It’s reassuring that music critics wrote drivel 200 years ago. Wilhelm von Lenz, one of Beethoven’s early biographers, described the Waldstein Sonata as the pianistic equivalent of the Eroica Symphony. It gets worse: he described the Appassionata Sonata as “undoubtedly Beethoven’s darkest and most aggressive work.” Jumppanen’s readings of both are unexceptional and unexceptionable, though the finale of the Appassionata is a great deal more aggressive than that of Arrau or Barenboim. What interested me more was the Opus 10 trilogy of early sonatas, which are frequently overshadowed by the middle and late period masterpieces. Both the first and second in this opus are, on the face of it, backward-looking works, the first minus a minuet the second lacking a slow movement but, nevertheless, containing a myriad of suggestions that something marvelous is afoot. Jumppanen captures the kaleidoscopic moods of both these works, especially the Haydnesque presto of the Second. It’s in the four movement Third Sonata that we see the huge strides Beethoven had taken even within the same opus: the Largo e mesto, surely the most tragic and heartfelt of all his ‘early’ works. Jumppanen spins out the final bars here into a passage of exquisite agony, itself…

Angela Hewitt, as they used to say in old-school classical CD reviews, is currently at the peak of her pianistic powers, and having just released a well-upholstered and characteristically thoughtful recording of Bach’s The Art of Fugue now turns her attention to Franz Liszt – his sempiternal B Minor Sonata placed alongside the earlier Dante Sonata and Petrarca Sonnets. B Minor was a significant key for both Bach and Liszt, and Liszt’s mass of sound integrates fugal grandeur within a narrative framework that delights in extreme shifts of mood; harmonic non sequiturs and melodic flashbacks are glued together by rhythmic markers in the sand. With fingers expertly primed to unpick the inner workings of Liszt’s fugal writing, Hewitt is also on top of the overall trajectory of Liszt’s large-scale dramatics. Never ostentatious or showy, her mission, apparently, is to show that the B Minor Sonata adds up to more than a sequence of grandstanding set pieces. Hewitt fesses up in her booklet notes that when, in her teens, she first encountered the Sonata she came away thinking “what an awful piece,” but she enters its world with the zeal of a reformed smoker. Could some of the descending passagework near…

A few years ago, I interviewed the London-based Elias Quartet about plans to tour and record Beethoven’s complete string quartets. A few days later the publication that commissioned the interview folded and, as I write, our conversation remains untranscribed: lost words of wisdom. But one section, where we cracked into the true nature of spontaneity in music as familiar as Beethoven’s, rewound through my mind as I listened to these deftly articulate and noticeably personal performances of Op. 18 No 4, Op. 74 The Harp and Op. 130, complete with Grosse Fuge finale – all recorded live at the Wigmore Hall in 2014. The first thing you notice is the sound. Do I hear residual traces of the old-school charm of, say, the Busch or Borodin Quartets? Quite possibly, but then again this playing is perpetually and effortlessly contemporary. Unlike Riccardo Chailly’s extreme-sports take on the symphonies, the quartet’s tempi stick within a narrow bandwidth. But their performance of Op. 130 aspires to something quasi orchestral, their muscular, pile-driver tone motoring the Grosse Fuge forwards in time, the crystal-cut clarity of line against line never negating their meticulous plotting of the music’s kaleidoscope of inner harmonic tensions. You are reminded……

Giovanni Battista Cirri (1724-1808) and Luigi Boccherini (1743-1805) were both born in Italy; were both virtuoso cellists; worked extensively abroad (Cirri in England, Boccherini in Spain); and had a collection of six cello sonatas printed in London around 1775. But Italian-based Australian cellist Catherine Jones is surely right when she says that Cirri “is already composing in an early Classical style” while Boccherini “is a composer of the high Baroque.” To prove her point, she presents three sonatas from each, revealing the delight she shares with both composers in the cello’s technical and expressive capabilities. Jones has previously recorded three Boccherini sonatas from the same collection while a student; the Cirri sonatas – Nos 3, 4 and 5 – are premiere recordings. Her light, responsive touch and pungent, mostly vibratoless tone perfectly match Boccherini’s playfulness, exuberant embellishment of repeated figures and his imitations of the strummed chords of the Spanish guitar, which are redolent of another Italian who worked in Spain, Domenico Scarlatti. Jones, supported throughout by Nuti, McGillivray and Carter, also luxuriates in the rich sonorities of the drawn-out single and multiple-stopped tones. These characterise certain episodes in Boccherini’s music. Cirri’s, by contrast, display a Classical restraint. Highly recommended….

★★★☆☆ In The Sky is Melting Linda Kouvaras responds to the heat of the Australian summer – an idea translated into sound with great success by Australian duo Marianne Rothschild (violin) and Glenn Riddle (piano), whose new album is an impressionistic journey taking in a range of compositions from contemporary Melbourne. The title track opens with dreamy piano themes reminiscent of Debussy before Rothschild’s striking melody takes the forefront. The first of Stuart Greenbaum’s Six Occasional Pieces reveals Rothschild has little intention of colouring her tone to suit the feel of different works, and the pure consistency of sound does evoke a sense of aural fatigue, but hers is an attractive tone nevertheless. Riddle’s piano gives the piece a contemporary feel, with repetitive cycles of chords commonly heard in modern song. Life Cycles was written for a funeral, though the solo violin lament lacks sensitivity. But a refreshing pizzicato and charmingly simple melody represents an “occasion” of childbirth in For Alette – an uplifting celebration of new life.  Argentinian Etching by William James Schmidt was inspired by a 1970s artwork by Stefan Strocen of a figure reaching toward a sun-like orb, and the duo make it a well-executed rhapsody with…

A title like The Chopin Album, might lead you to expect a disc from the latest pianistic talent, but happily on this occasion it’s a collection of repertoire for cello and piano duo from close friends, cellist Sol Gabetta and pianist Bertrand Chamayou. The stunning centrepiece is the significant Cello Sonata in G Minor. The complexity of the first movement alone is a marvel, and it’s a shame the piece isn’t more widely known. Gabetta talks about approaching Chopin as a bel canto composer, who was always aware of a ‘vocal’ line in the music. It’s a fitting analogy and Chamayou and Gabetta show great sensitivity towards the primary melody, while still uncovering Chopin’s rich polyphony. The Largo movement is achingly beautiful, without becoming too overly sentimental. The militaristic Polonaise Brilliante provides both Chamayou and Gabetta with plenty of virtuosic scope and both performers relish the opportunity. The remainder of the album serves as a tribute to the friendship between Chopin and respected cellist Auguste-Joseph Franchomme. The two men co-authored the Grand Duo Concertant and worked independently on arrangements and transcriptions of Chopin’s music. An original work of Franchomme’s is included on the album, the Nocturne for Cello and Piano…

Although this is a debut recording by the Scottish Chamber Orchestra Wind Soloists, the six players each boast impressive individual track records. As part of the SCO itself, they previously made a recording of wind concerti by Weber, which in turn inspired the creation of the ensemble on this disc. As the liner notes point out, throughout Mozart’s life, one constant was that he always wrote music for entertainment. Whether that music was designed to be played at parties or banquets, at evenings out or formal ceremonies, it’s abundantly clear that Mozart took all this good-natured music very seriously. The recording opens with the Serenade in E Flat, K375. There’s a well-known letter to his father in which Mozart describes his delight at discovering the musicians performing the work beneath his window as a surprise one evening. Similarly, the Scottish Chamber Orchestra Wind Soloists present us as listeners with a pleasant surprise, as they (somewhat unusually) play the original version of this work for pairs of clarinets, horns and bassoons. Normally, the Serenade in E Flat features a pair of oboes as well, but clarinettists Maximiliano Martin and William Stafford produce some wonderfully shaded timbres, creating more than a strong…

Throughout his career, Hungarian composer Ferenc Farkas was engaged in exploring the music of his homeland, both ancient and modern. This second volume of works presents an insight into the eclectic, and frequently retrospective, sound world of his works for string orchestra. The first and last tracks feature Farkas’s arrangements of Hungarian 16th and 17th-century dances. These suites have a cute, antiquated feel – think Respighi’s Ancient Airs and Dances, or Warlock’s Capriol Suite. The same is true of the Finnish Popular Dances. The Aria e Rondo all’Ungherese also looks backwards, but with a more romantic feel, channeling Grieg’s Holberg Suite. The Musica Pentatonica has a different language, energised by angular phrases and rhythms with a pentatonic harmonic framework reminiscent of Holst and the English pastoralists. The András Jelky Suite, named for an 18th-century Hungarian adventurer, is a welcome contrast. Embracing the language of dissonance but retaining a spirit of romanticism, it contains more colourful harmonies than Farkas’s arrangements of early music. The Concertino for Trumpet and Strings is similarly more adventurous, with a clear and articulate performance by trumpet soloist László Tóth. The Franz Liszt Chamber Orchestra’s performance is solid throughout, under the direction of violinists Gyula Stuller and…

Fresh recordings of Olivier Messiaen’s Des Canyons aux Étoiles… come along only rarely. Scored for four soloists – piano, French horn, glockenspiel and xylorimba – really every player in Messiaen’s orchestra needs to be a virtuosic soloist too. He gently warns anyone fancying their chances that his woodwind writing is exceptionally tough, while few composers throw out as many hardcore challenges to orchestral percussionists as Messiaen. But given that Des Canyons aux Étoiles… (From the canyons to the stars…) is a philosophical and spiritual portrait in sound of the Bryce Canyon in Utah, with its shape-shifting rock structures and vistas of sheer science-fiction awe, it would have been odd had Messiaen not attempted to accentuate the primacy of sound over music by recalibrating the expected relationships between harmony, melody and rhythm. Because Messiaen’s hills are not so much alive with the sound of music – these canyons are brought alive with the sound of sound, this extraordinary score inviting your ears to footslog through a living, breathing, evolving aural environment. The first sound you hear is a faraway French horn call, here the excellent John Ryan, which opens the aperture like a wide-angled lens. Then Messiaen zooms in close: woodwind……

Having previously encountered Thomas Søndergård’s fine work on the Dacapo label I have high hopes for this projected cycle of Sibelius Symphonies on Linn, which should appeal to those who like their Sibelius cool, crisp and bracing. Tempi are swift while phrasing is thankfully free of mannerisms. Textures and sonority are clear and limpid but not overly refined so essential Sibelian cragginess is retained. The first movement of the Second is beautifully judged with its pulsating chords ideally weighted, but the second movement is too matter-of-fact; his reluctance to take a breath robs the piece of narrative flow. The Scherzo whizzes along but the build-up to the last movement seems to embarrass the conductor’s modernist sensibility so is rushed. When it arrives the finale is splendid, despite reticent trumpets. The early pages of the Seventh can meander in slack hands. Søndergård’s firm grip keeps it to the point, steering it home with a sense of inevitability. The BBC NOW play superbly for their new chief with strings really digging in. Those strings are well captured, but the recording, while marvellously transparent at the front of the orchestra is a little blurred at the rear to the detriment of brass and…

Like his South American predecessor, Jorge Bolet, Nelson Freire is having an Indian Summer and well-deserved recognition. Like Bolet, he’s always been admired but somewhat taken for granted. Now, he’s almost lionised. This CD contains Chopin’s Second Piano Concerto and a collection of short pieces. I recently read a fascinating but credible observation that, of major composers, Chopin has more of his oeuvre in the repertoire than any other. That notwithstanding, his works for piano and orchestra have often been considered poor relations to his solo piano music, most of which is, admittedly, sublime. Who am I to complain? One reviewer described the concerto orchestrations as “staid”. I would prefer wooden or dour. No matter: this is a wonderful showcase for Freire’s art, and he brings pellucid tone and ineffable elegance with a sublime reading of the slow movement. The G-Flat Impromptu is not so much dispatched as caressed with finesse and rubato. The Fourth Ballade is certainly sterner stuff and Freire possesses the requisite steeliness without ever sacrificing lyricism or coherence. The Berceuse, my joint favourite Chopin work, is played with a style that rivals Lipatti’s Barcarolle (my other joint favourite): I just didn’t want it to end. The Mazurkas…

Planets in perfect alignment: David Robertson leads the Sydney Symphony Orchestra's thoughtful journey through the cosmos.