CD Review: Scriabin / Langgaard: Towards the Flame (Gustav Piekut, piano) Naxos 8.574312

 Esben Tange sums up the unusual pairing of the composers on this release effectively in his liner notes:

“Both the Russian composer Alexander Scriabin and the Danish composer Rued Langgaard were ‘sun-burnt’ – musical loners who in a related way believed that through their art they could light a sacred fire and pave the way for a spiritual world revolution. […] Despite the fact that Scriabin and Langgaard aimed at the greatest possible, they are both very much masters of the intimate format. For both of them, the piano was a primary medium. Via the piano we get close to their innermost thoughts.”

The 26-year-old Danish pianist Gustav Piekut provides a recital that alternates four pieces by Scriabin with three of Langgaard’s.

A pair of works imbued with a late Romantic sensibility begin the journey this recording presents. Scriabin’s Trois morceaux, Op. 45 (1904–05), is a trio of individually slight yet atmospheric miniatures. Feuillet d’album is wistful and reflective, whereas the ensuing 26-second Poème fantasque nervously anticipates the closing Prélude, in which Scriabin discovers something of his searching mature idiom. Langgaard’s Sponsa christi taedium vitae. Fantasia virtuosa, BVN 297 (1944), speaks unforcefully of the composer’s own religious nature through the warmth of tone and texture in his writing. What is immediately impressive in Piekut’s playing, quite apart from the delicacy of his touch, is his ability to let the music breathe and, thus, register its own inner beauty.

In his single movement Piano Sonata No. 10, Op. 70 (1913), Scriabin sought to crystalise what could be achieved within a compact form whilst exploring new and daring tonalities. Piekut’s playing holds little in reserve. He conjours the misty sonorities of its opening with beguiling effect before dispatching the successive trills convincingly against the lingering shifts of Scriabin’s somewhat pensive developing musical argument. Even in the wilder passages of the movement’s second half, everything is musically and technically secure in Piekut’s hands. The irony that Scriabin arrived back at the note of C after seeking to find an alternative tonality is caught with some inevitability here.

Langgaard’s Afgrundsmusik (Music of the Abyss), BVN 169 (1921–24), written in Venice, sets an altogether more destructive path that is merciless in its power. Cast in two parts, Langgaard pits a theme extracted from Liszt’s B-minor sonata against a chorale of his own devising. Initially the writing is demonstrative, rising to unremitting raw savagery that almost cannibalises itself by the conclusion of the Frenetico second part. Piekut’s playing meets the demands made at every turn to make a convincing case for this music. He’s aided in no small part by the ambient warmth of the recorded acoustic. You begin to realise just why the Danes long considered Langgaard something of a musical outsider.

Scriabin’s Piano Sonata No. 9, Op. 68 ‘Messe noire’ (1912–13), perfectly partners the preceding Langgaard work. Although Scriabin claimed it amongst his most depraved works, this comes through only gradually. Again, I am drawn in by the innate sense of touch that Piekut brings to proceedings. He captures the mystérieusement murmuré (in mysteriously murmuring fashion) fingerings wonderfully so the music does indeed almost seem to foreshadow itself. Quite apart from that, listen to how he skilfully integrates the sonata’s secondary material without disrupting the flow of main ideas.

A pair of works exploring the semitone round out this voyage of musical discovery. Despite this similarity, there’s a contrasting approach to be explored and enjoyed, thanks to Piekut’s thoughtful programming. Lannggard’s The Flame Chambers, inspired by Dante, draws the listener downwards to the flames of hell. Whereas in Scriabin’s Vers la flamme, to quote Esben Tange again, “we encounter aspiring music full of sweetness, which with an increasingly feverish nerve accumulates energy before, striving towards the sun, it culminates in a heavenly explosion.” As elsewhere on this disc, I can find no argument with Piekut’s enviable pianistic gifts: in this music he is a heavenly guide.

Only one fly in the ointment: coming in at a shade over 56 minutes the playing time is disappointingly short. Particularly so given that there’s plenty more piano repertoire from both composers an artist of Piekut’s quality could have usefully explored. More please, and soon!

CD Review: Dan Dediu: Hybrids, Hints & Hooks (Irina Muresanu, violin; Valentina Sandu-Dediu, piano) Metier MSV 28621

Dan Dediu (b. 1967) has a significant reputation as a contemporary composer in his native Romania, holding a professorial post at the National Music University in Bucharest. He has written many works in virtually every genre, several of which have been performed internationally. The discography of his works is comparatively thin, so for that reason alone Divine Art are to be congratulated on bringing some of Dediu’s compositions to a wider audience through this release on their Metier label. My first encounter with Dediu’s music was at a concert in Bucharest over 15 years ago. At the time, if I am really honest, I didn’t take to it as I found it somewhat impenetrable on a single hearing. However, I have long thought that Dediu would be a composer worth revisiting.

An introduction to the recording is available on Youtube.

The works are not presented in chronological order, but as Dediu’s voice is equally assured across all the works, it’s not really a sense of development that this release is aiming to convey. Rather, it’s that Dediu’s music plays with forms and structures, often taking its starting points from disparate sources.  Indeed, violinist Irina Muresanu’s booklet foreword confirms this: “Dan Dediu is musical wizard who conjures styles and ideas from different eras, moulding them into a cohesive musical discourse that is unmistakably his own.”

The result is often simultaneously arresting, earnest yet quirky and demands that any listener pay it close attention. An initial play-through of this recording confirms that this is not music to be approached lightly. Dediu’s own concise liner notes helpfully introduce the listener to each of the four works on this disc, each of which is a first recording.

Don Giovanni/Juan ‘SonatOpera’, Op. 53 (violin & piano) – Written in 1995 for Muresanu and Sandu-Dediu in two movements, it is intended as something larger than a standard duo sonata. Dediu hints at the almost operatic proportions of his ‘SonatOpera’ by calling the movements ‘Acts’. He fleetingly draws upon motivic elements from Mozart’s Don Giovanni and Strauss’ Don Juan within his compositional tableaux. Do not think that Dediu just moulds sources into a new structure, rather, he hints at his sources with sleight of hand in music that is entirely original. Just as you get even the slightest of grasps on what the sources might be, they are gone and Dediu has plunged headlong into the music’s next aspect. Both acts are dynamically varied and involving. Act 1 begins with a dramatic ‘overture’ before plunging through a sequence of linked expressive quasi-operatic episodes, of arias, recitatives and duets. The writing is fluid and possessing its own sense of momentum; this continues throughout Act II also. There is no mistaking the sweeping, virtuosic verve that both players imbue the music with, making a fully convincing case for it.

Sonata for solo violin, Op. 7 – Written in 1987, when Dediu was 19, is a work that keeps soloist and listener alike on their toes with the contrasts between the two movements and the many twists and turns that the composition takes. As in the other solo violin work included on this release – À la recherché de La Marseillaise de Stravinsky, Op. 134, written some 31 years later in 2008.  The latter piece is another hybrid work: this time the tune of La Marseillaise as transcribed for solo violin by Stravinsky is given an imaginative contextual setting conceived by Dediu. Muresanu fearlessly meets the challenges posed within both works head on through a powerful technique tempered by her innate musicality.

The recording concludes with A Mythological Bestiary, scored for violin and piano in 2008 it was yet another work written for Muresanu. Comprising of musical portraits of six mythological beings drawn from European mythology – Griffin, Unicorn, Mandragora, Sphynx, Hippogriffin and Dragon – the composition encompasses a variety of styles, dramatic and inferences (or hints) towards the intended subject. As ever, Dediu’s writing can take sudden and subtle twists that amplify the portrait – the Sphinx’s riddle is portrayed through haunting, momentary shifts to the minor key. Impressive as Muresanu’s playing is, I find the pianism of Sandu-Dediu to be just as significant, her touch particularly in pianissimo passages is highly effective.

The recordings, made at the National University of Music in Bucharest, date from January 2014. Why it’s taken until now for them to be published is anyone’s guess, but better now than never. The recorded acoustic is relatively dry; Muresanu’s violin is forewardly placed against Sandu-Dediu’s piano in the duo pieces. There is no mistaking the dedication of both musicians in executing Dediu’s works and it is a testament to their longstanding professional association with the composer. So much so, that for the listener in search of new discoveries this release proves revealing of different aspects upon repeated listening. If you are feeling adventurous, why not give this a try.

Obituary: Bernard Haitink, conductor

The great Dutch conductor Bernard Haitink has died at his home in London, aged 92. He is widely acknowledged as one of the foremost conductors of the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries for his interpretations of Mozart, Verdi, Wagner, Bruckner, Shostakovich and Mahler amongst other composers.

(Image credit: Chris Christodoulou)

Born in Amsterdam in 1929, Haitink trained at the Conservatorium van Amsterdam and began his career as an orchestral violinist before studying conducting with Ferdinand Leitner in his mid-twenties; he made his conducting debut with the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic in July 1954. His first appearance with the Concertgebouw orchestra came two years later. He went on to serve as their Chief Conductor for twenty-seven years and conducted his final concerts with them in 2019.

The most significant musical directorships in Haitink’s 65-year career were at Glyndebourne (1978-88) and the Royal Opera House Covent Garden (1987-2002), the Staatskapelle Dresden (2002–4), the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (2006–10) and was appointed Conductor Laureate of the European Union Youth Orchestra in 2015. Long-term relationships were forged with the London Philharmonic and Symphony Orchestras. His many awards included being named an Honorary Companion of Honour by Queen Elizabeth II (2002) and Commander of the Order of the Netherlands Lion (2017).

As his years advanced, Haitink scaled back his operatic engagements but maintained a busy concert schedule until the age of 90. Radio relays of his final concerts in September 2019, which featured Bruckner’s seventh symphony, revealed that until the end Haitink was true to the core of his art: the music is all that mattered, not a showy gesture, ego or personal fanfare.

Musicians appreciated his gentle, unassuming and courteous character; that said he could reportedly be terse with colleagues if he felt they were capable of giving more to a performance. Principal flautist of the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House, Margaret Campbell has said:

“As our Music Director Bernard was universally loved and admired. He allowed us to play. He coaxed a beautiful sound out of the strings. He trusted his players and gave soloists in the orchestra considerable freedom to express themselves, helping us along with an atmosphere of mutual respect. He had a wonderful sense of musical architecture and never lost the thread of the piece however long it was.

He was charismatic, respectful and truly inspirational. To share with him the deep emotion and indeed frivolities of the operas and ballets we played together was a tremendous privilege for all of us in the Orchestra of the Royal Opera House. We count ourselves truly blessed.”

Haitink leaves behind an enviable discography of over 450 recordings. It would be hard to choose even a few of these now, but my reviews of a few recordings come to mind. Reviewing a DVD of a 1977 Glyndebourne production of Mozart’s Don Giovanni on Musicweb International, in 2005 I wrote:

“The London Philharmonic play with obvious experience of both score and house; though at times I felt the winds a little recessed. Haitink’s Mozart opera experience, as he freely admits, was at that time only beginning, and relative to later achievements this is evident. However, there is nothing that is unmusical or overtly out of place – it just lacks the depth of insight he was to achieve later on…”

Regarding Bruckner, accounts of both the sixth and the ninth symphonies stand out. Of the sixth symphony recorded live with the Staatskapelle Dresden in 2003, I wrote in Fanfare magazine:

“Haitink scales the craggy face of the Finale with surety of purpose and a clear vision of the movement’s structure. As the movement culminates with the principal theme of the first movement, a feeling of internal cohesion is reached. Haitink and his Dresden forces achieve this without undue overemphasis.”

About the ninth symphony, I wrote for Classical Ear in 2016:

“The Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra’s history with Bruckner’s Ninth Symphony is well documented on disc. Bernard Haitink recorded it twice with them (Phillips), first in 1965, then in 1981. Of those versions, I favour the second for the stark musical architecture that Haitink inexorably builds from great blocks of granite-like sound.”

I have long enjoyed Haitink’s Wagner, including his famous 1997 account of Die Meistersinger from Glyndebourne. I recall finding his recorded Ring cycle with Eva Marton as Brunnehilde a somewhat mixed affair however, marred by some oddities of casting and a somewhat cooler approach in the pit than is often encountered. My reviews for Fanfare reflected these opinions, but re-listening to the recordings now whilst writing this I am minded to think that I was over critical in my views.

Worthy memorials though his recordings are, it was in live performances that Haitink was often – if not always – heard to his best advantage. For me, these encounters occurred most memorably at the Royal Opera House Covent Garden and the BBC Proms. At these events, I observed at close quarters his lack of ostentation and economy of gesture, something other conductors could do well to take note of, I have often thought. It seems he never imposed his own ego on the music and communicated with orchestras and singers as much through eye contact as hand gestures.

He presided over some 90 BBC Proms concerts between 1966 and 2019. In the 1980s and 1990s, I heard him conduct several operas. Verdi’s La Traviata with Ileana Cotrubas in the title role from Glyndebourne in 1987 stands out not only for the integrity of the performance itself, but for the fact that Haitink remained on the podium between Acts aimiably chatting with the Promenaders below him.

At Covent Garden, I attended his final performance as Music Director in July 2002. This gala performance featured extracts from some of his favourite works: Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro, Verdi’s Don Carlo and Wagner’s Die Meistersinger. From my seat in a box parallel to the pit, I gave as much attention to Haitink’s conducting as the action and singing on stage. During the euphoric ovations that greeted Haitink as he took to the stage at the end of the evening, my companion that night commented, “He didn’t do much, did he?” My response I remember clearly: “Not so, he did everything that was needed – nothing more, nothing less.”

Sometimes, such as a concert of Schubert and Mozart at the 2015 BBC Proms which I reviewed for MusicOMH, I felt that:

“…the Chamber Orchestra of Europe under the baton of Bernard Haitink was replete with style and good taste which pleased, yet for all that it proved rather uninvolving in an emotional sense.”

However, in summing up a performance of Shostakovich’s eighth symphony at the 2005 Proms on Musicweb International I tried to capture Haitink at his considerable best:

“Haitink paced the work superbly with a keen sense of internal dynamic and contrast. As ever, he dealt with matters straight on, pulling no punches. The five-movement structure, itself problematic as it gives the work outsize dimensions, was not smoothed over. For Haitink the middle allegro non troppo belonged more to the last two movements than the first two, and in this view I could hear his reasoning. But it still sat with difficulty amongst the whole.

In the end the work remains for me something elusive, deliberately defying easy categorisation. For the fact it time and time again leaves me provoked to ask more things of and about it, I call the work great. Haitink’s performance only increased the power and urgency of those questions: that is one function at least of great art in action.”

Obituary: Edita Gruberová, coloratura soprano

Edita Gruberová (23 December 1946 - 18 October 2021), one of the great coloratura sopranos of the latter 20th and early 21st centuries, has died at the age of 74 in Vienna of injuries caused by a head wound.

Edita Gruberová, pictured in 2013

Known as the "Slowakische Nachtigal" (Slovak Nightingale), Gruberová was born in Rača, Bratislava, to a German father and an Hungarian mother. She began her musical studies at the Bratislava Conservatory as a student of Mária Medvecká and then at the Academy of Performing Arts in Bratislava.

In 1968, Gruberová made her operatic debut in Bratislava as Rosina in Rossini's Il barbiere di Siviglia After winning a singing competition in Toulouse, from 1968 to 1970 she was then engaged as a soloist at the J. G. Tajovský Theatre in Banská Bystrica, Slovakia. Gruberová auditioned at the Vienna State Opera in the summer of 1969 and was immediately engaged as the Queen of the Night in Mozart's Die Zauberflöte, making her debut the following year. After emigrating to the West, she became a soloist in Vienna and was invited to perform at the world’s most important opera houses.

Gruberová made her debut at Glyndebourne in 1973 as the Queen of the Night. She achieved international recognition in 1976 when she sang Zerbinetta in the premiere of a new production of Ariadne auf Naxos by Richard Strauss in Vienna, conducted by Karl Böhm. Her debut at the Metropolitan Opera took place in 1977, again as the Queen of the Night. She first appeared at the Salzburg Festival the same year, as Thibault in Verdi's Don Carlo, conducted by Herbert von Karajan.

Her Royal Opera House debut came in 1984 as Giulietta in Bellini's I Capuleti e i Montecchi. Other title roles included Verdi's La traviata, Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor, Massenet's Manon and Rossini's Semiramide. Bellini’s Norma was added to her repertoire comparatively late in 2006. She performed as Konstanze in Mozart's Die Entführung aus dem Serail, Oscar in Verdi's Un ballo in maschera, Donna Anna in Mozart's Don Giovanni, Marie in Donizetti's La fille du regiment and Elisabetta in Donizetti's Roberto Devereux. This last role marked Gruberová’s final staged performance on 27 March 2019 at the Bavarian State Opera. After this, she focused on concerts (also a significant feature throughout her career, she was often an invited soloist in operatic galas, oratorios and other concert works). Her last performance was on 20 December 2019. She officially retired from the stage in September 2020.

Anyone wanting a recording of Gruberová’s art is spoiled for choice as most of her major stage roles are available, some roles exist in multiple versions, and sometimes on DVD too. Personal favourites includes Zerbinetta in Strauss’ Ariadne auf Naxos. International Record Review reviewed a live recording from 1976, stating: “Of course, the show belongs to Gruberová in what was to become her signature role...She has more than sufficient charm and delicacy while also being able to convey the two sides of Zerbinetta.” It’s a close-run thing, but on balance, I would choose the studio recording alternative conducted by Kurt Masur, with Jessye Norman in radiant form as Ariadne. 

It’s hard to resist Colin Davis’ recording of Humperdink’s Hansel und Gretel either: Gruberová relishes Gretel and is the perfect foil to Ann Murray’s Hansel. Don’t overlook the other parts either as there’s not a single weak link: Christa Ludwig (Witch), Gwyneth Jones (Gertrud), Barbara Bonney (Sandmännchen), Christiane Oelze (Taumännchen). Amongst her many on-stage partnerships, the one with Agnes Baltsa deserves special mention: together they created wonders in repertoire as diverse as Maria Stuarda, I Capuleti e i Montecchi and Aradne auf Naxos.

There might be those who prefer Gruberová in her early years for the freshness of her voice, but to them I commend the DVD recording of Donizetti’s Lucretia Borgia from 2010, which showcases her dramatic gifts to the full. As Gramophone said, “The Slovak soprano legend Edita Gruberová... produces a dramatic performance of concentration, at its most convincing in Act 2 where her age meshes well with the character of distraught mother.”

Other favourite recordings include some of her concert repertoire. Mahler may not have often been part of her repertoire, but the Mahler 4 under Sinopoli’s baton captures Gruberová’s mature voice still with a required sense of innocence. Lieder by Brahms and Dvořák accompanied by Erik Werba are worth tracking down.

What marked out Gruberová’s star quality though was her fidelity to the printed score, clarity and tonal integrity coupled with expressive breath control. As a singer of the old school whose performances showed incredible awareness both of her own abilities and the requirements of the role at hand, Edita Gruberová is an artist who will be sorely missed.

CD Review: Enescu / Shostakovich: string octets; Martínez Campos: Serenata para Cuerdas [Bambú Ensemble, Ibs classical IBS112021]

Comparative versions of Enescu and Shostakovich:

·         Louis de Froment Ensemble / George Enescu (Remington, 1951) [reissued on Forgotten Records]

·         Ensemble / Constantin Silvestri [Electrecord]

·         Voces and Euterpe String Quartets [Marco Polo, 1988]

·         Academy of St Martin-in-the-Fields Chamber Ensemble [Chandos, 1993] – also Shostakovich

·         George Enescu Philharmonic Orchestra Ensemble / Cristian Mandeal [Arte Nova, 1997]

·         Viotta Ensemble [Ottavo, 2001]

·         Kremerata Baltica led by Gidon Kremer, violin [Warner Classics, 2001] – orchestral version by Leonid Desyatnikov

·         Orchestra Philharmonique de Monte Carlo / Lawrence Foster [Erato, 2008] – orchestral version by Lawrence Foster

·         Christian Tetzlaff, Isabelle Faust, Antje Weithaas, Lisa Batiashvili, Kathrine Gowers (violins), Rachel Roberts, Ori Kam, Antoine Tamestit (violas) & Tanja Tetzlaff, Quirine Viersen, Gustav Rivinius (cellos) [Avi Music, 2009]

·         Vilde Frang (violin), Erik Schumann (violin), Gabriel Le Magadure (violin), Roseanne Philippens (violin), Lawrence Power (viola), Lily Francis (viola), Nicolas Altstaedt (cello), Jan-Erik Gustavsson (cello) – [Warner Classics, 2018]

·         Meta4 and Gringolts Quartets [BIS, 2020]

 

The booklet text and inner cover of this recording by the Bambú Ensemble, Spain’s only string octet, would have you believe that it is “A journey to the far reaches of the chamber repertoire”. To a certain extent this is true, as the string octet is not an often-encountered format. In concert, Enescu is often paired with Mendelssohn’s octet, or less frequently with Shostakovich’s Two Pieces for String Octet. Gade’s octet is an even rarer pairing. Considering recording though, there are at least eleven versions of the Enescu octet and several of the Shostakovich available. It can be reasonably claimed, however, that the three works on the Bambú Ensemble’s recording were all written by composers in their youth.

As the selected comparison recordings – listed above – of Enescu’s Octet for Strings show, there are many different approaches that can be taken in performing it. More often than not using the original scoring is adhered to by established ensembles with conductor (Enescu, Slivestri, Mandeal), ensembles without conductor (St Martin-in-the Fields, Viotta), octets of combined quartets (Voces and Euterpe, Meta4 and Gringolts) and assembled ensembles of soloists (Tetzlaff et al, Frang et al). As Enescu himself gave permission for the piece to be performed in an orchestrated version, presumably with a view to widening performance opportunities, it is unsurprising that different views on ‘scaling up’ the octet are presented by Leonid Desyatnikov (Kremer) and Lawrence Foster. Desyatnikov’s augmentation of the forces is subtle yet effective, whilst Foster’s calls for full orchestral forces. In tandem with this his conducting results in a performance that somehow softens the work’s definition and plays down the intricate interplay of instrumental lines.

Ultimately though, I turn to the work as written every time for a moving listening experience. I would not want to be without the performances conducted by Enescu and Silvestri: what they lack in sound quality they make up for in historical importance and insight. Even more recent recordings suffer from edgy, boxy acoustics (Voces and Euterpe, Mandeal), though the playing is dedicated and passionate. Mandeal particularly conducts the middle movements with real insight. The St-Martin-in-the-Fields Chamber Ensemble comes out above the Viotta Ensemble because they make more convincing tempo choices. This is an important factor, as the first movement theme returns in the final movement, thereby lending the work a uniting sense of form and closure. Tetzlaff et al was reviewed as “quite simply in a class of its own” by The Strad at the time, though their efforts have been superseded by Vilde Frang’s ensemble. Frang garnered enthusiastic reviews in much of the music press, and justifiably so. I particularly enjoy the almost brutal approach they bring to the second movement and the way in which they keep their foot on the gas throughout the final movement. Their performance is urgent and well captured. The Meta4 and Gringolts Quartets offer a less full-bodied approach though their more muted timbres and slightly slower tempi.

How, then, does this latest recording compare? The Bambú Ensemble have nothing to fear from the competition and serve Enescu’s music with valour and dedication. The recording itself places the ensemble up front rather than in a recessed acoustic, thereby enhancing the dramatic nature of their interpretation. It is clear that the Bambú Ensemble bring the experience of live performance to their recording – the music sounds fully under their fingers, as it were, and they make convincing choices of tempo and emphasis of individual instrumental parts throughout, which serves to hold the listener’s attention across the varied four movement structure. The Bambú Ensemble performers breathe it as one and are clearly on a mission to ensure that Enescu’s inspired writing remains the focus of attention. This is playing that demands to be heard.

Shostakovich’s Two Pieces for String Octet, op.11, might have a duration of around only nine and a half minutes, but its brevity packs quite a punch. Written in 1925, when Shostakovich was still a student, displays his precocious compositional gifts to thrilling effect. The first movement – Prelude: Adagio – sounds sombre in the recording by the Academy of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields Chamber Ensemble, with the individual parts clearly captured in Chandos’ atmospheric recording. Their interpretation of the second movement – Scherzo: Allegro molto – brings out the music’s satirical edge through carefully articulated timbres and glissandi that make you sit up and take notice. The Bambú Ensemble’s recording, however, proves to be a more forceful account from first note to last. True, the tempo they take in the first movement is almost identical to their English rivals, but the recording gives their playing added body. Visceral power and excitement shape the Bambú Ensemble’s account of the Scherzo, which is initially taken at full pelt to thrilling effect. Instead of satire, a coruscating and biting bitterness is inescapable. The ensemble’s textures are less clearly defined than those on the Chandos release, but the glissandi are fearlessly attacked and Shostakovich’s searing passions wholly command your attention.     

There is barely a mention of Javier Martínez Campos’s Serenata para Cuerdas in the accompanying booklet. The composer’s website also gives few details, however it reveals that the Bambú Ensemble premiered it at Le Mesnil St Martin Priory's Chapel, France, in September 2016. Within a compact single movement of around 15 minutes’ duration, Martinez Campos makes a significant contribution to the string octet repertoire. It’s certainly a work concerned more with the building and interplay of textures between the instruments rather than thematic development, per se. As Martinez Campos mixes composition with his career as a cellist, the writing is assured and spirited. This recording – along with a recording of a seven-minute cello solo Ambre Cello on Gautier Capuçon’s 3 disc Souvenirs set for Erato, released this month – should further help to put Martinez Campos on the compositional map. Judging from his website, his output is extensive and varied, meriting wider exposure outside of his native Spain.

Whatever your reason for being interested in this recording there is no reason to delay investigating further. I very much look forward to hearing much more from the excellent Bambú Ensemble.