Chimes and gentle winds open A Celestial Map of the Sky – the title track on this disc by British-American composer Tarik O’Regan – before the Hallé, led by Sir Mark Elder, is joined by the choir. The luminous opening soon gives way to powerful, driving intensity, O’Regan setting extracts of poetic texts (by Walt Whitman, Mahmood Jamal and more) that reflect his response to a pair of woodcuts – star charts – by Albrecht Dürer. Haunting vocal meditations are entwined with a glittering, astral score. Jamie Philips conducts the Hallé in the remaining works. O’Regan takes the Adagio of JS Bach’s third Violin Sonata (BWV 1005) as his jumping off point in Latent Manifest. Solo violin is joined by harp and percussion, O’Regan extrapolating Bach’s quadruple-stops into a whorl of vivid orchestral colour and sizzling rhythms. Both Raï and Chaâbi (which was commissioned for the Australian Chamber Orchestra’s 2012 tour) derive from O’Regan’s memories of childhood visits to relatives in Algeria and Morocco. Raï is full of fierce strings, rhythmic drumming and bright momentum from the Hallé, while shifting string textures in Chaâbi create a reflective mood. The finale is Fragments from Heart of Darkness, a dramatic… Continue reading…

Davis' Melbourne Ives cycle reaches its complex conclusion.

Based on Blake’s illustrations of Job’s sufferings from a part of the Bible dripping with Old Testament vindictiveness, Vaughan Williams was commissioned in 1927 to write A Masque for Dancing. In one of his grandest musical utterances, the glorious Saraband of the Sons of God puts the work on the highest level. The exquisite violin solo for the Altar Dance and Elihu’s Dance (a close relative of The Lark Ascending) adds to the work’s beauty. In contrast, the music for the devil is appropriately rowdy, and I’ve not heard the wailing saxophone of Job’s Comforters better played. The dramatic organ entry in this excellent recording is overwhelming. If there is a connection with the Ninth Symphony it is the sinister use of saxophones, all three of them moody and foreboding. The slow movement is distinguished by a lovely flugelhorn solo; the Scherzo is quirky if somewhat scrappy. In the final movement we are back to the composer’s dreamier mood as he drifts away with those mysterious saxophones, seemingly reaching on and on. His last symphony may not be one his most approachable works, but as his swansong it is austere and compelling; more in line… Continue reading Get unlimited digital…

What does it mean to write a violin concerto in the 21st century? These three works, all written for the phenomenal Renaud Capuçon, consciously avoid the show-stealing nature of barn-burners of the past, and all are shaped more as tone poems than concertos. Wolfgang Rihm and Pascal Dusapin casting the soloist as discursive storyteller, barely allowing Renaud Capuçon a moment’s rest, while Bruno Mantovani treats orchestra and soloist as more equal partners. Dusapin’s work is in some ways the most tied to the past, a three-movement concerto with two extended solo cadenzas. The title, Aufgang, can mean both “rising/emerging” and “stairs”, and at the very outset, our risen violinist of “light” steps high above the “darkness” of the orchestra. The long, slow central movement provides a much-needed beating heart for this work, a heartfelt tune sung over simple accompaniment. Rihm is a prolific composer, and Poem of the Painter is his sixth violin concerto. According to the composer, the violin “embodies [expressionist artist Max Beckmann’s] brush as it moves across the canvas”. The soloist weaves rhapsodic tales, cajoling us, humouring us, assaulting us, while the orchestra provides light and shade, with sounds of dark rolling thunder, pained screams, luxurious beds…

Gabriella Di Laccio’s debut recital disc is a frustrating one. The Brazilian coloratura soprano’s technique is solid, it’s an attractive voice, and she has a feel for the Italian language. That said, this recording of just six arias is neither musicologically adventurous nor deeply interpreted. A celebrated baroque specialist in her home country, she never disappoints technically, but the result is short of noteworthy. Her strongest performance is the album’s opener, Vivaldi’s barnstorming Armatae face, et anguibus. Di Laccio meets the demands of the aria with ease, Vagaus’ call to arms appropriately ferocious. The same can’t be said of the second track, the regularly programmed Agitata da due venti from the same composer. It’s a reading curiously devoid of emotion, Constanza’s inner turmoil only superficially telegraphed in puzzling emphases of text. While the B section picks up a bit, there simply isn’t much agitata in Di Laccio’s reading. Rounding out the album’s Vivaldi offering is the tempestuous Siam navi all’onde algenti, another showcase for her formidable technique – yet it suffers from the same lack of dramatic insight. This problem is particularly evident when we get to the set of Handel arias, some of the repertoire’s most musty gems. Lascia…

When the Vienna Philharmonic’s New Year’s Day concerts were first televised, I always enjoyed scanning the audience to see those elderly, distinguished, granite-jawed males, often with sabre-scarred cheeks, and their perma-tanned wives dripping with dubiously acquired bling. Nowadays, they’ve all gone to that great Vahalla in the sky, to be replaced more wholesomely by the likes of Angela Merkel and Dame Julie Andrews. I was interested to read recently that the world’s most predictable (and expensive) concert, with all its schmaltz and leaden, contrived humour, was originally a Nazi propaganda/morale boosting exercise, held on New Year’s Eve! This year’s effort was conducted by the 35-year-old Gustavo Dudamel (aka “The Dude”), the event’s youngest maestro ever. What fascinates me is just how much music the Strauss family composed: one of the pieces by Johann Strauss II this time was opus 436! They seem to have no trouble programming a concert of virtually unknown gems year after year. For me, this year’s hits were Waldteufel’s The Skaters’ Waltz, whose trumpet tune in the opening bars, the otherwise excellent liner notes bizarrely inform us, may have been inspired by the horn calls introducing Bruckner’s Third Symphony. Another gem, alone worth the price of…

It’s often been said that the Tasmanian Symphony Orchestra is one of Australia’s best kept secrets. This nimble outfit tackles a vast range of repertoire with the greatest ease. While Viennese waltzes might not be seen as the height of musical sophistication, they are deceptively challenging, and when performed well can be the perfect antidote to a miserable mood. While this compilation headlines Johann Strauss II, it also features equally charming selections from Josef Strauss, Franz von Suppé and Franz Lehár to round out the collection. The album is peppered with items that feature soprano Lorina Gore, who is in her element throughout. A particular highlight is the Lehár item, Giuditta’s Meine lippen, sie küssen so heiß, where she showcases the lovely colour in the lower depths of voice. The Tasmanian orchestra is in fine form and conductor Marko Letonja demonstrates his versatility throughout, choosing careful tempo relationships that allow these delicate waltzes to truly sing. The wistful and elegant opening to the work Seid umschlungen, Millionen! (Be embraced, Ye Millions!) is the hidden gem at the heart of this album. Johann Strauss II dedicated it to his friend Brahms, and it’s an example of the complex balance of sweetness…

Tchaikovsky’s First Symphony, subtitled Winter Dreams, was composed when he was 26. It’s probably the best of his neglected early symphonies. Its gorgeous first movement conjures up images of young Romanov aristocrats being swept in sleighs through a winter wonderland and anticipates the snow scene in The Nutcracker ballet. Young Spanish conductor Pablo Heras-Casado and the Orchestra of St Luke’s capture the magic here. My favourite version has always been the old DG Boston Symphony with a young Michael Tilson Thomas. These forces run them close. They give the second movement a uniquely Russian sense of rhapsodic yearning and exquisite melancholy, with beautifully detailed woodwind solos equally beautifully captured. It’s not the sort of repertoire one expects from Harmonia Mundi but the recording is superb!   I don’t think The Tempest is quite out of the same drawer. While the opening depiction of the ocean is brilliant (it reminded me of Rimsky-Korsakov’s later evocation of the ocean in his Tsar Sultan Suite), the work tries to be both a mood picture and a psychological portrait of the main characters – Miranda and Ferdinand and their blossoming love, the grossness of Caliban, (cellos and double basses) and the grave dignity of…

When Gustav Mahler composed his great orchestral song cycle Das Lied von der Erde in 1909, he almost certainly knew he hadn’t long to live. Avoiding the dreaded ‘curse of the ninth’, he labelled it “Eine Symphonie für eine Tenor und eine Alt (oder Bariton) Stimme und Orchester”, thus sanctioning the use of two male voices, rather than the traditional male female coupling most commonly deployed. Rejected by the authoritative Bruno Walther as an inadequate solution, it was Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau who began to popularise casting a baritone in the work, but until now no one singer has attempted the full six songs. Jonas Kaufmann Jonas Kaufmann has had some pretty scathing reviews for his Herculean attempt, most of them smacking of closed-minded, pre-determined opposition to the concept by self-styled Mahler ‘experts’. That’s a pity, as his beautifully recorded version taken from live performances at Vienna’s Musikverein has a great deal to offer, not least of which are Kaufmann’s textual insights, and the revelatory qualities of Jonathan Nott’s interrogation of Mahler’s orchestrations. Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

Finley warms up Sibelius: Rautavaara's inspired orchestrations offer a rich tribute to the late master's late master.

Alwyn is possibly better known for his 200-odd film scores than for his other compositions.

Argentine cellist Sol Gabetta catapulted into public consciousness when she won the Crédit Suisse Young Artist Award in 2004 and subsequently debuted with the Vienna Philharmonic and Valery Gergiev. She was 23 then, but had won her first competition at the age of ten, and now enjoys a hectic international career as one of the world’s most famous and highly-regarded cellists. Her wide-ranging repertoire includes three albums of works by Vivaldi and his contemporaries, recorded with Capella Gabetta, the ensemble she founded with her brother Andrés. In addition to core 19th-century repertoire, she is also committed to contemporary compositions, and has recorded an album of works by Latvian composer Pe¯teris Vasks which included his Second Cello Concerto, written especially for Gabetta.  This latest album features two 20th-century masterworks – the first, arguably the most famous cello concerto in the repertoire; the second, virtually unknown by comparison. Elgar’s concerto was written in 1919, with the dark pall of WWI hanging heavily upon its composer, who wrote, next to its entry in his catalogue of works, “Finis. R.I.P.”. Its 1919 premiere was a disaster, and it languished in popularity until recorded by Jacqueline du Pré in 1965 (incredibly, she was only 20) and her technically…