On the final disc of Yevgeny Sudbin’s Beethoven concerto cycle with Osmo Vänskä, the Russian pianist gives a vivacious account of Beethoven’s first two published forays into the genre – Sudbin has been working backwards through the concertos. He’s accompanied on this release by the Finnish Tapiola Sinfonietta, rather than the Minnesota Orchestra, with whom he recorded the rest of the series. The First Concerto’s Allegro con brio is brilliantly articulate – every note is alive and charged with energy. Sudbin deliberately eschews Beethoven’s cadenzas in the first movement for one he describes as a “cocktail of material” based on one by Friedman – a shimmery, almost gushily romantic flourish that bounces into the final tutti. Sudbin traces crystalline melodies in the pulsing Largo and the Tapiola’s clarinet player draws clean lines in the prominent solo part. The finale barrels along with a relentless joy and a jocular cadenza (all Sudbin). The Tapiola’s sound is full and healthy – a little too healthy, perhaps, though this gives moments like the fugal section in the first movement of Piano Concerto No 2 plenty of heft. There are some dreamlike moments in the Adagio, before the comically bright Rondo caps off the…

Howard Shelley’s relationship with the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra goes way back. The British performer has recorded about 13 albums with the TSO, and returns for Czerny’s Piano Concertos released on Hyperion. As usual, Shelley adopts equally the roles of conductor and pianist. The Concerto in F Major, Op. 28 that launches the album hints at quaintness, interspersed with thick orchestral power. And this is all before we hear Shelley press the keys, entering after an agreeable three minutes. His performance is majestic – yet there’s a humbleness and reliability, and that marks the essence of Shelley. The Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 214 gets off to a cunning start. The first movement has the mighty ending of a finale, then settles into a somewhat peaceful Adagio con moto. The Rondo Brillant in B Flat is a standout, showcasing Shelley’s virtuosity across the instrument’s range. Two concertos are recorded here for the first time. A child prodigy who grew up to perform Beethoven’s concertos, Czerny’s own are buried among his countless studies; along with chamber music, masses, symphonies, and more. When it comes down to it, Czerny’s works on this album are fairly unremarkable – but that doesn’t deem them…

The second release in Andrew Manze’s complete traversal of Vaughan Williams’ symphonies, is as impressive as its predecessor. Despite the name “Pastoral”, the Third was a wartime symphony. Parts were written while Vaughan Williams was stationed at Écoivres during World War I, and its elegaic, melancholy mood is directly related to that experience. Manze’s recording embraces a post-war reading of the work in one very specific way: he employs a tenor for the wordless vocalise in the final movement, rather than a soprano. The ghostly sound of a man’s voice produces an almost tangible link to the unknown soldier that came to represent the casualties of the Great War. And how deeply contemplative is Manze’s pacing of the magical orchestral passage following the tenor’s appearance? The Fourth, composed between 1931 and 1934, seems with its harsh harmonic clashes to represent the threat of war once more, but the composer indicated that his point was purely musical. This was his first symphony to follow a traditional, recognisably symphonic form, namely that of Beethoven’s Fifth. Manze treats it that way. His urgency and clarity point out the symphony’s structural coherence, helped by a fresh and open sound. Manze reveals… Continue reading Get…

“There has never been in the history of music a child prodigy to equal Mendelssohn,” pianist and author Charles Rosen once wrote. “As a teenager, he was a much better composer than either Beethoven or Mozart at the same age.” And yet, as Rosen continues, “Mendelssohn’s precocity was a curse as well as a gift. Because of it, he never matched the extravagance of his greater contemporaries.” That may be true. Though what does extravagance have to do with genius? Anyway, as those of us who love Felix Mendelssohn’s music know, there’s a lot more to admire in his substantial oeuvre than those great masterpieces of his teenage years, the Octet and the Overture to A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the Violin Concerto and maybe some of the Songs Without Words. Like the five symphonies, for instance, which achieve a startling unity and variety within single works and in relation to each other through Mendelssohn elegantly working out the implications of existing models. The First wears its debt to Mozart on its sleeve but is impeccably crafted and exhilarating to listen to. The Second, the extraordinary symphony-cantata known as the Hymn of Praise, seeks to reconcile the Baroque cantata and oratorio…

South African-born, UK-bred composer John Joubert is, we are told, the sort of chap to have three books on the go at a time. Not surprising then that the prolific nonagenarian turned to Charlotte Brontë’s Jayne Eyre as inspiration for his eighth opera in a catalogue that includes George Eliot’s Silas Marner and Joseph Conrad’s Under Western Eyes. A labour of love, written to no commission, the work took him from 1987 until 1997, and only received its premiere performance last year. Bar a few patches, this excellent recording on the pioneering Somm label derives from that concert. Along with composers like William Mathias and John McCabe, Joubert’s sound world owes a debt to Britten’s tonal lyricism, but in Jayne Eyre he allows his innate romanticism full play in a way that the more buttoned-up Britten would perhaps have shied away from. The result is a sensual, melodic score that despite employing only 35 players sounds rich and full with sensitively integrated orchestral piano and substantially deployed percussion leading the powerful climaxes. Joubert and his librettist Kenneth Birkin have crafted a lean framework that omits the extraneous, focusing almost exclusively on the characters of Jayne and Rochester. It’s well-crafted, but…

Étienne-Nicolas Méhul (1763–1817) is remembered today for the stirring Chant du Départ, the most popular French revolutionary anthem after the Marseillaise, but his operas and symphonies, acclaimed in their day, are now seldom performed.It’s a pity, because Uthal (1806) is an intriguing work, full of the devices the early Romantics loved: forests in the middle of the night, bards, warriors, the roaring sea, and the poetry of Ossian: a blind Gaelic poet from the third century – invented by an 18th-century Scotsman. Ossian’s day has long since passed, leaving in its wake Ingres’ paintings, Mendelssohn’s Fingal’s Cave, and Méhul’s opera. The story is a good excuse for Ossianic atmosphere. Malvina (Karine Deshayes) tries to bring peace to her warring husband Uthal (Yann Beuron) and father Larmor (Jean-Sébastien Bou). All three leads are in fine voice, but the finest music is reserved for the bards: the enchanting Hymne au Sommeil and the chant Près de Balva. The harp features prominently in both. Méhul’s most famous stroke was to score the opera without violins, restricting himself to violas and basses in order to give the work an austere feel. Berlioz thought the result was “melancholy, more wearisome than poetic”, while Grétry quipped,…

In 2002, Riccardo Chailly conducted the first Turandot to use the new completion by Luciano Berio at the Amsterdam Muziektheater directed by Nikolaus Lehnhoff. 15 years later, the same team reunited to mount it at La Scala and commit it to video. Alfano’s completion sought to continue the spectacle but, in its rush to wrap up the story, is dramatically implausible – poor Liú is soon forgotten and love conquers all. Berio’s alternative is low key and pensive, its modernist touches may jar the ear but it’s more respectful than Alfano’s gauche reprise of “that” tune. Lehnhoff’s production has some curiosities but I “get” his neo-Brechtian-meets-Commedia-dell’arte aesthetic and there are some arresting images. Stemme is splendid as the cruel princess, her warm tone evincing a humanity behind the ice; her Wagnerian credentials allow her to ride the maelstrom from the pit in thrilling fashion. Antonenko does well to match her, though his sound has tightened since his fine 2008 Salzburg Otello. Maria Agrest is a lovely full-toned Liú, and the Milan chorus is superb whether delicately awestruck or baying for blood. Topping all is the brilliance of Chailly’s conducting – this could well be the finest account of the score…

We can thank the popularity of Walter Scott’s wildly romantic novels for the popularity of Scotland as setting for 19th-century Italian operas. If you add a German dramatist in Heinrich Heine and an Irish orchestra and chorus then this highly attractive new release of Pietro Mascagni’s neglected masterpiece Guglielmo Ratcliff has a truly global provenance. The composer first started work on it as a student in Milan following an unsuccessful love affair but it got put aside. After the success of Cavalleria Rusticana, Mascagni completed it but the tenor role was so challenging that after a successful premiere and a short run the work fell into obscurity. The hero is the spurned lover of Maria, disturbed since boyhood by an apparition of two lovers who can never have each other. Every time Maria is about to marry, her suitor gets killed – no prizes for guessing the perpetrator! The action centres on four monologues, one by Maria’s father MacGregor, two by Ratcliff himself and one by Margherita (“the mad woman of the castle”). This Wexford Festival production under Francesco Cilluffo is a corker. Angelo Villari thrills as Ratcliff, aided by a mainly Italian solo cast with the notable exception of…

This startling new recording presents a modern form of pasticcio or, as countertenor and project originator Philippe Jaroussky says, a work that was “conceived as a kind of opera in miniature or as a cantata for two solo voices and chorus.” It also reminds us there were other fine operas on the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice written after Striggio and Monteverdi’s famous favola in musica. (As there were, of course, before it, such as Rinuccini and Peri’s 1600 L’Euridice. Here again we have the tragic and all-too-familiar story of Orpheus’s doomed attempt to rescue his beloved Eurydice, who had perished after being bitten by a serpent, from Hades’ realm. But by stitching together elements of three operas written decades apart – Monteverdi’s L’Orfeo (1607), Luigi Rossi’s Orfeo (1647) and Antonio Sartorio’s L’Orfeo (1672) – we are introduced not just to bracing chiaroscuro effects that serve to heighten the drama; such anachronisms also demonstrate the changing styles of, and tastes in, music over nearly 70 years of the Baroque period. This was clearly a labour of love for Jaroussky (Orpheus). And what a fine thing to get such collaborators as Hungarian soprano Emöke Baráth (Eurydice), I Barocchisti, Coro della Radiotelevisione…

The German bass baritone Matthias Goerne must spend most of his professional life in recording studios at the moment. Over the past two years, around a dozen of his albums have been released or reissued, including plenty of Schubert and Brahms, as well as music by Berio, a complete Bartók’s Bluebeard’s Castle and his ongoing Ring project with Jaap van Zweden and the Hong Kong Philharmonic. He has also returned to the songs of Schumann with this excellent Harmonia Mundi album Einsamkeit, which covers some of the same ground as his 2004 Decca release with pianist Erich Schneider. Goerne has matured into one of the most in-demand and compelling singers amongst an impressive field of bass and baritone Lieder specialists, his warm, full and dark timbre ideal for this thoughtful collection covering the full span of Schumann’s output, from Myrthen – his 1840 wedding gift to Clara – to Abenlied, written some 12 years later. Goerne is also making his recording debut with Italian-born Austrian pianist Markus Hinterhauser and their musical chemistry is immediately apparent from the seductive opening track Meine Rose. The duo made a huge impression when they performed Schubert’s Winterreise in last year’s Sydney Festival. Their partnership…

The Stabat Mater Dolorosa first appeared in the second half of the 13th century as a lengthy poem set to music, generally attributed to Jacopone da Todi (d. 1306), an Umbrian Franciscan friar. It is one of the countless expressions of the affective piety that characterised Western late-medieval Christianity, encouraging intense and emotional identification (as fellow suffers) with Christ, his mother and other characters in the Christian story, often in minute detail. The Stabat Mater focuses closely on Mary’s abject sorrow as she stands at the foot of the cross, on which hangs the crucified body of her son. It has received many musical re-settings over the centuries, most famously by Palestrina in around 1590, and Pergolesi (1736), but also by Dvorˇák and Rossini, and in the 20th century, by Szymanowski (1926), Poulenc (1950) and Pärt (1985). James MacMillan (b. 1959) has a long history of writing in religious musical forms, and his 21st-century Stabat Mater is scored for choir and string orchestra. It was written with the particular strengths of Harry Christopher and The Sixteen in mind. It’s an intense, personal and captivating work, beautifully recorded in the Church of St Augustine’s in Kilburn, London. The interplay between voice…

Great respect has characterised Marc Minkowski’s decision to allow some 30 years of his career to pass before recording the St John. In choosing to use only eight singers he is at pains to create an intimate but intense reading of this most powerful work. This performance is based on the original 1724 version, but appends two arias from the revisions Bach made a year later, as well as employing later additions to the original orchestration (contrabassoon and theorbo) and a harpsichord in the continuo. Minkowski is intent on bringing out the radical musical drama that must have shocked, or at least perplexed, the good burghers of Leipzig that Good Friday afternoon in 1724. Eschewing the textural contrast between soloists and chorus, Minkowski differentiates between the various musical elements by adopting brisk tempos for choruses and deftly connecting them to recitatives, creating an almost frenetic telling of the story, in which Evangelist Lothar  Odinius plays an impressive role. The arias offer varied meditations on the action. Australian countertenor David Hansen delivers an impassioned account of the aria Von der Stricken. Fellow alto, Delphine Galou, sings the more famous Es ist vollbracht with great empathy. No one performance will ever have…