Hungarian composer Peter Eötvös has plenty of operatic experience having produced versions of Angels in America and Chekov’s Three Sisters. His 2008 setting of a short story by Gabriel Garcia Márquez, then, might seem to promise more, but despite this excellent Glyndebourne cast recording giving it every opportunity to land, it remains peculiarly elusive and, for all it’s South American colour, a slightly drab affair. The story concerns the increasingly obsessive love of a priest for a 12-year-old girl suspected of contracting rabies after being bitten by a dog. Oddly, her age appears not to be an issue here, and sung by the capable Allison Bell, she simply comes across as a young woman – albeit one given to a good old scream now and again. There’s a greater tension between the world of the local ‘natives’, accused by the Catholic hierarchy of superstition, and the harsh attempts by the Bishop and Abbess to exorcise Sierva’s ‘demon’. Perhaps the problem is that the short story is just that – short. The characters lack background and relationships are sketchy. The libretto is skillfully adapted, but too often the score seems to drift along when it should seize the dramatic possibilities. Many…

Dating from the 1730s, Bach’s four short Mass settings are the red-headed stepchildren of his choral output. Several Bach scholars have actively belittled them as “mindless” (Philipp Spitta in the 19th century) and “quite nonsensical” (Albert Schweitzer). Moreover, they contain abundant recycling of cantata movements not always perfectly suited to their new Latin words. Still, now that they have attracted such significant directors as Konrad Junghänel (Harmonia Mundi) and Philippe Herreweghe (Virgin Classics), competition in this repertoire is quite tough. Harry Christophers uses just two voices per part, a practice inherently neither good nor bad. In churches, even one-voice-per-part choirs can often convey unexpected vigour. Yet too frequently in a recording context, a tiny choir necessitates damping down the orchestral contribution, neutralising genuine drama, as opposed to mere indiscriminate briskness. So here. Junghänel, with forces comparable in size, obtains a spectrum of vocal and instrumental colours to which Christophers seems indifferent, allowing his musicians, in comparison with these impressive rival versions, to sound unduly genteel. The appropriately robust horn-players briefly heard in BWV233 appear to have wandered in from a different and more impassioned performance. Elsewhere, one might as well be listening to a robust Vivaldi opera as to anything…

Given its modest yet beguiling tone, it’s easy to forget the classical guitar is capable of painting a universe far beyond its actual sound-making capabilities. To fall under its spell is to enter a realm of ambiguity and suggestion; in other words, the classical guitar is the most poetic of instruments. So when 19th-century masters of the instrument Augustín Barrios, Francisco Tárrega, Caspar Joseph Mertz and the 20th-century composer Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco choose to pay homage to, respectively, Montevideo’s cathedral, Verdi’s opera La Traviata and the Alhambra, Schubert’s lieder and the music of Boccherini, there is no real paradox. Even if you aren’t familiar with the source material, you have your imagination to fill in the gaps. This is music that succeeds on its own terms but also points to a richer domain that, thanks to evocative writing, is immediately accessible. Of course, the quality of the interpretations must bear some of the responsibility for such a mysterious transference, and that’s where talented Austrian guitarist Armin Egger comes in. Whether it’s in Barrios’ melancholy, nostalgic waltzes and organ-evoking La catedral, Tárrega’s rippling Recuerdos de la Alhambra, Mertz’s virtuosic fantasy on The Flying Dutchman or Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s quirky evocation of a bygone era,…

Joe Chindamo is a jazz pianist with the chops of a Russian virtuoso; Zoë Black is a versatile classical fiddler who has played with the Australian Chamber Orchestra, inter alia.

This disc of mid-20th Century American piano concertos is a polished affair. Wang’s brilliant pianism is infectious and appropriately lyrical for the slow movement of Barber’s concerto. The Scottish orchestra under Peter Oundjian brings power to their role in the proceedings. Chandos maintains its usual high standard. And that should be it – but it isn’t. The problem concerns the two jazz-influenced pieces. Simply put, Wang doesn’t swing. To give an example, the piano licks in the third movement of the Gershwin are given a scherzando treatment: impressively achieved, but not what Gershwin was getting at. Underneath the Lisztian decoration is a streetwise toughness that eludes these musicians. Copland’s early concerto is one of the few where he referenced 1920s jazz. Again, Wang does not know what to make of this element. Missing the music’s louche cheekiness, she simply sounds awkward. To hear what is missing, turn to Copland and Bernstein (Sony). To rediscover Gershwin’s brash cityscape, try Earl Wild with the Boston Pops, or a 1954 Decca recording by Julius Katchen with Mantovani and His Orchestra (!), which is even more idiomatic. Katchen squeezes out every last drop of ragtime (as does Wild). And, fine as Wang and Oundjian are in…

This release is a sequel to the earlier Decca Sound box set. It covers the years of Decca’s analogue “Full Frequency Range Recording”, starting with the company’s earliest stereo recordings from 1954 –Ansermet conducting the Suisse Romande Orchestra in music by Rimsky-Korsakov, Glazunov, Balakirev and Liadov – and finishing in 1980 just prior to the advent of digital recording, with Dutoit conducting the Philharmonia Orchestra in tone poems by Saint-Saëns. The bonus CD gives us the Ansermet Russian program in its original mono, for comparative purposes. Unlike the earlier box, this is not presented as a best performance collection; rather, it is designed to showcase the peak of Decca’s sound quality over those analogue decades. And indeed it does: the sound of Fistoulari’s highlights from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake holds up stunningly (recorded with the Concertgebouw Orchestra in 1961), not to mention Solti’s visceral Mahler Resurrection Symphony with Heather Harper, Helen Watts and the London Symphony Orchestra and Chorus from 1966. Sometimes the sound is of its time. When Decca producers recorded opera in the late 1950s and early 1960s they preferred a cavernous space with the voices set back  – an opera house acoustic – yet the clarity and presence…

How to make a spectacle out of Wagner’s last opera Parsifal? There’s the rub. Belgian company La Monnaie called on Italian avant-garde theatre director Romeo Castelluci to lend his vision to this four-hour production. The result is a Kundry dressed in white anorak and gumboots, lashings of nudity and bondage and an albino python, said by Castelluci to represent Wagner’s music, and whose ‘venom’ might be a cure. (Herpetologist’s note: Pythons are not venomous). There’s also a German shepherd dog which occasionally makes an appearance like Inspector Rex on a case. Also in the mix are 300 extras and explicit scenes in the second act where Klingsor’s castle is a cross between an S&M parlour and a gynaecologist’s consulting room. It all looks like a Pilates class gone horribly wrong. Castellucci is known for shocking audiences with violence, nudity and, on occasions, steaming piles of excrement. This was his first operatic venture. It’s difficult to imagine how he would follow this up if invited. The cast, orchestra and chorus are all solid if not exceptional. But then it can’t be easy competing with 300 extras, a dog, a snake and topless dancers with white beehive wigs. The liner notes say…

It seems a miracle that Thomas Tallis was able to survive to the ripe old age of 80 or so during the most turbulent period of English history when the monarchy veered back and forth between Catholicism and Protestantism, successfully piloting his career through those treacherous waters without foundering on the rocks of religious dogma. His ability to trim his sails to the prevailing winds is evident from Andrew Carwood’s clever programme of Antiphons, Mass, Anthems and Psalms. Opening with the lovely Anthem O Lord, give thy Holy Spirit, followed by the parody Mass Salve intemerata, complemented by more anthems and the austere Psalm Domine, quis habitabit, the disc closes with his early Votive Anthiphon, themes of which Tallis re-used for his mass. The Cardinall’s Musick sounds glorious with gleaming sopranos (no breathy boy treble impersonations here), firm and individually characterised voices and a stronger than usual projection. Their warm rich tones are a refreshing change from the cool restraint usually heard here; the slight edge to the choir’s timbre clarifies the counterpoint and avoids the over-refinement that can often turn this repertoire into a bland ill-defined soup. This is part of a series so one hopes we don’t have…

This excellent and extremely well-filled CD reminded me, even more forcefully than the recent and equally superb James Ehnes traversal of Prokofiev’s violin oeuvre, what a Janus-like composer he was. My other reaction was one of awe-struck admiration for Roger Woodward’s complete mastery of both sides of Prokofiev’s musical and creative personality. Don’t be put off by the 1991 recording date: the sound from the ABC’s Sir Eugene Goossens Hall, is excellent. This CD is like a marvellous anthology of short stories that you dip into, not recommended for digesting in one go. Much of the music was composed when Prokofiev was very young. The Sarcasmes Op 17 (1912-14), the Four Etudes, Op 2 (1909) and Suggestion diabolique (1910-12) are among his angriest, most percussive, frenetic and radical keyboard works, yet they are so much more assimilable and create more of an adrenalin rush than anything Schoenberg was writing simultaneously. Interspersed among them are the exquisite Prelude, Op 12, No 7 (1906-13) an oasis of pellucid lyricism. Likewise the Pensées “Thoughts” Op 62 (1933-4), composed when he had mellowed considerably. These are delightfully dreamy cameos, although I agree with one critic who expressed bemusement at the composer’s declaration that the second was……

Sydney-based string quartet The NOISE say they began improvising for fun – avoiding the usual through-composed repertoire.

This live performance was given in the Royal Festival Hall, London, in February 2011. The London Philharmonic has a proud Mahler tradition – they were Tennstedt’s orchestra in the 1980s – and they have released some excellent Mahler performances recently on their house label (notably Jurowski’s readings of Symphonies 1 and 2). This is another. Nézet-Séguin’s pacing of this work (with one arguable exception) is pretty much perfect. How neatly he places the explosive transition into the veritable circus march at the point in Von der Schönheit where the poem depicts a galloping steed plunging through the countryside. The all-important closing section of Der Abschied is well done too: not drawn out interminably but allowed to wind down to its last fading sixth chord in a truly affecting manner. The orchestra plays with great precision and expression throughout. The soloists are also very good. Toby Spence (to my surprise) reveals himself to have the burnished heldentenor voice required for his first and third songs, with a ringing top but also plenty of strength in the middle register. He knows what he is singing about, finding the undercurrent of desperation (just as Sarah Connolly beautifully expresses the melancholy at the heart……

‘Tis the season to swing, and I can’t imagine a more irresistible album to set Christmas in motion this year: the 1892 orchestral Nutcracker Suite we know and love, alongside Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn’s big-band answer to Tchaikovsky from 1960. Far from a slapdash attempt to jazz up the classics this arrangement is testament to Ellington’s particular genius (and the inventiveness of his conservatorium-trained assistant Strayhorn, who deserves his equal billing). It’s heard here not only in the first recording since the Duke’s orchestra more than 50 years ago but also in its first pairing with the original, Steve Richman conducting both versions with his New York ensemble. For a fun exercise, try mixing them up – a Tchaikovsky movement followed by its jazz counterpart. I did just that with the Dance of the Mirlitons and the cheekily renamed Toot Toot Tootie Toot (Dance of the Reed-Pipes), the latter is a miniature masterclass in Ellington’s perfectly balanced orchestration as the famous tune passes from staccato clarinets to slyly muted trumpets. It doesn’t get much steamier than the burlesque Sugar Rum Cherry, the crystalline glockenspiel replaced by Lew Tabackin’s hip-rolling, bluesy tenor sax. The whole thing runs a cool ten…