Adam Saunders: Orchestral Music

Originally a forerunner to the ‘fugue,’ a Capriccio (root meaning from the Latin capra, “goat”) has latterly become a term for a humorous or “capricious” piece of music, rather fleet on its feet, a little unpredictable, and often delighting in sudden turns of mood. Philip Lane, in the liner notes, describes the opening track, Capriccio (2025) on this disc as a “bright, exuberant, concert overture,” exploring various themes. Some are dance-like, others a little more wistful, offering a moment of repose. Overall, this is a good-humoured number, getting the concert off to a respectable start.

The longest work on this disc is the Three Pictures for Orchestra, dating from 2025. The notes explain that it was designed to show off each section of the orchestra across its three movements, each bearing a picturesque title that gently steers the listener’s imagination. It opens with Fanfare and Celebrations, which is more than just ceremonial flourishes: there are busy strings and deft interplay between brass and woodwind, giving a sense of festivity. The second movement, Rivers of Calm, Peaks of Magnificence, balances moments of serenity with passages of great grandeur - possibly a little unbalanced here and there but containing some lovely tuned‑percussion scoring. The finale, Dances of Exuberance, is exactly what it says on the tin, though it also finds room for quieter, more reflective episodes. It is perfectly possible for the listener to ignore the suggested titles altogether and enjoy the piece simply as a compact symphony, or even a kind of sinfonietta.

Philip Lane explains that Sketches of New York for Strings and Harp (2025) was inspired by Saunders’s visits to the Big Apple over many years. It is designed to capture moods and scenes that are “exhilarating, fascinating and melancholic.” The opening sketch, Bustling Metropolis, is full of the razzamatazz of people on the move – by road, subway, or ferry. Lonely Souls takes a dark look at those who seem to live in a parallel existence of homelessness and deprivation, removed from the city’s relentless energy. The most evocative movement is Green Oases, which meditates on the “wonderful parks” in the city, most especially Central Park, evoking a stroll with one’s lover. The concluding section is a celebration of a City at Play, with a musical depiction of a “fun‑filled night out, with all the glitz and glamour that New York offers…” My only issue with these Sketches is the lack of muted trumpets, saxophones, and percussion. These brash instruments seem to me essential for creating an impression of An Englishman in New York.

The magical mood of Christmastime is reflected in the Parade of the Snowmen (2025). To listeners of a certain age, it can feel as though there was snow every year; perchance we are all recalling the winter of 1962/63 as a kind of folk memory. Children today have had fewer chances to build snowmen. Philip Lane notes that the music portrays “snowmen [waking] up all over the land, one by one they join the parade as it passes their respective gardens….” There is magical scoring, suggesting snowflakes, fun and laughter, the march itself, a little mischief, and a touch of wistful nostalgia as the parade gradually sits down exhausted.

I do not know if there is a definite programme to the vivacious The Magical Kingdom (2003). Children of all ages want to enter a secret place, where there are mysterious fairytale characters and scenes. We want to feel safe even in the presence of dragons, trolls, and ogres. Saunders’s score provides an almost Disney-like filmic impression of these secret realms. Only towards the conclusion is there a hint of malevolence and this is soon swept away with a happy-ever-after coda.

It is all too easy to dismiss a Sinfonietta as insignificant beside a full‑blown symphony, yet many examples of the genre possess considerable artistic weight. Think of those by William Alwyn, Leoš Janáček, or E.J. Moeran: certainly not lightweight. Adam Saunders’s 2025 contribution is a shade less substantial, but it remains an engaging and well‑crafted work. It opens with a brassy Allegro con spirito, setting a bold fanfare against a more languorous second subject in a straightforward sonata‑allegro design. The central Adagio tranquillo - nocturnal and atmospheric - is the emotional heart of the piece. A skittish Scherzo giocondo follows, full of wit and eccentricity, before a good old‑fashioned Allegro brillante rondo brings the Sinfonietta to a vibrant close. At around eleven minutes, it feels a touch brief, with several promising ideas curtailed, but it remains an enjoyable and satisfying miniature.

Another wintry work is the Fairytale Sleighride (2008). The title can be taken literally or metaphorically. For some, it may summon Omar Sharif and Julie Christie gliding through the vast, frozen landscapes of Russia in Doctor Zhivago; for others, the image might be Santa Claus dashing around the world each Christmas Eve. But this is not all whimsy. There is a hint of danger, too — the fairytale is that of the Snow Queen, carrying the boy Kai away in her white sleigh across a glittering, inhospitable wilderness.

I would have appreciated a little more information about the Ballet for Strings (2025). For one thing, is there a plot or scenario behind the well-wrought five “imaginary” dance scenes? Each movement is given a title: Giocoso, Grazioso, Animato, Delicato, and Energico, which certainly suggests contrasting characters, but it remains unclear whether these are simply abstract moods or part of a more cohesive narrative. A few words on the Saunders’s intentions would have helped illuminate how these charming dances relate to one another. That said, this “Suite” is on a par with Parry’s Lady Radnor’s Suite and Holst’s Brook Green Suite. It should find a place in the repertoire.

As a child, I was never entirely sure where Santa Claus lived, though I imagined it was the North Pole, somewhere amidst the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean. Nowadays, his official hometown appears to be Rovaniemi, Finland, right on the Arctic Circle, although the Finns have long regarded Korvatunturi, near the Russian border, as Santa’s magically‑protected home.  Rovaniemi now hosts two major theme parks: Santa Claus Village and Santa Park.

Adam Saunders’s Journey to Lapland (2020) seems to acknowledge the commercialism of this modern destination, with the liner notes detailing snowmobiles, sleigh rides, and husky sledding. Yet, vibrant, and full of cinematic sparkle, the piece perfectly captures the pure excitement of a festive adventure heading to points north.

This recording grew from a suggestion by Philip Lane, the well-known proponent of British Light Music, to display Adam Saunders’s concert music. A graduate and later Associate of the Royal Academy of Music, Saunders has enjoyed a varied career as performer, educator, and composer, with his orchestral repertoire performed worldwide by ensembles from the Royal Philharmonic and BBC orchestras to the Hallé and Hong Kong Sinfonietta. His work spans film, television, and major creative projects across the UK.

Overall, this new disc from Heritage offers a lively and engaging survey of Saunders’s orchestral writing. Not every idea feels fully explored, but the artisanry, colour, and narrative talent are consistently appealing. Admirers of British light music (and so-called serious as well) will find much here to enjoy.

Track Listing:
Adam Saunders (b.1968)
Capriccio (2025)
Three Pictures for Orchestra (2025)
Sketches of New York for Strings and Harp (2025)
Parade of the Snowmen (2025)
The Magical Kingdom (2003)
Sinfonietta (2025)
Fairytale Sleighride (2008)
Ballet for Strings (2025)
Journey to Lapland (2020)
Royal Ballet Sinfonia/Peter Harrison; Gavin Sutherland (The Magical Kingdom); Barry Wordsworth (Journey to Lapland)
rec. 2-3 January 2026; 12 September 2023 (Journey to Lapland) Henry Wood Hall, London; 4 February 2024 (The Magical Kingdom), CTS Wembley, London
Heritage HTGCD 117

With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published. 

A Radio 3 Memory: Discovering Alwyn’s Miss Julie

I can still vividly remember looking forward to the evening of 16 July 1977. It was the day defined by a specific broadcast on BBC Radio 3: the premiere of William Alwyn’s opera, Miss Julie. At the time, I was less certain of my critical standing on the work, though I distinctly recall that certain melodic fragments appealed to my sensibilities. Looking back, I suspect the intricacies of the plot may have passed me by; opera, with its heavy symbolism and demanding narratives, has never been my strongest suit.

Despite my uncertainty, the event felt significant enough that I captured the broadcast on my old cassette recorder. To this day, those tapes remain in my possession - relics of a major event in Alwyn’s musical career. Curiously, however, I have never revisited them. Even when the definitive recording arrived on CD (Lyrita SRCD2218, 1992), it somehow failed to find a permanent home in my collection, leaving my memory of the music suspended in that summer of '77.

Composed between 1973 and 1976, Miss Julie represents Alwyn’s engagement with the raw, naturalist drama of the Swedish playwright August Strindberg. The work was not finally staged in the United Kingdom until 15 October 1997 at Norwich.

To understand the gravity of the music, one must look to the narrative. Andrew Knowles has provided an excellent précis that bears repeating: it concerns "the spoilt, rich daughter of a Count who falls under the spell of the manservant Jean. The latter plays with Miss Julie’s affections and seduces her, then rejects her and finally tempts her into suicide as the only way of escape from her shame."

It is a harrowing psychological study. When compared to the bright, satirical world of Gilbert and Sullivan - which back in the day I much preferred (and still do) - Miss Julie is a dark descent into class conflict and despair. It is hardly the sort of "happy tale" one puts on to the turntable to cheer the spirits, which explains why the full production has remained at arm's length for me for so many years.

The story of this music took an interesting turn in 2000, when Philip Lane was commissioned by the composer’s widow, Mary Alwyn (Doreen Carwithen), to adapt suitable sections of the opera into a standalone orchestral suite. This transition from stage to concert hall raises an interesting question regarding the raison-d’être of the operatic suite. Is its primary purpose merely to condense the "good bits" into a manageable chunk for the concert hall? Perhaps by removing the vocal lines, the "shame" and "despair" are abstracted into musical tension and release.

We see this tradition across the repertoire, from the vibrant sequences of Bizet’s Carmen to the more complex suites derived from Tippett’s The Midsummer Marriage or Britten’s Death in Venice. I find myself ambivalent about the form. A purist might argue that if you want the music, you should commit to the full production, complete with the libretto and staging. Yet, there is a counterargument to be made for accessibility: the suite allows for a concise exploration of Alwyn’s excellent scoring without the emotional "burden" of the tragic plot or the linguistic demands of the singing.

This Suite provides the listener with a transformative experience. By stripping away the harrowing specifics of Strindberg’s drama, the music is allowed to stand "absolutely." What remains is a collection of very impressive, often deeply romantic sequences that highlight Alwyn’s late-period mastery. In this format, the listener can appreciate the lush textures and harmonic depth of the score as a pure symphonic expression, unburdened by the tragic fate of the Count’s daughter. It turns a dark theatrical experience into a luminous orchestral journey.

Listen to the three movement Miss Julie Suite conducted by David Lloyd-Jones with the Liverpool Philharmonic  (Naxos 8.570705, 2010) on YouTube, here – 1. Allegro - Valse tempo - Moderato (Tempo di polka); 2. Andante sostenuto (poco adagio) ; 3. Lento - Allegro non troppo – Molto Moderato

Edward Cowie: Darkness into Light

The outstanding booklet notes by Edward Cowie offer an exceptionally detailed introduction to the four works on this disc, with further commentary from flautist Laura Chislett and harpist Alice Giles. The booklet is generously illustrated with photographs of the performers and examples of Cowie’s pre‑compositional art studies, while the cover reproduces Darkness into Light, a painting by Heather Cowie. I have drawn extensively on these programme notes in developing my review.

The disc opens with La Primavera - Nine Figures in an Orange Garden (2022). This suite for solo flute is an evocation of Sandro Botticelli’s legendary painting La Primavera. Cowie notes that this “massive work” radiates light and movements. It is on display at the Uffizi Gallery in Firenze. The gallery website explains that “although the complex meaning of the composition remains a mystery, the painting is a celebration of love, peace, and prosperity.”

La Primavera has seven sections preceded by a Prelude: The Orange Garden, which sets the scene. The musical journey follows the painting right to left. Here, Zephyrus is embracing a nymph named Chloris before abducting and marrying her, then transforming her into Flora, the spring goddess. The central figure in the painting is Venus, the goddess of love and beauty. Over her Cupid is firing his arrow of love. Then there are the Three Graces: Aglaia, Euphrosyne, and Thalia. Lastly, in the final movement, Mercury prepares to take wing. The liner notes suggest that Zephyrus "blows" the listener into the music and Mercury "flies" them out at the end.

The soloist creates “the limpid and hugely flexible sonorities” of the characters, with the flautist’s breath symbolising the wind god Zephyrus. Cowie’s composition embraces complexity, contrasting sharply with Vivaldi’s pastoral, dance-like eponymous Spring, from the Four Seasons, by exploring the shifting terrain of human mood and memory.

“Extended techniques” and occasional vocalisation is required, which to my ear spoils the overall impact. However, Cowie told me that he felt it necessary to take music from the flute to human throat and that he took tiny fragments from Dante to do it! Still, it remains an impressive piece, played by Laura Chislett. Whether heard with the cast in mind or simply as an ‘experience,’ it is an attractive, impressionistic work. One thought lingers: is the entire suite ultimately just a shimmer of light across the painting that inspired the composer?

I guess since having first seen Punch and Judy on the promenade at Fleetwood, Lancashire, I have had a soft spot for Harlequin and the 16th-century Commedia dell’arte. Cowie has produced several works inspired by this tradition, including his opera Commedia, Columbine for soprano and chamber orchestra, Commedia Lazzi for solo guitar, and Harlequin for solo harp dating from 1979. In 2019, Cowie “re-shaped and re-composed” this latter piece to incorporate a deeper understanding of the harp and its possibilities.

Harlequin Dances for solo harp, depicts the protagonist’s “suicide lazzi” where he rehearses “dancing himself to death” after being rejected in love. The work is highly percussive, using pedal buzzes, slides, and soundboard knocks. The form presents complementary sections of “restless” passages and bell-like harmonics. Although ostensibly an entertainment, it is a black comedy. Harlequin tries out numerous methods of self-destruction – tickling himself to death, hanging himself from a small bush, drowning himself in a jug of ale (how many of us have nearly done that?) and “dancing himself to death.” It is this final “method” that is the focus this piece. Ignore the programme if you wish but be aware of the "transcendental beauty" found within human despair and loneliness.

It may not come as a surprise to find that Australian Water Music for flute and harp (2025?) was inspired by Handel’s semi eponymous suite dating from 1717, which was commissioned in response to King George I’s wish for a concert on the Thames. Beyond that, however, there is little comparison.

The suite was written specifically for the "superb brilliance" of harpist Alice Giles and flautist Laura Chislett and was designed to exploit the "tremendous velocities" and expressive richness of both instruments. Sadly, there is a movement missing: due to recording and rehearsal time constraints, a section evoking the Great Barrier Reef was omitted. The three remaining ones focus on specific Australian locations: Kiama Blowhole in New South Wales, Black Swans at Dangar Lagoon, again in New South Wales and finally Humpback Whales – Hervey Bay in Queensland. The three movements of Australian Water Music reflect the behaviour of water in contrasting states: fountains, “limpid placid pools,” and coastlines.

The liner notes suggest allusions to the “liquid” qualities of water, evoking the sound-worlds of Debussy and Ravel. A listener might be reminded of Debussy’s Syrinx for solo flute, or Ravel’s Introduction and Allegro for flute, clarinet, harp, and string quartet.

While both instruments carry their own invention, the duet also makes use of a ritornello form, where thematic materials are reworked in a lively dialogue. The performers employ “extended techniques,” including knockings on wood, scraping strings, overblowing, and exploring the extreme upper registers in the harp. The overall impact is characterised by colour, imagination, and a “wondrous iridescence.” This exquisitely played piece makes a splendid addition to the relatively rare combination of flute and harp.

Cowie explains that Darkness into Light (2025) was inspired by a series of paintings by his wife Heather titled Into the Deeps. This sequence depicted the colour shift from the "deepest, darkest blues" of the ocean abyss to "shimmering aquamarines" at the surface. To add to the uncertainty, it is explained that the performers had got into the “groove” by swimming (individually) in the waters of the Great Barrier Reef. In the subsequent improvisation they share their (presumably varied) experiences of transitioning from shallow, luminescent waters to the "impenetrable" blackness of the reef edge. Add to this, there is an implied “metaphorical journey” representing the progress of the mind and spirit from darkness into “divine Light” and it gives a clue as to what the piece should be like.

Cowie notes that there was initial “bemused doubt” from the performers about improvising this track, especially without using a pre-written score. It begs the question, was there any “given” material, or did they all just do their own thing: could they recreate the experience? Or would they want to? There is a danger that the divine light becomes a one-time accident.

My opinion is that there are some lovely sounds, especially from the flute. Lots of extended techniques on the piano and the harp are deployed, but mostly it functions as an atmospheric backdrop rather than a careful exploration of Cowie’s usually complex metaphors. It leaves me pondering where his vision ends and where the performers’ intuition begins. For me, the “shimmering aquamarines' are beautiful, but I still find myself yearning for the solid ground of a definitive score."

This is a beautifully presented recording. The sound quality is ideal for this intimate exploration of flute, harp, and piano music. Even if the repertoire is not your “bag” there is no doubt that the performance is brilliant. I have already mentioned the disc documentation. Dates of each work would have been useful.

Despite my reservations regarding the improvisational elements and occasional vocalisations, this is an absorbing release. The Métier label has provided another stunning disc of Edward Cowie’s unique, nature-inspired sound-world. Supported by virtuoso performances and lavish documentation, this disc is a must-buy for enthusiasts of contemporary chamber music.

Track Listing:
Edward Cowie (b.1943)
La Primavera – Nine Figures in an Orange Garden, for solo flute (2022)
Harlequin Dances, for solo harp (1979/2019)
Australian Water Music for flute and harp (2025?)
Darkness into Light: Improvisation for flute, harp, and piano (2025)
Laura Chislett (flute), Alice Giles (harp), Edward Cowie (piano)
rec. 8-9 June 2025, The Wesley Centre, Canberra, Australia
Métier MEX77143
With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.

Robert Farnon: Concorde March (1969)

I never had the opportunity to fly by the Anglo‑French Concorde supersonic airliner. But I did see one of the twenty aircraft a few times, most memorably as it swept over the Severn Estuary. Conceived in the late 1950s, Concorde finally took to the skies in 1969 and entered commercial service some six or seven years later. For a brief period, it embodied the glamour and optimism of a new technological age: the sleek delta‑winged silhouette, the droop‑nose, and the promise of transatlantic crossings in under three hours made it an icon long before its first paying passengers boarded. Its Anglo‑French pedigree also gave it a diplomatic sheen - an engineering partnership that survived political turbulence, budgetary wrangling, and fierce American competition. Sadly, the brand did not endure; the final flights took place in 2003, bringing the supersonic era to a close.

To commemorate the aircraft’s premiere flight, British air industry commissioned a march from the well‑known composer Robert Farnon. Best known for his “light” music, Farnon was equally adept at film scores and more substantial concert works, and the Concorde March leans more towards the cinematic than the bubbly charm of his lighter pieces. It opens with a bold, brass‑led fanfare whose rising intervals mirror the aircraft’s dramatic take‑off profile. The main theme evokes both the glamour of air travel and the futuristic sheen of the new airliner. A more lyrical trio section offers a sense of airborne spaciousness before the triumphant return of the main theme, now burnished with added orchestral weight. The result is unmistakably Farnon - polished, confident, and effortlessly evocative.

British Airways used the march in promotional events surrounding Concorde’s introduction into service, and although not conceived as a concert piece, it quickly attracted interest from broadcasters and light‑music enthusiasts. William Kreindler, writing for MusicWeb International (July 2019), notes that the march was recorded by Farnon and the London Symphony Orchestra and issued by the nascent CRD label as a single, coupled with Holiday Flight (c.1958). The release has since become something of a collector’s item, not least for its glossy, close‑miked orchestral sound. Holiday Flight makes an apt “flip-side” companion - an earlier, jaunty evocation of carefree post‑war travel that contrasts neatly with the sleek modernity of the Concorde tribute.

Listen to Robert Farnon conducting the London Symphony Orchestra in the Concorde March, here.

Carl Czerny: Piano Music, Volume Two

There can be few aspiring pianists who have not encountered Carl Czerny’s pedagogical albums. Whether it is The School for Velocity, op.299, or the Art of Finger Dexterity, op. 740, his studies have become a rite of passage for generations of students. He produced a vast quantity of music, with more than 860 opus numbers and many without formal designation. Most of this corpus was written for pianoforte – either solo or for four hands. Any record company wishing to issue a collected edition has its work cut out, potentially requiring decades of subsequent releases. However, that does not mean that Czerny should be ignored. Presto Music currently lists more than two hundred recordings that are dedicated to or featuring pieces by him, and this new disc is a valuable and welcome addition to his discography.

A few words about the composer may be of interest. Carl Czerny (1791–1857) was born in Vienna to a musical family. A precocious talent, he was already performing major keyboard music from memory by the age of ten. Introduced to Beethoven by the violinist Wenzel Krumpholz, he became the elder man’s devoted pupil and protégé, later absorbing influences from Hummel and Clementi. Though often in demand as a performer, Czerny avoided public concerts and devoted himself to teaching, composition, and the arrangement of classical works. His pupils included the young Liszt, whose talent he immediately recognised. A tireless creator, Czerny wrote nearly a thousand published compositions and left vast manuscript holdings, ranging from masses and symphonies to chamber music and the above-mentioned studies. Gentle, modest, and reclusive, he lived simply, travelled rarely, and bequeathed his considerable fortune to charitable purposes before his death in 1857.

The repertoire on this CD presents four pieces: two for two pianos and two for piano four hands. There is no doubt that they were devised to dazzle the salons of Biedermeier Vienna. The listener will note that three of them include the word “brilliant” in their titles as a testament to their dazzling and extroverted character.

The recital opens with the operatic virtuosity of the Grandes Variations brillantes et concertantes pour deux Pianofortes sur un Thème favori de l’Opéra Montecchi e Capuleti, op.285. Based on melodies from Vincenzo Bellini’s 1830 opera reworking the Romeo and Juliet story, Czerny published these Variations just three years after the opera’s premiere. While it exists in multiple versions - including solo piano, string quartet, and full orchestra - the two-piano arrangement is particularly striking.

As the detailed analysis in the notes explains, it opens with a slow introduction with dramatic runs and hemidemisemiquavers (64^th notes) followed by a filigree cadenza. A naïve B-flat major theme from Romeo’s Act 1 aria then gives way to six variations. These traverse a wide landscape of textures and tempi: rapid scales, arpeggios, broken octaves, and swift sextuplets and triplets, polyrhythms, and brilliant cadenzas. A moment of calm appears with a lyrical, almost Chopin-esque Andante. The Grandes Variations concludes with a Finale, a blazing Molto Allegro and a powerful finish in the "home key." How the two soloists hold all this together is nothing short of a miracle.

The Rondeau brillant in B-Flat Major, op.321, for piano duet (pub.1837) has been described as a sparkling, extended, and busy salon piece. Not as over the top as the preceding work, it is full of attractive pianism. This is in classic rondo form but dispenses with a slow introduction. The principal theme is a relaxed Allegretto con vivacità succeeded by episodes that are “taut” and then playful. It concludes with a vivacious coda.

For all intents and purposes Czerny’s Duo Brillant et Concertant pour Deux Pianos in B flat, op.358 is a piano concerto without “the band.” It was published in 1835 and dedicated to his pupil, the German pianist and composer, Theodor Döhler. The opening movement, Allegro con brio, is presented in a “loose” sonata form with the first subject being lyrical and the second “trill-laden.” These are developed with considerable interest. The Andante con moto is a set of variations, which advance well beyond a typical “slow movement”: lots of rapid piano figuration, chromatic scales, and arpeggios. The Duo Brillant et Concertant concludes with a cheerful Allegro vivace that swings through a series of keys and some lovely melodic digressions, ending in a riotous conclusion. The liner notes quote the musicologist Maurice Hinson’s comment about this Duo Brillant being “In a conservative Romantic vein but requires a healthy dose of virtuoso fireworks.” Great stuff.

The disc closes with the Fantaisie et Variations à Quatre Mains sur l’Opéra de Bellini ‘I Puritani,’ op.376 (1837), a four‑hand tribute to Bellini’s final masterpiece from 1835. I Puritani, set in English Civil War Plymouth, explores the trials of the Royalist lovers Elvira and Arturo, whose ordeal of war, betrayal, and madness is finally resolved when a last‑minute pardon restores Elvira’s reason and happiness.

Czerny builds his Fantaisie around Elvira’s Act II aria, “Vien, diletto, è in ciel la luna!” sung in her delirium after Arturo’s disappearance. A gloomy introduction, coloured by a few dramatic detours, leads to the poised statement of the theme. Four variations develop, each more elaborate than the last, save for the third, which relaxes into a lyrical, song-like mood. After an energetic Allegro vivace and a more inward Andante espressivo - effectively the fourth variation - the music presses on to its Finale. Here Czerny unleashes buoyant, dance‑like ideas and bright, trumpet‑like calls, all driving toward a spirited Presto codetta that brings matters home in the key of the original theme.

Jingshu Zhao, born in Wuhan in 1991, trained at the Shanghai and San Francisco Conservatories before completing her DMA at the University of North Texas. She has performed widely across China and the United States and has earned prizes in a range of national and international competitions. Her debut recording for Toccata Classics, Volume 1 of Czerny’s piano music, (reviewed on MusicWeb International, here) was warmly received by critics. She currently teaches at Huaibei Normal University.

Haoyue Liang likewise holds a DMA from the University of North Texas, following earlier studies in Shanghai and San Francisco. Active as a soloist and chamber musician, he performed regularly with the University of North Texas Wind Symphony and appeared in major Texas venues. A recipient of several international competition awards, he has taught extensively, serving as a festival adjudicator and teaching at the Irving Fine Arts Academy. His research interests also include Performing Arts Health, a field in which he has presented conference work.

The recording is ideal, complementing a superb performance revealing all the intricate detail of the piano figurations. The liner notes are in two parts: An Overview by Martin Eastwick and a “Closer Look” at the music provided by William Melton. The latter section is particularly useful as these are all premiere recordings with little information available otherwise to listeners. Resumes of the performers are included.

In summary, this new disc from Toccata offers vibrant performances of Czerny’s brilliant duets. Zhao and Liang possess the requisite "healthy dose of virtuoso fireworks" to bring these lost delights to life, supported by an excellent sound. It is a rewarding hour or so of music that proves Czerny was far more than a pedagogue; he was a master of the salon and a composer of genuine charm.

Track Listing:
Carl Czerny (1791-1857)
Grandes Variations brillantes et concertantes pour deux Pianofortes sur un Thème favori de l’Opéra Montecchi e Capuleti, op.285 (1833)
Rondo Brillant in B-Flat Major, op.321, for piano duet (1837)
Duo Brillant et Concertant pour Deux Pianos in B flat, op.358 (1835)
Fantaisie et Variations à Quatre Mains sur l’Opéra de Bellini ‘I Puritani,’ op.376 (1837)
Jingshu Zhao (piano), Haoyue Liang (piano)
rec. 23-24 July and 1-2 September 2025, West Road Concert Hall, Cambridge, England
Toccata Classics TOCC0791 

With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.

Minor Masterpieces of Organ Music No.5: John Ireland’s Capriccio

John Ireland is not the first English composer that an organist would consider when assembling a programme for a recital. His best-known works are the piano miniature The Holy Boy, the song Sea Fever, and his anthem Greater Love Hath no Man.

I first discovered him in 1973 when a friend of mine at Coatbridge High School sang If there were dreams to sell, a setting of Thomas Lovell Beddoes’s unpretentious, if slightly melancholic poem. Since that time, I have explored Ireland’s compositions which include more songs, much interesting chamber music, some impressive orchestral pieces, and an important corpus of piano works. His style tended towards French Impressionism and Romantic expressiveness, often infused by a native mysticism. This latter was inspired by his reading of the Welsh author Arthur Machen and his sympathetic reaction to the ancient landscapes of the Channel Islands, Dorset, and Sussex.

Ireland’s output for organ was largely completed over a brief period between 1902 and 1912, with a final notable offering, Meditation on John Keble’s Rogationtide Hymn as late as 1958. These include the Elegiac Romance (1902), a Miniature Suite (c.1905), and the solemn Sursum Corda (1911).

The Capriccio dates from 1911 and was dedicated to H.L. Balfour, at that time the organist at Holy Trinity, Sloane Street, London. It was published in The Organ Recitalist, No.23, by Stainer and Bell, in that year. Contemporaneously, Ireland was organist at St Luke’s Church, Chelsea.

Unusually for John Ireland, who normally explored themes of solitude, longing, and transcendence, the Capriccio is characterised by wit, bravura, and technical prowess. It is of interest as acting as a bridge between the early 20^th century Edwardian English organ tradition and a later, more modernist mood, being a move away from pastoral lyricism towards a more continental sophistication.

Formally, the Capriccio could be defined as a modified rondo, (recurring theme with more or less related episodes) or a perpetuum mobile (unceasing motion driven by relentless rhythmic energy). The progress of this six-minute piece moves from intimate moments to shattering tuttis, even calling for a tuba stop (where available). A large three or four manual organ is required for maximum effect.

Fig.1

The opening bars (Fig.1) set up the mood with semiquavers accompanying a four-bar phrase of straight quavers introduced by “impudent” grace notes. This roiling mood is repeated and then varied with some subtle syncopation. 

Fig.2

The first episode (Fig.2) is quieter, calling on a clarinet solo on the Choir or Great organ. Then the return of the principal theme is recalled, slightly varied. The second episode is heard on the Choir flutes. From this point, it builds up with a “long crescendo” This is interrupted by a final reprise of the opening, before the work ends with a powerful march-like coda, using the tuba stop, calling for full organ and a final ffff chord in the home key.

The Capriccio is ostensibly in C major, but typical of Ireland’s style there are many passing modulations. Harmonically, it features chromaticism and modality, echoing influences from French Impressionism and the English pastoral school, though with a more urban, whimsical character.

A contemporary review in the Musical Times, (June 1912, p.384) stated:

“Among those modern composers who are endeavouring to raise the standard of organ music must be included the name of Mr. John Ireland. He proves that while it is not necessary to sustain the organ's reputation by writing a Fugue, it is quite possible to present acceptable examples in lighter form and yet to maintain the true character of the instrument. The Capriccio is admirably written, and while within the powers of those possessing even moderate technical skill, should prove a charming addition to the programme of many an organ recital.” Organists should be aware that this work depends on more than “moderate technical skill.”

To this end, Peter Hardwick, in his essential British Organ Music of the Twentieth Century (The Scarecrow Press, 2002, p.94), states that: “a good keyboard technique is…called for in order to execute the saucy little sixteenth-note accompanimental figurations, the principal melody’s impudent grace notes and passages that require the crossing of hands.”

Finally, commentators have noticed the potential of more “popular audience appeal” with the Capriccio, than any of his other pieces for this instrument. Part of this is the obvious “cinema organ” (despite this instrument only beginning to appear in 1911) sound apparent from the opening bars. It would make a popular encore, with the audience most definitely tapping their feet.

The score of Capriccio can currently be found in The Organ Music of John Ireland (ed. Robert Gower), Novello, 2003

With thanks to the Glasgow Society of Organists Journal where this essay was first published.

“Hellish virtuosity meets refined musical grace.”

I am not sure why this album has been entitled Inferno. To be sure, featuring Franz Liszt’s Après une lecture de Dante: Fantasia quasi-Sonata may give the listener a clue. But what is there demonic about some of the other offerings?

Carl Czerny may be best known for his didactic piano studies, yet his fascinating Variations on a Theme by Rode, La Ricordanza, op. 33, expose a more engaging musical talent. Based on a now‑forgotten melody by the equally neglected violinist and composer Pierre Rode (1774-1830), the work unfolds from a poised, understated theme into a sequence of increasingly brilliant variations. Behzod Abduraimov manipulates the music with lots of sparkle revealing a meticulously crafted piece that deserves far wider currency and reminds us how much of Czerny’s vast catalogue remains unexplored.

Walter Beckett in his Master Musicians study of Franz Liszt wrote that Après une lecture de Dante: Fantasia quasi-Sonata “is rather impractical. A great technical expertise is called for, and the player must vitalise the music with [their] own personality, otherwise one is left wondering what the whole thing is about.” Beckett’s insinuation is that the work is a blank canvas requiring the performer to fill in the gaps. Other critics see it as a masterclass in narrative structure and Lisztian thematic transformation - a metamorphosis of a few core motifs including the tritone, or diabolus in musica. I would contend that the score presents a sophisticated, self-contained musical drama.

What is the piece about? Liszt’s Dante Sonata traces a spiritual journey from the horror of Hell towards a vision of Heaven. ‘Infernal’ chromaticism confronts radiant, Beatrice‑like themes, culminating in a hard‑won transfiguration of the soul emerging from despair into an illuminating grace. I followed Abduraimov’s pyrotechnics in the score. It is amazing.

Claude Debussy’s Suite Bergamasque, L.75 (1890) needs little introduction. The third movement, Clair de Lune is a lollipop and long-time favourite with recitalists. The others, Prelude, Menuet and Passepied are less often heard, yet go to make up a stylistically cohesive set that bridges the gap between Baroque form and Impressionist colour.

To pull it off, you cannot just rely on the celebrity of Clair de Lune. The entire Suite needs a light, flexible touch, and finely judged pedalling to create the right atmosphere. As the liner notes suggest, it displays the “secret…of emotion without stress.”  For me, this is a fine account of one of Debussy’s most attractive works.

I enjoyed the Three Movements from Petrushka, a suite transcribed by Igor Stravinsky from his own revolutionary 1911 ballet. It portrays the tragic love triangle of three puppets: Petrushka, the Ballerina, and the Moor - set against the vibrant chaos of a St. Petersburg Shrovetide Fair.

The Movements, titled Danse Russe (Russian Dance), Chez Pétrouchka (Petrushka’s Room), and La Semaine grasse (The Shrovetide Fair), serve as a brilliant distillation of the ballet’s power. In creating this version, Stravinsky wrote that he “did not at all wish to use the piano to represent the orchestra… On the contrary, I did my best to transform it into an essentially pianistic piece, using all the idiomatic resources of the instrument.”

The result is a work of staggering virtuosity that pushes the boundaries of the keyboard's capabilities. Fittingly, this formidable transcription was dedicated to the legendary pianist Artur Rubinstein. It is given a remarkable account here.

The final track is a sympathetic performance of Johannes Brahms’s Intermezzo in B Minor, op. 119, no. 1 (1893). There is nothing of the “Inferno” here; rather, it is a study in late‑Romantic introspection and melancholy. Brahms famously described its pervasive dissonances as "exceedingly sweet," a reminder it requires the most delicate touch. As the opening number in his final set of piano works, it serves as a bittersweet farewell to the instrument.

Behzod Abduraimov, born in Tashkent, Uzbekistan in 1990, first attracted international attention after winning the 2009 London International Piano Competition with Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No.3. A former student of the pianist and educator Stanislav Ioudenitch at the International Center for Music in Kansas City, he quickly established himself through high‑profile appearances with leading orchestras and a series of well-received recordings.

Inferno as a title for this disc remains a marketing enigma. While the Liszt and Stravinsky tracks certainly bring the heat - one through diabolical drama and the other through sheer, mechanical fire - the rest of the recital  feels more like a scenic detour than a descent into the abyss. Czerny’s elegance and Brahms’s "exceedingly sweet" melancholy have little to do with eternal damnation. However, if the "Inferno" here is meant to represent the performer’s trial by fire, Abduraimov emerges unscathed. He navigates these wildly different emotional landscapes with such poise that even if the thematic thread is thin, the musical journey is undeniably compelling.

Track Listing:
Carl Czerny (1791-1857)
Variations on a Theme by Rode, op.33 (1820s)
Franz Liszt (1811-86)
Après une lecture de Dante: Fantasia quasi-Sonata, Années de pèlerinage, Deuxième Année: Italie, S.161/7 (1846-49)
Claude Debussy (1862-1918)
Suite Bergamasque, L.75 (1890)
Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971)
Three Movements from Petrushka (1911/1921)
Johannes Brahms (1833-97)
4 Klavierstücke, op.119, no.1 Intermezzo (1893)
Behzod Abduraimov (piano)
rec. November 2025, Teldex Studio, Berlin
Alpha Classics Alpha 1219

With thanks to MusicWeb International where this review was first published.