexander Tcherepnin is a short and bright five-minute work that dates to 1939. Phoenix Rising for Solo Clarinet, a world première in this version, is a 2017 work by Stacy Garrop (born 1969). Its two movements, “Dying in embers” and “Reborn in flames,” move from a suitably mournful and tonally drifting slow environment to one that distinctly paints an aural picture of awakening and arising. The Sonata for Clarinet and Piano (1938) by Leo Sowerby (1895-1968) is the most substantial and most impressive piece on the disc – in light of its quality, its status as a world première recording is a surprise. Its four movements explore all elements of clarinet range and expressivity; its structure is clear without being straitlaced; the interplay between clarinet and pianist is expertly handled, intricate and often inventive; and the work sustains well within each movement and as a totality. Yeh – accompanied here, as in the other works involving piano, by Patrick Godon – is especially impressive in this piece, sensitive to its many moods and varying tempos and rhythms, his warm and smooth sound interweaving with the piano to excellent effect. Another world première on the CD is Spirit for Solo Clarinet (2017) by Shulamit Ran (born 1949), an in memoriam for clarinetist Laura Flax that is clearly heartfelt but rather on the shrill side. The last world première here is The Forgiveness Train for two clarinets (2020). It is by Teresa Reilly (born 1976), who joins Yeh for the performance. This is a three-movement piece tied to the COVID-19 pandemic – inspired by and responding to it. Each of its four-minute movements has its own rhythms, which vary from the constant and insistent to the stop-and-go. The piece is more a collection of aural fragments than a fully realized, thoroughly thought-through work, although its disconnectedness could certainly be said to be reflective of many people’s responses to COVID. The final work on the CD is the only one that is to any extent well-known: Time Pieces for Clarinet and Piano (1983) by Robert Muczynski (1929-2010). The contrast with Reilly’s work is pronounced: Muczynski pushes both clarinet and piano all over the place in this work’s four movements, but seems always to have a firm hand on the music, steering it with clarity and care so it never sounds disjointed or as if it is drifting into uncertainty. The sound of Muczynski’s piece is more acerbic than that of Sowerby’s sonata but never pushes the clarinet or the audience into uncomfortable territory. Time Pieces lacks the depth of Sowerby’s sonata but shows equal command, in its own way, of a similarly extended form. The disc as a whole has many elements of interest to go along with some of awkwardness: the sequence of pieces does not quite work if the recording is heard straight through, and the appreciable differences between the older and newer pieces do not argue in favor of the newer ones. But the playing is first-rate throughout, and the chance to hear so much unknown clarinet music presented so well is an attractive one.

     Listeners more interested in contemporary music for flute have seven works by Robert Raines (born 1954) available on an MSR Classics release. These are all 21^st-century compositions featuring Raines himself with several different ensembles – and the flute accompaniment is sometimes acoustic, sometimes electronic. A Quickening (2013) and Kokopelli (also 2013) are for flute ensemble and percussion. Percussive instruments could easily overwhelm the comparative delicacy of the flute, but using a flute ensemble helps balance the sound. And in both works, Raines does a good job of contrasting the instruments. A Quickening is generally more unified in sound, Kokopelli generally more rhythmic and punctuated more frequently by percussive outbursts. Seven Memories (2015) is simply for flute ensemble, and here the contrast between grouped and individual flutes is handled particularly well. Also for flute ensemble, Echoes of Sarah (2008) is a more dreamlike work, and one in which the sound of combined flutes dominates. The three remaining pieces have different and often intriguing instrumentation. Two Worlds (2019) is for flute, piano and electronics, and while its actual sound is not especially pleasant or engaging, it is interesting as an experiment in sonority. Into the Eternal (2020) is for narrator, flute ensemble, clarinet trio, cello and percussion, and is a bit much to take: the soundscape varies constantly and unpredictably, the focus of both words and music is somewhat fuzzy, and the whole piece simply seems overdone. In contrast, Requiem (2022) for piccolo, flute ensemble and string trio is a more sensitive work and a more consistently focused one, with Raines wielding the potentially somewhat cumbersome ensemble with skill and with sensitivity to the varying emotional capabilities of wind and string voices. Nothing on the disc stands out as highly innovative, but Kokopelli and Requiem, in particular, are well-balanced and musically meaty enough to be worthy of repeated hearings by listeners curious about modern works for flute.

     Another MSR Classics CD also includes only 21^st-century works, in this case the complete compositions for brass quintet so far written by Kevin McKee (born 1980). There are five pieces here, two of which are world première recordings. McKee is himself a trumpeter, and Escape (2017) gets the disc off to a rousing start that certainly shows the composer’s predilection for his own instrument. This is a bright, perky, fanfare-permeated curtain raiser that the ensemble Brassworks tosses off without apparent effort and with considerable élan. Next is the two-movement Iron Horse (2019), with a soulful-sounding first movement (“The Blue Goose”) and a neatly paced, well-contrasted second (“Highball on White Pass”). After this comes Vuelta del Fuego (2008), in which the massed sound of the quintet is used to particularly telling effect. The remaining two works on the disc are the world premières. Galleons and Cutlasses (2013) starts with “Phantom Ship,” which is gently rocking if not really eerie or evanescent, and proceeds to “Tempting Davy’s Grip,” which is dramatic and dancelike in film-music style – in fact, virtually everything on this disc is reminiscent of the movies and can be readily visualized as going with some sort of scene on the screen. That includes Semper Gratus (2021), the one piece on this CD played by the BYU Honors Brass Quintet: this work has the feeling of an uplifting chorale and would not be out of place in a film scene set in a church – although it is a bit too enthusiastic for real-world worship use. McKee’s brass music is uniformly listenable, not particularly challenging to the ear, well-structured to take advantage of the varying sounds and capabilities of the instruments both individually and collectively, and all in all a pleasant experience. It may be a bit on the bland side for listeners looking for greater piquancy from a brass ensemble, but it works well to provide some respite from the trying-too-hard efforts with which some contemporary composers attempt to assert their bona fides in the modern musical world.