The ABC’s decision to record the complete Beethoven piano sonatas with Australia’s foremost specialist Gerard Willems was launched in the late 1990s and hailed as a first for the country. The three-year project was given an added frisson by Willems’s decision to use pianos built by Aussie Wayne Stuart rather than the ubiquitous Steinway. Wayne Stuart’s skills as a piano maker were first tested when as a young man he played dance music published by J. Albert and Son at village halls around the country. The upright pianos were in varying states of disrepair and he often had to fix and tune them before the gig. Years later when his piano company in Melbourne wasn’t going anywhere Robert Albert, head of the publishing company, asked Stuart if they could come in on a joint venture. “I was hoping for ages that you would ask me that,” Stuart replied. A couple of ARIAs later and with burgeoning sales, the next logical step – the five piano concertos – was announced with Willems being joined by Antony Walker conducting Sinfonia Australis, drawn from the cream of our orchestras. In 2010 Willems was back in the Ultimo studio tackling the mighty Diabelli Variations….

The first thing you notice are the asterisks all over the liner notes. They’re on every track bar the opener to denote world premiere recordings of these sometimes outrageously virtuosic Neapolitan arias for the famous castrati. David Hansen’s voice, too, is something of a modern world first. On his debut solo album he soars across three octaves, so that listeners are left to marvel at his stamina and dexterity in the 13-minute tour de force Son Qual Nave (by Farinelli’s brother Riccardo Broschi) as he flips between octaves – showing off the equally impressive lows – and embellishes impossibly long passages leading to a thrilling da capo high D. Hansen’s interpretation is as close to Farinelli’s as possible, in the version the castrato annotated with his own ornaments. That D is Hansen’s fullest and richest high on the album; at other moments it can get cold up there – occasionally drifting a little sharp despite his care and precision – but it’s a remarkable feat you certainly won’t hear anywhere else. It was perhaps inevitable that the refined playing of the orchestra Academia Montias Regalis would be outshone by the soloist, but in Leo’s Freme Orgogliosa L’Onda (with one of…

Melbourne composer Stuart Greenbaum’s chamber works, like all the sympathetically brought out in these performances by one of New Zealand’s leading chamber ensembles, NZTrio. Head of Composition at the Melbourne Conservatorium, Greenbaum has written opera, choral, orchestral, chamber and solo instrumental music. This new recording features eight works exploring the latter two genres from between 1999 and 2011. The title work, 800 Million Heartbeats, takes the nominal number of heartbeats in a human life as a metaphor for life’s journey. Falling by Degrees explores gravity and falling in seven miniatures. Equator Loops and Lunar Orbit are for solo piano and cello respectively, while The Lake and the Hinterland and Scarborough Variations combine both instruments. The Year Without A Summer takes the 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora as its subject. Greenbaum says his music “aims to evoke an atmosphere apart from the routine of modern life”. But by drawing on familiar styles such as blues, pop and jazz, his music celebrates modern life in all its forms. It simply jettisons the routine. Thus 800 Million Heartbeats tells the story of our lives through soaring string melodies singing over the steady pulse of piano figurations. In Falling by Degrees, ghostly harmonics, agitated pizzicatos and deliberately naïve descending scales through up images as diverse as snow, parachutes, anchors and…

Johann Jacob Froberger led an interesting life, not least when his ship was attacked by pirates on a voyage some time in the early 1650s! Arriving penniless in London, so the story goes, he accepted work as an organ blower – a job he then lost because he was consumed with ‘melancholia’. Presumably the combination of pirates, poverty and English weather led him to compose the Plaincte…pour passer la mélancholie – the starting point for Andreas Staier’s engrossing journey into the melancholic utterances of 17th-century keyboard music. Using a beautifully restored harpsichord, Staier guides the listener through a well-paced program that illustrates the fantastic and colourful fruits of the melancholic temperament. Bookended with works by the hapless Froberger, the recital also includes music from D’Anglebert, Louis Couperin, Fischer, Clérambault and Muffat. Forms such as the tombeau (a musical gravestone), the passacaglia or the chaconne allow the composer, player and listener to work through their melancholy in musical tension and release. Staier coaxes a wonderful range of tone from his instrument. Only Fischer’s wild… Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

This collection of legendary recordings provides an outlet for nostalgia among older music lovers and a rich opportunity for younger ones.

At a Prom concert in the Royal Albert Hall a few years ago, a few seconds after the famous bassoon passage at the beginning of the Rite of Spring, a mobile phone sounded. Sir Simon Rattle simply stopped the Berlin Philharmonic and started again. It makes you thankful they didn’t exist when Szell and Klemperer were around. This was the work that catapulted the then 21 year-old tyro conductor into the limelight when he conducted it with the Youth orchestra of Great Britain in 1976. I remember it vividly: I was there. Since then, he also recorded it during his tenure with the City of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra. Whereas that was a respectable reading, this is in another league. In terms of tempos, colour and rhythm, it’s superb. The barbarism is beautifully tempered with finesse. It’s one of the great Rites. The only version I’d put above it is the stereo re-make by Igor Markevich and the aristocratic Philharmonia in 1960 where the orchestral shriek at the opening of the second part is… Continue reading Get unlimited digital access from $4 per month Subscribe Already a subscriber? Log in

Obscure baroque operas are common now, but this recording of Provenzale’s tragicomedy still wins points for novelty.

Ian Bostridge may well be the busiest interpreter of Benjamin Britten in this the composer’s 100th birthday year. Previous recordings of Our Hunting Fathers and the Serenade for Tenor, Horn and Strings have demonstrated the English tenor’s sensitive characterisation of text, but this latest collection of song cycles, written for Britten’s partner and muse Peter Pears, is Bostridge’s finest and most compelling offering yet. A big part of that is Antonio Pappano’s accompaniment. The duo collaborated on a Schubert album, but the eccentricities of Britten’s piano writing – all angular figurations and chiaroscuro effects he put into play himself – allow his imagination, and fingers, to run wild, whether bright and brilliant or sparse and eerie. Both performers vary their touch and articulation judiciously for a disc that is alive at every moment, leaving you hanging off every word. Listen to the way Bostridge leans into dissonance, gouging the text of Before Life and After from the late cycle Winter Words. Or the cat-and-mouse runs passed between singer and pianist in the nursery rhyme-like Wagtail and Baby. Bostridge’s intonation and enunciation are faultless but never characterless; I particularly relish how he shapes drawn-out melismas such as the sweet-toned “Seraphim”. His……

Once considered something of a ratbag, Samuel Sebastian Wesley is now regarded as a rather quaint figure, remembered for a handful of popular choral and organ works that make an occasional appearance with Anglican choirs. History reveals him to have been a colourful character. Despite being the nephew of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, he was born of his father’s teenage housemaid and after a childhood stint in the Chapel Royal, he spent a lot of his early career as a musician for the theatre. Wesley’s penchant for the theatrical was reflected both in his music and in his life. His tenure in various church music jobs was never overly long and his music often attracted trenchant criticism because of its mould-breaking style and form. While it is good to hear such evergreens as Blessed be the God and Father, Wash me throughly and Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace sung so beautifully, the real contribution of this disc is the opportunity to hear some neglected works in tasteful and disciplined performances. Ascribe unto the Lord, O give thanks unto the Lord and The wilderness and the solitary place are cast as minioratorios featuring soloists and an orchestral…

One of music’s most widely travelled explorers and an indefatigable advocate for intercultural understanding and world peace, Jordi Savall here returns with another extraordinarily rich multicultural musical offering: the music of the Balkans. As Savall writes in an introductory booklet note, he and his fellow musicians from different cultures “have delved into this extraordinary historical, traditional and even modern musical heritage to study, select and perform it, thereby creating a genuine intercultural dialogue between the different cultures that have so often been torn apart by dramatic, age-old conflicts.” The result is a vivid collection of traditional (instrumental) folk songs and dances – some joyful, some melancholy – largely drawn from Ottoman and Sephardic repertories. Five different ensembles have been configured for the different yet interrelated styles and traditions: Bulgarian and Macedonian, Gypsy and Hungarian, Serbian and Romanian, Turkish and Greek and Bosnian and Sephardic. The instrumentation is equally rich and includes accordions, violins, viols, lyres, guitars, ouds, a psaltery, percussion, ney and kaval flutes and a qanun (zither). A lively ‘Balkan Prelude’ from Serbia but with Turkish elements opens the disc, with some dazzling accordion and percussion work especially. What follows is a veritable crosscultural smorgasbord, including a soulful Romanian…

Shostakovich’s Ninth and Tenth symphonies have for me always represented the composer at his best. The Ninth is wonderfully uplifting, a light touch not shared by the other symphonies. The Tenth is its alter ego, dark and serious. Only in the closing pages and the dazzling scherzo does the mood lift. The latter, with its whirling woodwind, comes straight after the long first, in which gloom is unrelieved; a musical wasteland, the only light coming from the freezing gloom of a Russian winter. I had expected this new recording, with the remarkable Concertgebouw under the equally remarkable Mariss Jansons (due here in November), to walk away with the line honours. I’m not sure why I expected this, I suppose because of the double reputations and the fact that it’s probably my favourite orchestra. It is a brilliant performance, but there so are many other great versions of this demanding work. Every conductor worth his salt has recorded it, usually well, and there were well over 40 versions when I last looked. My main quibble is with Jansons’ reading of the scherzo. It has lead, not wings on its feet; the side drum is not prominent enough in the ensemble. After…

This early Prokofiev opera isn’t performed all that often. Although it is a fine, well-written work, it’s devoid of big tunes appealing primarily to those who are interested in sung drama rather than more conventional opera. Of course, we all know that the composer could write fabulous tunes, as the ballet scores and his Third Piano Concerto attest, but he was then in his revolutionary period as a young firebrand. In 2007 when I saw this production in St Petersburg I was impressed by the ‘sung play’ aspect of it all. It was very effective and at two hours, didn’t outstay its welcome. In this story, virtually everybody gambles in some way, not just the foolish Alexei, and the plot, set in a German spa, is an intricate ensemble of desperate or failing people. It’s more akin to Strauss’ Arabella than say, La Traviata, both regarded as top conversation operas, and with this well-oiled ensemble, it’s a delight. The direction is sensible and, happily for those of us watching it on screen, the acting is first class, with none of those close ups of singers glancing nervously at the conductor which mar so many video productions. The singing is marvellous,…