A comic opera about wife beating? Not sure how it would go down today but in 1841, Donizetti penned Rita, a one act, to a French libretto. Due to various vicissitudes, not the least of which must have been the composer’s advancing case of the clap, it was never performed in Donizetti’s lifetime, premiering posthumously at Paris’ Opéra-Comique in 1860. It’s a slight affair. Believing her husband Gasparo drowned at sea, Rita has married the timorous Pepe. Gasparo used to beat Rita, she now beats her new spouse. When Gasparo, who fancies wedding another hapless maid in Canada, turns up hoping to destroy his old marriage certificate, Pepe sees his chance to escape his matrimonial obligations. Several farcical twists and turns involving games of chance and fake disabilities end in a duel, at which point Rita sees the value of Pepe after all and Gasparo heads into the sunset advising Rita to keep her fists primed for the future. Opera Rara have done their usual superb job with recording and packaging but it can’t quite disguise the thinness of the material. It’s late Donizetti, therefore it’s tuneful and crafted fare. The orchestra and conductor couldn’t be bettered and the three…

David Robertson’s interpretation of Stravinsky's ballet is a fine one in conception if compromised in execution.

Canadian baritone Gerald Finley teams up with one of today’s finest accompanists.

Tiberghien captures the quicksilver transience of Szymanowski.

Cementing his place as one of the most exciting violinists of his day, Laurent Korcia has delved into the tradition of the great virtuosi for his latest release. The 50-year-old Frenchman takes on Paganini, Kreisler and Ysäye and he comes out well ahead of rivals on points. The opener is Fritz Kreisler’s transcription of the first movement of Paganini’s Violin Concerto No 1. Even the excellent Chamber Orchestra of Paris can’t disguise the weaknesses in Kreisler’s orchestration which descends into schmaltziness and shows little evidence of his studies with Bruckner. The violin part, however, is pure Paganini and gives Korcia no difficulties. He is in similar sparkling form with Eugene Ysäye’s gemlike variations on the famous 24th Caprice accompanied by Haruko Ueda on piano. There’s more Kreisler – his transcription of Albéniz’s Malaguena, La Gitana and the impressionistic Petite Valse for Solo Piano, featuring Ueda again – before Paganini’s own variations on Di Tanti Palpiti from Rossini’s Tancredi brings this charming disc to a stirring close. Articulation, intonation and bowing are faultless; pyrotechnics handled with aplomb and taste – he knows better than to be flashy and vulgar. His ‘Zahn’ Stradivarius sounds stunning thanks to the Naïve production team who…

Let me say at the very outset that musically Belisario is one of Donizetti’s very finest works. Dating from 1836, it came hot on the heels of Maria Stuarda and Lucia di Lammermoor and it finds the composer at the height of his lyrical powers. It had a bumpy ride to opening night (see the excellent booklet) but despite cast problems and a libretto that had been turned down by a previous management Donizetti enjoyed something of a triumph. The young librettist, Salvadore Cammerano, was to become one of the century’s greatest, but here he fails to make everything add up to a satisfying dramatic whole. Belisario’s embittered wife, who in the first act looks set to be the prima donna, fails to put in an appearance in Act Two, while the tenor who turns out to be her long-lost child is an old saw long past its sell-by. The composer too made the odd slip – the perky second tune of the overture for example is at odds with the tragic nature of Belisario’s fall from grace, blinding and eventual demise. BUT, that aside, there are some superb scenes to be relished, especially in a performance as compelling as the one delivered here by the……

Handel’s Tamerlano, written for the Royal Academy in 1724, is something of a secret pleasure for fans of 18th-century Italian opera. Lacking the magical stage machinery of the likes of Rinaldo, and with a low quotient of showcase arias to tickle the sensation seeker’s ear, it nevertheless has a claim to greatness. Why? It has one of the composer’s most grimly determined plots and a set of characters upon which Handel lavishes his utmost psychological insight. In 1402, the Mongol herdsman Timur defeated his enemy, the Turkish sultan Bayezid, who history relates he had carted around in a cage for months afterwards. In the opera, the wicked (i.e. Eastern) tyrant Tamerlano has designs on Bajazet’s daughter, Asteria, and sends his ally, the Greek (hence noble) Andronico to convey his desires to the maiden and her vengeful father. Unbeknownst to Tamerlano, Andronico is himself in love with Asteria and from these complications a tense, potentially bloody political opera ensues. Handel wrote the work at speed, as was his wont, but revised it at his leisure on more than one occasion in order to create as tight a musical drama as he was capable of. It culminates in a thrilling scene of…

How good it is to have such excellent accounts of two major works for voice and orchestra by Holst. The first, dating from 1904 (and revised eight years later) is The Mystic Trumpeter, a setting of Walt Whitman featuring a soprano solo, and the second is the First Choral Symphony, a four-movement work with texts by Keats for soprano, chorus and orchestra. This recording might have come to light some years ago were it not for the untimely death of Richard Hickox in 2008, who passed away just as the project was beginning. Andrew Davis has more than ably assumed Hickox’s mantle and with Susan Gritton (who had begun work with the late conductor) he invests these works with all the colour and drama they demand. In The Mystic Trumpeter the overtly musical references of Whitman’s text help give shape and coherence to Holst’s musical language, allowing the composer to distance himself further from the Wagnerian idioms of which he was overly fond and edge closer to a unique personal style. The varied and often delicate nature of the orchestration allows a clear and effective presentation of Whitman’s paean to love, freedom and joy. Lasting just under 20 minutes, the…

Hearing Beethoven’s piano works played on instruments he would have known was an exciting novelty 40 years ago thanks to the early experiments by Paul Badura-Skoda and Jörg Demus (on not-terribly-well restored Conrad Grafs and Broadwoods), which despite their jangling tone and rattly action gave us the startling revelation of the true “una corda” pedal and the sensation of the wild composer-pianist stretching the possibilities of the instrument to near breaking point. Thanks to the advances in sensitive restoration, and some marvellous craftsmen building impeccable copies, we now have more sense of the peculiar characteristic beauties that were lost in the search for improvements in volume and evenly graduated tone while the more polished results carry their own musical validity. Ronald Brautigam has proven this with his marvellous survey of the complete works played on superb sounding copies by Paul McNulty. With the masterworks now all dealt with we are coming to the fag end of the series, but there are still plenty of delights revealed in fresh colours and the particular tonal qualities and domestic nature of the fortepiano elevates the most slight of Beethoven’s scribblings. This volume might seem a mere completist appendix but makes a delightful 68-minute…

In the same month as this disc was recorded Harmonia Mundi were adding the finishing touches to an eagerly awaited complete recording of the Beethoven Piano Trios by Trio Wanderer – a magnificent achievement that went straight to the top of the list of complete sets. Apart from explaining the delay issuing the disc under review, I wonder whether the conflict of repertoire influenced the decision to record in period style with an original fortepiano or if it was a purely artistic decision, either way I’m not sure the choice was 100% right. Now don’t get me wrong, I am not averse to period instrument performance in this repertoire and the players here are three of the finest of their generation. A few years ago Melnikov and Faust recorded a stunning set of Beethoven’s Violin Sonatas on modern instruments, performed with incredible expressive intensity and hyper-alert intelligence, with Melnikov’s transcendental virtuosity allowing him free reign to colour and shape each note. Here his voice is muted by the dynamic restrictions of the fortepiano and one gets a sense that Faust and Queyras are constantly having to pull back to blend. That said, the fortepiano, a restored Alois Graf from 1828,……

Anyone expecting the chromatic, expressionist post-Mahlerian idiom of Zemlinsky’s mature works will be surprised. As Fiona Maddox wrote in The Guardian: “At the stage when these early works were composed, Zemlinsky occupied a crevice between Brahms and Mahler.” He never crossed the musical Rubicon into atonality like Schoenberg (his brother-in-law) or Berg and Webern, but here the “Brahmsian” influence is more apparent than any nod to modernity. Both works were composed in the 1890s but the conservatism of both is in striking contrast to the sheer genius of Mahler’s First Symphony, written years earlier. Both symphonies are essentially genial and life-affirming and seem to lack any sense of struggle between orthodoxy and radicalism, personal or creative. With the First, you’d think you were listening to Max Bruch or Stanford/Parry. The Second is the longer and more ambitious, with a sprawling first movement that, like the scherzo, slightly outstays its welcome. Its coda is reminiscent of middle period Dvorák. The slow movement is charming rather than dramatic and the finale is simply too discursive to have any real effect, with none of the drama of Brahms symphonic finales, especially the awesome passacaglia of the Fourth. These works are not tepid and…

The initial reviews of this final installment in David Zinman’s Mahler cycle with the Tonhalle Orchestra haven’t exactly been effusive, but they are wrong. From that hypnotic opening oboe melody through to the heartbreaking final bars, this is a reading of Mahler’s last-will-and-testament in vocal music whose understatement should never be misinterpreted as lack of engagement. True, it doesn’t have the overt gnashing of teeth and beating of breast that Bernstein brings to it in his Desert Island classic, but it has something almost as good – a stillness and a poise suggestive of a composer on his way to the other side, delaying and delaying the inevitable, almost as if trying to change the subject. And when the big tuttis are required, as they are for the first time in the second song (Der Einsame im Herbst), there’s plenty in reserve, both vocally with Susan Graham whose restraint up to that point is exemplary, and with the Zurich Tonhalle Orchestra who are surely now approaching the top echelons in European music-making. If there are quibbles to be had, they probably lie in the third song (Von der Jugend) where tenor Christian Elsner interprets the text’s pin-point specific imagery of…