(++++) THE POWER OF THE SOLO

Bruckner: Symphony No. 2, transcribed for organ by Erwin Horn; Psalm 150, transcribed for organ by Erwin Horn; David Matthews: Bruckner Window III. Hansjörg Albrecht, organ. Oehms. $14.99.

Bach: Cello Suites (complete). Marina Tarasova, cello. Divine Art. $24.98 (2 CDs).

Florence Price: Piano Music. Josh Tatsuo Cullen, piano. Blue Griffin Recordings. $15.99.

     Undeniably quixotic and undeniably fascinating, Hansjörg Albrecht’s project to record Erwin Horn’s arrangements of the Bruckner symphonies for organ continues in very fine form with the Oehms release of Symphony No. 2 (in the 1877 version, although version discussions are scarcely central for an interpretative/reinterpretative project such as this). The Second is a somewhat neglected Bruckner symphony, but Horn and Albrecht treat it with as much respect and attention as any other. It is actually a symphony that sounds quite good as an organ work: although it is a simplification to say that Bruckner’s symphonies in general have an “organ sound” about them, the Second really does, and the sensitive transcription and carefully considered tempos and registrations employed by Albrecht emphasize this. This is a well-balanced symphony, its first and fourth movements being of nearly equal length, and it is one (like Mahler’s Sixth) in regard to which one can argue about the better sequence of the inner movements: the 1877 version places the slow movement before the Scherzo, while the original 1872 version has the Scherzo second. In any case, the attraction here is the chance to listen to a kind of alternative-universe Bruckner: an exceptional improviser at the organ, Bruckner had little interest in composing for that instrument, so these Horn transcriptions not only elucidate elements of the symphonic scores but also offer a way to reimagine Bruckner’s entire compositional orientation. As in other volumes of this fascinating series, there is additional material to supplement and complement the symphony. Psalm 150 is a late work (1892) that was written for soprano, chorus and orchestra, and its concluding fugue fits the Horn organ transcription particularly well. The symphonies have been accused of sprawl, but Psalm 150 shows clearly that Bruckner could write concisely when he wanted to and that, therefore, the symphonies’ lengths and complexities are carefully thought-through. The 150^th Psalm is one of pure praise (“Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord”), and the celebratory nature of Bruckner’s setting comes through very well indeed in this version for organ. What also comes through well is the third of the 10 newly created contemporary compositions collectively called “Bruckner Windows,” each by a different 21^st-century composer and each planned to accompany the symphony with which it is paired. David Matthews calls his work Meditation and builds it around the slow movement of Symphony No. 2, which Matthews’ piece quotes briefly. Meditation has some interesting harmonies and a structure that builds to an impressive climax before the piece eventually ends quietly, the result being a kind of “Bruckner tribute” that fits well into a series of releases that, individually and collectively, are themselves tributes to a composer who continues to fascinate organists as well as orchestral conductors.

     The continued fascination of Bach for listeners and instrumentalists of all kinds is scarcely a surprise, and the constant attempts to get to the heart of his music show no sign of letting up anytime. Bach’s solo-instrument pieces, in particular, are endlessly challenging and pleasurable for performers and audiences alike, and the remarkably high quality of playing that they elicit from musicians fully justifies the frequency with which new recordings are released. The latest recorded version of the cello suites, a two-CD release on the Divine Art label, is a case in point. Marina Tarasova is an absolutely first-rate cellist, sensitive to the dance forms underlying these remarkable compositions but equally aware of the extent to which Bach built upon and enlarged those forms rather than simply following them slavishly. It is clear from the very beginning – the opening Prelude of the first suite – that this will be a very personal interpretation: Tarasova plays this well-known movement quickly and with almost a “fiddling” quality, seeking to elicit a level of emotional connection that she looks for throughout all six of the suites. These are not historically informed performances, but ones that delve into the underlying emotive nature of the suites and use the capabilities of a modern instrument to bring them out. This means Tarasova sometimes downplays rhythmic precision – as in the minuets of the first suite – in favor of greater expressiveness. In some of the most forward-looking music of the suites, such as the Sarabande of the fifth suite, this approach works particularly well. In more-straightforward movements, such as the Gigue movements that conclude all the suites, it is less winning, although Tarasova deserves praise for the consistency with which she applies her concepts. The sixth and longest suite, always a major challenge for a performer using a modern instrument because it was written for a five-string cello, is the high point of this release: everything in this suite is expanded (the Allemande is the longest movement in any of the suites), and Tarasova allows both the notes and their foundational heartfelt communication to flow with considerable beauty and an impressive level of technical precision. The contrast between the lively Courante and very emotional Sarabande in this suite is particularly well-handled. There is no “best” recording of these Bach solo-cello works, and there are so many good ones that it is hard to imagine music lovers settling for a single rendition. Tarasova’s approach, with its unapologetic willingness to downplay traditional form and rhythmic precision in favor of interpretative license, is emotionally satisfying in a way that more-straitlaced performances are not, although it is less sensitive than some other readings to the time period in which Bach actually wrote the suites. It is convincing on its own terms – which is really the most that anyone can hope for in performances of these endlessly fascinating solo-cello creations.

     The works of Florence Price (1887-1953) are as unfamiliar as those of Bach are familiar. Josh Tatsuo Cullen hopes to change that with a recording of seven Price piano works for Blue Griffin Records. Written from the mid-1920s to the early 1940s, the Price works heard here are on the slight side, pleasant enough without being especially distinguished – they have clear ties to jazz and ragtime, and worthily make their points without belaboring them, but they are not especially memorable. Three suites on the disc follow what is essentially the same arc, from brighter and more-upbeat material to quieter and somewhat more-thoughtful conclusions. The most interestingly contrasted movements are in Scenes in Tin Can Alley (1928), which opens appealingly with “The Huckster,” continues on the light side with “Children at Play,” and concludes with “Night,” which is longer than the other two movements combined and more evocative. The brightest part of the four-movement Thumbnail Sketches of a Day in the Life of a Washerwoman (1938-1942) is the 40-second “A Gay Moment,” which has a pleasant sense of swing to it. The most intriguing concept is found in Three Miniature Portraits of Uncle Ned (1932-1941). Each of the three under-two-minute movements portrays a different age – 17, 27, and 70 – although there is nothing unexpected in the type of music associated with any of those ages. Also on the CD are the pleasantly Impressionistic Clouds and the bouncy Cotton Dance (both from the 1940s), and the three-movement Village Scenes (1942), which is wistful and nostalgic throughout. The most-substantial work on the disc is the one least tied to specific scenes and places: Preludes (1926-1932). These five short pieces have considerable rhythmic interest and show more thematic variety than the more-illustrative material elsewhere on the CD. The second of them, Andantino cantabile, is genuinely affecting, while the concluding Allegro requires some pianistic prowess and packs several interesting contrasts into less than two minutes. This collection of mostly lightweight music is a (+++) release that shines a welcome light on a little-known composer while at the same time making it clear that, at least on the basis of the works heard here, Price crafted music well but not in any particularly innovative or imaginative way – these pieces are enjoyable to hear once, but for most listeners will likely have little staying power.

(+++) TONES OF TODAY

Samuel Adler: To Speak to Our Time; A Hymn of Praise; Let Us Rejoice; My Beloved Is Mine; Choral Trilogy; Psalm 23; How Sweet the Sound. Gloriæ Dei Cantores conducted by Richard K. Pugsley. GDC Recordings. $19.99 (SACD).

Tom Flaherty: Shepard’s Pi; Threnody; Under the Weather; Recess; Violelation; Mixed Messages; Release. New Focus Recordings. $16.99.

Paul Lansky: Textures; Brad Lubman: Tangents; Michael Laurello: Big Things. icarus Quartet (Larry Weng and Yevgeny Yontov, pianos; Matt Keown and Jeff Stern, percussion). Furious Artisans. $16.99.

     Here are recordings that rapidly dispel any notion of “contemporary classical music” being all of a type. In fact, while some of the works heard on these releases will certainly fit most listeners’ expectations of avant-garde music – for better or worse – one of the discs will surprise audiences with the extent to which it is steeped in distinctly old-fashioned and very moving and meaningful approaches to sound and emotional communication. Indeed, the choral music of Samuel Adler, although it often partakes of rhythmic and harmonic techniques developed in the 20^th century and persisting into the 21^st, quite deliberately puts the communicative potential of words first and foremost so as to draw the audience into a sound world filled with meaning and expressiveness. The newest recording of Adler’s music by the splendid Gloriæ Dei Cantores vocal ensemble is nowhere clearer in this regard than in the eight sections of To Speak to Our Time, a work commissioned for the 80^th anniversary of Kristallnacht (November 9-10, 1938) – a time when Adler and his father barely escaped the Nazis, taking with them bags filled with sheet music. The horrors of the depredations of that night are modulated (pretty much literally) in Adler’s work, which dwells not on fear and terror but on overcoming adversity and, even while mourning, finding a way to look ahead to the future and above toward God. To Speak to Our Time includes settings of two Psalms (Nos. 111 and 121) among its movements, and the work’s totality ranges through emotions from pain (expressed using some notable dissonance) to affirmation and hope. Under Richard K. Pugsley, Gloriæ Dei Cantores attains and sustains remarkable sensitivity in interpreting Adler’s music, whose instrumental interludes heighten the emotive elements of the choral material even further. Adler is well aware of the ensemble’s quality and sensitivity: another work on the new GDC Recordings disc, My Beloved Is Mine, was written specifically to celebrate Adler’s relationship with the chorus, on the occasion of Gloriæ Dei Cantores’ 25^th anniversary (2013). The remaining works on this very well-recorded SACD express many of the same themes as To Speak to Our Time, but in more-compressed form. A Hymn of Praise is a forthright affirmation of the goodness of God; Let Us Rejoice has a uniquely exuberant sound, thanks to scoring for women’s voices and handbells; Psalm 23, set in both Hebrew and English, is given an especially comforting setting for its familiar words. Also here is the more-extended Choral Trilogy, whose three parts move from the well-known lament about a believer fearing being forsaken by God to, in the last movement, a praise-filled affirmation of God’s essential goodness and worthiness to be celebrated with great joy. The final piece on this disc is a quieter and, in its own way, even more moving celebration: How Sweet the Sound is Adler’s setting of Amazing Grace, and it is filled with a sense of uplift that permeates words and music alike. To be sure, modern vocal music, especially modern sacred vocal music, is not to all tastes, so this disc is somewhat self-limited in audience reach by the very nature of its contents. But it is certainly not limited by its sonic accessibility and the tremendous attentiveness to detailed expressiveness brought to the music by composer and performers alike. Indeed, the main complaint about the recording by those who will find it gorgeously captivating in sound and meaning will be that, at less than 50 minutes, it is simply too short.

     If Adler (born 1928) hews closely to the expressiveness of an older time even while incorporating comparatively up-to-date techniques into his music, Tom Flaherty (born 1950) engages in developing the sorts of compositions that listeners are more likely to think of when contemplating the “contemporary music” label. Although Flaherty is a cellist, his performances in seven of his 21^st-century works on a recent New Focus Recordings CD are on electronics – and in the pieces using cello, someone else handles the instrument. Flaherty is thoroughly comfortable with the sort of avant-garde combinatorial approach that applies electronics along with traditional acoustic instruments – and some less-than-traditional ones – and mingles the non-electronic elements of pieces in ways designed to draw attention to sound for its own sake, rather than to any readily audible communicative objective. Not surprisingly in the case of certain avant-garde music, Flaherty is at least as focused on the methods he employs to create pieces as on the way those pieces come across to listeners. He is also fond, as many contemporary composers are, of titles designed more for cuteness or cleverness than for comprehensibility. All these characteristics are notably present in the first work on this CD, Shepard’s Pi, in which Flaherty performs with Genevieve Feiwen Lee – who plays toy piano. Of course, Leopold Mozart beat Flaherty to toy-piano writing by a couple of hundred years, but Flaherty uses the instrument in strictly modern ways. The work’s title refers to an acoustical phenomenon called the Shepard scale – listeners seeking to comprehend this piece will need to familiarize themselves with it – and also to the number pi, which is referred to in various ways throughout the work. Oh – and the work’s title is, of course, a pun on shepherd’s pie, so listeners should probably know something about that as well. The piece certainly contains some interesting sonic elements, but it is so weighted with layers of meaning that it is unlikely to reach out to more than a very limited number of listeners – a reality that will likely disturb Flaherty not at all. The other works on the disc are equally self-limiting, self-engaged and (often) self-important. Threnody pairs Flaherty’s electronics with a cello performance by Maggie Parkins that is processed, reprocessed, distorted, transformed, and generally pulled hither and thither in the service of a musical narrative that, as indicated by the work’s title, is intended as a lament – at more than 12 minutes, a very extended one. And so it goes through the remainder of the CD. Under the Weather combines Flaherty’s electronic water sounds with viola (Cynthia Fogg) and organ (Mark Winges). Recess was written for and is performed by the Eclipse Quartet (Sara Parkins and Sarah Thornblade, violins; Alma Lisa Fernandez, viola; Maggie Parkins, cello), with Flaherty’s electronics accentuating elements of movements called “Spin,” “Swing,” and (most effectively) “Tag.” Violelation, with its portmanteau title another example of attempted amusement, mixes electronics with viola (Fogg), having some of the same sound world as Under the Weather but with differing rhythms. Mixed Messages – a descriptive phrase that could be used for any of the works on this disc and in fact is the release’s overall title – includes violin (Thornblade) and piano (Vicki Ray) in one of the most-effective pieces on the CD, thanks to its wide range of tempos, rhythms and textures, and Flaherty’s willingness to make his points here without belaboring them. The final work on the disc, Release, is played by “The Smudges” (Jeff Gauthier, violin; Parkins, cello). Flaherty’s electronic heightening effects are rather prosaic here, and the piece has a static quality even though, objectively, there is a lot going on in it. Taken as a whole – or, for that matter, taken individually – these works so firmly fit most listeners’ associations with the notion of “avant-garde contemporary music” that their audience is pre-selected: those who like the approach of Flaherty (and many other modern composers) will enjoy them, while those who do not will sit this one out.

     It is not only the use of electronic modification that frequently characterizes contemporary music – the combination of unexpected sounds and/or instruments is another frequent element. It is that combination that underlies the performances of the icarus Quartet – which, yes, uses a small letter at the start of its name, even though it is named for the mythical character Icarus (this sort of affectation is one thing that people not firmly committed to the avant-garde tend to find silly, if not pretentious). The quartet includes two percussionists and two pianists – which is unusual but not wholly outré, given the fact that the piano is essentially a percussion instrument activated by a keyboard (much as the organ can be viewed as a keyboard-activated wind instrument). A new Furious Artists CD gives the quartet plenty of chances to showcase the multifaceted sound combinations of its particular instrumental mixture: the three composers represented all find interesting methods of musical assembly and contrast. Half of the hour-long CD is devoted to Paul Lansky’s Textures, whose effectiveness is largely tied to its eight-movement form: no individual movement overstays its welcome, and each of them is an exploration of different elements of the piano/percussion combination. Some movement titles point toward specific sounds (“Striations,” “Slither”), while others are more abstruse (“Soft Substrates,” “Round-Wound”); and in fact, many titles could be swapped without confusing the audience, since the relationship between title and music tends not to be especially clear. Nevertheless, by creating points of demarcation for changes of sound, tempo, rhythm and combinatorial aspects of the instruments, and by avoiding belaboring the points of its individual sections, Textures weaves some interestingly varied musical creations. The two other works on the CD are single-movement pieces that tend to find themselves and, specifically, their compositional techniques, overly fascinating – a characteristic of some contemporary classical music, although certainly not all. Thus, Michael Laurello’s 10-minute Big Things is at first essentially a series of dissonant ostinato passages; these then give way to rhythmic disharmony of various kinds, assembled with an aleatoric feel and with elements of quiet and repetitive minimalism that contrast with jazzlike sections that produce an improvisational impression. Individual sections of the work use the instruments skillfully, but the piece as a whole never develops any particular direction. That is even truer of Brad Lubman’s Tangents, which is twice as long as Laurello’s work and something of a chore to endure. Lubman’s is one of those start-and-stop pieces in which momentum is gained only long enough to pause it. Sections are disconnected from each other, and there is little sense of forward motion or development as Tangents progresses: it sounds as if it is fun to play, and seeing it performed might well be more engaging than simply hearing it, but the audio on its own is all about technique and sound-for-its-own-sake rather than any apparent reaching-out to an audience. Indeed, while contemporary composers are by no means monolithic in their approaches to creativity, it is fair to say that one dividing line among them lies between those whose primary focus is audience communication (clearly Samuel Adler’s orientation) and those who focus more on compositional methods and/or the performers who bring their works to life.

(++++) FOR EAGER ENGINEERS-TO-BE

Let’s Build a Farm. By Robert Pizzo. Sourcebooks. $7.99.

Let’s Build a School. By Robert Pizzo. Sourcebooks. $7.99.

     The geometric precision of Robert Pizzo’s art, which offers substantial (but age-appropriate) real-world information underpinned by a pleasant whimsicality, continues to delight and inform the very youngest children (and any adults interacting with them) in Let’s Build a Farm and Let’s Build a School – two board books that, when added to the earlier Let’s Build a Highway and Let’s Build a Playground, form a four-book grouping quite unlike others for the earliest pre-reading age group.

     Actually, these books reach well beyond their intended readership (or pre-readership), and do so with such cleverness that adults can be captivated by the material even as it enthralls little ones. No longer need urban and suburban grown-ups wonder how all that hay seen at the side of the road ends up rolled: Pizzo’s stylized, simplified but thoroughly accurate portraits of a baler and the tractor pulling it explain the process very neatly in the Farm book. Similarly, the School book opens with a first-rate representation of an excavator – which really does look like the machinery that the equally stylized humans digging the school’s foundation would use (although the person wearing a white shirt and tie along with a hard hat has got to be a supervisor or government inspector or something like that).

     Pizzo’s “builder books” (called, officially, “Little Builders”) do a first-rate job of instruction precisely because they do not seem to be teaching at all. These are action books, with each set of 24 pages showing the growth of an essentially empty area into a recognizable, useful project. Each left-hand page clearly shows a component of the finished project – in Farm, for example, a post hole digger (for the uprights that are used to make a cow fence), some chicken wire (for the chicken coop), and sheet metal (for the grain silo). Each right-hand page then shows what the pictured object does: the fence being built, three hens in their enclosure, two workers completing the silo construction. Along the way, kids and adults get to see some genuinely interesting machinery that is not normally viewable up close, such as the farm’s sprinkler machine – shown in fascinatingly intricate detail on the left, and in action watering crops (while the farmer watches) on the right.

     The how of engineering and construction is also made quite clear in these books. Thus, in School, bricks are shown on the left while a bricklayer – standing on an appropriate platform – is shown using them to make the building’s wall on the right; and multicolored tile, in its shipping box on the left, is shown on the right being neatly laid to make a floor. This book too features some amazing-looking machinery, such as the telescopic handler used to lift drywall from the ground to the upper story, where a worker is ready to receive it for installation. (Pizzo accurately gives the names of machinery with which even adults may be unfamiliar – in this specific case, he could also have called the machine a reach forklift or, more entertainingly but perhaps less immediately understandably, a zoom boom.)

     Of course, there is no way for Pizzo to detail every aspect of creating a farm or school (or highway or playground), and he is age-appropriately selective in showing specific implements and machines and how they are used. In Farm, for example, what he mentions for making a pig trough is a hammer – scarcely the only item needed, but yes, definitely one element of the construction. He also shows a hive “to keep all the bees,” and this involves one of his most-engaging illustrations, showing an appropriately suited and veiled beekeeper completely surrounded by the flying insects. Similarly, in School, Pizzo shows a completed food station being integrated into a lunchroom where microwaves are visible on the wall and there is a counter along which trays slide; and he shows a basketball hoop for the gymnasium, where the backboard and other elements are already in place. The result of all this is that adults reading these books with kids have a great opportunity to discuss other elements of what is being constructed – in addition to the ones on which Pizzo focuses. That makes these books into “think pieces” as well as illustrated guides to construction projects. This is quite an accomplishment for board books – for any kids’ books, in fact. There is considerable focus today on teaching children the STEM subjects – science, technology, engineering and math – to prepare them better for an increasingly complex world. Books such as Pizzo’s can help bring that world into recognizable, engaging and involving form for the very youngest kids, providing an excellent foundation for much later forays into the inner workings of farms, schools, highways, playgrounds and (if Pizzo continues the series) plenty of other everyday marvels. Bridge-building, anybody?

(++++) COMPOSER-PERFORMER COMMUNICATORS

Ástor Piazzolla: Variations on Buenos Aires—arrangements by Isabelle van Keulen. Isabelle van Keulen Ensemble (Isabelle van Keulen, violin; Christian Gerber, bandoneon; Rüdiger Ludwig, bass; Ulrike Payer, piano) and Deutsche Kammerakademie Neuss am Rhein. Berlin Classics. $18.99.

Music for Violin and Piano by Liszt, Schumann, Massenet, Rachmaninoff, Bach/Gounod, Kreisler, Kreisler/Rimsky-Korsakov, Dushkin/Paradis, Handel, Mendelssohn, and Chopin. Maya Magub, violin; Hsin-I Huang, piano. CRD Records. $18.99.

Alyssa Morris: Four Personalities; Forecast; Ruminations; Parable of a Stormy Sea; 27-72. Alyssa Morris, oboe; Amanda Arrington, piano; Kansas State University Percussion Ensemble; Heather Baxter, second oboe; Sara Renner, English horn. MSR Classics. $14.95.

     There is an implicit partnership between composer and performer, with an understanding that the former creates a road map (with varying degrees of precision) and the latter actually takes listeners along the route (with varying degrees of exploration of sonic byways). Things get interesting, though, when skilled composers become important interpreters of their own works (e.g., Stravinsky); when skilled performers who are also composers bring their compositional sensibilities into performance spaces (e.g., Mahler redoing Bruckner); and when composers who are also performers invite modification of their works by creating multiple versions on their own (e.g., Ástor Piazzolla). Piazzolla’s penchant for self-rewriting – which was scarcely a new phenomenon, having much earlier been the common practice of Handel, among others – resulted in some pieces that bore the same title through multiple iterations, and others that incorporated bits of prior works and remade them into something new. It is on this basis that Isabelle van Keulen and her eponymous ensemble, abetted by the Deutsche Kammerakademie Neuss am Rhein, offer nine Piazzolla-ish pieces on a Berlin Classics recording. These are essentially arrangements for bandoneon, solo violin, piano, and string orchestra, but they are also reflections of van Keulen’s thoughts on the tango as Piazzolla recast it for the concert hall: her group is a tango ensemble, and the dance form is integral to its approach to performance. The subtleties of Piazzolla’s interpretation of the form are not lost on the performers, but neither are the elements of harshness, dissonance, and incorporation of non-classical sounds and rhythms, especially those of jazz. Thus, the ominous qualities of Tangazo, the substantial dissonance and rhythmic irregularity of Tres Minutos con la Realidad, the pop-music flavor of Oblivion, and the rough and untamed sound of Camorra are all brought to the fore here. Van Keulen arranges and in effect re-composes every piece on the disc to highlight the particular skills of her group and her sense of what Piazzolla was trying to emphasize. Homenaje a Córdoba has a straightforward warmth that is immediately winning; Adiós Nonino, always very emotive, is so melancholy here as to be heart-wrenching; Soledad has especially effective contrast between and blending of piano and bandoneon; Fugata is all bounce and ebullience; and Tangata ends the disc with a high level of wistfulness and unusually moving instrumental blending. Van Keulen manages to keep all the music Piazzolla’s while making it hers at the same time, producing performances that travel the routes the composer laid out while spending some time along the way admiring unexpected and always interesting portions of the aural scenery.

     Like van Keulen, Maya Magub is a violinist who has some personal concepts about music’s communicative power and her own role in expressing it. To further her ideas, Magub has assembled a bit of a hodgepodge for a (+++) CRD Records release, including material she has herself modified into violin-and-piano form for performance with Hsin-I Huang. Magub gives the whole recital the title “Consolations,” a word drawn from the longest work played here, Liszt’s six-piece solo-piano set, Consolations. The third of these brief works was transcribed for violin and piano by Nathan Milstein; Magub herself made the arrangements of the other five. There is a pleasant warmth and comparatively (for Liszt) understated emotion in these works, and they sound fine in violin-and-piano guise, with Magub nicely bringing out the music’s singing qualities while allowing the instruments to be conversational partners rather than dominant-and-dominated. All Liszt’s Consolations are moderate-tempo works (as befits their intent), except for the last, marked Allegro sempre cantabile to retain the emotional sensitivity of the sequence. Magub and Huang play the pieces well, without overstatement, lending them grace rather than trying to impose depth that the music does not possess. The concern with this recording is that nothing on it really reaches much beyond the ordinary: this is a disc largely dedicated to calm and placidity through pleasant-enough readings of well-known music. Few listeners will discover anything surprising here: there is a pervasive mildness that may well prove consolatory for anyone whose sensibilities parallel those of Magub, but that may come across as a touch cloying for anyone who does not see eye-to-eye (or hear ear-to-ear) with her. In addition to arranging five of the Liszt pieces, Magub has created her own versions of transcriptions of the Bach/Gounod Ave Maria; Handel’s Largo from Xerxes; and Mendelssohn’s On Wings of Song. She and Huang also play Mendelssohn’s Song without Words, Op. 19, No. 1; Schumann’s Abendlied and Träumerei; a rather treacly version of the Meditation from Massenet’s Thaïs; Rachmaninoff’s Vocalise; Kreisler’s Liebeslied and his arrangement of the Chant Hindou from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Sadko; Chopin’s “Raindrop” Prelude, Op. 28, No. 15; and the Sicilienne formerly attributed to Maria Theresia von Paradis but now deemed to have been written by Samuel Dushkin. One and all, these are short works: the six by Liszt take 19 minutes and the remaining dozen only 46. The result is a disc that comes across as a somewhat random collection of heartfelt, rather sweet encores offered in no particular order – consolatory, perhaps, at least in small doses, but a bit “much of a muchness” for anyone who does not share Magub’s and Huang’s personal communicative orientation.

     Van Keulen makes a moderate compositional contribution to her CD, Magub a smaller one to hers – but Alyssa Morris is 100% composer-plus-performer on a (+++) release from MSR Classics. Morris wrote all five of the varied works on this disc, and she performs them all on her chosen instrument, the oboe. These 21^st-century works all have interesting elements, including the fact that every movement of every single one has its own evocative title. Thus, for example, in the jazzy and pleasant Four Personalities (2007), for oboe and piano, the movements are called “Yellow” (whose basic feeling is upbeat), “White” (which is sinuous), “Blue” (songful), and “Red” (propulsive). This sonata – that is essentially what it is – is the only piece on the disc that is not a world première recording; all four others are offered for the first time. The scoring is intriguing in Forecast (2009), which Morris writes for oboe and four percussionists – managing to keep her own instrument in the forefront much of the time, despite the obvious potential for an entirely percussion-dominated sound world. This four-movement work is weather-dominated – portraying clouds, rain, a whirlwind, and a storm – and mostly extroverted; the tone painting tends to be on the obvious side, especially in the finale. The three-movement Ruminations for Solo Oboe (2021), on the other hand, looks mainly inward. The piece lies well on the oboe, and Morris certainly plays it with commitment, but its emotionalism is on the superficial side – with its concluding movement, “Enough’s Enough,” sounding mostly like an exercise in extended technique. Parable of a Stormy Sea (2016), for two oboes and English horn, takes the titles of its four movements from Biblical passages: Jonah 2:3-5, Job 6:2, Mark 4:37-38, and Mark 4:39-40. The instrumental mix is fascinating and very well-handled, although the tone-painting is, as in other works on this disc, somewhat unsurprising. The last and longest work on the disc is a four-movement oboe-and-piano sonata called 27-72 (2019), commissioned by oboe students of Baylor University professor Doris DeLoach to celebrate her 45-year career at the school. The title is an “in” reference to DeLoach, who turned 27 on her first birthday at Baylor (in 1972) and retired at 72 (in 2018). The titles of the work and its individual movements make it clear that this is an occasional piece for a specific audience, and the work itself seems to reflect that, from its use of dramatic piano chords in the first movement, to its lyrically jazzy second, its sometimes strained-sounding third (which is about reed making), and its suitably wistful,  thanks-from-your-students finale, “Guide Us as We Onward Go.” Morris and the other performers on the disc play all the works with skill and engagement, and oboists, from Baylor or elsewhere, will certainly find much of interest here. Listeners in general are more likely to discover sporadic movements or portions of movements that are attractively engaging, while others will be found mostly surface-level in what they have to say.