“New” Music Log

Thanks Mark, I'll certainly give them a whirl.

I must say I'm thrilled to have come across Socrate, but rather astonished that it's taken me more than 20 years of quite dedicated Radio 3 listening to hear the thing forthe first time!

I’m the first to confess that I’m not much of an Aaron Copland fan. His “Americana” or “Populist” or at least popular works (whatever you want to call them), in particular, just don’t do it for me. I have heard some of his less popular music, and found that more to my liking, and his opera The Tender Land as conducted by erstwhile local conductor Murry Sidlin at a venue I know is worth a listen or two. When I saw that Robert Silverman’s 1970s recordings of four of Copland’s piano works had been reissued at Naxos price by Marquis Classics, I figured it couldn’t hurt to give old Aaron a shot.

The disc opens with Copland’s piano sonata from 1941, and this work falls squarely into Copland’s modernist compositions. The piece opens with some nicely appealing, if it’s your thing, angular (or spiky or jagged) music played with crisp, hard staccato by Silverman, something he’s adept at. The music and playing eases up a bit after a while, but it doesn’t exactly become Rach-like. It remains dense and difficult. And that’s just the Molto moderato opening section. (The work is one long movement.) The Vivace section sounds a bit lighter, at least for a time, but it remains spiky, and the louder passages come across nicely as Silverman hits them keys hard. The piece closes with a long Andante sostenuto that manages a very complex trick, and one I’ve heard very rarely: it stays resolutely modern and abstract and difficult, but it also sounds beautiful, at least at times. Much credit must be given to Silverman for this, of course, but the music does sound attractive and supremely serene. The music almost pulls off that time-suspension trick, and in some ways it sounds like a modern equivalent of the second movement of LvB’s 111. I still prefer the Bonn master’s work – it is, after all, one of the supreme masterpieces of all music – but this work exceeded expectations. It’s quite good and will earn repeated listens.

The rest of the disc isn’t up the same standard. The Passacaglia from 1922 sound very formal and serious and never really offers the type of musical nourishment I hunger for. It’s rather plain. The Four Piano Blues, written between 1926 and 1948 for four different pianists including Andor Foldes and William Kapell, are better. The first is heavy, probing, and deliberate; the second lighter, more lyrical, and more playful; the third sounds beefy yet warm and glowing, while retaining a serious formality; the fourth is rhythmically spry and angular. All have jazzy elements. The disc rounds out with The Cat and the Mouse from 1920, which is jaunty, scampering, fun, and fresh, with a broad dynamic range.

This very short disc (45’ or so) is thus mostly about the sonata, which is quite a work. The younger Robert Silverman trumps the older Robert Silverman in terms of technique, and his musical sensibility is assured. The only problem with the disc is the sound. Extraneous noises interrupt the music throughout. I can’t tell if it’s someone breathing really heavy, or something scraping along the ground or a wall, or just tape distortion or deterioration, or all that and more, but it does become a bit bothersome at times. So does the occasional post-echo from the analog tapes. Those caveats aside, this disc proved to be a nice, ear opening experience.


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After a few moments I fumbled around my CD pile to make sure I hadn’t put in a disc of Dvorak’s string quartets rather than Bax’s. The opening Allegretto semplice of the first quartet sounds like nothing if not a lost Dvorak gem, one written while the Czech was on a secret sojourn to the British Isles. It sounds rhythmically lively, buoyant, fresh, and “rustic,” if you will. Okay, on to the less Dvorakian Lento e molto expressivo: it sounds beautiful and mushy romantic, with a somewhat forlorn air, a feeling the quieter moments only reinforce. The concluding Rondo is sunny and rustic like the opener, but here it’s more Irish, with some of the music purportedly premised on an Irish folk tune. The work is quite splendid, even if it sounds like something of an anachronism for its own time.

The second quartet is more of its time. The opening Allegro opens with the solo cello immediately establishing a tense, serious mood, a feeling only intensified when the viola enters. As the movement unwinds, a few lyrical passages offer a rest from the somewhat darker, more dissonant music around it. (Though one couldn’t really call it too intense.) The Lento, molto espressivo (with espressivo spelled properly) reveals that a proclivity for romantic music hadn’t fled Bax by the time he wrote this. The music is richly layered and sounds achingly beautiful and emotive at times. The work closes with an Allegro vivace that opens with a transformed take on the first movement, with the whole ensemble going full bore for good sections of the movement. The movement does alternate between robust, thrusting music, and relaxed, lyrical music, and caps off a fine work.

I really enjoy this disc. Arnold Bax’s first two string quartets are wonderful little works. If they don’t rise to the same level as the greatest examples in this genre, they still deserve to be better known, and are accomplished. The Maggini Quartet plays splendidly.

SOTA sound.

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Poor us! I’ve read a number of laments on the net about how much music fans have lost because Juan Arriaga died at the terribly young age of 19. He was, or could have been, the next Mozart! Or something like that. Since I like string quartets, and since I’d never heard Mr Arriaga’s music before, and since he is apparently all that and then some, I figured the Naxos disc of his string quartets was worth investigating.

It certainly was (and is). The three quartets all share certain traits in common. They all, on the whole, sound lively, wonderfully melodic, and energetic. One could never say they possess the depth of Beethoven’s late quartets, or the sophistication of Haydn’s quartets from around Op 20 on. (Or maybe even Op 9 on.) Nor do they display the absolute melodic mastery displayed by Schubert. But they do have enough there to warrant further listens.

A bit more detail seems warranted. The first quartet shows some nice range. The opening Allegro starts off slightly dark before moving onto more sparkling music, with a beautiful slow movement and jaunty Menuetto to follow. The closing movement opens with forceful chords reminiscent of Beethoven and, especially, Schubert. The second quartet is generally lighter and sunnier. At times, one might get the feeling that the musical development isn’t meaty enough, but the effortless lyricism pretty much compensates. The final quartet is the most substantive of the three. The opening movement is much the same as other swifter movements on the disc, but in the second movement Pastorale one hears something new. Or maybe not so new. It seems a tribute to the rather famous symphony sharing the same name, with it’s stormy tremolos. There’s no explosive tutti here, of course, but the effect is quite nice. The Menuetto sounds quite pleasant, and the concluding Presto agitato displays a certain compositional density that some of the other movements display.

It’s not at all hard to really enjoy this disc. The Camerata Boccherini play splendidly, the sound is superb, and the music is delightful. I’m not sure I can say that Arriaga could have been the next Mozart or anything like that, but then how could one make such a claim? I can say that other composers wrote more compelling music while as young or younger. Mendelssohn’s great String Octet, for instance, is superior to these three works, and Mozart wrote a number of better works. Same for Schubert. So I guess I can’t join the vocal enthusiasts prone to exaggeration. I can say that I like this disc, will listen to it again, and may even try more of Arriaga’s music. He strikes me as a lightweight Mendelssohn, with all that implies, good and bad.


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Time for some more. This time I went for a more recent volume – volume four. This disc opens with the solo piano setting of the fourth Bachianas Brasileiras. The opening Preludio is quite somber, very serious, and decidedly formal. And romantic! It sort of sounds like Bach meets Rach. The Coral is again quite serious, and is richly textured and comparatively “heavy.” Rubinsky keeps things moving along quite strictly until after 3’30,” when pounding chords juxtapose against tinkly arpeggios and other contrast-y devices until the end. The Aria alternates between slow, somber music and vigorous, lively music, and the concluding Dansa sounds very much dance like. Imagine that.

Next up is another of Villa-Lobos’ numerous little pieces – Poema Singelo. It sounds lovely and lyrical and romantic – almost a little song without words. Next is another children’s piece, the Carnaval das Criancas. The overall demeanor is light and bubbly, but the overall style is decidedly complex. Modern children, I guess. After that is yet another children’s piece, Francette et Pia. Here the subject is of a little Brazilian boy meeting a little French girl. A charming conceit, to be sure, and it’s charming music charmingly played. (The ending duets in both this and the preceding piece are as well done as the solo pieces.) Were Villa-Lobos not so good at writing such works, one could tire of them quickly. As it is, one cannot. A series of little pieces finishes off the disc. A Fiandeira is a lyrical, perpetual motion piece; Simples Cloetanea is itself a collection of three unrelated yet irresistible little pieces; and Valsa Romantica is, you guessed it, a romantic waltz.

As with the prior two discs, sound is superb and Sonia Rubinsky’s playing is simply top-notch. Another winner in the series.


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Johann Jakob Froberger is a name I’d only read about up until I got this disc. Those who’ve already discovered his music seem to hold him high regard. Since the fine harpsichordist Blandine Verlet (she of the fine Louis Couperin recordings, among other things) recorded some of his music, I figured his music was worth a shot.

On the evidence of this disc, Mr Froberger’s music is not really for those wanting showy, bombastic music. Granted, the title ou l’tranquillité doesn’t promise the most extroverted works, but the style of writing present here, which includes excerpts from larger suites, is very much of a personal, introspective nature. The music practically begs the listener to kick back, relax (but not too much), and simply get lost in the slow, delicate, intricate, and quite intimate musical ideas. No Big Bang, no Flash, no Dazzle. Just fine music. Now, some may find such sustained intricacy and intimacy boring or hard to get into, and this certainly isn’t a disc I’ll just plop in for easy thrills, but if you’ve got a hankerin’ for this type of music, this disc seems quite a fine choice. Perhaps Froberger’s other music is more obvious and extroverted, though what I’ve read about him doesn’t lead me to believe he’s another Scarlatti, but I rather fancy this music. It’s refreshing in a way.

Ms Verlet’s playing is superb – nuanced, precise but not at all clinical, and imbued with life, all without any overstatement. Or understatement. Sound quality is top notch, too, and one gets some fine accompaniment from some birds in this springtime recording.



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Another entirely new composer for me, though the music on this disc sounds suspiciously familiar. Boris Tishchenko lives and studied in Russia, and studied with Shostakovich himself. It rather shows, at least here. That’s not to say that his music is completely derivative, but it seems to be heavily influenced by his one time teacher.

The symphony on this disc is a big, long, at times loud affair, but it is also accomplished and varied. Abandoning traditional notions of using descriptive labels for movements, Tishchenko instead labels the movements I-V, but much remains familiar. The opening movement starts off with some rather playful winds dancing over pizzicato strings, but even amid the jollity one senses something a bit darker. Not sinister really, just darker. Time and time again, this darkness comes to the fore, especially with loud, astringent string writing, and in the grotesque, circus-like music in the latter half of the movement. The second movement continues with this duality as the music sounds bold, boisterous, and clangorous, with seething rage all but erupting into the open. All the while, a peculiarly happy veneer remains. The third movement is the slow movement, and it is characterized by a slow, introspective, woodwind-led sound that rather reminds me of the slow movement of Suk’s A Summer’s Tale. The fourth movement begins a return to the music that came before, with edgy strings, a purposefully blatty sound to the tuttis, and an at times “cartoonish” sound. It’s ironic and eerie and bitter, yet it pulses with life. The closing movement opens with peculiarly quiet tom-toms underpinning a vibrant, melodic piccolo and orchestra exchange. As the movement progresses, it maintains a happy-but-not-really sound as the music evolves into a cacophonous, tension-filled series of climaxes.

In some ways in almost sounds like Shostakovich’s 16th or 17th symphony. There is enough stylistic uniqueness here to make sure one knows it’s not DSCH, but the influence looms large. The colorful, varied orchestration; the superb section writing; the seamless transitions and fluid development: Tishchenko is quite a skilled composer, there’s no doubt. I’m actually interested in investigating more of his music to see if he’s more original elsewhere in his output. Even if he’s not, there’s enough there to tickle one’s ears.

Dmitry Yablonsky and the Moscow Philharmonic do an outstanding job, and the sound quality is superb. In fact, I neglected to read the notes prior to listening and was thus surprised to hear the audience applauding at the end. Slips and noise are kept to a minimum. More good stuff.


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How much more exotic than a blend of East and West can one get? (Perhaps Mongolian throat singing or Gambian folk music I suppose.) Surely then Tan Dun should be worth a listen. I mean, I inaugurated this thread with a recording of similar (well, not really) works by Huang Ruo, so another success should be assured.

Such is not the case. The disc Bitter Love, which is a series of extracts from Tan Dun’s opera Peony Pavilion, is the first flat out dud I’ve come across in my current exploration of new music. Only a few things work – but more on those in a bit. Pretty much everything else is bad. Horrid at times. The midi “horns” certainly fall squarely into the ‘horrid’ camp, as does the nonsensical caterwauling by some tortured male singer that pops up from time to time. (I guess it may not be nonsensical to Mandarin speakers, presuming the words are in Mandarin, but screeching in English can kill even Shakespeare, so text quality matters not a whit.) The baritone chorus, with its Gregorian chant informed sound, adds a measure of New Age-y sound that almost induces snickers. Alright, ignore the word ‘almost.’ The spoken parts – they’re dreams, you see – are just shy of being horrid, but not by much. There are also long stretches of songs and music that annoy fiercely.

I don’t want to be purely negative. As stated before, there are some good things about the recording. The soprano Ying Huang is one of them. She has a very lovely, soft, airy, feminine voice. If I can’t imagine her as, say, Salome, she did make me dislike the recording less when she was singing. Another good thing is the pipa playing of Min Xiao-Fen. She adds a fluidity to her playing that I’ve not heard before. (Okay, my exposure to the pipa is very limited, but still.) And some of the “Eastern” sounding music does sound compelling from time to time. Perhaps the most striking thing about this recording is the sound quality: It is simply amazing, demonstration quality stuff all the way. Sort of. Timbral accuracy, detail, and scale are absolutely amazing – instruments sound life size for sure – but it’s also obviously processed. The soundstage literally expanded beyond the boundaries of my rear and side walls. This should be used by hi-fi dealers to demo gear.

But a good singer, good instrumentalist, and world-class sound cannot save this recording from being a world-class dud. I suppose one might conclude that I’m just not open to different cultural influences, but my positive experiences with Huang Ruo and Bright Sheng lead me to a different conclusion: Crap knows no international boundaries. Blech.



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When I first learned that Naxos had commissioned ten string quartets from Peter Maxwell-Davies several years back, my curiosity was piqued. I’d never actually heard anything by the composer, but some new string quartets seemed a fine idea, even if a record label commissioning them seems a bit commercial. (Oooh, commercial – bad!) It’s been a few years since the first disc was released, and I just got around to trying it. It ain’t half bad.

The very first quartet isn’t really what I expected, though I wasn’t sure precisely what to expect. At some level, I expected an avant-garde work – something Ligeti-like, perhaps – but what’s on offer is a bit different. The opening Adagio is lovely and appealing in late-19th / early-20th Century sort of way, an obvious homage to times past, but things pick up quickly and change with the Allegro, which is possessed of forward drive, tangy dissonances, rhythmic concision, broad dynamic and expressive range, and an admirable directness. It’s more modern, but not hard to listen to modern. Hints of Haydn and Bartok seem buried in the music. The music bleeds right into the slow, slow Largo which manages the neat trick of sounding both lovely and challenging. Piercing violin playing continual pops up, and a rather twisted dance theme shows up around 5’45” to add a bit more color. The Allegro molto closer is brief and light and mostly very quiet, ending the work with haunting, whispered pianissimo playing. It’s a very obvious homage to the end of Chopin’s second sonata (and by extension, perhaps LvB’s Op 26?), and works quite well. A fine work.

The second quartet opens where the first left off, with an almost devout Lento distinguished by gobs of delicately variegated quiet playing. The following Allegro is fast, dance-inspired, but also “angular,” which is to say spicily modern. But it’s not too hard to listen to. The Lento flessibile (I love the description) has searing, dramatic, pained playing, which is followed up by an Allegro that sounds grotesquely playful. It’s vividly varied in terms of both dynamics and texture. The ending Lento flessibile portion opens slowly and quietly, with an endlessly (well, almost) repeated two note pattern carried on in different registers by the different instruments. The repetitiveness creates an aura of abstract pensiveness, while fitful, intense, brief outbursts offer contrast throughout. Another fine work.

I like this disc. The quartets are obviously very “modern” works, but I find them immediately accessible if still tastily complex. While I was initially expecting something different than what I got, I don’t mind at all what I heard. My guess is that these works, while perhaps not as monumental as Beethoven’s quartets, will yield more secrets upon more repeated hearings. I should probably try some more.


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A few years ago I picked up a fine disc, from Naxos, of decidedly obscure music. It’s entitled Norwegian 20th Century String Quartets – see what I mean about obscure – and has four surprisingly good works on it. The first composer represented on the disc is one Klaus Egge, and since his work left a good impression, when I saw that Naxos recently opted to release a similarly themed disc, this time as part of the 20th Century Norwegian series, with more works by Mr Egge, I jumped. It was a good call.

The disc opens with a non-20th Century work by that most famous of Norwegian composers, Edvard Grieg. The reason is pretty clear when one considers the programming. The miniature that opens the disc is from Grieg’s compilation of 25 Norwegian Folksongs and Folkdances, and is based on the theme from Solfager og Ormekongen, or Sun-Fair and the Snake-King. Since Grieg made such a specialty of piano miniatures, it’s not at all surprising that this work sounds wonderful. It also leads right into the next work: Klaus Egge’s second piano concerto, Op 21, from 1944, which is alternatively titled Symphonic Variations and Fugue on a Norwegian Folktune. The same folk tune that Grieg used. But one wouldn’t really be able to tell short of reading the score, because the music is decidedly different. Both the soloist and band alternate between neo-romantic lyricism and (almost) lushness and craggier, spikier, more modern music more of its time. The work winds through the variations quickly and tautly – the whole piece is around 20’ – and the concluding fugue is possessed of intense energy and virtuosic but not flashy playing from all involved. It’s a fine work.

The next work continues on with the folk music inspired theme, which is the overriding theme of the whole disc, with a first of the Op 12 piano pieces from Mr Egge. This work is called Halling Fantasy and it is quite appealing. It’s knotty and craggy and most decidedly vigorous, with independent rhythmic patterns for each hand. It sounds rather like Bartok had a long-lost cousin up north who was pretty much as adroit as he at writing gnarly folk-inspired pieces.

The last work by Egge is a biggie: the first piano sonata, Op 4. Once again the folk element pervades, and once again the music is tastily modern. The work is based on the Draumkvædet, or a folk tale about a lengthy dream that leads a young lad through heaven and hell and such forth. The opening Grave is thus dark and brooding and boasts potent, thundering bass at times. The Allegro moderato seems perhaps more Allegro than moderato, what with its flowing cascades of notes, delivered both smoothly and with a sense of urgency. The Adagio ma non troppo is a bit slower, though hardly truly slow, and possesses a somewhat sharp edge to the sound, and discordant rhythms aplenty. The music remains dark and assumes a ruminative tone to boot. And that’s just in the opening couple minutes, because after that, at just after 2’, the music becomes fiery and stinging for a brief while. It settles back down, though it remains just a bit unsettled. The third movement is labeled Scherzo infernale, and it sounds rather like Grieg-meets-(diabolical) Liszt. It’s beefy and bold and driven, if not quite up to the same dizzying level as Liszt’s most over-the-top concoctions. (Some may say that’s a good thing.) The concluding Allegro in halling is more upbeat – almost celebratory – as it seems as though the imaginary protaganist is emerging from the long, intense, frightful dream in overjoyed fashion. The music and playing have an effortless, slipstream quality to them, and ends the work in a most satisfying manner.

The disc winds down with three miniatures by three different composers. Sverre Bergh’s Norwegian Dance Number 2, Gamel-Holin is another folk-based work, and it sounds unfailingly lovely, delicate, and light. Alf Hurum’s Aquarelles, Op 5/2 is a vigorous little work, with a really vibrant middle. The final work on the disc is Geirr Tveitt’s Brudlaups-Klokker, or Wedding Bells, which was written on the afternoon of a colleague’s daughter’s wedding as a wedding present. For something written on the spot, it actually sounds quite lovely. It’s sweet, wistful, gently melodic, and most beautiful. A fine present indeed!

I like this disc quite a bit. No, none of the works ranks among the best examples of their respective genres, but there’s more than enough there to come back to again and again. And I think this definitely indicates that I should sample more of Egge’s music. (Tveitt’s, too.)

The pianist for all the works is Håvard Gimse, a pianist I’ve neglected for too long. I’ve mulled over buying a few of his other discs, and now I think I’ll have to reprioritize some of my future purchases. The man has a superb technique, can extract a broad tonal palette from his instrument, and has a wide, powerful dynamic range. I definitely would like to hear him in Chopin, Schumann, Liszt, and Debussy. The Trondheim Soloists, conducted by Håvard’s younger brother Øyvind, acquit themselves nicely in the concerto.

SOTA sound all around, though the concerto, which was recorded earlier and with a different engineer, has some analog hiss, or something that sounds just like analog hiss, running throughout. It’s only audible during the quiet passages, and even then it’s very low in level, but it seems that an analog tape was used somewhere in the recording and/or mastering process. No matter, a fine disc.


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When Rzewski Plays Rzewski first came out early this decade, I was interested in getting it, but for some reason I never quite got around to it until now. In some ways I can’t say that the wait was such a bad thing. Sure, Frederic Rzewski keeps alive the whole pianist-composer thing, but that really works only if the pianist’s compositions are really compelling. Other pianist-composers of the recorded age have apparently recorded relatively little of their own works. (Horowitz- and Volodos-like transcriptions not included.) Kempff, Casadesus, Schnabel – to name just three – all focused their recording efforts on more standard fare. Perhaps for good reason. (The little I’ve heard from the latter two hint strongly at them being better pianists than composers.) Rzewski, though, was afforded the luxury of recording seven discs worth of music by Nonesuch. Was such a luxury warranted?

The first disc seems to indicate it was. The disc is given over to music inspired by North American folk music, and here Rzewski’s obvious penchant for improvisation, or composition closely mimicking improvisation, really pays off. The North American Ballads sound like folk-music that has gone through an intellectual’s mental meat grinder and come out quite well. Whether playing with heavy, droning ostinato, or dark, hardened boogie-woogie, or a throbbing, brittle rhythmic sense, the music jumps from the speakers. The Housewife's Lament , the disc’s closing work, has moments of beauty, though it more or less carries on in the same style as before. The set starts off strongly.

The second disc is nearly as good. It opens with Mayn Yingele, a set of variations that sounds rather like Beethoven-meets-Schoenberg. Gnarly and knotty much of the time, Rzewski still manages to leave room for some passages of outright beauty. The music also seems to wander almost aimlessly at times, and it certainly seems as though at least some of the music is truly improvised. Based on Rzewski’s own ideas, the long cadenza certainly seems made up on the spot. The work ends with an industrial strength trill variation. It’s good, and worth several listens. The next work, A Life, is a work of around 4’33” that was written as a memorial to, not surprisingly, John Cage. Knotty, again, and chaotic, it is a fitting tribute. The disc ends with Fouges, a collection of 25 Schoenbergian miniatures, with all that implies. Those wanting endless streams of lovely melody need not listen. More adventurous souls will find to more to enjoy. Alas, this is where something that pops up over and over through the rest of the set also appears: the use of non-musical means to convey ideas. Here that means Rzewski banging on something with something else. (Hitting the piano with a stick?) That doesn’t get me worked up.

The third disc is devoted to more traditional compositions: a Fantasia and a Sonata. The Fantasia is a modern day take on the old stand-by, and Rzewski’s is heavy and blocky and thick and spiky. Again, it sounds improvised at times, and it makes for a stimulating listen, if not a very relaxing listen. The Sonata is even harder going. Truth to tell, I find it too long. The opening movement is over 25’ in length, and while one can enjoy the alternating harsh, pounded out notes and the rounded chords and the slower music with snatches of fun and melody, it just doesn’t seem to end. The second and third movements are shorter, but are still long, and how much a variations on Taps can one take? The concluding Agitato is yet another set of variations, here 27 of ‘em, and again, how much is enough?

The next two discs are taken up by the first parts of an on-going composition called The Road. And here’s where my patience wore thin. The piece opens with the recorded sound of the pianist walking to the piano, and it concludes with him walking away. In between, one hears long stretches of hard, dissonant, clangorous music interspersed with somber, barren slower passages, as well as some more lovely passages, and everything in between. But one also has to sit through humming and banging and scraping and thumping and moaning and other non-musical, or rather, non-pianistic sounds. The recitation of the last part of Gogol’s The Nose is an interesting conceit (I love that work), but in delivery it just doesn’t float my boat. I’m all for adventurous art, but there comes a point where it just ain’t working. The Road has a lot of these points. Which is a pity, because some of the music is truly excellent and compelling.

The sixth disc contains Rzewski’s take on his 36 variations on “The People United Will Never Be Defeated!” , based on a song by Sergio Ortega. In some ways this is the modern equivalent of the great Diabelli Variations by LvB himself. The song, while nice, isn’t quite up to what follows, as Rzewski unleashes a torrent of emotions and pianistic techniques. The variations vary widely, from lyrical to introspective to depressed to fiercely defiant, with the most heated music delivered with a most robust cutting intensity. The two cadenzas do seem improvised on the spot and sound very much informed by his mood while playing. The final restatement of the theme has an intensity and vitality that one may not have expected upon first hearing it. Rzewski interjects some whistling here and there, and while I could have done without it, the work and the performance are still quite fine.

The set closes with the comparatively brief De Profundis, which includes lengthy spoken parts, with the text provided by Oscar Wilde in the form of a long letter he composed while in prison. Again, random noises pop up all over, and again I just couldn’t derive much pleasure from them. But when only the piano or the piano and text are mixed together, there are some fine things. Wilde’s text, while a little incoherent at times as presented in the snippets here, have not a little power, and Rzewski’s music seems quite in tune with the spirit of the text. Alas, when a bicycle horn is added to the mix, the demented Marx Brothers effect ruins the music. Strip out the non-musical extras, and one would have a more compelling work.

What to make of this set? The purely musical aspects are often, though not always, quite compelling. Some works are too long, some too intense for extended listening sessions. (I don’t think I could ever finish this set in less than two-three weeks.) And Rzewski’s playing is quite good; he seems to have the inside scoop on the music, though he’d no doubt be the first to admit that there’s no “right” way to play his music. But the non-musical aspects of the set bother and annoy and detract from the overall achievement, at least for me. I simply don’t want to list to grunts and scraping sounds. This doesn’t get added to the frequently played list.

Sound is dry and close but excellent.


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