Modern and Contemporary

All Worlds, All Times
Windsync
Bright Shiny Things BST-0167 (brightshiny.ninja)

It’s not every day woodwind quintet music will make you want to get up and dance. Seize this disc and the day, says me. Opening things, Theia from Apollo by Marc Mellits, almost literally bops from the get-go. The piece is moon-themed – modern and ancient references abound – but mostly it all feels like a set list of a really good and interesting dance band. If rhythm is their strong suit, pitch is not. The second movement, Sea of Tranquility, opens with intonation issues so glaring one is left wondering whether it’s intentionally spectral, but I doubt it. It’s a flaw that could have been addressed prior to releasing the recording. Chords do not settle, unisons clash. But carping aside, the music itself is just so darned chipper. The finale, Moonwalk, scoots along; if this was the pace those first moonwalkers took, I’m an Olympic sprinter. Toe-tapping fun. 

Composer and percussionist Ivan Trevino joins the ensemble for his Song Book Vol.3, and the dancing just gets better. The titles refer to singer-songwriters: St. Annie (St. Vincent) is really sweet. Byrne (David) captures that enigmatic manchild’s spirit. Jónsi (Birgisson, of Sigur Rós from Iceland) is better than the original, and Thom (Yorke) is, of course, the coolest.

Miguel del Aguila’s Wind Quintet No.2 matches the character of the rest of the disc, but it has less depth and seems more gimmicky. It’s nice to hear the voices of the instrumentalists chant alongside the flute melody in Back in Time, the first movement. (They sing in tune!)

Kārlis Lācis – Piano Concerto; Latvian Symphony
Agnese Eglina; Artūrs Noviks; Liepāja Symphony Orchestra; Atvars Lakstīgala
LMIC SKANI 133 (skani.lv)

“Extreme emotions” and “maximalism” are well-chosen words that Latvian composer Kārlis Lācis (b.1977) uses to describe his 30-minute Piano Concerto (2013). The opening Allegro alternates fierce orchestral barrages with rapid, folk-dance-flavoured melodies played by pianist Agnese Eglina; both elements then merge, building to a motorized, near-cacophonous climax. In Crossroad, the piano’s slow walking pace over grey orchestral chords suggests a pensive stroll through a misty landscape. Despair mixes brutal, wildly syncopated polyrhythms, aggressive brass, percussion and musicians’ shouts. Lullaby quotes a traditional melody, but at an energized velocity and volume antithetical to sleep. The rustic romp finally subsides; the lullaby, now gentle and sweet, ends the concerto.

Although lacking a stated program, Lācis’ 37-minute Latvian Symphony (2019) features compelling, evocative episodes reflecting the movements’ titles. Paraphrases of the “Fate” fanfares from Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony open The Night is Dark; a propulsive struggle ensues, ending peacefully. The Lake shimmers Impressionistically, framing a brass-heavy, grandiosely imposing central section. Of the rumbustious folk tunes in the Latvian Scherzo, amply spiked with dissonances, Lācis says, “I took all the songs that are still in my head from childhood and I threw them all together.” Hurry, Dear Sun is clearly Nature-music: throbbing “forest murmurs” slowly crescendo to a grand, climactic sunrise; a brief, violent storm bursts, followed by folk-song-based music of relief and thanksgiving, ending with the musicians’ unaccompanied, chant-like humming.

Conductor Atvars Lakstīgala generates real excitement in these very colourful works. Enthusiastically recommended!

Thomas Larcher – Symphony No.2 “Kenotaph”; Die Nacht der Verlorenen
Andrè Schuen; Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra; Hannu Lintu
Ondine ODE 1393-2 (naxosdirect.com/search/ode+1393-2)

The subtitle “Kenotaph” signals that the 36-minute Symphony No.2 (2016) by Austrian Thomas Larcher (b.1963) will not be easy listening. Commemorating the hordes of desperate refugees recently drowned in the Mediterranean, the music is dark, vehement and angry. 

Explosive percussion and sinister suspense dominate the opening Allegro, culminating in a catastrophic blast. The sombre Adagio growls mournfully with repeated, drooping brass notes, interrupted by fortissimo shrieks before the brass groans resume. In the Scherzo, snarling dissonances and scattershot rhythms lead to an accelerando of pounding brass and percussion, and another cataclysmic climax; gentle woodwinds, offering brief respite, end the movement. The Introduzione, Molto allegro is filled with yet even more highly violent cannonades until the symphony’s final two minutes, a slow, hymn-like dirge that fades into silence.

The 28-minute song cycle Die Nacht der Verlorenen (2008) is one of three works Larcher has set to words by Austrian author-poet Ingeborg Bachmann (1926-1973), a suicidal, alcoholic drug addict. Unsurprisingly, these songs are pained and depressive, beginning with Alles verloren – Everything’s lost; the title song – in translation The Night of the Lost – declares, “Now, all is dark.”

Powerfully dramatic, whether crooning or shouting, Andrè Schuen’s burnished-bronze baritone superbly expresses all the texts’ tortured angst, while the orchestra, including accordion and prepared piano, glitters, drones and surges.

Both works, emphatically performed by conductor Hannu Lintu and the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, grabbed and held me with their incandescent sonorities and unremitting, ferocious intensity.

Elle
Angèle Dubeau; La Pietà
Analekta AN 2 8754 (analekta.com/en)

With the debonair virtuosity and unmatched passion of her playing, Angèle Dubeau is at the peak of her powers today. She is the consummate master of mood and atmosphere, with the ability to coordinate colour and structure to a rare degree. On her 2022 recording, Elle, Dubeau leads her celebrated ensemble – La Pietà – in interpreting repertoire by 13 women-composers spanning the 12th century of Hildegard von Bingen to the 21st century of Rachel Portman, Dalal and Isobel Waller-Bridge.    

Every past performance by Angèle Dubeau & La Pietà was immersed not simply in the harmonious combination of musical sounds but in the divine harmony of the cosmos. The performance on this disc is no exception. By the time you traverse its music and get to Mémoire by Katia Makdissi-Warren you will realize that it is indeed something special, as the piece features Inuit throat singers Lydia Etok and Nina Segalowitz. There’s fire in virtually every phrase as the instruments of La Pietà and the Inuit voices meld and breathe almost audibly as if immersed in the very mysteries and wonders of music.

Deeply meditative performances on O Virtus Sapientiae by von Bingen and the solemn Libera Me of Rebecca Dale bring expressive insight into those works. La Pietà also mesmerise with the minimalism of Waller-Bridge’s Arise. The beguiling performances conclude with Ana Sokolović’s Danse No.3. A champagne disc – its fizz and finesse grabs you by the ears.