This section focuses on great music, providing:
A selection of ESSENTIAL TRACKS chosen to give your system a workout, some of which are seminal recorded performances.
DOWNLOADS of superlative quality recordings in a range of high resolution formats.
Our ALBUM OF THE MONTH and some words on why we chose it.
Invited COMMENT from dCS and leading members of the hi-fi world – although in most cases we offer these anonymously!
If you go to the odd classical concert, or keep abreast of classical discussion, then you’ll no doubt be aware of the decades-old debate as to whether or not it’s acceptable to clap between movements: whether to do so breaks the magic, or whether to prohibit such spontaneous shows of appreciation turns concerts into intimidating places for all but the initiated “experts”. My own take on things is that on the whole I’m in favour of it. In fact I think that sometimes it’s criminal not to, it’s so clearly what is being demanded by the music and the performance. However what does drive me absolutely crackers is the small handful of those aforementioned initiated experts who think that the best way to show how well they know such-and-such piece of music is by beginning to clap before the final chord has even died away, no matter how much the music itself is asking for a few seconds of stillness and reflection (in fact, if you want a witty but ultimately gentle spoof of these listeners then you’ll enjoy this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsWuH0-Q8UU). So I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the concert I attended last month in the Swiss alpine resort of Andermatt: the inaugural concert of the resort’s brand new concert hall, played by the Berlin Philharmonic under Constantinos Carydis, and most particularly their performance of Shostakovich’s Chamber Symphony in C minor: a work which began life as his String Quartet No 8, and was then orchestrated with his approval by the Russian conductor Rudolph Barshai. He wrote it in 1960, in response to walking around the post-war ruins of Dresden, and possibly also as a personal epitaph for himself, because he’s woven his famous DSCH monogram into the music (which musically transcribes into D, E flat), and quoted various previous works of his. So it’s dark and powerful stuff which, if played right, should leave you feeling emotionally punched in the stomach; and this particular performance not only did that, but by keeping his arm raised (and of course in the context of a harrowingly beautiful performance) Carydis managed to hold the hall silent after the final movement’s final chord for what was easily over ten seconds. I’ve never witnessed anything like it, and the only thing which stops me wishing I’d actually timed it is the knowledge that had I done so I would have missed out on some of the moment’s power. The recording I’ve given you here is one made by the LSO String Ensemble, and because it’s not a long work I’ve given you the whole thing. Otherwise it would lose some of its power.
From here, we go decidedly more upbeat for the new releases, although funnily with the Russian theme continuing. First, the new album of Saint-Saens piano concertos from Alexandre Kantorow, the young French pianist who last month carried off First Prize at the Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow. Next, Russian pianist Denis Kozhukhin playing Grieg’s Lyric Pieces. Then finally British, Russian-trained cellist Matthew Barley’s transcription of John Tavener’s Eastern Orthodox-inspired choral work, Mother and Child.
Alexandre Kantorow, Saint-Saens Piano Concertos Nos 3-5: ,
Tapiola Sinfonietta/Jean-Jacques Kantorow (Bis)
The timing of this particular new release is quite spooky, because it coincided with its young French soloist carrying off First Prize in the Tchaikovsky Competition: one of the real career-changing ones, whose high-profile former winners include Van Cliburn, Grigory Sokolov, Mikhail Pletnev, Denis Matsuev and Daniil Trifonov. Plus, even whilst Kantorow’s fellow French pianist Bertrand Chamayou released a fantastic Saint-Saens album last year, this one more than holds its own against it with the deftly crystalline definition of Kantorow’s touch and his poetic sensibility, with the Tapiola Sinfonietta with him every step of the way, and every bit as fleet-footed and sparkling. I’ve given you No 5 the “Egyptian” here, and to be enjoyed are the sense of expectant magic he brings to his first entry, the gently bubbling effervescence of his passagework, and the lilt and flow he brings to its succession of gear shifts. Also the wide palette of colours he finds over the course of the central movement’s mix of styles. In short, no wonder he won the Tchaikovsky.
Denis Kozhukhin: Grieg Lyric Pieces;
Mendelssohn Lieder ohne Worte (Pentatone)
Denis Kozhukhin – incidentally the winner of another major competition, this one the 2010 Queen Elisabeth Competition – has had his playing described as “coolly virtuosic” and “immaculate” – labels that could both be interpreted as criticism as much as praise. However, whether you love his Brahms or not (and I do), those qualities make him absolutely perfect for the music of Grieg, whose music Debussy once waspishly described as “pink bonbons stuffed with snow”. In fact it was with a much-lauded performance of Grieg’s piano concerto that he made his recording debut in 2016, and now this turning of his attention to the Lyric Pieces is every bit as successful as one might have hoped. Take the cool clarity and smooth melodic flow of the opening Arietta: a fresh simplicity which never over-eggs things, but which still allows itself gentle romantic tugs to the metre. Lyrical is certainly the word. So it’s a selection of the Grieg pieces I’ve given you here. Then as for the Mendelssohn Songs Without Words which precede them, whilst some might feel they lack a bit of weight and darkness (that they might be a bit too much like a Norwegian mountain stream, in fact!), for me they’re beautifully voices interpretations that strike an elegant balance between Mendelssohn’s early romantic surroundings and his classical and baroque musical education.
Sir John Tavener: The Protecting Veil: Matthew Barley, Sinfonietta Riga (Signum)
There are few artists on the classical scene as joyfully experimental and versatile as British cellist Matthew Barley, and his latest release centred around the music of Sir John Tavener is one of his very finest to date. For starters, Barley’s performance of the album’s title work – India and Eastern-Orthodox-inspired The Protecting Veil, for cello and orchestra – is one which can stand tall alongside the great recording by its dedicatee Steven Isserlis. However it’s the surrounding programme which then categorically lifts the album into a whole new realm of its own. First, there’s the striking addition of the spoken voice: three of Tavener’s favourite poems read by actresses Olwyn Fouere and Julie Christie. Then, the album’s other two musical works are The Song of Separation and Waiting by Indian sarangi player Sultan Khan, for which Barley is joined by tabla player Sukhvinder “Pinky” Singh, preceded by the work I’ve chosen for this playlist: Barley’s own cello and orchestral transcription of Tavener choral work, Mother and Child, which he punctuates with Indian-inflected solo cello improvisations. Points to note and enjoy are the richly polished string sound of Sinfonietta Riga, and the emotional commitment of Barley’s own lines. Plus, incredibly, Barley only finished the transcription the night before the recording session, and then it was recorded in one single take in the session’s final minutes, meaning that the cello improvisations you’re hearing were true one-offs.
Forty years ago this summer, @theclash were in London’s Wessex Sound Studios putting the finishing touches to an album that many now regard as the magnum opus of the post-punk rock era. Recorded right at the end of the nineteen seventies, it has come to symbolise the spirit of that time better than anything else of its day. It was finally released in the UK on 14th December, 1979 to rave reviews across the British music press – and was notable for being a double LP that sold for the price of a single one. This was proof, said the band, that The Clash was ‘grass roots’ outfit that stood in opposition to music industry corporatism and profiteering.
London Calling also happened to be the band’s best album to date, by far. It saw a return to form for lead vocalists, guitarists and lyricists Joe Strummer and Mick Jones. It was a major evolution of the thrashy, rough-and-ready sound of the previous two Clash albums and took in a wide variety of musical styles. Musically it wandered around all over the place, borrowing from ska, reggae, rockabilly, jazz and heavy rock – whilst still retaining a distinctive feel. It was a work of surprising eclecticism and maturity – both musically and lyrically – without cleaving off too many rough edges.
The title track was a barnstorming anthem that chronicled the decadence and decline of British life in the late seventies – a country brought to its knees by strikes and economic mismanagement, immediately after the so-called ‘Winter of Discontent’. “London is drowning… and I live by the river”, wrote Joe Strummer, summing it up pithily. Thematically, the LP touches on social alienation, unemployment, racism, drug use and corruption – yet never feels preachy and brims with charm. That’s why London Calling stayed in the UK album charts for so long after its release, going on to sell over five million copies worldwide despite never being a mainstream pop album.
Musically, drummer Topper Headon came to the fore, really pushing the band beyond formulaic new wave – aided by a rapidly maturing Mick Jones writing most of the music. At the same time, bass player Paul Simonon was let off the leash and penned the excellent Lost in the Supermarket. CBS records were unhappy with the band’s choice of Guy Stevens as producer, but he invests the album with a warm, spontaneous and slightly chaotic feel. The recording sessions themselves were intense eighteen-hour days, with many songs recorded in just one or two takes. The result is an album that supplies song-after-song of gripping rock music, with poignant and/or quirky lyrics, plenty of catchy tunes and a massive attitude. From Brand New Cadillac to Guns of Brixton, it’s packed with memorable moments, and – rather like The Beatles’ White Album – plays perfectly from beginning to end.
London Calling sounds great through a serious hi-fi system, with plenty of detail and an enjoyable musical feel. Being relatively unprocessed and largely played live, it’s like nothing around today. Collectors think that the recent Japanese remastered CD package [Sony EICP-30018/9] is the one to go for, but the stock UK silver disc [Columbia 495347 2] is still great fun.
Listen to London Calling on our 2019 AOTM TIDAL playlist
When all three of my new release choices this month feature younger generation artists performing nineteenth century repertoire, I’ve gone for maximum contrast for my first recording, in the shape of the recording of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons made in 2015 by Baroque supremos La Serenissima, under the direction of their solo violinist leader, Adrian Chandler. You don’t need me to tell you that the recordings back catalogue has for decades been verily groaning under the weight of Four Seasons recordings, many of which are very fine indeed. Yet when La Serenissima contributed own offering to the mix, something felt different. Timbrally, it had a unique fizz and zing to it. Then there was the playing itself, which had a freewheeling fluidity about it which lent it, at times, an almost improvisatory feel; and the ultimate proof that it’s a keeper is that, four years later, it’s still my go-to Four Seasons recording. Even in the context of the Queen of Baroque, Rachel Podger, having finally released her own superlative take on it last year, with her own ensemble, Brecon Baroque. I’ve given you Spring, but clearly I’m hoping that from there you’ll also explore the other three seasons, and indeed the concertos for bassoon and violin that follow.
The new releases then open with Norwegian soprano Lise Davidsen’s self-titled debut album for Decca Classics. Next comes the fourth and final installment of the Busch Trio’s edition of Dvořák’s piano trios, quartets and quintets. We then finish with another debut album, this time from the pianist who won BBC Young Musician winner in 2014, Martin James Bartlett.
Dvořák: Piano Trio Op 21
Busch Trio – Dvořák – Piano trios Op 21 & 26 (alpha)
This latest recording from the Busch Trio (cellist Omri Epstein, violinist Mathieu van Bellen and pianist Ori Epstein) of Dvořák’s first two piano trios represents the conclusion of what has been a four-year, four-album exploration of Dvorak’s piano trios, quartets and quintets. Also a critically acclaimed one, and this final installment doesn’t disappoint. To give you the swift, nutshell-sized encapsulation of this album’s pleasure then it’s the impression of sheer naturalness colouring its every aspect. Obviously there are the performances themselves – the way the trio are so very clearly at one both with Dvorak’s vernacular and with each other, knowing precisely what they can bring to this music. Then there’s the work of recording producer Aline Blondiau, because it’s exactly the same thing again, i.e. you feel as though you’re in the best seats of the Queen Elisabeth Music Chapel in Brussels where it was recorded, with the balance beautifully distributed between the instruments, and with the piano in particular having a wonderful gently ringing, jewel-like quality to it. So listen, enjoy, and then make it a set by hunting out the three previous installments.
Lise Davidsen – Vier letzte Lieder No 4 Im Abendrot (Decca)
If you don’t yet know the name Lise Davidsen then take note of it now. Last year this young Norwegian soprano became the first Scandinavian soprano to sign exclusively to Decca Classics since Birgit Nielsson, whose centenary year it also just happened to be. Then shortly afterwards she was crowned Young Artist of the Year at the 2018 Gramophone Awards. Now here’s her debut album, and it’s a thing of beauty. Amongst the works featured are Strauss’s Four Last Songs, plus arias from his opera Ariade auf Naxos, and from Wagner’s Tannhäuser. In other words, it’s big repertoire for a singer still in her early thirties. However it also happens to be repertoire which feels as though it had been tailor-made for her, fitting both her artistic sensibility, and her velvety supple voice, like a glove. The final polish then comes in the form of the sensitive supporting accompaniment from a sumptuous-sounding, lucid-textured Philharmonia Orchestra under Esa-Pekka Salonen. I’ve given you the transcendent fourth song of Strauss’s Four Last Songs, which he wrote the year before he died, in 1946. Titled “Im Abendrot” (“In the Evening Glow”), it presents an elderly couple at the end of their lives, gazing at a setting sun whilst peacefully contemplating death.
Martin James Bartlett – Love and Death (Warner)
Martin James Bartlett was seventeen when he won BBC Young Musician of the Year in 2014. Since then there have been further impressive competition appearances, most notably getting through to the final rounds of the major Van Cliburn Competition in Texas in 2017, and then last year walking off with both the second and audience prizes at the Bad Kissingen Klavier Olympiad. As for notable debuts within his burgeoning concert career, last season saw him debut with the Tokyo Symphony Orchestra, and also be Sir Bernard Haitink’s soloist with the Royal College of Music Symphony Orchestra in a performance of Mozart’s Piano Concerto No 24 (which incidentally you can still watch on Medici TV on catch-up). This past January, the 22-year-old then signed to Warner Classics, and the resultant debut disc displays a degree of versatility and maturity which honours his decision to wait before leaping down the record labels route, whilst also thoroughly belying his still-tender age. The piece I’ve chosen for you here is the one which stands as both the programme’s philosophical starting point and its physical centre point, Liszt’s transcription of Schumann’s song “Widmung” (Dedication). This sets a poem by Friedrich Rückert which speaks of love, but also of death, and then at its conclusion slips in the further idea of heavenly love, through a quotation from Schubert’s Ave Maria. What Bartlett has done with this gem is exquisite: technically speaking, there are the long, lyrical lines of his phrasing, and the beautifully judged part voicing and overall architecture. Beyond that, though, the interpretation just rings emotionally true. It’s a heartfelt reading you can believe in. The surrounding programme then explores these themes by way of further Liszt – nuggets extracted from his Liebesträume and Années de Pèlerinage (and personally it’s Bartlett’s Liszt that I’ve enjoyed most of all here) – along with Bach, Granados, Wagner and Prokofiev.
Listen to the full playlist on TIDAL https://tidal.com/browse/playlist/dd6f664d-61bd-4f52-98f8-4770213f75d7
Released ten months after Chic’s magnificent C’est Chic, Michael Jackson’s fifth long-player signed and sealed the nineteen seventies disco era. Off the Wall was such a great record that it felt like everything that followed was just a bonus. Packed with epic, dance floor-filling tunes, it showcased Jackson’s fragile but soaring voice at its purest, and the brilliant production skills of veteran jazz musician and producer Quincy Jones. And it all came together right at the end of the decade that gave the world some of the most beautiful soul, funk and dance music, ever.
Released on August 10, 1979, Off the Wall was Jackson’s first album to be released in the USA on Epic Records, the label that he stayed with until his death. Having been the frontman of a boy band until then, there were no great expectations for this new record – which is why it came as such a shock. For the first time, we heard him as a man and not a boy, singing a selection of immaculately orchestrated and beautifully produced dance tunes and ballads, some of which were even self-penned. His previous release – 1975’s Forever, Michael – suddenly felt like it was from another era. At the same time, the new album laid the groundwork for 1982’s massive-selling Thriller – and set the precedent for Michael Jackson albums to contain a string of hit singles; in this case Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough, Rock with You, Off the Wall, She’s Out of My Life and Girlfriend.
A major departure from the previous Motown work, Off the Wall received great critical acclaim, with songwriting from Jackson himself, plus Heatwave’s Rod Temperton, Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney. Quincy Jones laid down a complex musical tapestry, with an array of session players including horns and strings; Patti Austin supplied some vocals, Larry Carlton some guitar, and Greg Phillinganes did much of the piano and Fender Rhodes playing. Jones later commented that Jackson’s vocals had a combination of a “strong signature sound” and “that open wound that pushed them to greatness.”
This was the first time the world got to hear Michael Jackson as he really was; his work with The Jacksons had been tightly controlled by his father, but here he was calling the shots. The idea was to make a special and distinctive record, and Quincy Jones obliged with a production that is both of excellent technical quality and inspired creatively. There’s a rich diversity of textures, bolstered by that distinctive late-seventies warm, analogue period feel. It’s a slick, smooth and creamy sounding recording, yet one with enormous energy and drive that bubbles out through a top quality digital source. The first pressing of the Japanese CD [Epic 35 8P-2] is the one for collectors.
Off the Wall went on to sell over twenty million copies worldwide, making it one of the best selling albums of all time. Yet the incredible success of Thriller overshadowed it, helped partly by that album’s iconic eighties promotional videos and the rise of MTV. For many aficionados however, Michael Jackson’s first solo album will always be the most special thing he ever did.
To listen to all of our 2019 AOTM choices visit our TIDAL playlist
When Notre Dame de Paris suffered its catastrophic fire only shortly after I wrote last month’s column, there was only one theme I could have taken here this month. Partly, because you didn’t have to be French to feel sick to the pit of your stomach as the raging inferno claimed that beautiful, majestic monument which has managed to withstand the French Revolution and two world wars, and seen so much of the best and worst of history, both the grand and the ordinary. Also, though, because Notre Dame was the scene of one of my own most precious musical memories. This took place one summer’s day in the late 1990s as I rehearsed evensong there with my on-tour university chapel choir. That rehearsal was taking place during the hour the cathedral closed for lunch, and aware of how rare it was to have the place all to ourselves, we took turns to go stand in the nave whilst the others continued singing. My turn came during Durufle’s Ubi Caritas, and I’ll never forget hearing that most perfect of French motets float around that extraordinary building’s deepest listening silence. I don’t believe there exists a recording of Ubi Caritas from Notre Dame, so this month’s playlist begins instead with the next best thing. First, Ubi Caritas sung by the mixed-voice choir of Trinity College Cambridge under Steven Marlow. Then – so you can at least be reminded of or introduced to Notre Dame’s jaw-droppingly magnificent acoustic – Bach’s Passacaglia and Fugue in C minor BWV 582, on the brand new Bach album recorded in Notre Dame by its organist Olivier Latry (and incidentally, the cathedral’s grand organ miraculously survived the fire, protected by its position underneath the two towers, so this isn’t the last we’ll hear of it).
Moving on to this month’s three (other) new recordings, these begin with a beautiful first Schubert Lieder album from the young German soprano Anna Lucia Richter. Next we have an emotionally penetrating Shostakovich programme from the Artemis Quartet and pianist Elizabeth Leonskaja. We then conclude with some obscure but delicious eighteenth century Czech fare, in the form of pianist Clare Hammond performing Josef Mysliveček’s complete keyboard works with the Swedish Chamber Orchestra under Nicolas McGegan. Enjoy.
An den Mond from Heimweh: Schubert Lieder, Anna Lucia Richter & Gerold Huber, tracks 1 & 13 (Pentatone)
For her first Schubert disc the young German soprano Anna Lucia Richter has chosen to explore some of his Lieder’s youthful heroines, focussing particularly on his Mignon songs which set Goethe’s depictions of a mysterious, vulnerable waif, and the Ellen songs from Scott’s The Lady of the Lake. The resultant album, themed around homesickness and nostalgia, is rather magical: floating, pure-toned simplicity from Richter herself, and immensely sensitive partnering from pianist Gerold Huber. I’ve chosen the programme-opener, which is a gently wistful setting of Goethe’s poem, An den Mond, inspired by the lovesick daughter of an army officer who committed suicide in the icy river near Goethe’s own Weimar cottage (although its innocent tenderness places it in an entirely different emotional world to the weary, bleak snowscape of the Winterreise settings). I’ve then also thrown in one of the Ellen songs, Ave Maria: ridiculously famous to be sure, but the freshness which Richter and Huber have brought to it should nevertheless have you listening to it with entirely new ears.
Shostakovich Piano Quintet, Artemis Quartet & Elisabeth Leonskaja, Erato
Shostakovich wrote his famous piano quintet in 1940 at the behest of his friends in the Beethoven Quartet, for whom he’d written his First String Quartet of 1938. Unsurprisingly given the timing – Western Europe already at war, and the USSR shortly to be invaded by the Nazi Germany – an atmosphere of darkening clouds hangs over its pared-down, Bach-inspired sound world. However it also contains immense strength, beauty and light, and all the more so here under the fingertips of the Artemis Quartet and pianist Elisabeth Leonskaja. In fact this is the most exquisite and moving recording I’ve yet heard of it: one in which gentleness, vulnerability and sincerity are more the order of the day than the sharp cynicism and searing pain with which it’s often painted. Take their Scherzo, which far from being spikily ironic sounds more like a delicate and genuine attempt to dance in the face of darkness. Preceding that, there’s the barely-there way in which their limpid-textured fugal Adagio lament begins, each line singing eloquently, and with absolutely consummate chamber musicianship everywhere in the balancing of parts. Sitting either side of the quintet on the Artemis’s programme are equally laudable performances of the fifth and seventh string quartets, but unsurprisingly it’s the quintet I’ve chosen for this playlist.
Mysliveček Complete Music for Keyboard, Clare Hammond, Swedish Chamber Orchestra, Nicholas McGegan (Bis)
Czech composer Josef Mysliveček (1737-81) spent the majority of his professional life based in Italy, punctuated by three temporary residencies in his native Prague, Vienna and Munich; and whilst these days he’s not a name that regularly trips off the tongue of even most seasoned classical listeners, in his time he was both respected and prolific, especially as a composer of operas, symphonies, concertos and chamber music. As for his keyboard music, this is a much smaller body of work. However it’s all still thoroughly enjoyable, if not of the technical complexity of what his younger friend Mozart was writing. This album presents, solo-repertoire-wise, the six sonatas and a set of divertimenti. It also features his two miniature-length keyboard concertos, both of which probably date from the 1776-1778 period he spent in Munich, and it’s the second of these which sits on this month’s playlist. Mozart made a trip of his own to Munich in 1777, premiering his opera La finta giardiniera, and in a letter to his father he describes Mysliveček’s character as “full of fire, spirit and life”. The second concerto mirrors that personal assessment too, helped in this particular performance by neatly crisp and perky orchestral playing, a lovely soft tone and lyrical phrasing from Clare Hammond on a modern concert grand, and overall a palpably chamber-esque closeness between soloist and orchestra.
“In one of his headmaster’s reports, it said that none of us seemed to know him very well. All the way through with Nick. People didn’t know him very much.” So said Nicholas Rodney Drake’s father, about his son who died tragically early at the age of twenty six, on the 25th November, 1974. The brother of successful seventies screen actress Gabrielle, he was old beyond his years, having a precocious talent that he found hard to handle. He recorded three studio albums, the most complete of which is surely Bryter Layter.
His death was down to an overdose of anti-depressants, Drake having struggled with his mental health for several years. Yet music was his release; at an early age he learned to play piano, compose songs and record them on the family’s open reel tape recorder. Then he bought a guitar, took up busking and then went to university. At Cambridge in 1967 he met his closest future collaborator, music student Robert Kirby, then hooked up with American music producer Joe Boyd. As the jigsaw pieces slotted together, a record contract followed and he duly dropped out of Cambridge to record his debut album, Five Leaves Left.
The essential components of his sound were in place; Boyd insisted on “no shiny pop reverb” on the vocals, and Kirby’s string arrangements were deliberately sparse. Still, his debut long-player was a patchy affair and Drake showed few signs of being proud of it. Then in August 1969, he went into BBC’s Maida Vale studio to record five songs for John Peel; Cello Song, Three Hours, River Man, Time of No Reply and Bryter Layter. These formed the centrepiece of his second and best album, which went on to be released on 6th March, 1971. Recorded the previous year at Sound Techniques studio in London, it featured collaborations with several Fairport Convention members and The Velvet Underground’s John Cale, plus Beach Boys Mike Kowalski and Ed Carter. This was fitting because Robert Kirby had said that Drake wanted to channel Pet Sounds.
Although Bryter Layter was technically a nineteen seventies album, in mood, style and production it harked back three years to the psychedelic era – to the likes of Love’s Forever Changes and The Beach Boys’ Surf’s Up. Admittedly it’s a little darker and more pensive, but is still packed with beautiful and contemplative songs with delightful instrumental texture. Producer Joe Boyd expected it to be a smash hit, yet it initially sold under 3,000 copies; Melody Maker grudgingly described it as, “an awkward mix of folk and cocktail jazz”.
Boyd moved back to the United States, leaving Drake to record the follow-up Pink Moon alone, and the result was a gloomier and more introspective work that reflected his declining mental health. After his death, his work soon began to be re-evaluated however, and is now credited as influencing many luminaries, from The Cure’s Robert Smith to REM’s Peter Buck. Bryter Later is now widely regarded as a folk/rock masterpiece, and has propelled Nick Drake posthumously to the status of genius. On silver disc, the Japanese remaster [Island Records UICY-3038] is the one to have.
Listen to all of our 2019 AOTM picks on TIDAL https://tidal.com/playlist/05aa8463-bc28-4a26-a1d1-c8fad7c3c32b
Having begun March’s Only the Music with a major living conductor’s ninetieth birthday, I’m going to devote this month’s classic recording to the great cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, who would have turned ninety two last month had he not died in 2007. Born in Baku, Azerbaijhan, in 1927, Rostropovich had a profound impact on the musical world over the second half of the twentieth century. Cellists can thank him for being the person for whom Shostakovich wrote both his cello concertos, as for whom Benjamin Britten wrote cello masterpieces including the three solo cello Suites. His teaching legacy has also been profound, and is still within touching distance today through major pupils of his such as Mischa Maisky and Frans Helmerson. So whilst ninety two may not be a notable anniversary, his birthday nevertheless saw social media awash with tributes to him. Plus, he holds a special corner in my own heart for being the musician who first woke me up to the riches to be found amongst the “classic” recordings of the past, via his 1975 Abbey Road recording for EMI of Haydn’s Cello Concerto No 1 in C major, directing the Academy of St Martin in the Fields from his cello. I was 21 at the time, the disc was a spare one which had been slipped onto my desk at Radio 3, and I’ll never forget the moment, sitting there with my headphones on, when Rostropovich made his first entry. That shining, singing tone… I was transfixed, and almost twenty years later I still instantly melt when I hear it.
Moving onto this month’s new releases, cellist BBC New Generation Artist Anastasia Kobekina’s first orchestral recording; then more Haydn but this time Easter-themed, with The Seven Last Words of Christ on the Cross from Ensemble Resonanz under Riccardo Minasi.
Cello and Orchestra: Shostakovich, Weinberg and Kobekin – Anastasia Kobekina, Berner Symphonieorchester/Kevin John Edusei
The Russian cellist Anastasia Kobekina isn’t yet a well-known name in the UK, but that’s set to change fast. Firstly because last autumn she joined the BBC New Generation Artist scheme, meaning that increasingly she’ll be popping up on BBC Radio 3 airwaves and upon stages around the country. Secondly because this first major release and first orchestral recording of hers is already turning heads. Gifted to her by the Swiss festival Sommets Musicaux de Gstaad for winning their annual young artists competition, the album is a beguiling and powerful celebration of three generations of the Soviet-Russian school of composition, featuring Dimitri Shostakovich’s Cello Concerto No 1, Mieczyslaw Weinberg’s Fantasy for Cello and Orchestra, and the Bacchants for Cello and Orchestra by Kobekina’s own father, Vladimir Kobekin. Kobekina has made each and every one of these works her own; in fact never have I heard a more lyrical and ravishing-toned reading of the Shostakovich. However it’s Weinberg’s more pastoral 1956 work on this playlist, and I defy anyone not to be instantly seduced.
Haydn: The Seven Last Words of Christ, Ensemble Resonanz/Riccardo Minasi
Commissioned in 1786 for the Good Friday service at the Oratorio de la Santa Cueva in Cadiz, Haydn’s Seven Last Words of the Cross of Christ is an orchestral work composed to a very unique brief: seven contemplative slow movements to be played as the bishop prostrated himself at the alter in between seven mini-sermons on the seven last words uttered by Jesus on the cross. To these Haydn also added an introduction and a short climactic movement depicting the earthquake following the crucifixion, and when you factor in that this was all played out with black cloth covering the church’s windows, walls and pillars, the premiere must have been powerful stuff. On to this recording of it from Hamburg-based chamber orchestra Ensemble Resonanz under Riccardo Minasi, and this is the latest installment of an exploration of Eighteenth Century orchestral music which last year won them a Diapason d’Or for their cello concertos and symphonies of CPE Bach. Plus, interestingly, what sets these period-aware performances apart is the fact that, whilst the ensemble can and do use period-appropriate gut strings, for this series they’ve instead taken up the challenge of performing on modern metal strings, and the highly-charged results are proof that there’s more to sounding “period” than going authentic with your instruments. This playlist features the movement depicting the third words, “Behold your son, behold your mother”, when Jesus entrusts his mother Mary to the protection of the disciple he loved: one of the more serene moments, which beautifully showcases the rhetorical skills at play across the album. We then zip ahead to the climactic final earthquake, where the group’s virtuosity is on full display.
Listen to the full playlist on TIDAL https://tidal.com/playlist/d55e6baf-2cfc-4d5c-b506-d8f9a89cbf85
Any self-respecting nineteen eighties indie rock fan regarded Manchester as his or her mecca. From Joy Division and New Order to The Smiths, Stone Roses and Happy Mondays, the city turned out a torrent of great British bands that went on to indelibly stamp pop music in their own image. Some remained in splendid isolation with limited chart success, whilst others made it big right across the Western world and Japan.
Behind the famous names, there was a lower tier of Manchester acts that also showed flashes of brilliance, from The Bodines and The Charlatans to James and 808 State. One of the least well known – yet highly influential to other, far more commercial bands – was The Chameleons. Some critics regard their debut album Script of the Bridge as one of the best post-punk albums ever. What’s indisputable is that the band’s sound influenced a number of more successful groups across the decades, from The Cult and The Mission to The Killers, Elbow and Editors.
At the time of its release on the 8th August, 1983, Script of the Bridge sounded strikingly different to what had come before. Contemporary music journalists spoke about it as being a “sonic cathedral” no less, as it blended a massive Phil Spector-like wall of sound with hard, crunchy guitars set against a spacious, atmospheric backdrop. Recorded in Cargo Studios in Rochdale, England, and produced by the band and Colin Richardson – who later worked with Slipknot – it was hardly mainstream stuff. Yet if you’re a fan of dark, dour, brooding guitar rock then you’ll find this album still sounds very special, thirty five years on. Although the term wasn’t in common usage in 1983, many people would now call it ‘Goth’.
Formed in Middleton, Greater Manchester, England in 1981, the original lineup was Mark Burgess on bass guitar and vocals, Reg Smithies and Dave Fielding on guitars, and John Lever on drums. Steve Lillywhite produced their first single In Shreds in March 1982 on Epic Records, but they soon moved to Statik Records, a subsidiary of Virgin Records, due to artistic differences. Technically they were not an independent record label, which meant they didn’t qualify for their key target market, followers of the New Musical Express’s Independent Charts, and this made it hard for them to get exposure. The album’s four singles – Up the Down Escalator, Don’t Fall, As High as You Can Go, and A Person Isn’t Safe Anywhere These Days – all made little imprint on the British pop charts. Two years later, The Cult’s She Sells Sanctuary was a global hit – despite being close in style, sound and quality to everything on Script of the Bridge.
This sultry yet poignant sounding classic album has remained in obscurity for over a generation; original vinyl pressings are now expensive collectors’ items for those in the know, but the first Compact Disc [Statik Records CDST 17] from 1985 is still affordable and sounds good via a serious digital front end. Just over a decade ago, a remaster was issued with an extra live CD [Blue Apple Music BAMCD01]; this is worth having but lacks the original release’s sonic purity. Either way – providing that you like atmospheric guitar rock – it is hard not to be impressed by the sheer power, breadth and depth of Script of the Bridge.
To listen to all of our 2019 AOTM picks visit https://tidal.com/playlist/05aa8463-bc28-4a26-a1d1-c8fad7c3c32b
It’s a major birthday that gets the spotlight for Only the Music’s March classic recording: that of the Dutch conductor Bernard Haitink, who celebrates his 90th this month. Haitink’s career has been an illustrious one, past roles including Amsterdam Concertgebouw Chief Conductor (1961-1988), London Philharmonic Orchestra Principal Conductor (1967-1979), Glyndebourne Music Director (1978-1988), and Royal Opera House Covent Garden Music Director (1987-2002). Plus, his concert diary is still a busy one, much as he’s planning a well-deserved sabbatical for next season. January’s Only the Music featured his recent recording with Gautier Capuçon and the Chamber Orchestra of Europe of Schumann’s Cello Concerto. For this birthday shout, I’ve chosen to celebrate his relationship with the London Philharmonic with their 1999 recording of Ralph Vaughan Williams’s In the Fen Country.
Moving on to the month’s new releases, these begin with French harpist Anaïs Gaudemard’s impressive debut recital for Harmonia Mundi, continue with two-violin French Baroque music from Johannes Pramsohler and Roldán Bernabé, before fortepianist Kristian Bezuidenhout plays us out with Haydn.
Anaïs Gaudemard: Solo
Henriette Renié – Légende in F minor 1HR.10
French harpist Anaïs Gaudemard’s career has been on a fast upwards trajectory since her 2016 debut album on the Swiss record label Claves, which was a concerto recording gifted to her as winner of the Sommets Musicaux de Gstaad festival’s young artist competition. Since then she’s been nominated by the Philharmonie de Paris and the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation in Lisbon for the prestigious ECHO (European Concert Hall Organisation) Rising Stars scheme, and now comes this first album for Harmonia Mundi through its young artist Harmonia Nova series: a solo harp recital designed to show off the instrument’s stylistic and colouristic range through repertoire ranging from Scarlatti and CPE Bach through to Hindemith. It’s an immensely beguiling listen from start to finish, and for dCS I’ve chosen the programme’s curtain-raiser, the other-worldly Légende in F minor first published in 1904 by the French harpist-composer Henriette Renié.
Sonatas for Two Violins Without Bass – Johannes Pramsohler/Roldán Bernabé
Louis-Gabriel Guilleman – Sonata in D minor, Op.4 no.2
Baroque violinist Johannes Pramsohler combines a busy touring and teaching schedule with a penchant for sight-reading stacks of completely unknown music from libraries around the world, on the look-out for gems worth bringing back to life. These musical hunts have yielded some intriguing and unfailingly superb recordings over the years, with his Ensemble Diderot on his own CD label Audax. This latest, for which he’s joined by his fellow Ensemble Diderot violinist Roldán Bernabé, celebrates the largely forgotten genre of “sonata for two solo violins without bass”, which enjoyed a short vogue in eighteenth century France as the country basked in a golden period of violin virtuosi. On the menu are works from violinist-composers Louise-Gabriel Guillemain (1705-1770), Jean-Marie Leclair (1697-1764), Jean-Pierre Guignon (1702-1774) and Étienne Mangean (c1710-c1756), with world premieres by Guignon and Mangean. It’s Guilleman’s Sonata in D minor I’ve chosen here though, rather than one of the premieres, simply because from a musical perspective it’s represents the programme’s crown jewels. Add a reading from Pramsohler and Bernabé that’ll have you hanging off its every note, and superb engineering which has the two violins’ respective personalities bristling out in glorious technicolour, and this is the one that’ll really have you appreciating what your sound systems can do.
Haydn Piano Sonatas Hob.XV1:6, 20 & 18
Variations on the theme “Gott erhalte Franz, den Kaiser” in G major
In the history of the keyboard, the instrument sitting between the harpsichord and the modern piano – and therefore the instrument sitting under the fingers of Haydn and Mozart – is the fortepiano: basically a piano, in that its keys were hit with hammers rather than plucked as with the harpsichord, but one that was smaller and lighter of frame and sound than today’s models. For the pianist-composer it offered a highly responsive action that made it capable of beautiful definition, and whilst its colouristic range was narrower to that of the modern piano, it was still an entirely superior palette of possibilities to that of the harpsichord. Kristian Bezuidenhout himself is a colourist and sculptor extraordinaire with this instrument, and from this Haydn programme I’ve chosen the piece you’re most likely to recognise, i.e. the Variations on the theme “Gott erhalte Franz, den Kaiser” in G major, because it’s the melody now used for the German national anthem. It appears here in a loving, singing, delicate reading full of gorgeous filigree detail and beautifully judged part-voicing.
Like so many American soul greats, the Cincinnati-born Isley Brothers started life singing lightweight gospel and doo-wop-influenced pop songs in the late nineteen fifties. By the mid seventies however, the band had changed line-up, instruments and style to deliver some great soul/funk music for the up-and-coming disco era. In May 1976, the band released Harvest for the World, cementing their reputation as serious songwriters and performers. Their fourteenth album – released on their own T-Neck label – fused beautiful harmonies and catchy melodies with savvy, socially-aware lyrics that echoed the sentiments of Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On, of five years earlier.
The Isley Brothers’ line-up changed over the years, but by the time this album came out it had settled into the six-piece unit that would rack up a number of classy chart hits up to 1983. It comprised Ronald Isley on lead vocals, plus O’Kelly Isley, Jr. and Rudolph Isley on lead and backing vocals, with Ernie Isley on guitars, percussion and drums. Marvin Isley supplied bass guitar and percussion, and Chris Jasper was on keyboard duties. In the case of Harvest for the World, this meant acoustic piano, clarinet and an early ARP synthesiser. The band themselves produced the album, alongside British jazz musician Malcolm Cecil.
Ten years earlier, the band had been signed to Motown with – surprisingly – Jimi Hendrix playing guitar on some of their singles, but they left in 1968. Fame came calling a few years later as they began to infuse rock with soul, scoring hit singles with their self-penned That Lady and a funk-infused cover of Seals and Crofts’ Summer Breeze. Harvest for the World was the album that broke them internationally; recorded at The Record Plant in Los Angeles, it had a distinctively warm mid-seventies, Californian feel and sold over half a million vinyl copies in its first three weeks of release – making it one of the fastest selling US albums ever. It was an appropriately sunny album for an America celebrating its bicentennial year.
The opening Harvest for the World (Prelude) – and then classic song following it – are surely the album’s highlight. The sense of tension rises as the mood switches from a soulful piano-driven ballad into an upbeat, acoustic guitar-driven protest song. Musicianship is superb, with beautifully syncopated piano work and percussion, alongside Ronald Isley’s plaintive but gutsy vocals, and brothers O’Kelly and Rudolph backing him. The album runs the gamut of styles, from the funky Superstition-era Stevie Wonder-tinged People of Today to the more mellifluous Superfly-period Marvin Gaye feel of (At Your Best) You Are Love.
Although by no means an ‘audiophile’ recording, Harvest for the World nevertheless has an earthiness and honesty that makes it a pleasure to play on any serious hi-fi system – and the sheer virtuosity of the musicianship is hard to miss. It first reached Compact Disc in Japan in 1995 [Sony Records SRCS 6465], but the later 2011 UK remaster [Big Break Records CDBBR 0083] sounds decent enough and is a more easily attainable introduction to The Isley Brothers canon.
To listen to our all of our 2019 AOTM choices visit https://tidal.com/playlist/05aa8463-bc28-4a26-a1d1-c8fad7c3c32b
No definitive account of nineteen seventies popular music would be complete without mentioning Dr Feelgood. Formed in Canvey Island, Essex, in 1971, from day one the band had the distinction of being one of Britain’s most unfashionable pop groups. At that time, pop music was moving from Progressive Rock to Glam, and then soon to Punk – yet guitarist Wilko Johnson, singer Lee Brilleaux, bass player John B. Sparks and drummer John Martin were none of the above. In love with rhythm and blues – a genre widely regarded as just an influence on other great bands, rather than a thing in itself – they were way out of time.
The band’s name was taken from Willie Perryman’s 1962 hit Doctor Feelgood, recorded under the moniker of Dr. Feelgood & The Interns – as well as being a drug-related slang term. Brillaint young musicians, their skills were honed by relentless gigging in London pubs and clubs, and they were devoted to R&B in spite of it being very much a niche pursuit. Their playing style was certainly not in the manner of slick American greats such as John Lee Hooker, though. Instead it was spiky, raw and edgy to the point that at their best, their music was almost an assault on the senses. In a way, they presaged Punk Rock in this, doing to R&B what the likes of the Sex Pistols did to Rock and Roll. As The Independent’s Nick Hasted put it, “Feelgood are remembered in rock history as John the Baptists to Punk’s messiahs…”
The band’s first album Down By The Jetty was recorded for United Artists between the June 8th and November 27th, 1974, then released the following January. Its non-nonsense monochrome cover shot was a dramatic contrast to the ornate, colourful designs of Progressive rockers like Pink Floyd and Genesis – and its production way off too. Indeed, it was deliberately mastered in mono, which couldn’t have been more contrary to the fashion of the day for sophisticated multi-tracked stereo recordings. The result is forty-plus minutes of crunchy, stripped-down, guitar driven music that has an attitude that few debut albums have ever bettered.
From the opening thrash of She Does It Right to the grimy cover of John Lee Hooker’s Boom Boom, to the slippery rhythms of More I Give and the scratchy All Through the City, this album is a fascinating mish-mash of old school American Blues and nineteen seventies British teenage angst. Although the band never thought their music translated well to studio albums, Down By The Jetty sounds unique all the same. The Vic Maile production is refreshingly lean and mean, full of grit, energy and edge – things lacking in today’s over-produced, computer-assisted pop fodder. Because the band and their music were terminally out of fashion at the time of its release, Down By The Jetty has hardly dated and sounds strangely timeless now.
The most recent 2006 CD remaster [EMI 0946 363951] is very clean, and well able to capture the visceral energy of the musicianship, along with the catchy riffs and stripped-down rhythms. Lee Brilleaux’s vocals are crisp and clear, while Wilko Johnson’s razor-edged guitar work is breathtakingly syncopated with that super-tight rhythm section.
A couple of years after its release, Rock critics were waxing lyrical about the power and directness of The Ramones, largely neglecting the brilliance of a much less pretentious band closer to home. Indeed, Down By The Jetty went on to become a formative influence on the careers of greats like Paul Weller and Blondie, as well as being a seriously special album in its own right.
Listen to all of our 2019 AOTM choices for 2019 on our TIDAL playlist
When it came to choosing my first “older” Only the Music choice of 2019 it was very clear which route I’d be taking. Fresh in my memory as I type is the recent launch of Venus Unwrapped, the concert series at London’s Kings Place which will spend the next eleven months throwing a light on the achievements of women composers. That opening event saw soprano Mary Bevan and members of the Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment perform the music of seventeenth century Venetian composer Barbara Strozzi, and by the time the year is out over 100 women composers will have been represented across over sixty events. It should be fascinating, and I suspect many of us will emerge the other end having had previously-held perceptions challenged and changed. So the first track on this month’s playlist is the first movement of French composer Louise Farrenc’s 1847 Symphony No 3 in G minor, a magnificent work that represents a colossal achievement not simply for the fact that it was composed at a time when women were barred from composition classes at the Paris Conservatoire, but also because this was an era during which symphonic music in general was out of fashion on Parisian stages, audiences instead preferring grand opera. Opening with solitary oboe, before quickly and expertly building to a huge full-orchestra climax, this is a brilliantly crafted and thoroughly ear-grabbing work which thoroughly explains why Robert Schumann admired her music so much.
It’s Schumann who then tops this month’s three new release choices, in the shape of cellist Gautier Capuçon’s new all-Schumann programme for Warner Classics, after which we have Early Music vocal ensemble Stile antico on Harmonia Mundi, with a programme centred around English Elizabethan composers in exile. Then to finish, a first foray into the recording studio from the young Consone Quartet that’s resulted in a programme of Mendelssohn and Haydn which I’ve no doubt I’ll still be describing in eleven months’ time as one of the most satisfying recording debuts of 2019.
Years in development, Gautier Capuçon’s latest album is an all-Schumann programme of live concert recordings dating between 2009 and 2015, made with some of his longest-standing musical collaborators and champions. Its superlative curtain-raiser is the Cello Concerto (composed so the three movements flowed seamlessly into each other with no breaks, such was Schumann’s dislike of mid-work applause), recorded in 2015 in the Amsterdam Concertgebouw with the Chamber Orchestra of Europe under Bernard Haitinck (first concert together 1997). Capuçon’s playing here is supremely elegant and unfailingly beautiful of tone. However equally it’s taut with drama, and with a wonderful ever-so-slightly-untamed quality which brings to the fore the turbulence and instability which dominated so much of Schumann’s life and psychological state. Haitink and the COE meanwhile are with Capuçon every step of the way, with a multi-coloured reading imbued with understanding of both composer and soloist. The rest of the album then underlines Capuçon’s status as one of the world’s finest chamber musicians, with recordings made with pianist Martha Argerich (first concert 2002) at her Martha Argerich Project Festival in Lugano: the Adagio and Allegro op.70, the Fantasiestücke op.73 and the Fünf Stücke im Volkston op.102; then the Fantasiestück op.88 for which they’re joined by Capuçon’s violinist brother Renaud (first concert 1997). With all of these it feels every bit as much like perfection every step of the way, with chamber bonding which couldn’t be any tighter, closer or more instinctive. Or indeed more exquisite, when it comes to moments such as the brothers’ dovetailing lines of the op.88 central slow movement. Obviously it’s early days, but I have a feeling this will turn out to be one of this year’s stand-out albums. So lucky us that we get it as early as January.
This latest beautifully conceived album from Early Music vocal ensemble Stile antico is built around the music of Elizabeth composers who found themselves in exile as a result of their Catholic faith. Sometimes this was textbook geographical exile, with composers such as Peter Philips, Richard Dering and John Dowland effectively choosing spiritual home over physical home by leaving England’s shores for new lives on the continent. For other composers though, such as Robert White and William Byrd, the exile took the form of spiritual exile in England itself.
The works Stile antico have chosen span the emotional and stylistic gamut. On the one hand, there’s Robert White’s (1538-1574) affecting Lamentations a 5: a dramatic and individual setting of the Old Testament Lamentations from Jeremiah, meditating on the Babylonians’ destruction of Jerusalem, which would have felt especially pertinent subject matter for an England-based Catholic. But on the other hand there are works such as Peter Philips’ joyous and slightly more archaic-sounding “Gaude Maria virgo”. The Stile antico sound itself is clear and agile, with female sopranos so boy-treble-like of tone that at points you can’t believe that’s not what you’re listening to, and the two tracks I’ve chosen show that off to the full. First, Richard Dering’s Italianate, madrigal-like “Factum est silentium”, which sets a dramatic passage from the book of Revelation. The second extract is then the recording’s only modern piece, from one of today’s finest British composers: Huw Watkins’ 2014 setting of Shakespeare’s poem The Phoenix and the Turtle, which on the surface describes the funeral rites of the phoenix and the turtle dove (symbolic of perfection and devoted love), but which may also have been an allegory about Catholic martyrs.
Every so often a debut recording comes along which absolutely leaps out of the stereo at you as something special right from its first seconds, and this is one of these.
Formed in 2012 at London’s Royal College of Music, the Consone Quartet focusses on exploring Classical and Early Romantic period repertoire on period instruments, and their successes to date include winning the 2016 Royal Over-Seas League Ensemble Prize, and two prizes at the 2015 York Early Music Competition, including a place on the Eeemerging Scheme for young artists at Ambronay. At the centre of this programme now recorded through that same Eeemerging Scheme is the first of Haydn’s late-life op.77 pair of string quartets of 1799, commissioned by the wealthy Viennese patron Prince Maximilian Lobkowitz who at the same time commissioned a set of quartets from the young Beethoven. Bookending this are two Mendelssohn quartets: the String Quartet No 1 of 1829, written by the eighteen year old composer shortly after Beethoven’s death sent shockwaves across the musical world; then the four string quartet movements dating from various periods of Mendelssohn’s life, which after his death in 1847 were grouped together and published (in 1850) as his op.81. It’s Mendelssohn’s String Quartet No 1 you’ll find on this playlist, and the Consone Quartet’s tender and poised reading displays all the qualities you’ll hear across their programme: clean, lucid tone; tonally zinging and tightly superglued ensemble playing; beautifully spun long lines; and a compelling narrative to the phrasing which has you hanging on for their every next musical word.