Benjamin Britten’s personal life has been well documented – his relationship with Peter Pears in a period when homosexuality was still illegal, his pacifism and years in America and his friendships and fallings-out. But two documentaries by John Bridcut will rate as indispensable for the full picture of the man – both for the interviews and with the people who knew him best and for their impeccably performed musical excerpts. Britten’s Children is, in the filmmaker’s words, “an edgy subject, full of danger”, these days perhaps even more than ever before. Bridcut’s fascination with the composer started when he took part as a chorister in Britten historic recording of Elgar’s Dream of Gerontius. His interviews with the various boys with whom Britten became “besotted” – including the late English actor David Hemmings for whom the role of Miles in The Turn Of The Screw was created – show these relationships to be innocent, if unusual, and without a physical sexual element. In a moving highlight Bridcut tracks down Wulff Scherchen, the German teenager whom Britten dumped for Peter Pears. Scherchen, now a grandfather living in Australia who was willing to be seduced, has kept all of Britten’s love letters is filmed…

No one disputes Martha Argerich’s pre-eminence as a concert pianist but her mercurial style has never really settled into a sustained relationship with the recording studio, so live recordings are prominent in her career – with all the blessings and curses implied by the form. Back in 1978 as a 30-something tearaway, she recorded Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 25 in C, K503, with a Netherlands Chamber Orchestra that never quite matched her virtuosity, making the subsequent release on EMI a little underwhelming. But now, as a cancer survivor in her 70s, she returned to this C Major work at last year’s Lucerne Festival with Claudio Abbado and his Orchestra Mozart in another live recording, but one which has an autumnal feel about it.  Tempi, dynamics, and of course the grand maestoso opening all seem about right, but as a whole the first two movements speak of mature masters returning to a loved work in a spirit of authority rather than with the sense of vivacity, inspiration and play that might normally be associated with Mozart in this key. Beautifully balanced in the recording, there’s just something missing, just that spark of inspiration or vigour for which no amount of technical excellence can…

Listeners needn’t worry, the publicity assures us: Baroque specialist Simone Kermes might be singing bel canto but she hasn’t changed voice type. Nor would she need to. There’s no reason why Kermes’ high flying soprano shouldn’t negotiate the trills and roulades of Bellini and Rossini just as skilfully as those of Handel. In terms of clarity and accuracy, she’s in excellent form here, and those who’ve seen her wacky live performances on YouTube will be either relieved or disappointed (according to taste) to discover her in more straight-laced mode.  Curiously she sings these arias utterly without vibrato. This might be effective in short doses but applied across the board, it drains much of the life from this spirited music. Make no mistake, Kermes makes a beautiful sound; it just doesn’t ring true to the repertoire, and while she succeeds to an extent in illustrating the stylistic links between Baroque and bel canto, singing Rossini’s Giusto ciel like a piece of lost Pergolesi doesn’t really prove anything. Still, there’s some spectacular vocal showmanship here, including an electrifying Mercadante rarity and two icily precise Queen of the Night arias, and when Monteverdi finally arrives, so does an audible sense of homecoming.  Concerto…

Harry Christophers’ current series of Palestrina recordings is very welcome. Given the esteem the composer is accorded not only by the Catholic church but by choristers the world over, it is very odd that there has been little sustained exploration of his output. Perhaps the sheer volume is daunting; with no fewer than 104 masses, let alone a vast corpus of other music besides. The latest instalment in The Sixteen’s cycle presents a Mass, a Magnificat and various other motets associated with the seasons of Advent and Christmas. In the middle of the program we are also given three of Palestrina’s settings from the Song of Songs. This generous selection is delivered with the group’s customary clarity and commitment, mirroring the counter-reformation ideals with which Palestrina is associated. Based on the motet of the same name, the Missa O magnum mysterium is an attractive five-voice work that shows great respect for the liturgical text, presenting sonorous and quietly fervent treatments of the Kyrie and Agnus Dei, while allowing Christmas joy to permeate the upbeat Osanna sections of the Sanctus and Benedictus. The Song of Songs has long had the notoriety of being the bible’s “naughty book”. Palestrina treated these erotic texts in a madrigalian…

When Heifetz told Schoenberg that he could not possibly perform the latter’s Violin Concerto unless his own left hand were to acquire a sixth finger, the composer allegedly replied: “I can wait.” Perhaps a similar sentiment governs the harpsichordist confronted with Handel’s decidedly tricky solo pieces.  On paper they might not look overpoweringly difficult; but often they fall awkwardly under the hands, in a manner which Richard Egarr’s impressive booklet essay compares to Brahms’ pianistic style. At least the piano has a sustaining pedal to help out with polyphonic interplay (Glenn Gould, Sviatoslav Richter and Andrei Gavrilov all tackled these works). No such luck with the harpsichord. Besides, stylistic problems – greater than anything in Bach’s English Suites or French Suites – also bedevil the player. How Handelian should they seem, given that their free-and-easy preludes echo the French clavecinistes, and their intricate counterpoint passages do not resemble much in the oratorios or concerti grossi? Altogether it is unsurprising, if regrettable, that (except for everybody’s favourite movement, The Harmonious Blacksmith concluding Suite No 5) this music has been traditionally underestimated. Egarr’s curiously frivolous interpretations seem to me unlikely to win converts. The man has technical brilliance to burn, but he rarely…

Benjamin Britten’s three string quartets are not the only works he wrote for this medium but they are certainly the most important, forming cornerstones of his compositional career. The First, composed in America in 1941, comes from the period when the young composer was still showing off his extraordinary technical prowess. The Second, which concludes with a 15-minute chaconne of Beethovenian depth, was written in the wake of Peter Grimes, while the Third, at the end of his life, quotes from his final opera Death in Venice. Thanks to the recent Britten centenary, several new recordings of his quartets are now on the market, including one by the Endellion Quartet (Warner Classics), and a two-disc set from the Emperor Quartet on the BIS label. The latter boasts detailed and polished performances, but the Takács players trump them in verve and emotional commitment. How well the Takács capture the intensity of the Second Quartet’s Vivace movement, or the power and grandeur of the Chacony’s closing bars. They miss a degree of introversion and nostalgia in the Third Quartet, where Britten – like his friend Shostakovich – uses the medium to make a highly personal statement, in this case one of farewell….

Such a coupling is unusual on CD these days. However, bearing in mind that Beethoven was influenced by the Mozart concerto, the juxtaposition is appropriate. Yevgeny Sudbin is talked of as one of the top pianists of the new century. I ran comparisons of his Beethoven with one of the benchmarks, the old Emil Gilels recording from 1954. I also chose a contemporary recording with François-Frédéric Guy on Naïve. In every way this new recording matches the Gilels. Sudbin’s evenly measured runs, with just enough lift in the middle of each phrase to keep the performances from sounding too academic, evinces a superb technique. Similarly his elegant and stylishly executed turns are almost cheeky as he exhibits the balance required between power and delicacy demanded from the best Beethoven performers. Guy is gentlemanly by comparison. The Mozart is notable for the balance between soloist and orchestra. If you think you can hear Beethoven coming through the Mozart at times, then so do I. The orchestra is on superb form. Vänskä is not simply an attentive accompanist, but a partner in these adventures. One can see why the Critics’ Circle gave Sudbin the 2013 Exceptional Young Talent award. It is sad…

Adam Fischer gave us a superb set of Haydn symphonies back in the 1990s and more recently some fine early Mozart operas recorded in Denmark where he has recorded these symphonies over the last seven years – now economically released as box set. His approach applies “historically informed performance practice” and he does his best to make his modern orchestra sound like a period band.  I must admit that 20 years ago I would have happily embraced this approach but nowadays I miss the singing phrase and emotional gravitas of the much maligned old-school manner – George Szell proved that the 19th-century orchestra could play this music with clarity, bite AND romantic expression so it can be done! Here vibrato is eschewed and textures are lean and mean; I appreciate the delicate wisps of string sound and well projected wind playing but the period hard-stick timpani and braying horns grate on repetition.  The brisk tempi and crisp accents generate a breathless excitement with details blurred instead of clearly enunciated. While the approach works in the early symphonies, rooted in their 18th century context, the later symphonies that look forward to the early romantic sound world are seriously short-changed.  But then,…

For reasons best known to themselves (perhaps to capitalise on an A-list cast) the Mariinsky launched its series of live Ring Cycle recordings with the second opera of the tetralogy, an acclaimed Die Walküre. Now they’ve backtracked to Das Rheingold, Wagner’s “Vorabend” (“preliminary evening) and if the names in the frame aren’t all as familiar as Walküre’s, fear not: this is a top shelf cast in a musically and dramatically involving performance.  René Pape brings serious star wattage as Wotan, of course, and he’s a majestic but lyrical god, singing with meltingly beautiful timbre and a Lieder-like intensity whose relative lack of thunder only heightens our nervous anticipation of the storms ahead. A supersized, sonorous wife would be at odds with his suave Wotan, so Ekaterina Gubanova is a well-chosen Fricka, singing on a similarly elegant scale and with a beguiling hint of soprano-ish silver.  Of their offspring, it’s Alexey Markov whose clarion Donner makes the most vivid impression, though there’s little to fault in either Viktoria Yastrebova’s Freia or Sergei Semishkur’s Froh. Stephan Rügamer’s slender, high-lying tenor (the kind one half expects to break into Britten at any moment) brings unctuous relish and pointed detail to Loge, while Andrei Popov’s Mime takes…

Clearing the paper plates of soggy pasta and strudel from the 2013 Verdi and Wagner bicentenary offerings, we come across this fine bottle of French sacrificial wine, uncorked to mark 50 years since the death of Francis Poulenc. The oft-quoted description of the composer as “half monk, half rascal” goes some way to describe the dichotomy of his sacred music, as well as his character in general. All three works feature austere counterpoint grounded in medieval chant yet enveloped in lush orchestral sound with pungent, playful details – the precise dissonances of the Stabat Mater Vidit suum, for instance; the joie de vivre of the Gloria’s Laudamus Te; the Provençal country sir of the Domine Fili. Ever-eccentric French soprano Patricia Petibon proves a sensitive soloist to match Poulenc’s every mood. Her light voice is mysterious on the swooping, ethereal Domine Deus, Agnus Dei, pure-toned but never lacking in warmth; almost too sensual to be sacred. The most austere work is the earliest, the Litanies à la Vierge Noire, dating from 1936 with the openly gay Poulenc’s profound return to Catholicism after the traumatic death of a friend in a car accident. Seeking solace in the sanctuary of Rocamadour with it’s…

Unlike some of today’s prodigies, Rusian pianist Daniil Trifonov (b. 1992) shows every sign of artistic maturity in this live recital, given at New York’s Carnegie Hall in February 2013, where he made his American debut in 2009, aged 18. Two years ago he recorded a Chopin disc for Decca, but this live recital truly puts him on the world stage and signifies a distinguished career ahead. Trifonov’s program comprises the Liszt B Minor Sonata, Scriabin’s Second Piano Sonata, Chopin’s 24 Preludes Op 28 and a short piece by Medtner. The contents of that program suggest his great Soviet predecessor, Sviatoslav Richter. Trifonov does not approach Richter in sheer power and concentration – who ever could? – yet he has more to offer than merely spectacular technique. Subtle and affecting at the soft end of the dynamic spectrum, Trifonov also understands “the demonic element” (as his champion Martha Argerich put it).  His Liszt Sonata is truly grounded. Last year I was impressed by Khatia Buniatshvili’s recording, which fizzed with edgy energy, but Trifonov’s less volatile but no less expressive approach properly anchors the work. His lyrical gift is evident in the way he coaxes the chorale theme out of the depths…

This is the sort of ‘spicy’ that doesn’t interfere with polite dinner conversation. Les Passions de l’Âme, the Swiss early music group comprising members of the Freiburg Baroque Orchestra and other illustrious ensembles, have put together a charming program of 17th-century Austrian music that was, thematically at least, a little out of the ordinary during its time. The three composers use the violin to tell stories about life and nature, while exploring its mimetic and technical capabilities. Biber’s Sonata Representativa is the best known here; Meret Lüthi’s sweet-toned solo imitates a clucking hen and a yowling cat with double stopping, tuning and pitch effects. Biber himself was a virtuoso violinist and one really feels the brilliant sense of play and curiosity (which, in this case, didn’t seem to kill the cat). The violin transforms into a sword for Schmelzer’s balletto Die Fechtschule or The Fencing School, in which stately dance forms are given zest as the agile solo part weaves, lunges and attacks. Composers cross swords in Schmelzer’s Battle Against the Turks, based on one of Biber’s Mystery Sonatas. It’s the most ‘exotic’ moment on the album: irresistible tambourine and darabuka percussion (especially in the syncopated Posta turcica), oriental scales…