One of the attractions of this Christmas collection is that the music is unfamiliar. I’ve certainly grown a little weary of the same old festive ‘lollipops’, so I approached this new disc with relish. The Austrian-born organist Johannes Strobl is also new to me, but the German label Audite is an old friend. The latter’s organ recordings on SACD have impressed me enormously, especially their Franck series from Memmingen. Indeed, Volume I - review - was one of my Discs of The Year in 2007, a triumph of music-making and sound engineering.

But the real star of that Franck collection is the Swiss-made Goll instrument, the purity and transparency of which must make it one of the loveliest modern organs in Europe. Here we have a Swiss instrument in Switzerland itself, the Grand Organ of Muri, in Canton Aargau. The organ was built by the Schweizerdeutsch Thomas Schott between 1619 and 1630, restored and reconstructed by Metzler Orgelbau (1966-1971) and updated by Orgelbau Kuhn in 2002. No doubt organ buffs will be interested in the photographs on Audite’s website, which offer a fascinating insight into this instrument and the church in which it stands.

So much for the organ, what about the music? The Pastorale, a Christmas musical tradition that originated in Italy, migrated northwards in the 18th century, where it was taken up by composers and organists and played after Midnight Mass. The Pastorale Prelude, a 19th--century derivative, is also well represented here. The disc kicks off with a delightful Prelude in D, by Johann Baptist Schiedermayr. It’s highly mobile and joyful, the distinctive ‘woody’ sound of this organ very well captured indeed. The CD sound is clear and spacious, but the SACD layer goes one better by revealing the tiniest of details and adding a real sense of presence to the recording.

The three Pastorales by Johann Anton Kobrich, from his collection The Keyboard-Playing Shepherd, are rather more delicate. Just sample the one in A (tr. 2), where the organ’s reedy higher registers are exploited to the full. Strobl plays the stately Pastorale in D (tr. 3) with a real feeling for the music’s liquid rhythms. The Pastorale in G (tr. 4) is dominated by repeated cuckoo-like figures, admirably articulated and recorded. The two Sonatas and Pastorale that follow are taken from a monastic collection, transcribed around 1700. The first Sonata in C (tr. 5) has a simplicity and charm that is most appealing, but it’s the irrepressibly animated Pastorale in F (tr. 6) that had me reaching for the repeat button.

This is shaping up to be a most rewarding collection, not least because the music is refreshingly direct. Indeed, given the festive context it’s more like a tart, bracing sorbet than a heavy dollop of Christmas pud. The palate-cleansing continues with three pieces by Johann Ernst Eberlin; they are taken from his Twelve Pieces for Keyboard, co-authored by none other than Mozart’s father, Leopold. The first (tr. 7) is a veritable cascade of lovely melodies, albeit with a hint of Baroque severity about them, the second (tr. 8) sounding for all the world like a steam-driven fair organ, sans the wheeze and clank. The final piece, a cradle-song, has a crystalline loveliness that’s entirely appropriate to the season. Once again, playing and recording are beyond reproach.

Franz Xaver Schnizer, choral director of the Benedictine abbey of Ottobeuren, wrote this dignified, rather Bachian, Sonata in G in 1773. A carefully worked piece in three movements, it’s ideally suited to the Muri organ’s higher and middle registers. In the first we leave the security of the fireside for the deep frost of a December night, somewhat shocked by the icy air (tr. 11). But then we’re back indoors with the warming cadences of the second movement (tr. 12), the third a rousing, dance-like finale (tr. 13). The organ’s ‘woodiness’ - close to a honk at times - seems just right for this rustic celebration.

By contrast, Schiedermayr’s Prelude in A flat (tr. 14) has a free-flowing, rhapsodic quality perhaps more Romantic than anything we’ve heard thus far. I particularly liked those bright, clarion-like calls in the treble, so beautifully articulated. The three Father Grünberger pieces, from his Nine Pastorale Organ Pieces - Book I, are more traditional in form and content, the E flat Pastorale (tr. 16) light and frothy, the one in C (tr. 17) relaxed and carefree. Not at all what one might expect from an Augustinian monk, albeit one who had a somewhat varied and colourful life beyond the cloister.

Good programming is essential to the success of collections such as this, and Strobl has certainly chosen his music wisely. Even though these works are all from the so-called South German School, they are surprisingly varied and interesting. Indeed, Strobl invests them all with a freshness and spontaneity that is most impressive. More important, variety makes it so much easier to listen to this disc without the slightest hint of tedium - very rare in organ collections. The two Pastorale Preludes by the Bohemian organist and composer Karl Franz Pitsch (trs. 18-19) are a case in point, the first weighty and more sonorous, the second a big, broad conception that sounds splendid in Strobl’s capable hands. Surely a work that deserves to be better known, and one I’d be happy to revisit time and time again.

Despite the obvious Christmas origins of these Pastorales and preludes the unwary listener might be hard-pressed to identify them as festive pieces. That is certainly true of Johann Kaspar Aiblinger’s wonderfully discursive Pastorale in G (tr. 20), which has the rambling nature of a much later, more Romantic, organ tradition. It has some lovely, rippling tunes, but at more than six minutes it does come close to outstaying its welcome. The final selection brings us back to Christmas, with Prague-born Robert Führer’s Weihnachtsgabe, Op. 271. The six miniatures include a darkly lyrical Andante in G (tr. 21), a wistful Andantino in F (tr. 23) and a warmly affirmative Larghetto in G (tr. 26). Not the most colourful or imaginative music on this disc, perhaps, but solidly constructed and winningly played.

Well, Audite have done it again. This is a first-rate collection that sounds rich and warm. Strobl’s playing is immensely assured, full of bounce and insight. The sound - on both layers - is up to the usual standards of the house. The booklet puts the music into its historical context, gives thumbnails of the composers featured and even includes the registrations for each piece. As for the organ itself, it’s rather like one of those wines aged in oak, fruity but with a distinctive, woody flavour. The perfect complement to a festive feast, but it keeps well and can be drunk any time afterwards.

According to Audite the idea behind this collection is to create ‘a link between the 16th and 21st centuries’; this it certainly does, encompassing music from the likes of Michael Praetorius and Morten Lauridsen. But, despite the unifying use of the 16th-century carol Es ist ein Ros’ entsprungen - prosaically rendered as ‘A twig sprang forth’ or, more poetically, as ‘Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming’ - I did wonder how comfortable these disparate elements would be on the same disc. Also, I couldn’t see the logic of pairing a cappella works and organ improvisations of the same pieces; and, as the Vox Bona choir and organist Stefan Horz are both associated with Bonn’s Kreuzkirche, why are the organ and choral contributions split between two different venues with very different acoustics?

Enough cavilling, what about the music? The German composer Michael Praetorius is credited with the first proper setting of Es ist ein Ros’ entsprungen in his Musae Sionae of 1609. The choir sing with astonishing clarity and focus right across the range, but there’s not much sense of a church acoustic here. With nary a pause we are plunged into Horz’s organ improvisation, which sounds rather bland compared with those of formidable French improvisers such as Marcel Dupré and Thierry Escaich. Traffic noises - always a problem when recording in public buildings - are very audible in the quieter, more sustained passages.

The 19th-century carol Maria durch ein Dornwald ging (‘Mary walked amid the thorns’) is sung here in a setting by Heinrich Kaminski, whose professorship at the Prussian Academy of Arts in Berlin in the 1930s was cut short by revelations of his Jewish ancestry. Now this sounds more like a church acoustic, with a greater sense of space and a pleasing ‘ring’ to the voices. Again, Horz’s contribution cuts in too soon, but this time it’s much more engaging than his earlier effort. Indeed, the music ‘flowers’ rather beautifully in the organ’s higher registers, with warm, sustained pedals below.

The contemporary German composer and organist Wolfgang Seifen’s setting of Die Nacht ist vorgedrungen (‘The night is nearly over’) also has unhappy connections with the Third Reich; the original carol was penned by Jochen Klepper in 1937, just five years before Nazi persecution drove him and his family to commit suicide. It’s not a carol I know, so texts and translations would have been very useful here. That said, I soon found them via Google, and what a moving, albeit rather sombre, view of our redemption from ‘guilt and pain’. Vox Bona sing it with a passion and feeling I’ve not heard thus far, Karin Freist-Wissing coaxing beautiful, well-blended sounds from her choir. Not uplifting in the traditional sense, perhaps, but for all that Seifen finds a dark radiance here that is utterly compelling. After music of such sustained intensity Horz’s Messiaen-like improvisation could only be a let-down - and it is.

Moving north to Sweden, we have Gloria, Jan Sandström’s hymn to the Mother of God. It’s a multi-faceted work, with ethereal solos rising from the body of the choir and the singers dividing to create antiphonal effects. In feeling it reminds me of Knut Nystedt’s Salve Regina, surely one of the most beautiful Marian settings around. This is first-rate singing, varied, virtuosic and, above all, deeply felt. The mood is spoilt by a rather tremulous start to Max Reger’s Ave Maria. A hymn to Mary it may be, but that’s not enough to warrant the latter’s proximity - cheek by jowl, as it were - to the light and lovely Gloria. Poor programming? Yes, I’m inclined to think so.

At least the American composer Morten Lauridsen doesn’t disappoint, his light-filled, awe-struck O Magnum Mysterium sung with great poise - and surprising inwardness - by Vox Bona. Those long, melismatic lines - which in themselves connect with a more distant devotional past - are superbly managed. High loveliness and proof, if it were needed, that this choir deserve a disc all to themselves. Brahms’s take on Es ist ein Ros’ entsprungen sustains the devotional mood rather better than Reger’s Ave Maria, and for once I found myself engaging more fully with Horz’s organ playing. As for Hugo Distler’s variations on the same carol, from his Weihnachtsgeschichte, they are refreshing direct in style and execution. Add to that beautiful solos from alto Charlotte Quadt and you have a piece that really does capture the warmth and wonder of Christmas.

This is part of Audite's Legendary Recordings series which makes available...

Igor Markevitch dejó un gran recuerdo en España tras su años como titular de la Orquesta de la RTVE, que nació, en 1965, bajo su autoritaria batuta. Al "Viejo", como lo conocían los músicos de la formación dependiente en aquel momento del Ministerio de Información y Turismo, se le había visto en nuestro país muchos años atrás, a poco de salir de aquel París neoclásico que sucedió a la etapa de Satie, Cocteau y los Seis, un medio en el que había crecido el artista, interesante compositor de obras tan meritorias como El vuelo de Icaro o el oratorio El Paraíso perdido, que contenían la transparencia algo aristada, las rectilíneas texturas de ciertas obras de Roussel y el impacto rítmico y agresivo – algo más dulcificado – de Stravinski.

En su primera aparición en Madrid, allá por septiembre de 1950, frente a la Orquesta Nacional, cuando tenía 38 años, había esgrimido sus credenciales, las características que lo definían como director y que había ido fomentando desde el foso junto a los ballets de Diaghilev y más tarde al lado de Scherchen: técnica espartana y económica, gesto amplio y circular con un original movimiento alternativo de batuta y mano izquierda, curiosamente engarriada; dibujo penetrante de la música buscando siempre los puntos esenciales de cada estructura. Huía de los detalles, de establecer matices delicados, y tiraba por la calle de en medio con una certera visión del meollo, de la esencia de la partitura, que en sus manos sonaba firme, sólida, con acentos primarios y contundentes, alternados por sorprendentes fogonazos líricos.

De siempre, dadas sus condiciones, fue un magnífico organizador de los virulentos estratos de los ballets de Stravinski o de las cristalinas y ágiles composiciones de Roussel. Se lo asoció tradicionalmente con La consagración de la primavera del primero, una obra que bordaba y que en su mano sonaba agreste, dura, percutiva, invadida de una urgencia colosal; una visión auténticamente telúrica del gran sacrificio, que ofreció con la ONE en 1953 y que llevaría luego más de una vez a los atriles del conjunto radiotelevisivo, al que el director llegó, esa es la verdad, un tanto mermado de facultades, cuando solamente contaba 53 inviernos. Pero su sordera era ostensible e inevitable, lo que le hacía reforzar el nivel auditivo de los inclementes parches, que en una obra como la citada podía tener su razón de ser; no así en otras: una Primera de Brahms, por ejemplo.

La interpretación que de la partitura stravinskiana había realizado Markevitch en el Titania Palast el 6 de marzo de 1952 ante la audiencia berlinesa respondía a estos parámetros: fustigante, cortante como un cuchillo, de una extraordinaria concentración, de una soterrada energía, que terminaba por estallar violentamente en los constantes y bien controlados cambios de compás. Causó, cuenta el crítico y musicólogo Stuckenschmidt, una impresión formidable en el público, subyugado también por la orgiástica versión de la 2a Suite de Daphnis y Chloé de Ravel (registro en de 18 de septiembre), en este caso con el coro final, y que a nuestro juicio no alcanzó a recrear toda la imaginería sonora del impresionismo más pleno. Es demasiado importante en el concepto y en la ejecución el aspecto rítmico. Una impecable interpretación de la Sinfonía n° 5, "Di Tre Re", de Honegger, cuadrada y aguerrida, tensa y concisa, culmina el compacto.

El segundo combina el vivo con el estudio en grabaciones de 1952 y 1953. La Sinfonía n° 3 de Schubert es de este último año. Una aproximación precisa y vivificante, en el escenario del Titania, bien bailada, pero exenta de espíritu, de sabor vienes. El trazo nos parece en exceso grueso. El mismo año, pero en el estudio levantado en la Iglesia de Jesucristo de la capital alemana, Markevitch grababa una fogosa versión del Tricornio de Falla, vista un poco en blanco y negro, pero dotada de un impulso contagioso, y una soberana recreación de la Suite n° 2 de Bacchus et Ariane de Roussel, una partitura en nueve partes que la batuta desentraña de forma extraordinaria con un vigor, una elocuencia y un sabor danzable fuera de serie. Una interpretación auténticamente demoledora. El disco se cierra con seis canciones de Musorgski, en el arreglo orquestal del propio director, incluidas en el concierto de Le Sacre de marzo de 1952, recogido en el CD anterior. La soprano letona Mascia Predit, de la misma edad que el director, convence por su rico metal spinto, su anchura y su impronta dramática. Creemos recordar estas canciones en Madrid con Markevitch, la RTVE y la soprano polaca Halina Lukomska.

Igor Markevitch dejó un gran recuerdo en España tras su años como titular de la Orquesta de la RTVE, que nació, en 1965, bajo su autoritaria batuta. Al "Viejo", como lo conocían los músicos de la formación dependiente en aquel momento del Ministerio de Información y Turismo, se le había visto en nuestro país muchos años atrás, a poco de salir de aquel París neoclásico que sucedió a la etapa de Satie, Cocteau y los Seis, un medio en el que había crecido el artista, interesante compositor de obras tan meritorias como El vuelo de Icaro o el oratorio El Paraíso perdido, que contenían la transparencia algo aristada, las rectilíneas texturas de ciertas obras de Roussel y el impacto rítmico y agresivo – algo más dulcificado – de Stravinski.

En su primera aparición en Madrid, allá por septiembre de 1950, frente a la Orquesta Nacional, cuando tenía 38 años, había esgrimido sus credenciales, las características que lo definían como director y que había ido fomentando desde el foso junto a los ballets de Diaghilev y más tarde al lado de Scherchen: técnica espartana y económica, gesto amplio y circular con un original movimiento alternativo de batuta y mano izquierda, curiosamente engarriada; dibujo penetrante de la música buscando siempre los puntos esenciales de cada estructura. Huía de los detalles, de establecer matices delicados, y tiraba por la calle de en medio con una certera visión del meollo, de la esencia de la partitura, que en sus manos sonaba firme, sólida, con acentos primarios y contundentes, alternados por sorprendentes fogonazos líricos.

De siempre, dadas sus condiciones, fue un magnífico organizador de los virulentos estratos de los ballets de Stravinski o de las cristalinas y ágiles composiciones de Roussel. Se lo asoció tradicionalmente con La consagración de la primavera del primero, una obra que bordaba y que en su mano sonaba agreste, dura, percutiva, invadida de una urgencia colosal; una visión auténticamente telúrica del gran sacrificio, que ofreció con la ONE en 1953 y que llevaría luego más de una vez a los atriles del conjunto radiotelevisivo, al que el director llegó, esa es la verdad, un tanto mermado de facultades, cuando solamente contaba 53 inviernos. Pero su sordera era ostensible e inevitable, lo que le hacía reforzar el nivel auditivo de los inclementes parches, que en una obra como la citada podía tener su razón de ser; no así en otras: una Primera de Brahms, por ejemplo.

La interpretación que de la partitura stravinskiana había realizado Markevitch en el Titania Palast el 6 de marzo de 1952 ante la audiencia berlinesa respondía a estos parámetros: fustigante, cortante como un cuchillo, de una extraordinaria concentración, de una soterrada energía, que terminaba por estallar violentamente en los constantes y bien controlados cambios de compás. Causó, cuenta el crítico y musicólogo Stuckenschmidt, una impresión formidable en el público, subyugado también por la orgiástica versión de la 2a Suite de Daphnis y Chloé de Ravel (registro en de 18 de septiembre), en este caso con el coro final, y que a nuestro juicio no alcanzó a recrear toda la imaginería sonora del impresionismo más pleno. Es demasiado importante en el concepto y en la ejecución el aspecto rítmico. Una impecable interpretación de la Sinfonía n° 5, "Di Tre Re", de Honegger, cuadrada y aguerrida, tensa y concisa, culmina el compacto.

El segundo combina el vivo con el estudio en grabaciones de 1952 y 1953. La Sinfonía n° 3 de Schubert es de este último año. Una aproximación precisa y vivificante, en el escenario del Titania, bien bailada, pero exenta de espíritu, de sabor vienes. El trazo nos parece en exceso grueso. El mismo año, pero en el estudio levantado en la Iglesia de Jesucristo de la capital alemana, Markevitch grababa una fogosa versión del Tricornio de Falla, vista un poco en blanco y negro, pero dotada de un impulso contagioso, y una soberana recreación de la Suite n° 2 de Bacchus et Ariane de Roussel, una partitura en nueve partes que la batuta desentraña de forma extraordinaria con un vigor, una elocuencia y un sabor danzable fuera de serie. Una interpretación auténticamente demoledora. El disco se cierra con seis canciones de Musorgski, en el arreglo orquestal del propio director, incluidas en el concierto de Le Sacre de marzo de 1952, recogido en el CD anterior. La soprano letona Mascia Predit, de la misma edad que el director, convence por su rico metal spinto, su anchura y su impronta dramática. Creemos recordar estas canciones en Madrid con Markevitch, la RTVE y la soprano polaca Halina Lukomska.

In Schönheit sterben? Das gilt nicht für die späten Streichquartette...

Audite in Detmold ist die sehr begrüßenswerte Veröffentlichung von Aufnahmen...

There are some recorded performances that spell "rightness" with such unflinching certainty that for the duration you're hoodwinked into believing that the music couldn't possibly be performed any other way. Such is the 1950 Berlin RIAS recording of Beethoven's A major Sonata, Op 101, played by Friedrich Gulda, which aside from the first movement's perfect pacing and the measured drama of the Vivace alla marcia includes a finale where the sense of inexorable momentum is intoxicating. Audite's four-CD set of early Gulda recordings for RIAS excavates many wonderful performances and, because most of the repertoire was also commercially recorded by Gulda, allows for some instructive comparisons. Not that I have so far been able to trace a commercial Gulda recording of Chopin's Preludes, Op 28, an extraordinary rendition where Beethovenian gravitas and nimble fingerwork alternate with sustained intensity in slow music, ie the F sharp major Prelude, which reminded me of Michelangeli at his best. The Nocturne, Op 48 No 1, is played with an imposing depth of tone, the stormy middle section disruptive but never rushed, whereas the Barcarolle is positively hedonistic in its forthright projection and lavish colours.

By contrast Gulda's bright and crisply articulated account of Mozart's great C minor Concerto, K491 (with Hummel's cadenzas) looks forward to a later age, much abetted by Igor Markevitch's clear-headed conducting. Gulda also offers a dark and at times relentless account of Prokofiev's Seventh Sonata while an all-French programme includes performances of Debussy's Pour le piano and Suite bergamasque, together with shorter pieces, that combine murmuring passagework with vital delivery of the more rhythmic numbers, qualities that also enhance the effect of Ravel's Gaspard de la nuit. And there are the other Beethoven works, the sonatas Opp 14 No 2 (especially engaging) and 109, and the Variations, Op 35 (Eroica) and in C minor. I read from the comprehensive notes that Austrian Radio holds a complete Beethoven sonata cycle from 1953, which would I'm sure be gratefully received by piano aficionados. No need to ask for Sviatoslav Richter recordings: the market is positively flooded with them. And yet one new release from West Hill Radio Archives offers a "fabled" concert (their claim) given at the Budapest Academy of Music in February 1958.

Pictures at an Exhibition is fairly similar to the uncompromisingly direct account put out by Philips (same period) but the real find is Schubert's late C minor Sonata, D958, which is both impetuous and at times delicate. The finale has something of the Erlking's ferocity about it and there are shorter pieces by Rachmaninov and Debussy. The sound is dry but clear.

WETA will have finished playing through the three complete Mahler cycles this...

I'm usually averse to Christmas discs, but this one has a uniquely attractive...