The classical music recording industry must be in better shape than we think: this is the culmination of Osmo Vänskä’s second Sibelius cycle in little more than a decade. The first with Finland’s Lahti orchestra was widely regarded as “the one to have” but these BIS performances with the Minnesota orchestra (which seems to have at last survived its travails, fortunately) have run that cycle close. This CD lasts 82 minutes – with magnificent sound. As an aside, why, one wonders, can’t more CD’s offer such outstanding value?  The Third, Sixth and Seventh are, each, in its own way, emotionally ambiguous and unconventional and occupy their own unique sound world’s, just as do the symphonies of Beethoven and Vaughan Williams. The Third Symphony has always been one of my favourites, despite, or perhaps, because, of being, along with the Sixth, the least performed, but arguably, the most original, even by Sibelius’ standards. The coherent whole transcends the disparateness of the individual movements. I love the Haydnesque bustle of the opening movement and that sudden pause shortly after the start, which seems like a sort of gasp from someone suddenly realising they’re hovering on the edge of a precipice, or contemplating…

Nicola Benedetti scales the heights from Tzarist charm to Stalinist menace.

I write this review on the exact centenary of the Battle of the Somme, which is being appropriately (and heart-rendingly) commemorated, and in which this composer died, at 31. I’m surprised how deeply affected I am hearing this exquisite CD.  The very mention of Butterworth’s name induces a pang in many people. He was the archetypally gallant yet reticent Edwardian hero, a fine Etonian scholar and musician (and revered by the men he led into battle) and this marvellous music rekindles the pain at the loss of someone cruelly extinguished on the cusp of probable greatness. All the orchestral pieces (some arranged and developed by the conductor) are radiantly preformed and perfectly convey the haunting, dappled beauty of Edwardian summers – great houses, croquet lawns and languid figures in muslin and linen, but not without a hint of mystery.  The texts of the song cycle A Shropshire Lad were composed by AE Housman and these renditions by James Rutherford are in the same league as those of Sir Thomas Allen. The singing is hearty, direct, innocently patriotic and occasionally suffused with an almost Mahlerian melancholy. The CD contains a premiere recording of the previously unfinished Orchestral Fantasia developed from a 92-bar…

The 14th year of the Lugano Progetto (which sadly is about to be abandoned) sees Martha Argerich making music with the likes of cellist Gautier Capuçon and violinist Ilya Gringolts. How does one create a balanced snapshot of almost four hours of first-rate music making? Every performance is impressive and the sheer rarity and originality of much of the repertoire is admirable: a charming B Minor Piano Quintet by Ferdinand Ries (Beethoven’s friend), with the same instrumental combination as Schubert’s Trout Quintet, Brahms’ late, autumnal Clarinet Trio, Op. 114 and Horn Trio (with viola replacing horn – it works), Turina’s Second Piano Trio, all infectious Andalucian rhythms and shimmering effects. The sole orchestral offering is the Bacalov Porteña for two pianos and orchestra (Porteña being the word for native inhabitants of Buenos Aires) with Argerich herself and Eduardo Hubert as soloists. She also partners her former partner, Stephen Kovacevich, in Debussy’s En Blanc et Noir. Even the excerpts from Philip Glass’s dance opera Les Enfants Terribles arranged for three pianos scrubs up well. The last work featured is a selection of four dances from Ginastera’s ballet Estancia, including the famous Malambo. For me, the highlight was the gorgeous, silky Poulenc Sonata for two…

This performance is impressive from beginning to end, with gorgeous playing, great conducting and lovely sound. 

The Brazilian pianist is a connoisseur's artist if ever there was one.

Except for his Debussyesque Escales (Ports of Call), I’ve long regarded Jacques Ibert (known as “Jackie Bear” in Britain) as a sort of fellow traveller (along with Jean Françaix), with Les Six. He’s more talented than five of them, but without Poulenc’s genius for laconic glitter and Parisian chic. This well-filled CD (over 80 minutes – why can’t everyone be that generous?) gives a more rounded survey of Ibert’s oeuvre. The Divertissement (1930), which cemented Ibert’s reputation as a musical farceur, was adapted from a play called The Italian Straw Hat and is perhaps more sardonic than the usual Satieesque Keystone Cops-style slapstick romp, and none the worse for that. Escales (inspired by Ibert’s experiences during naval service in the First World War) is well played and, here, I must single out the lovely, sinuous oboe playing in the Tunis-Nefta movement – so different from the pinched, vinegary sound we used to hear from this orchestra in the Ansermet days. The reading is somewhat ‘northern’ and matter of fact rather than radiating Mediterranean languor, as in Charles Munch’s or Stokowski’s legendary readings.  The main discovery here is the Symphonic Suite, relocated to Paris from a play originally set in South…

Schumann’s Piano Concerto is a Romantic warhorse (albeit a very charming one) but Dvořák’s is largely unknown, despite being championed by Firkušný and Richter (accompanied by Kleiber) who restored the original version. Will advocacy by a pianist of Hough’s eminence convince people it’s a neglected masterpiece? Don’t expect any sublime ascents into the sunlit uplands or exhilarating ‘travelling tune’ allegros in the symphonies. Much of the Concerto falls between two stools: Hough has written about the “fiendish difficulty” of the solo part, although you’d never think so from his blend of heroic power, insight and finesse. There’s little overt bravura or man versus piano writing. The slow movement has moments of blissful repose but it’s only in the Finale that we recognise Dvořák’s hallmark earthy energy. It’s not first-rate Dvořák, but it’s interesting and worth the price of the CD. The Schumann is an almost complete contrast: highly pianistic writing and a lyrical meshing between soloist and orchestra. There are many felicities in Hough’s reading, from the first movement’s ruminative passages (where I greatly prefer Hough to the more youthful impetuosity of the recently released Lisiecki) to the poetic whispered exchanges in the Intermezzo (which are never simply coy), and…

★★★★★ Robertson performs a gloriously exhilarating Resurrection.

I’ve always regarded Ginastera as a sort of Aaron Copland of the Pampas, with a dash of Villa-Lobos thrown in. This CD contains two ballet suites, from Ollantay and Pampeana No 3, and the complete Estancia (Cattle Ranch). Ollantay and Pampeana No 3 are both based on blood-thirsty pre-Colombian themes with descriptions of anacondas slithering through primeval slime and rather beautiful evocations of dawn and night. Ginastera certainly knew how to orchestrate. Most people who buy this release will want it for the rarely heard complete Estancia, rather than the frequently heard Malambo, guaranteed to bring any audience to its feet. This is worth hearing in full, but half the work consists of Malambo-like movements, which anticipate the finale so heavily that Ginastera virtually steals his own thunder. The work’s subject is a city slicker’s attempt to prove himself in a world dominated by machismo-flaunting gauchos (cowboys). Juanjo Mena and the BBC Phil play well but there’s not enough testosterone. The dances sound like a clique of haughty Argentinian polo players who’ve eloped with English heiresses. What’s really bizarre is the narration and songs interpolated into the score, cheesily crooned by Lucas Somoza Osterc. It’s as if Leonard Bernstein recited…

Poor old Max Bruch! First, he opted for a flat fee instead of a royalty percentage for his phenomenally successful First Violin Concerto and then persisted in trying to replicate that success – with little success. He lived beyond his creative period and was still influenced by Schumann, Mendelssohn etc. in an age when Wagner and Richard Strauss were the rage. Having said that, I’m absolutely smitten with one of the works on this CD: the A Minor Serenade, Op. 75, composed in 1899. At 36 minutes it almost outstays its welcome (Accardo and the late deeply lamented Kurt Masur on Philips are even slower) but its dreamy first movement, followed by a jaunty march (which has a meltingly lovely Trio section) a ravishing Nocturne and the Finale, which ends as serenely as the work began, make for a delightful diversion. As does the Op. 42 Romance, also in A Minor. Liebeck’s account of the G Minor Concerto is fine but unexceptional. What can there possibly be left to say about it other than his is more demure than some recent renditions? The BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra under Martyn Brabbins sounds alert and makes this warhorse sound as freshly minted…

We’ve had “the next Callas”, “the next Sutherland”, “the next Wunderlich”, now, we’re hearing 28-year-old Georgian pianist, Khatia Buniatishvili touted as “the next Argerich”. Not on the strength of this CD, featuring works each of which exists in an orchestral guise (and in which I’d much rather hear all of them)! The Guardian critic unleashed as much bile on Buniatishvili’s Wigmore Hall performance of Mussorgsky’s Pictures at an Exhibition as his feminist colleagues routinely do on signet ring-wearing, old Etonian Tory politicians who ride to hounds. Broadly, I’m forced to agree: the very opening of this recording is promisingly imaginative, with the Promenade played tentatively – as if the viewer is intimidated by art galleries (though The Promenade connective tissue convincingly becomes bolder as the performance progresses). The Old Castle is hypnotically, but interminably slow. This works, but Bydlo, the ox cart, sounds as though it’s lost a wheel. Other movements – like Baba Yaga (the Hut on Fowl’s Legs) – are dispatched in such a helter-skelter way that they become virtually meaningless. What should be a magical transition between Baba Yaga and the gravity and grandeur of The Great Gate of Kiev is completely botched and goes for nothing….