Category: Reviews

When I was a young child, my mother purchased a blouse and brought it home to the acclaim of my aunts and older sisters. “Oh, that’s smart!” they pronounced, cooing and stepping back to admire the thing. Not a little bit jealous, I was taken aback.

ìI send my heart up to thee, all my heart in this, my singingî Robert Browning.

The title of this CD is taken from the text of one of Amy Beachís Three Browning Songs, which close the program. Given Deborah Voigtís ability to sing this program with completely natural expression and crystal clear diction while maintaining a consistently high standard of vocal production and musicianship, it is easy to believe that in her singing she shares with us something of what is most dear to her own heart. Fortunately for us, in doing this she is also giving us a fine recording of American art songs, some of which will be quite familiar to many listeners, others of which will be wonderful new discoveries.

Joachim Carlos Martini is well represented in the Naxos catalog with recordings of Handel oratorios, including Athalia, Saul, Il Trionfo del Tempo . . ., Deborah, the ìpasticcioî oratorios, Gideon and Nabal, and this recent release of LíAllegro, il Penseroso ed il Moderato. Narrowly traditional views of what an oratorio ought to beóa Biblical narrative in a dramatic frameóare stretched here, and this is a good reminder that the term ìoratorioî was used flexibly in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

The 19th Century French composer Charles Gounod is best known for his lyric dramas / operas Faust (1859) and RomÈo et Juliette (1867), and the very popular MÈditation sur le 1er prÈlude de piano de J. S. Bach (1852), arranged as an Ave Maria in 1859. Yet the dominant portion of Gounodís creative output was church music, the amount of which surpassed that of any other composer of the 19th Century. In spite of this, the church music of Gounod remains an obscure portion of his oeuvre.

Sergei Rachmaninov established his reputation early in his career as one of the twentieth- centuryís foremost pianists and conductors. Critical assessment of his abilities as composer, however, was harsh. In the fifth edition of Groveís Dictionary of Music and Musicians, Eric Blom wrote dismissively: ìÖas a composer [Rachmaninov] can hardly be said to have belonged to his time at all,ÖHis music is well constructed and effective, but monotonous in texture, which consists in essence mainly of artificial and gushing tunesÖ.[His] enormous popular successÖis not likely to last,Öî In general, critics dismissed his musical language as outmoded, as being far from the mainstream of twentieth-century musical styles–indeed, most considered his works as anachronisms, composed by a man whose style had not left the late nineteenth century. Even Rachmaninov acknowledged feeling lost amid the music of most other twentieth-century composers. In a 1939 interview he gave for the Musical Courier, Rachmaninov said, ìI felt like a ghost wandering in a world grown alien. I cannot cast out the old way of writing and I cannot acquire the new.î

Despite his relative youth (b.1971), Thomas AdËs is well-known among todayís serious opera connoisseurs for his 1995 opera hit, Powder Her Face, as well as his more recent opera, The Tempest, which opened in February 2004 to rave reviews. The success of these imaginative, ground-breaking compositions has led him to be recognized as one of Britainís most promising young composers. As such, AdËs has enjoyed the privilege of having his music performed by only the highest caliber of musicians. The featured performers in the 2005 EMI Classics release of his Piano Quintet (2001) are no exception.

Probably the best thing that can be said about Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, Richard Stilgoe, and Charles Hartís The Phantom of the Opera becoming the longest running Broadway musical, which it almost certainly will, is that it will take that honor away from Cats. (I am reminded of David Lettermanís comment, made with mock horror, ìWhat if it really is ënow and foreverí?î) Phantom, as it is known both with and without affection, is perhaps Lloyd Webberís most ìtraditionalî show: it has far more book scenes than his earlier, concept-album-as-musical shows, although the latter, including Jesus Christ Superstar and Evita, are tremendously and, arguably, more effective; it recalls operetta despite its pop-heavy score; and it is based on a novel that is already known through incarnations on stage and screen. Its unabashed romanticism, despite its occasional descent into bathos, has endeared it to millions, many of who see it again and again and continue to be moved by it. So I suppose it was only a matter of time until an arranger came up with an orchestral version of the score to satisfy pop concert audiences and other aficionados of the score.

Johann Theile is best known for his significant body of church music and his reputation as ìthe father of contrapuntists.î It is easy to summon the image of a learned graybeard, well-practiced in contrapuntal art (especially invertible counterpoint, it would seem). This recent recording from Ludger RÈmy, however, shows us a less well-known and very congenial side of Theile: the composer of student love songs.

It is unfortunate that audiences tend to pigeonhole Xavier Montsalvatge (1912-2002) as a one-work composer. There is no doubt, however, that the popularity of his Canciones negras has overshadowed the rest of his output.

This new recording of two somewhat early works with music by Sir Arthur Sullivan provides a taste of Sullivan just before and just after the beginning of his famed collaboration with W. S. Gilbert. Cox and Box was produced in 1866. Trial by Jury debuted in 1875, four years after Thespis, Gilbert and Sullivanís first work as a team. The difference is apparent if not glaring. It is mostly noticeable in Sullivanís more nuanced response to Gilbertís libretto, which is far more sophisticated and clever than Burnandís nonetheless amusing effort. The transition from the end of the earlier work to the opening chorus of Trial by Jury, which immediately places us in the identifiable musical world of G&S, is remarkable. With Burnand, Sullivan is broader in his parodic musical pastiche; with Gilbert, he lets the words take over most of the satire and composes in a subtler, and even more delightful, vein.