(++++) M AND M

Mozart: Overtures—Ascanio in Alba; Idomeneo, re di Creta; Le nozze di Figaro; Die Entführung aus dem Serail; Così fan tutte; Der Schauspieldirektor; Mitridate, re di Ponto; La finta giardiniera; Don Giovanni; Lucio Silla; La Clemenza di Tito; Die Zauberflöte. Kölner Akademie conducted by Michael Alexander Willens. BIS. $21.99 (SACD).

Mendelssohn: Symphonies Nos. 1-5; A Midsummer Night’s Dream—excerpts. Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich with Chen Reiss and Marie Henriette Reinhold, sopranos, Patrick Grahl, tenor, and Zürcher Sing-Akademie conducted by Paavo Järvi. Alpha. $42.99 (4 CDs).

     During Felix Mendelssohn’s lifetime, comparisons between him and Mozart were frequent: both were seen as tremendous prodigies who began producing exceptionally mature and well-wrought music at an early age and only improved as they got older. The parallels were simplistic and overwrought: for example, yes, Mendelssohn wrote a dozen string symphonies and a movement of a 13^th starting in 1821, when he was 12, but Mozart wrote his earliest symphonic works at the age of eight. On the other hand, Mendelssohn did write some extremely notable music when quite young, including the Octet when he was 16 and the Midsummer Night’s Dream Overture when he was 17. On the other other hand, Mozart had been writing operas since the age of 12 (Bastien und Bastienne and La finta semplice). Unfortunately, Mendelssohn and Mozart had something tragic in common later on: Mozart died the month before his 36^th birthday and Mendelssohn when he was 38.

     Certainly the composers did have some musical characteristics in common, beyond any biographical similarities: both were concerned with beauty of sound, careful balance of instrumental forces, and clarity and elegance of line; and both were masters of harmony and rhythm. All this becomes clear even when listening to their works in very different genres. For example, a first-rate new BIS recording featuring the Kölner Akademie under Michael Alexander Willens makes a strong argument for the notion that Mozart never wrote an imperfect overture. The dozen examples here, thrown together willy-nilly so that late pieces are somewhat jarringly juxtaposed with much earlier ones, are all highly effective as pure music – despite their original roles as operatic scene-setters (in some cases) or actual compilations of tunes to be heard during the upcoming stage production (in other instances). From Ascanio in Alba (1771) to Die Zauberflöte and La Clemenza di Tito 20 years later, Mozart never lost sight of the purpose of an overture: to get the audience to quiet down and pay attention by creating a purely instrumental sense of what would soon appear in visualized and much more extended form on the stage. It would be hard to overestimate the extent to which Mozart took the quotidian need to get the audience to stop chatting and start focusing and turned it into a musical experience in its own right – sometimes by having the overture play right into a work’s opening scene (as with Die Entführung aus dem Serail), sometimes by making it clear that what was about to be put on display would surely be more interesting and attractive than whatever theatergoers might be discussing before the performance (Le nozze di Figaro, Così fan tutte and many others). The uniform excellence of these overtures, the clarity of line and perfection of sectional balance they all possess, are abundantly clear in the elegant playing of the Kölner Akademie. And Willens does a fine job of accentuating the highly dramatic material in Don Giovanni and Die Zauberflöte while allowing the comedic elements to stand forth clearly in Le nozze di Figaro and Der Schauspieldirektor. There is something to enjoy in all these overtures, even for listeners unfamiliar with the stage works for which they were written. Indeed, even two and a quarter centuries after Mozart’s death, the overtures continue to serve the purpose for which they were designed: to whet the appetite for hearing a great deal more music when the appetizing introduction ends and the main course appears – whether on stage or in recorded form.

     Mendelssohn’s handling of stage music is every bit as adept as Mozart’s when it comes to A Midsummer Night’s Dream, if not in more-general terms (Mendelssohn wrote only three operas, none of which has stood the test of time particularly well). The brilliant sense of curtain-raising in the four opening woodwind chords (which eventually are also used to close the entire stage production) echoes Mozart both in musical thinking and in sound, and the scurrying levity of the overture – coupled with the wry amusement of the Puck-portraying Scherzo – brilliantly transports the audience to Shakespeare’s imagined tale of intermingled and equally star-crossed human and fairy lovers. The entirety of Mendelssohn’s music for the play runs less than an hour, so the decision to offer only 42 minutes of excerpts on a new Alpha recording featuring he Tonhalle-Orchester Zürich under Paavo Järvi is perplexing – doubly so because the playing is so good, the conducting so sure-handed, and the music so consistently appropriate and delightful. It is good to hear any of the music that Mendelssohn wrote for this stage production – and of course almost impossible not to hear the Wedding March frequently, it being one of the most popular pieces of classical music ever written. But it would have been nice if Järvi had included the few brief pieces missing from this CD to give audiences a touch of additional enjoyment.

     The stage music is, in any case, a kind of addendum to a release whose primary purpose is to present all five of Mendelssohn’s symphonies. Unlike the earlier string symphonies, which are distinctly Mozartean (and reflective of Haydn perhaps even more strongly), the five full-orchestra symphonies show Mendelssohn forging his own style and his own way. The fleetness and light elegance of the flowing themes continue to show a debt to Mozart, and Symphony No. 1 in particular contains elements derived from Mendelssohn’s respect for the earlier composer. But by the time he wrote his second symphony – eventually published (and only after his death) as No. 5, “Reformation,” and planned to commemorate the 300^th anniversary of the Augsburg Confession of 1530 – Mendelssohn was clearly on his own distinct symphonic path. The “Reformation” symphony incorporates both the Dresden Amen and the famous melody Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott, with Mendelssohn weaving them effectively into a traditional symphonic structure that can be wholly satisfying when presented with suitable grandeur but without trying to overawe audiences. Unfortunately, Järvi’s reading of this symphony is the weakest in his set: No. 5 is paired on a CD with No. 1, and the contrast between the two early works is notable, but while the conductor lets No. 1 flow freely and smoothly, he repeatedly slows down No. 5 to try to focus on elements that Mendelssohn did quite a good job of emphasizing on his own. The result is a “Reformation” that has a stop-and-start quality and is more portentous than it ought to be, almost to the point of pomposity.

     Thankfully, the remainder of this set is much better. Symphony No. 2, “Lobgesang,” is handled particularly well. This extended piece – really a symphony-cantata – takes the basic form of Beethoven’s Ninth (three instrumental movements followed by a choral one) and reverses the relative extent of the component parts: Beethoven wrote about 40 instrumental minutes and about 25 choral ones, while Mendelssohn reduces the first three movements to a total of about 25 minutes and devotes 40 to the choral material. The entirety of Mendelssohn’s work is encapsulated by its “Hymn of Praise” title, as choral and solo vocal portions alike sing the praises of God. The very first notes of the first movement recur at the end of the finale and are something of a leitmotif throughout, giving the work a degree of unity – although in other respects it tends to sprawl and become somewhat verbally (if not musically) repetitive. Järvi neither underplays nor over-inflates the material, and the soloists and chorus all deliver their lines with strength and apparent sincerity, resulting in a genuinely uplifting performance. The readings of Symphony No. 3, “Scottish,” and No. 4, “Italian,” are also quite strong. The works contrast interestingly in more than just key signature (A minor and A major, respectively). A sense of pervasive darkness – not gloom, exactly, but something more crepuscular – hangs over the “Scottish,” and Järvi conveys it well, with the scene-setting of the expansive first movement particularly effective and the contrasts of the middle movements nicely balanced. The very end of the finale is a bit out of keeping with the rest of the performance – a slightly slower tempo would have been more effective – but by and large, this is a well-planned, well-paced and well-played performance. And the “Italian” symphony, which is all sunshine and fervor, is played to the hilt here: bright and bouncy and, especially in the dance-based finale, rhythmically ebullient. As a whole, this is a very fine Mendelssohn symphonic cycle, and the inclusion of most of A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a welcome bonus. The totality manages to show the areas in which Mendelssohn did indeed deserve comparison with Mozart as well as the much greater number of ways in which the two composers diverged and produced music that was unique to each of them.

(++++) FOR TWO AND MORE

Korngold: Suite from “Much Ado about Nothing”; Franz Waxman: Four Scenes of Childhood; Robert Russell Bennett: Hexapoda—Five Studies in Jitteroptera; Heinz Roemheld: Sonatina for Violin and Piano; Jerome Moross: Recitative and Aria for Violin and Piano; Bernard Herrmann: Pastoral (Twilight); Miklós Rózsa: Variations on a Hungarian Peasant Song. Patrick Savage, violin; Martin Cousin, piano. Quartz. $18.99.

Edward Cowie and Laura Chislett: Improvisations. Laura Chislett, flutes; Edward Cowie, piano. Métier. $16.

Nicola LeFanu: The Same Day Dawns; Sextet; Piano Trio; The Moth-Ghost. Gemini conducted by Ian Mitchell. Métier. $16.

     The notion that creating works for the film industry is somehow “less” than writing for the concert hall is so deeply ingrained in music circles that very fine composers have again and again felt it necessary to assert their bona fides as “serious” musicians despite being known primarily for works intended for inclusion in movies. Miklós Rózsa (1907-1995) felt this dichotomy of expectation and reputation more intensely than most, to such an extent that he created the pseudonym Nic Tomay for his film music and, when he eventually wrote his autobiography, titled it Double Life. But as a new Quartz CD called “The Golden Age of Hollywood” shows, Rózsa and many other film composers were quite as capable in more-classical forms as they were in works too often disparaged (often quite wrongly) as “movie music.” Rózsa’s own contribution to the disc, Variations on a Hungarian Peasant Song, shows a fine sense not only of style but also of balance between the instruments: the violin tends to dominate, but the piano provides a strong foundation, solidity, and enough flourishes to keep the folk material well-grounded. Patrick Savage and Martin Cousin tackle the music with relish as well as skill; indeed, they seem genuinely to enjoy all the pieces on this very interesting CD, on which the Rózsa work is the conclusion. The disc opens with the four-movement Suite from “Much Ado about Nothing” by Erich Wolfgang Korngold (1897-1957), which is intended to illustrate four specific scenes and does so quite adeptly, whether in the amusingly off-kilter (and parodistically Mahlerian) March of the Watch (Dogberry and Verges) or in the suitable sweetness of Garden Scene. This is followed on the CD by Four Scenes of Childhood by Franz Waxman (1906-1967). The opening Good Morning, most of which lies very high on the violin, introduces a set of wistful portrayals that are something less than saccharine thanks to their frequent dissonances and intriguing instrumental effects – notably in the less-than-a-minute long Playtime. Next on the disc is Hexapoda by Robert Russell Bennett (1894-1981), famed for orchestrating Broadway shows including Show Boat and Oklahoma! Bennett was also chosen by Rachmaninoff’s widow to complete the unfinished two-piano reduction of Rachmaninoff’s Fourth Piano Concerto. Hexapoda, its title notwithstanding, is in five rather than six movements, and is packed with the jazzlike elements implied by the subtitle, Five Studies in Jitteroptera. Bennett – who, it is worth noting, worked with Gershwin – does not hesitate to create wonderful fiddling material for the violin (in Jane Shakes Her Hair), or to let the piano compete with and complement the violin (in Jim Jives). The result is a wholly delightful set of short exploratory romps that need no visuals to create scenes in a listener’s mind’s eye. The next two composers on this frequently fascinating disc are not as well-known as Rózsa, Korngold, Waxman or Bennett. Heinz Roemheld (1901-1985) is represented by a serious and well-proportioned Sonatina for Violin and Piano with an eerie second movement (Sempre senza vibrato) that contrasts well with a scurrying finale (Very fast). Jerome Moross (1913-1983) offers a Recitative and Aria that, like Roemheld’s piece, is decidedly on the serious side, filled with irregular rhythms and a fantasia-like structure that dips briefly into lyricism and keeps the violin as the dominant voice throughout. The penultimate work on the disc (before the conclusion by Rózsa) is Pastoral (Twilight) by Bernard Herrmann (1911-1975), who will always be identified with his music for Psycho but who here shows his ability to create exceptionally tender crepuscular music flavored with just enough dissonance to prevent it from sounding cloying. Savage and Cousin prove themselves to be strong advocates for all the music on the CD, and in so doing encourage appreciation of all these works on their own terms, without regard to typecasting of the composers.

     There are also two performers on a new Métier CD with the title “In Two Minds,” but the duality here goes deeper, since the same duo of Edward Cowie and Laura Chislett that performs the eight works on the disc also created them. The two call themselves “Duo Menurida,” the second word being the Latin family name of the Australian lyrebird. And that bit of exotic esotericism is only one element of this joint venture. The pieces heard on the disc reflect both composer/performers’ interests in nature in Cowie’s homeland of Great Britain and Chislett’s of Australia. All the works are improvisatory excursions into a shared mindspace that is accessible only in broad terms to an audience beyond Cowie and Chislett themselves. The pieces’ titles reflect inspirations of greater or lesser specificity: Pre Dawn and Dawn—Australian Bell Birds; Guten Morgan [sic], Herr Kandinsky! (Point and Line to Plane); Boom Time-Bitterns at Leighton Moss; New York-New York Mark Rothko-Jackson Pollock; Ornitharia (Flute Solo); Stonehenge Thunderstorm and Skylark (Solo Piano); Lake Eacham Blue; and Dusk / Night Lyrebirds. Familiarity with the specific wildlife and specific artists referenced in the titles is a requirement for reasonably full appreciation of the music, although even then, it is simply not possible for non-participants in these creation-performances to plumb the depths of the artists’ intents and feelings. It is possible simply to enjoy the various sounds of flute and piano throughout the CD – the amusing pointillism of the Kandinsky exploration, the foghorn-like evocation of bitterns, the dynamic thunderstorm impression associated with Stonehenge, and so on. Still, 55 minutes of this collaboration is a bit much, and many of the various evocations are somewhat imprecise unless, of course, one is thoroughly familiar with the inspirations and the artists’ conceptual worlds. It is hard to see this (+++) disc as being more than a self-involved, self-proclamatory bit of self-aware self-advocacy offered to a wider audience without a strong expectation that it will be fully accepted and appreciated by anyone other than Cowie and Chislett themselves. The primary thing that is evoked here is the sense that the “two minds” of Cowie and Chislett are kindred spirits in some important ways with which a wider group of potential listeners is not and cannot be fully conversant.

     There is one work for two performers on another new Métier CD, this disc devoted to music by Nicola LeFanu. It is the concluding piece on the CD, The Moth-Ghost (2020) for soprano and piano. Here the communicative intention is clear throughout: the work is based on the myth of the sea goddess Thetis, and LeFanu’s piece is a mother’s lament: Thetis bemoans, at length, the fate of Achilles, a victim of the Trojan War. Soprano Clara Barbier Serrano delivers the extended scena intensely, while pianist Aleksander Szram underlines the emotions to good effect; and if the whole thing is a bit overdone, it fits the larger-than-life mythic setting well. The other works on the disc call for more performers, all of them members of the contemporary-music ensemble Gemini. Piano Trio (2003) is a single extended movement filled with varying textures amid comparatively straightforward contemporary rhythmic and harmonic elements. Sextet (1996), also in one movement, is intended to be evocative of various natural scenes in Ireland. It features some intriguing use of percussion and an episodic structure that is designed to represent the various natural features it seeks to capture – none of which an audience unfamiliar with Ireland’s landscapes will have any way to recognize. And then there is a work that is quite different from those in one movement, being in no fewer than 17 sections: The Same Day Dawns (1974). Scored for soprano and five instruments, this piece is barely longer in totality than the sextet and trio, and it partakes of some of the same sensibilities incorporated into The Moth-Ghost nearly half a century later. The Same Day Dawns includes not only English declamation but also verses from poetry in Tamil, Chinese, Japanese, Kannada, and Akkadian. The micro-miniatures heard here – nine of which last one minute or less – get varying accompaniments, the percussive touches being the most notable, although winds and strings also figure prominently. With its combination of Sprechstimme, forthright narrative, breathy declamation and other forms of vocal delivery, the work presents a variegated totality within the thematic target expressed by its title. It is not, though, especially compelling either in content or in orchestration: LeFanu uses the instruments (including the voice) well enough but not particularly distinctively. Taken as a whole, the four pieces on this (+++) CD provide a worthwhile portrayal of this composer’s musical thinking, showing ways in which it has evolved – and failed to evolve – over a considerable time period. Existing aficionados of LeFanu are more likely to enjoy the disc than are audiences not already familiar with her work.

(++++) BACK AND FORTH AND BACK

Reflections: A Celebration of Strange Symmetry. By Kerby Rosanes. Plume. $18.

     Kerby Rosanes’ amazingly intricate black-and-white art, although collected in coloring books for adults, always looks just fine – and even better than fine – in its original form. A major reason for this is the attention to detail: whether interpreting scenes from nature or creating fantasy worlds and beings, Rosanes creates with so much care that even when creatures could not possibly exist, it seems that if they did exist, they would look as he portrays them.

     A side effect of this attentiveness to precision creativity is that some of Rosanes’ art is bilaterally symmetrical – to an extent not actually found in most of the real world, but one that makes perfect sense in Rosanes’ environments. Reflections extracts numerous examples of bilateral symmetry – and bilateral not-quite-symmetry – from multiple Rosanes collections: Alien Worlds, Animorphia, Fantomorphia, Fragile World, Geomorphia, Imagimorphia, Mythic World, Mythomorphia, and Worlds Within Worlds. As all those “morphia” titles indicate, Rosanes is preoccupied with transformative art, and the use of mirror images is a characteristic of his style. Thus, some pages in Reflections are perfect mirrors of each other: on two facing pages, ducklike animals face each other, their feathers sprinkled with identical (but mirror-imaged) jewels, crowns, scepters, rings, necklaces and more, while on two other facing pages, mirror-image human-or-godlike female figures are entwined with large and beautifully rendered snakes, one figure holding hers in her left hand and the other holding hers in her right.

     As interesting as the perfect reflections on facing pages are the ones that are not quite perfect: seeing how Rosanes alters similar drawings can inspire colorists to make their own subtle changes on pages opposite each other, just as viewing perfect reflections may lead to a decision to color the pages identically or differentiate them through color selection. One almost-reflected woodland scene, for instance, has two female fairy-like characters facing each other, but the face of the one on the left is in three-quarter view, while that of the one on the right is in profile; the one on the left holds out a flower to a hovering hummingbird, while the one on the right is inviting a butterfly to land; and there are other subtle and not-so-subtle differences as well. And then there are scenes where facing pages only seem to show reflections – instead, they show variations on a theme, like the two in which intricate multi-tentacled machines face off against each other.

     Rosanes’ use of similar left-and-right-page art sometimes invites readers – whether or not they want to color the renditions – to examine things very closely indeed. One two-page spread in Reflections features two similar but, on close inspection, very differently detailed crowns, which somehow are not crowns at all, since each contains an ocean or other watery environment with clearly but differently drawn waves and carefully delineated but, again, differently drawn ships making their way here and there. Another double-page display features facing roosters with anatomical details that are only slightly different – but their feathers are filled with not-at-all-similar sprites, critters of various sorts, and even a playing card on one side and a miniature rocket ship on the other.

     Whether looking at the perfect symmetry of a double-page set of elephant heads – atop which are stairways to a ruined building plus various monkey-like creatures, raising the question of whether these are “real” elephants or part of a fantasy landscape – or at a fascinating single-page view of an owl that is half feathers-and-bones and half gears-and-metal, readers (whether or not they choose to color these works) will be fascinated by the way Rosanes pulls the eye into, around and through these many scenes. For those unsure of whether they want to color the art – or of how they want to color it – the book offers, at the beginning, six examples of colored versions of its contents, credited to different colorists, with a brief discussion of the ways in which each example uses color to make specific visual and perceptual points. Reflections thus invites reflections on symmetry, contrast, color use, and meaning, as well as on the thin line between highly realistic portrayals and ones that seems to be drawn carefully from real life but that in fact show beings from alternative realities or from the realm of pure fantasy.

(++++) SINGLE-INSTRUMENT DEPTHS

Music for Guitar by Mauro Giuliani, W.T. Matiegka, Antoine L’Hoyer, Napoléon Coste, Giulio Regondi, Fernando Sor, and Andrés Segovia. David Starobin, guitar. Bridge Records. $16.99.

Paolo Marchettini: Music for Solo and Multiple Clarinets. Paolo Marchettini, Meng Zhang, and Ka Hei Chan, clarinet; Tommy Shermulis, bass clarinet. New Focus Recordings. $16.99.

     The ability of solo performers to explore the full range and virtuosity of their instruments is sometimes taken for granted, as with pianists and violinists. In other cases, the expressiveness and proficiency of musicians are less often put on display, either because less solo music is available for their instruments or because the instruments themselves occupy something of a niche within classical music – rather than being central to it. The latter is the case for the guitar, which has a longstanding presence in the compositional realm – dating to Vivaldi and even earlier – but which does not immediately come to most listeners’ minds as offering significant solo-performance opportunities. Audiences may have at least a passing familiarity with Julian  Bream, Pepe Romero, Andrés Segovia and Christopher Parkening, but few other guitarists – much less guitarist/composers – likely spring to mind. That makes a new Bridge Records release featuring David Starobin especially welcome – although the CD is not entirely new, being a compilation of new and previously released material. Starobin does an outstanding job with everything on the disc, one of whose two first-release items happens to be by none other than Segovia. This is Five Anecdotes, a set of charming miniatures (one to three minutes apiece) in which the guitar’s emotional and technical range are both put effectively on display. The warmth of the fourth piece, Molto tranquillo, is especially notable. The other new item on the disc is a set of three unrelated pieces by the nearly unknown W.T. (Wenzel Thomas) Matiegka (1773-1830).  All three works turn out to be quite well-made: a Menuetto (Presto) is rhythmically strong and thematically engaging, an extended Sicillienne is warmly communicative, and a Rondo (Prestissimo) has a thoroughly delightful lilt. The remaining material on the CD comes from five composers and has been issued before in various guises. Two of the composers are comparatively familiar. The Grand Overture that opens the disc is by Mauro Giuliani (1781-1829) and lives up to its title: it has scale and scope and something approaching grandeur, allowing the guitar to display the considerable elegance of which it is capable. And the Septième fantaisie et variations brillantes by Fernando Sor (1778-1839), the longest work on the disc, is even more expansive – and quite variegated in its contrasting elements and their development. Filling out the disc are three shorter pieces by little-known composers. The Exercise, Op. 27, No. 2 by Antoine L’Hoyer (1768-1852) was actually arranged by Giuliani as a three-minute prelude; its cascading notes, which require some very adept finger work, appear to give Starobin no trouble whatsoever. The Caprice sur l’air ‘La Cachucha’ by Napoléon Coste (1805-1883) bubbles along pleasantly and showcases the guitar’s lighter side to good effect. And Etude No. 5 by Giulio Regondi (1822-1872) is a solidly rhythmic two-minute study in scales and intricate fingering. The charm of all the music and adeptness of all the playing combine to make this CD a real treat for anyone interested in the expressive and technical capabilities of classical music for solo guitar.

     Clarinetist Paolo Marchettini has his own solution to the relative paucity of music for solo clarinet: he writes some himself, then performs it. His new CD for New Focus Recordings is all-clarinet – actually all-clarinets, plural, since it includes not only solo pieces but also ones for as many as four clarinets. This disc shows Marchettini (born 1974) being quite conversant with 21^st-century compositional techniques as well as with the capabilities of his chosen instrument. An hour-plus of this material is, however, a bit much – non-clarinetists may wish to sample the (+++) disc instead of listening to it straight through. But certainly the CD shows how much can be communicated in contemporary terms by the clarinet, whether as a solo or in a group. The solo pieces are scattered throughout the disc. Cinque Oraculi (2022) includes five short pieces written with quarter-tones and calling on varying approaches to melody and rhythm – the contrast with the far more melodic Five Anecdotes by Segovia is notable on multiple levels, not just that of the differing instrumental qualities. Prayer (2011) is quiet, meditative and less experimental-sounding than Cinque Oraculi, although it calls on some similar performance techniques. Three Sketches (2010) consists of three minute-and-a-half displays of specific elements of clarinet sound and technique. Tratto (2016/2019) is more extended and makes a greater attempt to explore some of the clarinet’s emotionally evocative capabilities. There is also an interesting short work for solo bass clarinet (played by Tommy Shermulis): Entrée (2006) is a series of disconnected fragments showing the instrument in multiple registers and with multiple sounds, not all of them particularly pleasant. As for the multi-clarinet works here, one of them both opens and closes the CD: the first movement of Due Canti (2022), for clarinet trio, starts the recital, and the second movement concludes it. The opening piece begins as a solo and then becomes more expansive as the other clarinets join, while the closing one starts with all three instruments and becomes more expressively lyrical than most of the other works on the disc. The other music on the CD mixes clarinets (and sometimes bass clarinet) in varying ways. Preludio e Corrente (2009) for clarinet quartet has one stop-and-go movement and one that contrasts constant motion with an occasional broader passage. Cinque Fanfare Napoletane (2020) for clarinet trio is light, pleasant and somewhat more readily accessible than much of the rest of the disc, being based on Neapolitan songs that become the foundation for various brief flights of fancy. Epitaffio (2022) for clarinet quartet is in part suitably solemn, in part staccato, in totality rather meandering. There are also two works for clarinet ensemble, meaning multiple clarinets overdubbed onto themselves. Music of Color (2020) and Nec Clari (2006) are both sound clouds, the former more hectic and the latter quieter and more expressive. This is a self-limited recording in the sense that it will really appeal only to listeners fascinated by solo and multiple clarinets and by ways of using the instrument within a thoroughly modern context that is frequently at odds with the clarinet’s typical rich tone and emotive capabilities. Clarinetists themselves will find much of interest here if they are looking for something new for their own explorations of their instrument. Other listeners will likely be somewhat bemused, if not over-saturated, if they listen to the disc in its totality.