Musica Viva Choir and Orchestra, Alejandro Hernandez-Valdez, conductor
Erin Sensenig, soprano
Frederica von Stade, mezzo-soprano
After a lengthy and illustrious career, the mezzo-soprano Frederica von Stade says farewell on Crimson Roses, an album recorded by Musica Viva that includes three contemporary choral pieces. The title work, And Crimson Roses Once Again Be Fair, composed by Joseph Turrin, features both von Stade and soprano Erin Sensenig. It is a forty-five minute long cantata that commemorates the 100th anniversary of the First World War. Turrin set three poets who were part of the war effort or wrote about those they had lost, Wilfred Owen (also set in Britten’s War Requiem), Vera Brittain, and Siegfried Sassoon. The soloists are both in fine voice, with von Stade making up for a bit less bloom in tone with an expressive, indeed moving, performance of the cantata’s penultimate movement “Perhaps.” Sensenig, who is a member of Musica Viva, demonstrates both musicality and radiant top notes on the seventh movement, “Soliloquy and the Last Meeting.” The orchestra and choir acquit themselves well in Turrin’s neo-romantic score. Kudos to conductor Alejandro Hernandez-Valdez for leading the piece in a well-paced and thoughtful interpretation.
Gilda Lyons’ Monotombo is a five-movement a capella piece in which she sets poems about the volcanic landscape in Nicaragua. Lyons uses overlapping counterpoint, color chords, glissandos, and steaming sound effects to provide vivid renditions of the texts. Richard Einhorn’s The Luminous Ground uses plucked strings and vocalise to depict the eponymous light installation by James Turrell. While economical in material, the pieces is most affecting.
This is the tenth anniversary of Hernandez-Valdez’s tenure with Musica Viva, and the contemporary pieces that were selected for the recording demonstrate both his dedicated curation and the versatility and talent of the group.
Composer Kenneth Hesketh has written several works for piano, and Clare Hammond has for years been their most dedicated advocate. Hände is a collection of her detailed performances of seven pieces, ranging from miniatures to two substantial works. The first of the latter is Poetic Conceits (2006), a six movement suite of character pieces. “Epigram,” “Epigraph,” “Epitaph,” and “Mad Pursuits” demonstrate colorful post-tonal harmony and angular gestures, while “Of Silence and Slow Time” and “Cold Pastoral” proceed gradually with aching lyricism.
Pour Henri (2013) is dedicated to the composer Henri Dutilleux, with whom Hesketh studied at Tanglewood. It employs several quotations, including the French song Bonne Anniversaire, the composer’s second piano prelude, and his iconic string quartet Ainsi la nuit; all of this in a compact minute and a quarter. It is a moving elegy. Lullaby of the Land Beyond (2018) is another valedictory piece, dedicated to Oliver Knussen. Similarly, it includes a number of Knussen quotations, as well as one from Boris Gudunov, a favorite of the late composer. Higglety Pigglety Pop, Knussen’s second opera, which concludes with the portrait of a dog’s afterlife, provides a receding, misty ambience for this poignant goodbye to a great figure in English music.
Heu, Heu, Heu… Einekleine ausschweifende (Hey, hey, hey… a little riotous celebration) (2012) is as advertised and requires staggering virtuosity, which Hammond has here and throughout in abundance. Chorales and Kolam (2019) is less boisterous but also makes a powerful impression all its own. A kolam is a geometric pattern drawn on the ground by women and girls in India and Southeast Asia for luck. The piece is built from reconstituted material from Hesketh’s piano concerto. The chorales are refracted in a series of variations that gradually unthread the verticals into stratified lines, only to have them gradually reassemble into arpeggiations in a shadowy coda.
Hände, Das leben und die Liebe eines zärtlichen Geschlechts (Hands: the life and love of the fairer sex) (2015) was commissioned for Hammond. When one views it live, the pianist plays along with an eponymous 1928 film that uses the play of hands nearly throughout (there are excerpts in the video below). Correspondingly, the musical work is based on the shape of hands. Not only is Hammond called upon to play repeated notes, chordal ostinatos, diaphanous rolls, and fleet gestures, she also plays inside the piano, uses knitting needles to strike the strings, and clangs six small bells set to the side of the instrument. Like the film, elements of surrealism abound. Hände is a major piece, tailor-made for Hammond’s imaginative and risk-taking approach to performing. The recording as a whole is an excellent showcase for both composer and pianist, and is one of my favorite CDs of 2024.
Jason Anick and Jason Yeager – Sanctuary (Sunnyside)
Violinist Jason Anick and pianist Jason Yeager last recorded together in 2017, and their album Unite revealed a simpatico pairing. Just as it was thematically constructed around its title, Sanctuary, their 2024 Sunnyside release, seeks to emphasize the need for recovery and renewal in these challenging times.
They are joined by estimable collaborators, who are ceded space for their own contributions; this never feels like the Jasons dominate the proceedings. Trumpeters Jason Palmer and Billy Buss, tenor saxophonist Edmar Colón, cellist Naseem Alatrash, bassist Greg Loughman, and drummer Mike Connors form a biggish band provided with deftly arranged charts.
“Futures Past” begins the recording with Anick and Yeager playing the tune’s first section, syncopated and in modal jazz style, and they are soon joined by the rest of the group for an energetic second part of the head. Yeager’s solo recalls the stacked fourths-fifths chord melodies of McCoy Tyner. Palmer’s turn builds a gradual ascent before softly overlapping counterpoint from the brass is contrasted by Connors providing emphatic fills. The second section with the whole band is followed by a thinned out conclusion, led by Anick. The violinist, trilling in the introduction of “The Nearness of Now,” has a fleet duet with the trumpet, and Yeager contributes a bluesy solo with Loughman’s bass ebulliently walking alongside.
Of course, what does the concept of sanctuary require as a foil: the circumstances that require refuge. “Persecution” is an uptempo example with a high dissonance quotient and great intensity. “AI Apocalypse” is quick too and has a sinuous bass line that undergirds ominous interplay from brass and strings. A funk-inflected piano solo, back and forth from trumpet and violin, and rollicking playing from the rhythm section gives a stern rebuttal to the oppressors found in the music of the beginning. But they are not to be denied, and an even more cacophonous tutti ensues before the outro provides a long decrescendo. Wayne Shorter’s “Lost” is a natural for the theme of sanctuary sought, if not yet found. Unison melodic playing from violin, saxophone, and trumpets creates a fascinating, colorful rendition. Given their shared instrument, Colón is a natural for the performance’s spotlight soloist, and his solo ranges widely but is phrased exquisitely. Anick takes a turn, winding filigrees around the tune’s contours. Yeager counters with a pot-boiler, and the group engages in some free play in the conclusion.
‘Ephemary” has a mysterious opening, a contrasting, emphatic trumpet duet, and a swinging solo from Anick. “Colorado” provides a chance to hear the Jasons play in brilliant fashion, suggesting that a future duo album would be welcome.
“Farewell” is actually the penultimate piece, juxtaposing doubled treble lines and bass/piano with a line down low. Stacked harmonies and a trumpet glissando conclude the first section, after which the rhythm section engages in a group passage, with Yeager supplying one of his best solos. The return alternates treble and bass components and is finished with held notes and staccato piano. The concluding title tune, “Sanctuary” is quite beautiful and could be a new standard in its own right, its performance contrasting an offbeat ostinato from the rhythm section with a sustained melody played by the rest of the group. Anick’s solo features glissandos and swift scalar passages. It is followed by an equally swift trumpet solo with an altissimo climax. The head returns, with triplets and violin ornaments decorating it before a denouement leaves the piano playing alone, dissolving the ostinato and ending the album with a sense of repose.
In addition to the Shorter and a number of originals, Sanctuary includes an affecting version of Chopin’s famous “Raindrop” Prelude in D-flat major. It opens with a delicate solo from Alatrash, and the middle section in minor builds to a roar of brass chords. After presenting a relatively faithful transcription of the score, piano and trumpet solos move romantic music into the ambit of postmodern jazz. A return to the middle section is followed by Yeager playing the last section faithfully. How about more? A mazurka next?
While I mentioned a desire for more duets, the assembled musicians are an abundantly talented band, and a follow-up from them would be equally welcome. Sanctuary is one of my favorite albums of 2024.
Ethan Iverson is one of the foremost jazz pianists of his generation. An alumnus of the Bad Plus, he has since appeared with a number of artists, both live and on record. He currently teaches at New England Conservatory of Music. Iverson revels in researching all the eras of jazz, from its inception to the most recent innovations, and is also an advocate for American concert music composers of the twentieth century. His Substack, offers a bevy of information about both subjects.
Technically Acceptable is primarily a piano trio album. The two rhythm sections that join Iverson are bassist Thomas Morgan and drummer Kush Abadey, who play on a group of new originals. Bassist Simón Willson and drummer Vinnie Sperazza are on hand for two standards, “Killing Me Softly,” first a hit for Roberta Flack in the seventies and later recorded by the Fugees, and “‘Round Midnight,” a Thelonious Monk signature. The former is given a lush reading with elegant pop harmonies, while the latter features Rob Schwimmer playing theremin in a simulacrum of Annie Ross’s soprano delivery.
“Conundrum” opens the recording with a 90 second brisk introduction, a foreshadowing of the “Overture” and “Recessional” found on Playfair Sonatas. “Victory is Assured (Alla breve)” is undergirded with a cut time groove emphasized by Iverson’s left hand and the rhythm section. The pianist’s right hand is occupied with a circle of fifths sequence and emphatic glissandos. The title tune is a bluesy swing with an upward yearning culmination. Then there is a solo from Iverson that features abundant ornamentation and planing chords.
“Who are You Really” begins with a chordal treatment of its sinuous, scalar tune. Iverson’s solo provides puckish elaborations while Morgan supplies repeated notes in a countermelody and Abadey punctuates the proceeding with cymbal splashes and tom rolls. A double time coda concludes it. “Chicago Style” is a wayward ballad adorned with a wispy piano solo.
Technically Acceptable concludes with Iverson’s Piano Sonata. The program note relates Iverson’s fully notated approach to music from the 1930s: swing, blues, and the classical music of Copland and Gershwin. It also has an Ivesian cast, the first movement cutting among several propulsive motives, including a hard bop section, another that recalls the stride piano of James P. Johnson, and “the first four notes” theme of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. After the second theme’s appearance, there is a brief misterioso interlude, and an elated version of the hard bop theme reappears, with a brusque glissando finishing off the movement. This is followed by an Andante movement with a wandering tune that alternates with dissonant arpeggios. As it progresses, the proceedings are enriched with polychords and decorative chromaticism. The finale is a rondo movement with thick dissonant verticals inserted between short phrases, each time followed by a puckish renewal of the form’s succession of motifs.
Playfair Sonatas shares chamber pieces that are the continuation of Iverson’s interest in notated composition, each in its a way an homage to predecessors in the jazz idiom. It contains both a short Fanfare and Postlude for all of the players, the former with a jaunty tune, the latter with solemn brass followed by a hymn-like piano postlude.
Trombone Sonata features Mike Lormand, whose sound can be clarion like a trumpet or sonorous in its depths. At its outset, against a sustained melody for the trombone, Iverson adds still rhythmic wrinkles by playing hemiola patterns. Partway through, in a slow, rubato passage the trombonist is exhorted to “tell your story.” This is succeeded by a return to the opening material, abetted by a rangy, syncopated melody in the trombone. A long glissando is countered with a sustained bass note to close. The second movement is dedicated to the avant-jazz trombonist Roswell Rudd, with a hat tip to the dedicatee given by the copious microtones for the soloist. The finale is another rondo, this one with a main theme in mixed meter of an anthemic quality, and a corresponding quick motive filled with blues thirds and glissandos. Lormand demonstrates facility in fast tempos, doubling Iverson’s right hand in places, concluding with the main melody embellished with thunderous pedal tones and then a deathless sustained final pitch.
Makoto Nakamura is the soloist in the Marimba Sonata. Some of the piece explores a bucolic environment that accentuates gently humorous material. The second movement evokes the legacy of Dolphy’s “wild modernism,” and the frequency of mallet percussion player Bobby Hutcherson in the reed player’s lineups. Unique to this sonata is a solo cadenza movement, with a slow tempo undergirding a multi-mallet excursion with fetching accumulated harmonies.
Clarinetist Carol McGonnell has an exquisite sound in every register of her instrument, which makes her an ideal interpreter of Iverson’s Clarinet Sonata, which recalls both jazz idioms and modern classical music. The first movement features memorable themes, mixed meters, and cascading arpeggios in both instruments. The second movement, “Music Hall,” is dedicated to the great jazz composer Carla Bley, its oom-pah rhythm imitating the accompaniment of many of her pieces. In a spooky twist, Bley passed away on the very day that Iverson finished the movement .A third movement is neoclassical in design, with a backwards ordering of scherzo, minuet, and an allegro return that includes a soaring valediction for the clarinet. The finale moves the sonata out of the minor mode into a triumphant major, including one of Iverson’s most memorable melodies on Playfair Sonatas.
Who could be a better dedicatee for an Alto Saxophone Sonata than Paul Desmond? The second movement, titled “Melody (For Paul Desmond) is a suavely lyrical ballad in which Iverson effectively channels West Coast Jazz of the 1950s. The other two movements put saxophonist Taimur Sullivan through his paces, the first including fast scalar passages and altissimo held notes in the part, all set against a syncopated shuffle and a middle section in fugato counterpoint. The movement’s melody by itself is appealing, and could easily be given treatment as a new standard. The third movement is an Allegro in which the duo swings with abandon, Sullivan playing a breathless stream of swinging eighths and triplets against a rollicking groove, forceful ostinatos, and quick melodic doublings in the piano. A cadenza provides a dazzling interlude, followed by a radiant coda..
The Trumpet Sonata is imbued with the qualities of early jazz juxtaposed with early modernism á la Hindemith. The middle movement, “Theme (For Joe Wilder),” celebrates a trumpeter who was an exponent of early modernism and one of the first black musicians to play on Broadway and in symphony orchestras. Wilder premiered a number of compositions, notably by Alec Wilder, a classically trained composer who was probably best known for his popular songs, film scores, and musicals. There is a charming suavity to the theme that recalls some of Alec Wilder’s music for movies.
Miranda Cuckson is a go-to violinist for contemporary concert music. The Violin Sonata employs Cuckson’s well-established facility with modern music. The first movement features an Andante theme that is chromatic, nearly post-tonal in conception. This is succeeded by an Allegro section with angular, dovetailing flurries. The sonata also tempts her into the world of modern jazz with a second movement titled “Blues (For Ornette Coleman).” Coleman was known for using microtones and a rough hewn playing style, and Cuckson obliges with abundant amounts of sliding tone and notes between the cracks of the keys. The finale, again in rondo form, begins with pizzicato open strings against a treble register moto perpetuo in the piano. The violin duets with the piano in an effervescent contrasting theme, with sequential material offset by double-stops. The melodic focus alternates between solo and duet, with the mischievous opening section with its combination of pizzicato and the treble staccato undulations in the piano, serving as refrain. After a third tune with ascending scalar passages in the violin accompanied by arpeggiated sixteenths in the piano, the pizzicatos return a final time, topped off with a fingered glissando ascent. This piece could easily appear in either a classical recital or in a jazz concert, being both versatile and engaging throughout.
Technically Acceptable and Playfair Sonatas are significant recordings in Iverson’s catalog, the former demonstrating his finesse as a writer of jazz originals and the latter combining a cornucopia of traditions into eminently successful notated works. One hopes that both approaches remain part of his prolific creativity. Two favorite recordings from 2024.
In his 2024 recording for Naïve, pianist Francesco Tristano interprets some of Johann Sebastian Bach’s most challenging pieces, the six Partitas for clavier. Tristano’s 2022 On Early Music was an admirable outing, with pieces by Giralomo Frescobaldi, Peter Philips, John Bull, and Orlando Gibbons, serving as a taster course for Italian and English approaches to harpsichord playing in the early seventeenth century.
Tristano’s keyboard isn’t the harpsichord, but a beautiful sounding grand piano in a recording studio in Kakegawa, Japan. Abetted by sound engineer Christoph Frommen, Tristano reveled in using all of the studio’s devices at his disposal to make what his liner notes essays calls, “BachtotheFuture.” This never sounds like mere trickery, instead it imparts organic sounding, pleasing results.
Tristano is eminently capable of taking fast tempos, such as his fleet renditions of the Allemande from the B-flat major Partita and the Gigue from the G major work, where the counterpoint is clearly delineated in a virtuosic environment. However, he prefers not to rush, and the midtempo and slow dance movements are the better for it, with clear dance rhythms and cleanly delivered ornaments. Extended movements, such as the Sinfonia in the C minor Partita and Toccata in the E minor work, are well-shaped and paced. Indeed, each movement seems to have been carefully considered in its conception and receives a level of attention that makes all that work in the studio in Kakegawa seem well worth it, even necessary.
It is hard to pick favorites among Tristano’s performances of the partitas, and perhaps one’s mood may play a role, as they each seem tailored to a different demeanor. If a doleful mood besets the listener, the pianist’s traversal of the C minor Partita is truly masterful, and will likely meet you where you are and provide considerable uplift by its conclusion. Bach: the 6 Partitas is one of my favorite recordings of 2024.
Composer James Romig’s previous piece for electric guitar, The Complexity of Distance, written for Mike Scheidt, was an overwhelming paean to distorted revelry. It was a swerve from Romig’s previous compositions, which were primarily for acoustic instruments, such as the Pulitzer-nominated piano work still and a number of pieces for percussion. His latest composition for electric guitar, The Fragility of Time, is played clean, sans distortion, and serves as a sort of companion to The Complexity of Distance.
The hour-long work returns to the gradual unfolding of still. Romig began his mature career writing serial music with rhythmic vivacity. In recent years, he has retained a constructivist mindset, but slowed down the tempo of his works. One is tempted to attribute some of this to his many residencies at national parks, where the scenery and time to create seem to have metabolized in a tendency for his phrases to breathe differently.
One could scarcely hope for a better advocate than Sargent who, in addition to recording The Fragility of Time, has performed it at several venues. The level of concentration required to render the piece’s asymmetrical gestures, moving frequently between regularly fretted single notes, verticals, and harmonics, is considerable. The dynamics are subdued for much of the piece, though as it progresses the texture is peppered with single forte gestures, and it closes with forte harmonics.The pitch language itself is post-tonal in design, but doesn’t eschew the use of tertian sonorities.
The Fragility of Time has a mesmeric quality.Listeners may attend to subtle shifts occurring throughout the piece or merely bask in its attractive sound world. Either way, The Fragility of Time is a rewarding experience: take time to savor it.
Winterreise is the third recording of Schubert’s cycles/song sets (Schwanengesang isn’t a cycle – it has multiple poets) by baritone André Schuen and pianist Daniel Heide. These were some of the last pieces written by Franz Schubert (1797 – 1828), and he sang them at the piano to console himself about worsening health (syphilis likely contributed to his early demise). Of the three, Winterreise is the best suited to Schuen’s voice, a full lyric baritone. The recordings of Die Schöne Müllerin and Schwanengesang are excellent,but his mature sound and the dramatic interpretations Schuen adopts are ideal for the pathos of Winterreise. He captures the narrator’s vacillating inner monologue with declamation ranging from delicate pianissimo singing to roaring rage. Heide has collaborated with a number of singers and instrumentalists, but his work with Schuen is among his best partnerships. He plays with nuance and a fluid sense of the rhythmic component of the piece. The latter affords Schuen room for small fluctuations in tempo to emphasize particular words.
From the tramping outside his former girlfriend’s door in “Gute Nacht” onward, the tempos are well-considered, never languid even in the most tragic songs. Instead, the duo treats the winter’s journey taken by the narrator as inexorable, a quest without a prize. Along that line, the mystery of the cycle is how it ends, with the song Die Leiermann (the organ-grinder): Who is the organ-grinder? Is he real? A symbol of death? Or the final delusion of the protagonist as he succumbs to the elements? The duo perform the song understatedly, in such a way as to leave the enigma of these questions intact. Winterreise appears on a number of excellent recordings – here is one more.
The Danish String Quartet have explored music from many eras and styles. Keel Road (ECM, 2024), is the third recording in which they delve into Northern European folk music, ranging through Scandinavia, Britain, and Ireland; they call it “a musical journey through the North Sea.” The arrangements were made by the quartet, and in addition to playing strings, they also sing, whistle, and perform on a variety of traditional instruments.
Those used to the quartet’s Prism series for ECM, which featured Bach, Beethoven, and contemporary pieces, will likely be in for a pleasant surprise. Keel Road displays a correspondingly skillful approach to folk music, as well as a remarkable affinity for the music they have chosen for the album. This is evident from the recording’s opening track, Turlough O’Carolan’s “Mable Kelly,” where the musicians play a winsome tune with ornaments from Celtic fiddling, accompanied by lyrical harmonies. “Pericondine/Fair Isle Jig” begins in a similarly adorned fashion in a jaunty dance. Ale Carr’s “Stompolskan” gradually builds in intensity, developing two-note repetitions alongside another quick dance. “Carolan’s Quarrel With the Landlady” has more of a playful than adversarial demeanor, and its refrain focuses on open strings. O’Carolan likes to focus on character sketches, and the third piece played by the quartet is his “Captain O’Kane,” a study in contrast with a soaring reprise.
“En Skomager Har Jeg Været” is a brief field recording of a solo singer, a nod to the curators of this genre.The traditional song “As I Walked Out” may be familiar to listeners in its Vaughan Williams arrangement, but this brisk version with pizzicato strumming and whistling is enjoyable. Partway through, the whistling subsides and loud downward attacks accompany the tune, eventually subsiding in favor of an undulating accompaniment with the melody moving among the players. The downward attacks return softly, and there is a long fade with the whistling and pizzicatos of earlier. “Marie/The Chat/Gale Warning” is a vibrant medley in which the melody of each section is buoyed by different rhythmic patterns, tempo, and countermelodies. Glissandos, tremolandos, pizzicatos, and harmonics demonstrate a variety of techniques borrowed from the quartet’s contemporary classical repertoire. The harmony employs stacked quartal chords, including the last vertical in the piece, which is another twentieth century calling card reminiscent of Bartôk and Stravinsky (both arrangers of folk music).
The last track is particularly evocative. “Når Mitt Øye, Trett Av Møje,” is a traditional Norwegian tune, in a resolute arrangement that the quartet plays with sumptuous tone. Once again, the Danish String Quartet has shared the songs of multiple cultures in compelling renditions. Keel Road is one of my favorite recordings of 2024.
Transylvanian Dance is the second recording on ECM by pianist Lucian Ban and violist Mat Maneri; the first was Transylvanian Concert (2013). As the album title suggests, the duo explores Eastern European material, specifically that collected by Béla Bartók. Ban was born in Romania and delights in the fascinating polyrhythms of this region. Maneri is well versed in the microtonal and multi-scalar aspects of folk song. These are not mere transcriptions. Maneri has described them in interviews as, “a springboard,” a reservoir of melodic and rhythmic ideas that the duo use for improvisation. Recorded live in the Romanian city Timișoara în 2022 as part of ECM’s Retracing Bartók project, Transylvanian Dance demonstrates varied and versatile reinventions of its source material.
Bartók collected folk songs in Transylvania from 1909-1917. He made a number of trips to Eastern European countries, sometimes with his friend and fellow folk song collector the composer and pedagogue Zoltán Kodály. With cumbersome recording gear and staff paper at the ready, they sought out amateur singers, particularly those of previous generations. As older people in these regions died off, so too would generations of music-making. Before it would be too late, Bartók was eager to capture and transcribe their knowledge.
Ban and Maneri revel in the music Bartók found in his trips to Transylvania. The title track is a case in point, where Ban explores a mixed meter groove while Maneri plays modal scales with glissandos and bent notes that recall the gestural vocabulary one might hear from a traditional fiddler. As the piece progresses, Maneri plays long lines that blur the polymeter, inviting Ban to add splashes of cluster harmonies and a thrumming bass countermelody. Gradually, there is a coming apart and then rejoining by the duo, a recapitulation of the opening material, and then a sideways swerve with new harmonies, inside the piano work, and a rousing viola cadenza. “The Enchanted Stag” has a very different demeanor, slow and mysterious, almost pointillist in conception.
Ban and Maneri don’t neglect the jazz tradition in which they have been steeped. “Harvest Moon” is filled with scales from folk music, but is played like a blues ballad. “Romanian Dance” is an extended workout where Ban builds upon an asymmetrical beat pattern until it becomes a rich ground from which the duo’s forceful soloing emanates. “Boyar’s Dance” uses a soft, undulating piano passage as a refrain, between which is some of the most free improvisation on the recording, building to incendiary climaxes before lapsing into softly repeated dance steps.
The recording concludes with “Make Me, Lord, Slim and Tall,” in which both players explore a sumptuous melody over a mixed meter ostinato. The piece morphs between dovetailing melodies, post-bop, and extended harmonies featuring Maneri’s microtones and elaborate changes by Ban. It ends in a denouement, angular viola riffs and dance rhythms in the piano fading away.
Fluent in folk sources and imaginative in improvising upon them, Ban and Maneri have created a compelling document. I think Bartók would be proud of them. Transylvanian Dance is one of my favorite recordings of 2024.
Composer and synthesizer performer Leo Chadburn uses very little in the way of material, but it is employed to craft expansive compositions. On “Reflecting Pool,” pianist Ben Smith plays repeated arpeggios with a sustained low note, shadowed by Chadburn’s bass synth. The unpredictable change of harmonies against the constant bottom note brings together a compositional conceit important to Chadburn, movement concurrent with stasis. Gradually, the synth bends the low note down, creating new chordal implications. A brief fade ends the work.
“Map of the World” is a piece for violin ensemble, played here by Angharad Davies, Mira Benjamin, Chihiro Ono, and Amalia Young. A shimmering sustained vertical is offset by tremolando entrances at several different pitch levels and off-kilter metric accents. The combination of stasis and movement affords the ten minutes of music a continued sense of vibrancy and surprise. “De La Salle (Violins)” builds verticals out of tremolando passages, and Chadburn uses a breathy synth to support the top line, followed by a bell-like angular melody. Even though they only go down to G3 (the G below middle C), Violins have an impressively wide range, which allows Chadburn to create wide spacings and successive blocks of harmony. Even a small pitch change seems consequential, the move from a third to a fourth in the top voice announces a new section where things go sideways and the bell synth once again tolls. Near the very end, a bell line and single pizzicato line close the door on all the preceding music.
Smith returns for “Camouflage,” where the left hand breaks up chords and the right hand plays a syncopated melodic line. The left hand adds syncopations on different beat divisions than the right, creating a fascinating whorl of counterpoint. This process is continued, sounding like a fast-paced phase. The constant flow of variation eventually grows into a fortissimo climax, only to recede gradually, slowing, then suddenly silent. The final piece on the recording, “A Secret,” also for piano, begins with whole-tone scalar ascents followed by mixed interval scales that run all the way to the top of the keyboard. The piece has a bit of a “Hanon in Hell” vibe at first, but as the scales complicate, one realizes that again a procedure is afoot. Chadburn once again uses synthesizers to create a pedal, but this one is in the middle high register, filled with overtones, and moves gradually through a sequence of pitches. Unlike Feldman, who would draw one of these processes out over long stretches of time, Chadburn limits “A Secret’ to nine minutes. Plenty of ground is covered during this time, yet the synths provide the concomitant sense of stasis that Chadburn prefers in his work. Primordial Pieces is compelling throughout, and one of my favorite releases of 2024.
