Ginger Pork à la Bamboo Tree

This blog purports to deal with "Musicke & Food" but there is rarely any mention of food. So, nearing Christmas, here are details of my Number One dish for this week (with a nod towards the Bamboo Tree restaurant in Luang Prabang, who influenced my concept).

• pork fillet, cut into small pieces

• field or shitake mushrooms (cut small)

• root ginger (plentiful)

• Thai chillies, red and green

• green bell pepper

• salt, pepper

• olive oil suffused with chilli
  
• red Burgundy wine (to drink with the dish)
  
  Absolutely delicious! Melts in the mouth, tantalises the taste buds, and delights the intestines. Substitute lamb, beef, duck or chicken for the pork, if necessary, but stick with rich Burgundy wine.
  
  

Nemanja Radulovic and Khachaturian's Violin Concerto

Aram Khachaturian wrote his violin concerto in 1940 (a really bad time to launch a new work). It was quickly taken up by violinists, and sneered at by most Western critics because it was in D minor and had lots of catchy tunes, just when composers were supposed to be writing atonal serial music without a key signature or tune, or audience, in sight, and because Khachaturian was in the USSR, and thus a “Commie”. Music critics pre-date Mr Trump for bigotry. Violinists, however, loved it and still do, after nearly 80 years. And I have loved the concerto, for many, many decades.

I have 26 different recordings of the work, the earliest being Louis Kaufman in 1945, followed by David Oistrakh in 1946/47/65. Then Gerhard Taschner in 1947 and 1955. Then Leonid Kogan in 1951 and 1958. Then Julian Sitkovetsky in 1954 and 1956. Then Ruggiero Ricci in 1956. Then Mischa Elman — no less — in 1959, and Henryk Szeryng in 1964. The most recent recordings I have are by Julia Fischer (2004) and James Ehnes (2013). And Nemanja Radulovic (2018). If the critics sniff, violinists do not; with good reason.

Top of the list for me when I want to listen to Khachaturian's concerto are Julian Sitkovetsky in Romania with Niyazi conducting (1954) and Leonid Kogan in Boston with Pierre Monteux conducting (1958). Formidable competition for Mr Radulovic; how does he measure up?

Nemanja Radulovic is an immensely gifted violinist, hailing from Serbia. He looks a bit like Rasputin and records for the 21^st century version of Deutsche Grammophon, thus the liner booklet and publicity full of photos of Mr Radulovic, with poor old Khachaturian getting just a brief mention. Deutsche Grammophon is now just a “brand”, as the jargon would have it and bears little resemblance to the previous highly-respected German company.

Sitkovetsky, Kogan, and Oistrakh plunge headlong into Khachaturian's exotic music. Radulovic plunges headlong into highly-sophisticated virtuoso violin playing. The Borusan orchestra of Istanbul (ex- Constantinople) accompanies dutifully, but one wonders how Khachaturian, an Armenian, would have reacted to the idea of Turks playing his music. The massacre of around 1.5 million Armenians by the Turks is hardly ancient history. Whatever; the Turks don't play with too much feeling or enthusiasm compared, for example, with the Romanian radio orchestra under Niyazi for Sitkovetsky where, in the second movement, the Romanians swoon into the music. Listening to Radulovic is a bit like listening to Vladimir Horowitz; one admires the playing, whilst the music takes second place. Radulovic's playing in the finale is equal to any of his competitors; he is, after all, a super-virtuoso, and the finale is his best movement of the work.

I am conscious of being a bit sniffy concerning Radulovic; not that he and his many fans will worry. My favourite musicians are those like Adolf Busch, Artur Grumiaux, Maria Pires, Clara Haskil, Wolfgang Scheiderhan, Igor Levit, who get inside the music and then play it from the heart. I am uneasy with “star” performers where the spotlight is focused on “me, me, me”. I'd probably have sniffed at Paganini had he been around in my lifetime. 'Sorry, Niccolò, but it just isn't my kind of thing'.

In Praise of Johann Sebastian Bach

Bach has been dead for 268 years, yet his music still lives on and, for most of that time, connoisseurs of fine music have always put Bach as Number One on the pedestal of great composers; there is no reason to suppose that this will change for the next 268 years. I first came across Bach and his music when I was around 10 years old (I grew up in a music-loving family). As I have related before in this blog, the very first concert I ever attended at the age of about thirteen was of Bach's Mass in B minor. Interrogating my catalogue of recorded music I possess, I find I have recordings of 1016 pieces of music by Bach, and I find that more and more of my listening — especially in the evening — is of Bach's music. Bach's output over the 65 years of his life was prodigious; the man scribbled away for almost all his life and all his time. There are few real peaks in his output; the Mass in B minor, the St John and St Matthew Passions certainly qualify as “peaks” but pretty well all the rest is just solid, great music be it for voices, solo instruments, or baroque bands.

I frequently ask myself what makes Bach so special, and the answer is usually somewhat complex. Here are a few ingredients for Bach's greatness:

There is always something going on, in Bach's music. “Too much counterpoint, and Protestant counterpoint, at that” Thomas Beecham is reputed to have growled. Bach loved counterpoint, he loved multi-layered music; in many instances, the “accompaniment” is even more interesting than the solo line, viz. many of the sections in the 200 or so cantatas. This makes listening to Bach interesting. His contemporaries, such as Handel and Vivaldi, did not go in much for counterpoint, which had gone out of fashion with much of polyphony. (This does not make Handel's and Vivaldi's music less interesting; it just points up one of Bach's Unique Selling Points).

Bach knew about the attention spans of his audience. Folk musicians, and American popular song writers, also know about attention spans, which is why individual songs or instrumental pieces usually last only around five minutes. Similarly, Bach — like other 18^th century composers — makes sure usually that no individual piece or section lasts longer than five or six minutes. The longer works, like the Passions and the Mass, are broken up into varying sections. It is true that variations such as the Goldberg Variations last much longer, but 30 or so variations within a 60 minute work contain a lot of variety. The Chaconne of the D minor partita for solo violin lasts around 13 minutes, but, again, a chaconne is a series of variations on a ground. Plenty of variety. As the centuries rolled on, music in the 19^th and 20^th centuries became more and more bloated – think of Mahler's 8^th Symphony, or Wagner's Tristan & Isolde. Folk and popular music escaped the bloat movement, luckily for their popular appeal.

Bach's music is never glib, showy or flashy. Pretty well everything is at a very high level, and even Bach under pressure and indulging in music-processing manages to be interesting.

Along with his fascinating counterpoint, Bach can often indulge in some pretty weird harmonies, as in the bass aria Ächzen und erbärmlich Weinen in the church cantata Meine Seufzer, meine Tränen. Listening to Bach's modulations and harmonic structures is a fascinating exercise in its own right. And, as John Eliot Gardiner has pointed out, so much of Bach's music — even the church music — incorporates dance rhythms of the early 18th century: gavottes, bourées, sarabandes, gigues, passpieds, sicilianos, etc. This gives Bach's music a constant air of rhythmic vitality and interest.

So: Interesting music. Fascinating music. Absorbing music. Music with a constantly varied rhythmic, sonic and harmonic structure. In my view, Johann Sebastian Bach fully deserves his gold medal in the musical Olympics. I am immensely happy to have been able to visit his grave, and the city where he was born, and the church where he was baptised. Bach!

An Evening of Debussy, Berlioz, and Ravel

I have been having a mini- French music festival, starting with Bernard Haitink conducting the Concertgebouw orchestra in Debussy: l'Après-midi d'un faune, La Mer, and the first two Nocturnes (I never took to the third, Sirènes). La Mer, the Nocturnes and I go back a long, long way to the 1950s when I listened often to both, conducted in those days on LP by Guido Cantelli. Haitink was recorded in the late 1970s and, as so often, he and the superb Concertgebouw orchestra have exactly what it takes to project Debussy's music. I have never been a great Debussy fan, but there are some works of his that I like very much – such as La Mer.

And on to Berlioz, and his six songs with orchestra that make up Les Nuits d'été, a work I came to first only a few years ago. I have the classic recording with Régine Crespin, but I prefer to listen to it sung by one of my favourite French sopranos, Véronique Gens. Beautiful singing in lovely music.

And ending with Ravel and his Shéhérazade, also sung by Véronique Gens. Music I have known for a long time (I first met it sung superbly by Frederica von Stade). I now have 13 different versions of this work, but I usually gravitate to Mme. Gens since, apart from anything else, I admire her clear French diction. I do like singers who can articulate clearly. Well: Debussy, Berlioz, and Ravel. An admirable French trio that made an excellent evening's listening.

Rimsky-Korsakov: Scheherazade, with Paul Kletzki

As a change from the baroque music that has occupied me of late, I listened this evening to Rimsky-Korsakov's evergreen Scheherazade. The recording came from a period of excellence around 1958-9 when the Philharmonia orchestra was on top form, as were the EMI recording engineers. Conductor during this period of excellence was the Polish conductor Paul Kletzki, a maestro who saw his job to guide an orchestra to give of its best and to project the music. Kletzki was not one of those who indulged in the cult of personality; he conducted effectively and efficiently. Since the 1950s I have always treasured his recording of Mahler's fourth symphony (the only Mahler symphony to which I now wish to listen). I wallowed happily in his Scheherazade, with Hugh Bean as the violin narrator, and with the original excellent sound enhanced by a friend who sent me an admirable transfer. Familiar music, lovingly rendered by orchestra, conductor, and engineers.

Bach does Pergolesi

I settled back in my armchair to listen to a new recording for my collection: Masaaki Suzuki, with singers Carolyn Sampson and Robin Blaze, singing Bach's cantata Tilge, Höchster, meine Sünden. Only it turned out not to be Bach's music; it was Pergolesi's Stabat Mater, with new words from Psalm 51, with music arranged and edited by … Johann Sebastian Bach, catalogued as BWV 1083.

A pretty remarkable story, given that Giovanni Battista Pergolesi died in 1726 at the age of 26 and that Bach obviously knew and admired his Stabat Mater, all the 1500 kilometres or so from Naples to Leipzig. The Catholic veneration of Mary would obviously not have gone down well with Bach's Lutheran Protestants, so new words were found. Bach's editing is serious and light, and not nearly as drastic as, say, Mozart's re-write of Handel's Messiah. I have to say, I was highly impressed with “Bach's” work, as with the performance here. Sampson and Blaze sing well together. Bach's version keeps the essence of Pergolesi's wonderful music; no wonder Bach must have been impressed enough to devote time and energy to re-working the work. Very enjoyable, and highly recommended.

Bach's Secular Cantatas, and Masaaki Suzuki

As the proud owner of around 250 recordings of Bach cantatas, I really, really do not need yet more. However, I bought a CD of two more Bach cantatas — secular cantatas, this time — and so enjoyed the two works … that I have now ordered six more secular cantatas. All feature the incomparable Masaaki Suzuki with his Bach Collegium Japan. The first CD of this batch that I bought has Carolyn Sampson as the soprano soloist, and I greatly welcome more recordings with Ms Sampson. She sings Ich bin in mir Vergnügt BWV 204 beautifully.

The words / libretti for almost all vocal music before Mozart are usually banal. I can never take to the words of Bach's church cantatas: “I long to die, so I can see Jesus again” and similar religious hocus-pocus. So the secular Bach cantatas make a very welcome change for me. Well done Johann Sebastian, and Masaaki Suzuki, and the BIS record company that year after year has supported Suzuki and his fine Japanese musicians.

Life, according to Igor Levit

The much-admired (by me) pianist Igor Levit has just released a double CD album with the title “Life”. As one would expect from Levit, the pianism is extraordinary, the musicianship exemplary with a formidable grasp of form, structure, and dynamics. So far: straight “A”s all the way. The nine pieces of music on the two CDs are a mixed bag. We start with Ferrucio Busoni's Fantasia after J.S. Bach, which rambles on agreeably for over 14 minutes. Bach would have done better, in a lot less time. We continue with Brahms' arrangement for the left hand of the Chaconne from Bach's second partita for solo violin, a very pleasant surprise. Confining the arrangement to just one pianistic hand means that the original violin music comes over without excessive additions and ornamentation and this, coupled with Levit's grasp of form, makes this a formidable recording of Bach's music. It also confirms my often-stated view that “authentic” Bach is a pretty meaningless term, given Johann Sebastian's casual ability to arrange or transcribe his music from instrument to instrument, and voice to voice. CD I continues with the “Ghost” variations by Robert Schumann, very nearly posthumous, and ends with a ten minute piece by Frederic Rzewski with the title A Mensch (a person, or human being). For me, once heard, forever pigeon-holed since Rzewski's piece does ramble on.

The second CD begins with Franz Liszt's transcription of the solemn march from Wagner's Parsifal; Liszt's transcriptions and arrangements of other men's music have usually appealed to me, as here. The real Liszt comes next, with 33 minutes of his Fantasia and Fugue on “Ad nos, ad salutarem undam” by Meyerbeer, a piece that goes on and on and suffers from the too-often prevalent gigantism of much music in the second half of the 19^th century; the adagio section, alone, takes up nearly 14 minutes. I've always regarded Franz Liszt as a flashy 19^th century pianist who is much over-rated as a composer, and this does little to change my long-held prejudice. Predictably, the Liebestod from Tristan and Isolde, as arranged by Liszt, comes over wonderfully; Liszt seems to have been at his best when faced with real music by the likes of Schubert or Wagner. In his playing of the Liebestod (as in his playing of Brahms's arrangement of Bach's Chaconne), Levit gives evidence of a sense of form and dynamics rivalling that of Otto Klemperer, or Sergei Rachmaninov.

Ferrucio Busoni's Berceuse is a pleasant piece of music, as is the concluding piece by someone called Bill Evans: Peace Piece – attractive, minimalist music that does, however, question the compilation's title: Life. Almost all the music on these two CDs is sombre and either piano, or pianissimo. Not music to listen to if you are deeply depressed, or contemplating suicide. I suspect that, in twenty or so years time when I near 100 years old, I'll strip out the Bach and Wagner pieces to a separate CD for lifetime listening. Liszt and Busoni are for lovers of pianism; I am a lover of the violin. And not of organs, or counter-tenors. Or harpsichords. I do, however, greatly admire Igor Levit as a formidable musician, chosen repertoire sometimes notwithstanding.

Semyon Snitkovsky

I have often remarked that fame is something dependent on great talent, plus great backers, great PR, and great managers. Plus a bit of luck. Unfortunately, great talent, by itself, will rarely buy world recognition, and fame. Take Semyon Snitkovsky, whose playing I have just been admiring on transfers from Melodya recordings. Born in the USSR in 1933, he died in the USSR in 1981 at the age of 47. Later in his career, he was a violin professor in Moscow and Budapest. Few people have heard of him (no backers, no PR company); similar to the case of Julian Sitkovetsky, another great violinist from the Russian lands during those turbulent years. Yet listening to Snitkovetsky playing the evergreen Glazunov violin concerto, plus a couple of Paganini caprices — alas, with piano; why? — and a Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody arranged by Hubay, here was a truly major talent of the violin. The Glazunov is thoroughly Russian in its nostalgia and fully equal to the more famous Heifetz and Milstein. He also plays the Vieuxtemps 4th concerto, a much neglected work by modern violinists. It's a superb performance, fully the equal of that by Jascha Heifetz many years before. Unfortunately, the same cuts are made in the orchestral parts, as if the orchestra were purely secondary and ornamental. Modern concert promoters and record producers seem rarely to schedule the Glazunov and Vieuxtemps 4th concertos, more's the pity.

The moral of the story? Just because you have never heard of them before, or because they never made the world stage, it does not mean they are not truly top-notch violinists, pianists, or singers.

Orpheus Britannicus

When it comes to the finest, most sophisticated wine, France takes the gold medal. When it comes to fine, sophisticated cuisine, the gold medal is probably shared between the Chinese, the French, and the Italians. When it comes to great music, the gold medal goes to Europe. No other area of the world has produced music that, 327 years after it first sounded, still enthrals listeners. I speak as one who this evening listened to Henry Purcell's ode Hail, Bright Cecilia, composed in 1691 and played this evening on a Franco-British CD by Marc Minkowski. Music for all time.

Marc Minkowski and his Franco-British team (or, more exactly, French team with British appendages) go on to play Handel's A Song for Saint Cecilia's Day (1739), to words by John Dryden. Who wins the gold medal: Orpheus Britannicus, or the Caro Sassone? In the end, there are three gold medals: Handel's music is the great crowd pleaser; Purcell's the more sophisticated, appealing to connoisseurs. The third gold medal goes to Marc Minkowski and his Franco-Britannic forces.

A lobby of musical extremists suggests that “all music is equally valid”. Which is plain nonsense. A young man beating a bongo drum is not going to be listened to in 327 years time. Great Music is music that transcends centuries and appeals to connoisseurs of generation after generation. Vide Purcell's Hail, Bright Cecilia, and Handel's A Song for Saint Cecilia's Day.

The Czech Violin Tradition. And Vaclav Snitil

For the inhabitants of a small country, the Czechs — including, musically, the Slovaks and Bohemians — have had a disproportionate influence on the musical world, especially that of violin playing. Composers include Dvorak, Janacek, Smetana, Fibich and Suk. Violinists are too many to list. The Czech recording company, Supraphon, has kept the Czech flag flying for countless decades. This evening I am listening to Vaclav Snitil (one of the horde of excellent Czech violinists of the past century) with Josef Hala at the piano. Snitil's sound is typically Czech: highly focused intonation, with sparing use of vibrato, judicious rubato, and excellent rhythmic sense. This evening for me he played music by Smetana, Dvorak, Fibich, and Josef Suk. An all-Czech evening and highly enjoyable. If every country in Europe made as rich a contribution to musical life, we would be swamped with outstanding music and musicians. And this is not even broaching the area of Czech orchestras and, especially, string quartets. The total population of the present day Czech Republic is only a little over ten million people. Add in just over five million for Slovakia. A remarkable musical race. For me, the soulful, melancholy nature of so much of Czech music is encapsulated in Vaclav Snitil and Josef Hala playing Dvorak's well-known Four Romantic Pieces Op 75. Sheer bliss.

Brahms' Hungarian Dances, and Baiba Skride

A memorable photo in my collection of photos of violinists is one of Padraig O'Keeffe, an Irish folk fiddler, clutching a bow and violin in one hand and a glass of (probably Guinness) in the other. This was the tradition of European folk fiddlers, at weddings, funerals, and village dances. I thought nostalgically of the photo listening to Hagai Shaham dispatching immaculately all 21 of Johannes Brahms' Hungarian Dances (arranged by Joseph Joachim). The dances are well known and bear repeated listening; Shaham's playing is superb, but this is Israeli-type violin playing, with hyper-efficiency and little warmth or human feeling. Going back to Joachim's (few) recordings, one discovers a different world. I don't think Padraig O'Keeffe would have warmed to Mr Shaham's playing, and the Hungarian village committees would probably not have re-engaged him. The military parade-ground feeling in Mr Shaham's recording is accentuated by the short intervals between tracks; one dance follows immediately on the previous.

After dance number 12, I had had enough of Mr Shaham's brusque efficiency, and turned my attention to alternative violinists who have recorded all the Dances: Marat Bisengaliev (1994), Aaron Rosand (1991), Oscar Shumsky (1997) and Baiba Skride (2010). I chose the Latvian Ms Skride, since I like her playing but have not heard it for a while. She plays here with her sister Lauma at the piano, and the two make a fine duo, with lots of welcome rubato, and an ever-present warmth of feeling as if they are enjoying making music together (which they probably were). Their enjoyment communicates itself in their playing.

Pretty well every violinist who has ever lifted a bow has played and recorded a selection of these dances. They are highly attractive pieces of music and well repay repeated listening. In future, when I want to sit back and listen to a few of them, I'll reach out for Baiba and Lauma.

Toscha Seidel, Violinist

There is a well-known photo from the early years of the 20^th century showing a teenage Jascha Heifetz (“the angel of the violin”) accompanying on the piano a teenage Toscha Seidel (“the devil of the violin”) with a paternal Leopold Auer looking on. Heifetz and Seidel later emigrated to America, fleeing the chaos of the Russian revolutionary years. Heifetz had his brilliant career, eclipsing all violinists in America in the 1920s, 30s, 40s, and 50s. America, with its quasi- duopoly of RCA and CBS for classical recordings had only one slot for one major violin star, and Jascha Heifetz was so ordained. Major violinists such as Mischa Elman and Toscha Seidel were relegated to the “B” team. Yehudi Menuhin and Nathan Milstein managed to make international recording careers in Europe, as did Mischa Elman in some desperation towards the end of his performing career, followed by America-based violinists such as Bronislaw Gimpel, and Erica Morini.

Listening today to a recital compilation of recordings by Toscha Seidel, one mourns the fact that this fascinating violinist is not now well-known. There is fire and spirit in his playing, such as one rarely encounters elsewhere, coupled with an incredible technique. Few violinists nowadays would abandon themselves so recklessly (and impeccably) to short pieces by Mozart, Wagner, Brahms, Kreisler, Achron, et al. This is the Devil of the Violin (recorded variously in the 1920s, 30s and 40s). Seidel's playing in a 1941 recording of Korngold's Much Ado About Nothing suite (with Korngold at the piano) yields nothing to Heifetz in style and technique, but trumps even Heifetz

with an added vibrancy and emotion that will always make this my number one choice for this music. The new generation of fine violinists could learn a lot about putting everything into their playing.

Seidel died in 1962 at the early age of 63 years, suffering in his later years from acute depression. His few recordings of longer works, such as the Grieg and Franck violin and piano sonatas, suggest that, somewhat like Mischa Elman, he was above all the master of shorter pieces where violin sound and technique were paramount, though his performances of the Brahms violin concerto – alas, never preserved from radio recordings – were legendary, and one would have loved to have heard him in the Tchaikovsky violin concerto. I have nothing of his playing preserved in recordings after 22^nd July 1945, when he would have been 46 years old. This was an eloquent and moving account of Chausson's Poème, with the Los Angeles Philharmonic conducted by Leopold Stokowski. Most of his concertising was done for American radio stations, and the recordings were never retained.

The hackneyed saying “they don't play like that nowadays” is particularly true of Toscha Seidel (and of Mischa Elman). More's the pity. The last violinist to play with such inner vibrancy was probably Ginette Neveu (also in the 1940s).

Ning Feng plays Bach

Looking at a facsimile of the original scores of Bach's six sonatas and partitas for solo violin, one notices immediately a) the density of the notes and the part-writing and b) the complete absence of any performance indications, apart from tempo markings at the start of movements such as the fugues where the basic tempo is not obvious (for example, adagio, allegro, or grave). For the sarabandes, gavottes and rondos, no tempo markings are deemed necessary. There is a complete absence of piano, forte, crescendo, diminuendo, and other such performance directions.

Some, of course, have taken this to mean that Bach conceived of the music being played dead-pan, as on a sewing machine, or mechanical typewriter. Musicologists and academics have frowned at anyone making an “unauthorised” ritardando, or staccato, or pianissimo. Not so Ning Feng, whose recent recording of the six I kept to hand rather than file away. For musicologists, this will be self-indulgent Bach with no sense of “18^th century style”, whatever that may have been, and leaving aside the question as to whether a 21^st century style increases the power and interest of the music. Were Bach to hand, he could give us his opinion. I suspect he would much prefer Ning Feng on his 1721 Stradivari, compared with old Hans Nothman on his Leipzig fiddle soon after 1720 when the unaccompanied works first saw the light of day.

The first partita has no real technical difficulties (even I could play it, in my day, although the Flight of the Bumble Bee speeds in some of the doubles as played by Ning Feng or Jascha Heifetz are beyond most mortals). The ten movements (five movements, plus five doubles) can seem to go on forever, with no great musical interest; the interest has to be in the violin playing, with subtle variations of tempo and dynamics. From recollection, first-rate violinists as varied as Lisa Batiashvili, Yehudi Menuhin, Johanna Martzy, and Alfredo Campoli gave dead-pan, routine playing. The great Russians such as Oistrakh and Kogan mainly avoided unaccompanied Bach. Mr Feng holds my interest well, through the violin playing rather than just the music. He has a wonderful sense of light and shade, piano and forte; the playing in the double presto of the first partita, or the famous andante of the second sonata, is quite breathtaking. He is an expert at phrasing, at establishing a line in the music, and of voicing in the fugues. The Ciaccona comes over really well, with expert chording and dead-on-target double stops (though I still prefer Alina Ibragimova's way of ending the Ciaccona piano, rather than forte, although she is pretty well alone in this).

Ning Feng's teachers include Antje Weithaas, a violinist I admire greatly and whose playing of the unaccompanied music of Bach and Ysaÿe I recently so enjoyed. Although I do not know the Weithaas recordings intimately, I fancy I can hear a strong influence from her in Feng's playing on this Bach set, especially in the use of varied dynamics. I was somewhat surprised that a 36 year old Chinese virtuoso could woo me so completely with the music of Johann Sebastian Bach, but Bach playing is seemingly independent of sex, race, or age. The two CDs constitute a two and a half hour celebration of the sound of the violin, and I enjoyed every minute of it. It's a nice touch that just as Bach was finishing his unaccompanied sonatas and partitas, Antonio Stradivari was putting the final touches to Ning Feng's violin on the other side of the Alps.

Simone Kermes, and Handel

Back from holiday (Burgundy, and Provence). What to listen to, after two weeks without music? Serendipity came into play, with Simone Kermes and Maite Beaumont singing the inevitable Handel opera arias and duets (with Il Complesso Barocco and Alan Curtis). Handel is very much “welcome back” music; emotions and intellect are not stretched. It's just lovely music all over again. Will I ever become tired of listening to Pena Tiranna? I think not. And Simone Kermes has one of those voices that sing the words and convey the emotions behind them, rather than simply mouth beautiful melodies.

Music for Moods

I have nothing in common with Sergei Rachmaninov. He was twice in exile; once from his beloved Russia, the second time from Europe convulsed in wars. He ended his days in what must have seemed to him a somewhat barbaric land, playing almost non-stop in order to earn money for himself, his family, and his entourage. This evening I sat peacefully in England, with no wars currently in sight; yet I really needed to immerse myself in the music of Rachmaninov, first the second symphony, then the second piano concerto. For the symphony, only Valery Gergiev and the Kirov orchestra would do. For the second piano concerto, only Boris Giltburg could be chosen. It was an all-Russian evening, and a highly satisfactory one, at that. Strange how moods dictate musical choice, which is one reason I always hesitated before buying in advance a ticket for a musical evening. Imagine turning out at 7:30 on a Thursday to hear Haydn, when your mood says “Rachmaninov” !

Arkadi Volodos

Just over a year ago, I was enthusing over a CD where the Russian pianist, Arkadi Volodos, plays thirteen piano pieces by Johannes Brahms. I returned to it today and admired it more than ever. Volodos plays with (apparent) simplicity; listening to him, each piece seems to receive its ideal performance. Cannot ever be bettered.

There are musicians who have a high profile because of all sorts of reasons. Often their recording companies, managers, and impresarios would like to convert them into pop music phenomena because, as we all know, pop musicians make lodsa money for themselves, their recording companies, and their managers. There are other musicians who are highly respected without all the PR razzmatazz; Kirill Petrenko, and Arkadi Volodos spring to mind among the modern highly respected musicians. Neither man appears to give interviews; Volodos lives quietly in Spain and records and concertises from time to time, playing what he wants to play. In terms of publicity seeking, he is the modern equivalent of Clara Haskil who just played what she wanted, with whomsoever she wanted. I am always sceptical about “fame” that is measured in column inches; real fame is when you sit down and listen to someone playing, singing or conducting and exclaim: “Gosh!” Which is what I did this evening listening to Arkadi Volodos playing Brahms.

The Songs of Mr Henry Purcell

Henry Purcell, who died in 1695 at the age of 36, is one of the greatest of the lesser known composers. He wrote incidental music for plays, semi-operas, songs, trio sonatas, anthems, cantatas, fantasias, odes, and a great number of chamber pieces.

I have just been listening to a 2006 song selection sung by the delectable voice of Carolyn Sampson. Purcell was a master of English song, of exotic harmonies and complex modulations. He was also a master of the ground bass as heard, for example, in Dido's lament (from the opera Dido & Aeneas), or in the song “music for a while”. Accompanying Ms Sampson on her CD is a varied collection of olde instruments. Songs include the well-known: Sweeter than Roses, The Plaint, Music for a While, If Music be the Food of Love, Fairest Isle, and O Solitude.

On to a second Purcell CD where the German soprano Dorothee Mields is accompanied by the Lautten Compagney Berlin on a CD recorded in 2009. I prefer the band on this CD; one can have too much of plucking lutes, theorbos, and harpsichords; not too surprising that they all died out somewhat hastily. Ms Mield's attractive singing is interspersed with instrumental pieces, including two chaconnes, a musical form to which Purcell was most attached. Most of the songs are taken from Purcell's contributions to semi-operas, a patchwork of theatrical plays with songs and music. There is duplication between songs as sung by Mields and Sampson; both women are wonderful, but in the end I probably prefer Mields, who lingers less and has a more interesting and varied instrumental backing.

On to a third Purcell song CD where a French group, La Rêveuse, plays a selection of instrumental pieces, including trio sonatas by Purcell and the Moravian Gottfried Finger, a contemporary of Purcell and Handel, who settled in England. Many of the pieces on this CD feature Purcell's famous basso ostinato, a true signature feature of much of his music. The ten songs on the CD are all sung by the French soprano Julie Hassler, who has a lovely voice and the best English diction of the three sopranos so far. You can actually follow the words she is singing, which is not always true of Sampson or Mields. I greatly enjoyed this CD, recorded in Provence in 2007.

On a fourth Purcell song CD we switch to a Scottish tenor for the songs. Paul Agnew is recorded close-to, and sings often at the bottom of his register. With a principal accompaniment by a bass-viol, the overall sound comes over as somewhat lugubrious. The accompaniment is “economy-mode” — bass-viol, theorbo, and harpsichord. A few instrumental pieces are interjected into the songs but, frankly, this CD recorded in France in 2009 simply did not hold my attention and I quickly became tired of the gloomy sound. The CD cover is bizarre, with a masked, naked woman in a 19^th century bathtub. The connection with Henry Purcell is not clear.

On to a fifth CD from my shelves, with Agnès Mellon accompanied by Christophe Rousset (harpsichord) and Wieland Kuijken (bass-viol, again). Yet another French recording from southern France (1992), albeit with a very basic accompaniment, with not even a theorbo in sight. Ms Mellon has a pleasant voice, and the two accompanists are highly proficient, if a little lacking in variety of timbre. The absence of plucking is welcome. (I know harpsichords are plucked, but they sound one up from the monotone lute and guitar family). The CD contains a good selection of songs, plus Purcell's trademark “grounds”. I enjoyed the 71 minutes of music.

A sixth CD features the Dutch baritone, Maarten Koningsberger accompanied by a solitary theorbo in a recording made in 2008. The pair get through 26 songs by Purcell, one after another, with no respite. I was fully prepared not to like this: a baritone and a theorbo, in Purcell? But I was quickly won over. Koningsberger has an attractive and expressive voice, and is the first singer of the six so far where you can follow the words as he sings, without frequent course to the libretto. Purcell's vocal writing is rarely straightforward, and with many of the singers above, even gluing oneself to the libretto is no guarantee of following the texts. A big thanks to Koningsberger for his diction and clear enunciation. With just a theorbo, and 26 songs one after another, you essentially get just the song, the whole song, and nothing but the song. Not such a bad thing, it turns out, since most of the songs are very short (as recorded here – typically between two and three minutes). The choice of songs eschews the standard “Best of Henry Purcell” selection, making this a highly useful CD for those wishing to explore Purcell's lesser-known oeuvre, an oeuvre that is pretty vast, despite him dying so young, alas. Interesting to note that, even back in the 17^th century, “popular” music was obsessed with love, and sex. Plus ça change ….. Anyway, Mr Koningsberger and his theorboist won me over, despite my forebodings when I first loaded the CD on to its tray.

On to CD number seven and back to the soprano voice, featuring a 2006 all-Canadian recording with Karina Gauvin and the instrumental group Les Boréades. The CD contains 21 tracks, with a generous helping of instrumental interludes. Unlike Mr Koningsberger, Ms Gauvin sticks mainly to Purcell's best known songs. Her diction is admirably clear (unlike many other singers) and Les Boréades make a welcome contribution, and a change from the somewhat monotonous backing on some of the other CDs. This CD was — somewhat unexpectedly — a big hit with me. Good music, good singing, good accompaniments. And a nice rendition of the popular “When I am laid to Earth” with its ostinato ground bass played by Les Boréades.

CD number eight features Emma Kirkby 36 years ago in distant 1982, with a small backing group of a viol and pluckers, plus an occasional violin obbligato (Catherine Mackintosh). There is some lovely singing on this CD, and “The Plaint” with violin obbligato has probably never had a better performance than here. Ms Kirkby's pure young girl voice was a great hit during the final two decades of the last century, and it still comes over with good effect despite all that has happened since. The 16 tracks of songs and airs make for happy listening. There are no instrumental episodes. All in all, a CD I was surprised to enjoy so much.

Coming full circle, the final Purcell song and airs CD from my shelves returns to Carolyn Sampson, recorded live in London in 2015 with the usual small backing group. The lute, bass viol and harpsichord contribute instrumental interludes, some of them by Purcell's contemporaries. That is sometimes a plus in a song recital disk. Ms Sampson has a lovely voice but, as in her 2006 recital commented on above, I do have problems with following what she is singing, even glued to the libretto; lose your place, and you probably have to wait for the next song until you can start following again. Maybe this is because the Canadian, French and German singers above take more care over their English pronunciation, or maybe because Ms Sampson seems to indulge in a lot more ornamentation than the others. The lute plucks on solidly behind her, but I miss the more imaginative background accompaniment provided by some of the others in this round-up. There is a harpsichord suite with five movements, and a lute selection with three pieces; more plucking than in a commercial hen-house, and I really did not enjoy it.

In conclusion: The 17^th century was a rich one for English music; the golden age was prolonged into the earlier 18^th century with the importation of the Saxon Handel after which, apart from a few sparks from time to time, music in England went into a terminal decline that has lasted right up to the present. “Das Land ohne Musik” as someone once said. People — perhaps above all the competitive Americans — are usually looking for “the best” when one reviews nine different CDs of roughly the same repertoire. There is no “best” here. I would eliminate Paul Agnew, since it all is rather gloomy and depressing. I would also eliminate Maarten Koningsberger, reluctantly, since it's a CD for an excellent overview of Purcell's lesser-known songs, rather than a CD to sit back and enjoy. Despite being a fanatical admirer of Carolyn Sampson, I would probably eliminate her two CDs remarked upon here, partly on the grounds of unimaginative accompaniments and instrument choice, mainly on the grounds of frustration trying to follow the words she is singing. Which leaves me with one German, two French and one French Canadian to fully survive this current round-up. Fear not; I have many CDs of Purcell operas and semi-operas, plus Odes, fantasias, and Anthems, so I'll be returning (with pleasure) to Mr Henry Purcell in due course.