In this thoughtful and measured recital, French pianist Bertrand Chamayou gives evocative accounts of a wide range of Schubert pieces. In the liner notes, Chamayou suggests that the album is “a kind of imaginary recital programme, along the lines of a concert that could have been heard in Vienna at the beginning of the Romantic period, in the cosy and intimate atmosphere of a salon… but which, for various historical reasons, could not have happened in this form”. While several other pianists have used the idea of a Schubertiade as inspiration for recital programming, the anachronistic inclusion of arrangements and transcriptions by Liszt and Richard Strauss make this a performance to remember, and prove that Chamayou has put a considerable amount of thought into this CD. At its heart is a strong performance of the Wanderer-Fantasie, a work that Chamayou infuses with a crucial sense of interconnection between the movements. It’s particularly important here, as the whole work is built on a motif taken from Schubert’s lied Der Wanderer, and that vital link is neatly highlighted. The other major works on the disc include the late Drei Klavierstücke D946, and the delightful 12 Ländler D790. The Klavierstücke were written within…

Zoltán Kodály’s reputation as a composer has usually taken a back seat to his ethnomusicology and pedagogical innovations, so although his music may lack the searching modernist abstraction of his colleague Bartók, it compensates with an authentic piquant flavour. These quartets are early works but Kodály’s character already comes through even in the first quartet where his Parisian training is obvious in the harmonic language – the melodic shapes and rhythms clearly hail from the Hungarian plain. It’s a lengthy work with weighty aspirations that doesn’t always convince but its Presto is a fun turn. The second quartet is a concise, pithy work with a more intense demeanour. Each of its three movements has a distinct flavour profile and pays off with an exciting finale full of stamping folk rhythms alternating with mysterious “night music” episodes; this is a work that should be programmed more often. Sandwiched between are two miniatures; an attractive Intermezzo for string trio and a quirky little Gavotte from 1952. The Dante Quartet play with warm devotion and a vehement intensity bolstered by technical security. Forget about national stereotypes; their bold attack and wide tonal palette allow them to sound “to the manner born” and there…

Italian period band Concerto Italiano continue their stylish survey of Vivaldi’s small yet perfectly formed string concertos with this second volume in Naïve’s monumental Vivaldi Edition. But has their normally iconoclastic director erred on the side of caution? In the booklet notes Alessandrini makes useful observations about these tiny concertos sans soloists, each of which lasts no more than four minutes. There are lots of them, but nobody knows what they were used for – though they claim kinship with Vivaldi’s operatic overtures. They take an idea and develop it through “predictable harmonic sequences”. They employ dance forms such as the gigue, fugal textures and “a certain carefree joy in the motor rhythms of long semiquaver passages”. As all are in four parts, their “chamber music idiom also lends itself to one instrument per part”. The music is wonderful, with Vivaldi showing his usual knack for getting the most out of a single idea, and Alessandrini’s sure direction moves it at a cracking pace with no loss of clarity. It’s only when you compare it with the far more colourful and exciting ones by Adrian Chandler and La Serenissima for Avie or Andrea Marcon and the Venice Baroque Orchestra for……

The opening chords to Mendelssohn’s Ruy Blas Overture are some of the most ominous in all Romantic music, and Riccardo Chailly gives them the works in this spirited new recording with the composer’s own orchestra from the Leipzig Gewandhaus. Great stuff, and the five selections from A Midsummer Night’s Dream that follow continue the take-no-prisoners approach. Chailly’s well known for his late-Romantic extravaganzas but it’s in this smaller, earlier Romantic repertoire that his natural flair and ability to expand musical ideas from within is best demonstrated. This is big, in-your-face Mendelssohn, with the scherzo less elfin and more goblin-esque than usual, while any couple using this lively reading of the Wedding March on their big day better be wearing track shoes to keep up. Mendelssohn’s Piano Concertos, featuring Saleem Ashkar are similarly meaty, the First starting off with such energy that it’s as if the music’s already built up a head of steam before the Record button was pressed. Ashkar gives it lots of razzle-dazzle, although some detail gets lost in the more intricate passages with the balance a little too much in favour of the super-charged orchestra. The Second Concerto isn’t so well known, but such is the full-blooded…

That enfant terrible of the opera stage Calixto Bieito must be mellowing in his middle age – either that or we have become numbed to the edgy Spanish director’s naughty ways. How else to explain why his take on Mussorgsky’s masterpiece Boris Godunov has less shock value than your average episode of Midsomer Murders? True he does have the Simpleton shot by a teenage girl, not to mention one of the crowd beaten to a pulp – oh and in Boris’s great death scene the pretender Dmitri strangles Xenia and suffocates the Tsarevich Fyodor. This Bayerische Staatsoper production is set in recent times. We know this because the chorus hold up posters of Putin, Bush, Sarkozy and Berlusconi. Bieito ditches the third act but strangely this causes little collateral damage. That’s because Bieito has a trump card in 38-year-old Ukrainian bass Alexander Tsymbalyuk, who is undoubtedly on the verge of a stellar career. He has everything – good looks, dramatic nous and a gorgeous voice that has delicacy as well as power. He’s backed by a first-class cast including Anatoli Kotscherga as Pimen and Vladimir Matorin who makes a good Varlaam, looking uncannily like the famous portrait of the drink-ravaged…

Thomas Tallis was destined, as the old Chinese curse puts it, to live in interesting times. Luckily, for him and for us, he defied fate and kept his head joined to the rest of his body through many of England’s religious troubles. Andrew Carwood and his expert singers have produced an engaging program of works that reflect both the liturgical and musical diversity of the period. At the centre of this disc is the imposing seven-voice Missa Puer natus est, which seems to have been written in the reign of Mary Tudor. While being based on the cantus firmus of the plainsong introit for Christmas, its lack of a high treble part and solo sections attest to the composer’s ability to adapt his craft to available forces (in this case, Philip II’s Chapel Royal). On the other side of the ecclesiastical ledger, we are given a sonorous setting for lower voices of the Benedictus (Blessed be the Lord God of Israel) to be sung at Mattins according to Cranmer’s Book of Common Prayer. A Latin Magnificat (probably Tallis’s earliest surviving work) makes a fascinating contrast not only with the plainer English setting but with his later Catholic works. Two well…

It was a strange prospect to say the least; the whole of Debussy’s La mer (not to mention various Ravel orchestral works) on the organ. Even as an organist, I wondered whether there could be a transcriber, a player and an instrument to do due honour to such richly detailed and subtly orchestrated scores. Gunnar Idenstam, a Swedish concert organist and composer certainly gives it his best shot. The organ of St Martin’s, Dudelange, Luxembourg is an excellent choice with its synthesis of the best of the French, German and English schools of organbuilding. The spatial disposition of the four-manuals in the clear but reverberant acoustic allows the all-important sense of orchestral background and foreground to be recreated. Idenstam brings an excellent technique and a generous sense of drama to the task at hand. While the Debussy has many exciting moments, I couldn’t help feeling that in attempting to reflect the changing orchestration of the original somehow the transcription lacked cohesion and instead of a unified musical tableau I was listening to a succession of colourful moments. The shorter Ravel works fared better. Pavane pour une infante défunte is particularly effective and La valse along with two of the Valses…

Leonidas Kavakos and Yuja Wang here give a hearty, if rather cold, performance of Brahms’ much-loved violin sonatas. Wang has proven her virtuoso skills with her previous recital CDs, but this is the first recording she’s made of chamber music. It’s concerning, then, that this release feels a little like star players working well together, but not connecting as deeply as befits the repertoire. More could be made of many of the most ethereal moments in the music (some of them seem to pass without notice), and there’s an almost palpable sense of relief from the players when the big tunes kick in. Take, for example, the piano’s turn at the theme partway through the first movement of the Violin Sonata in G, accompanied by a delicate pizzicato violin. In other recordings, this return to the theme is a hushed and delicate remembrance, almost magical in its simplicity. Here, it’s merely pretty. Similar issues arise in the other sonatas. The A Major’s grazioso third movement sounds wooden, with none of the grace and lightness of touch that, for example, Arthur Grumiaux and György Sebo˝k give it. This is very heavy Brahms, then, played solidly and weightily. Kavakos and Wang fare…

It is not often I take any notice of reviews on Amazon, but the three I found of this new release were not full of praise. They accuse Nézet-Séguin’s Schumann of being “shallow”, too fast, and devoid of the “expression” that these listeners were used to from Bernstein’s late recordings or (for less extreme examples) Kubelik and Sawallisch. In other words, Nézet-Séguin discarded the interpretive signposts that this music has picked up over 150 years of performance practice. Personally, I never learned to love Schumann’s symphonies until I heard the recordings by Neville Marriner (with the Stuttgart Radio Orchestra) – a conductor who knows something about clarification of texture. Later, original instrument readings from Gardiner and the Orchestre Révolutionnaire et Romantique proved a further revelation. It seems to me unfair that Schumann should be expected to provide depth and sorrowful resonance in every note – his symphonies were written mostly when the composer was in a bracingly good mood. This set is played on modern instruments by the Chamber Orchestra of Europe, renowned for their ensemble and bright clarity. They are conducted by the young Canadian (chief conductor of the Philadelphia Orchestra since 2010), who is very well aware of…

Shostakovich’s Symphony No 14 is a hard nut to crack, and I admit it’s a long way from my comfort zone. It’s like an ugly descendent of Mahler’s Song of the Earth – without the charm or poignant nostalgia. “When you’re dead, you’re dead” is the message. No regret, no sentiment. The 11 poems are by Rilke, Lorca and Apollinaire, who all died tragically young. No one does bleakness like Shostakovich, but this work is somber and death-suffused even by his standards. Parts of it make the Fourth Symphony sound like Offenbach! Even the poems are bizarre: one starts with the words, “Look, Madame, you’ve dropped something. It’s my heart”. It’s pretty off-the-wall stuff. Petrenko’s penultimate addition to his highly impressive Shostakovich cycle, which more than anything else, has cemented his reputation as ‘one to watch’, is certainly masterful. His Liverpool band is pared back to chamber-like proportions of strings and percussion (much fewer, I imagine, than Rattle’s luxuriant Berlin forces) and establish and maintain an admirable spareness of tone. The singers, Alexander Vinogradov, a genuine Russian bass, with all the vocal resources that implies, and Gal James (an Israeli with more than a hint of Slavic earthiness in her…

The latest batch of re-releases from Eloquence includes two Deutsche Grammophon double sets from the 1950s and 60s and some of Mozart’s dance music from the Decca archives. The Rita Streich double set showcases the Russian-born soprano’s versatility by combining her 1950s Waltzes and Arias recordings (some of the tracks in mono), with her Folk Songs and Lullabies collection recorded in 1962 when the doyenne of the Vienna State Opera was still at the height of her powers. Much of the material is lighter fare – Johann rather than Richard Strauss – but we also get a sense of her expressive power in Dvorˇák’s Song to the Moon from Rusalka and her consummate control and technique in Saint-Saëns’ wordless The Nightingale and The Rose, with its seemingly endless trill. The spiritual Nobody Knows The Trouble I’ve Seen shows off her rich and mellow chest voice. While we’re all excited by Jonas Kaufmann’s stellar versatility in both Italian and German roles, there was another tenor who was equally at home with Verdi and Wagner but whose voice is seldom heard these days. Hungarian Sándor Kónya trained in Germany and Italy where he developed the thrilling open voiced high notes which made…

The aptly named Alpha & Omega is the last of three discs of choral music dedicated to the pugnacious Scottish composer James MacMillan by Cappella Nova, a choir with whom he has been associated since at least 1994 when they commissioned his Seven Last Words from the Cross. To say that they are inside his idiom, then, is an understatement. The first two volumes were exemplary, and this new SACD is no exception. MacMillan refers to his attraction to a “soft English modernism” as opposed to the Darmstadt school, which he has always found problematic. His own sound is direct, yet complex; ecstatic, yet grounded in a deep humanity and a desire to communicate his faith – in this case Catholicism. But don’t let that put the rest of you off – his is an engaging sound world with a message that transcends dogma to touch the heart and soul. The major work here is his Missa Dunelmi, written for Durham Cathedral, and here conducted by the composer himself. MacMillan’s melismatic lines and soaring melodies are faithfully conveyed (with a capital F) though the soprano line can feel a little abrasive at times. The other six works are all premiere…