Hallé Orchestra
Thomas Adès conductor
SIEMENS CD HLL 7567
This, above all, is a showcase for the Hallé, who play with brilliance and authority in these kaleidoscopic scores. Their titles may suggest that they are all programmatic in a sense, although in the case of Adès’ Aquifer, the association of rushing water is merely a convenient peg on which to hang a fast-flowing, virtuosic, and vividly scored tone poem.
It is a further example of Sir Simon Rattle’s continual championing of Adès, having been commissioned to mark his first season with the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra. This is the longest item on the disc, a well-paced single movement in seven sections, which repays repeated listening, with the composer’s colourful orchestration in evidence.
I was less enamoured of his brief fanfare, Tower, which is a juxtaposing of rather commonplace fanfare elements that conflict and argue noisily before a forced conclusion. Far more agreeable is Shanty, which seems to me to be Adès’ take on Whitman’s lines, ‘a chant for the sailors of all nations / fitful, like a surge’. This is a fine evocation, displaying much skill in outlining a chord sequence that suggests melodies without ever quoting directly.
His expertise builds to an exhilarating Graingeresque seascape, with numerous glissandi, and 15 individual instrumental voices creating the impression of many more joining from distances. Dawn, which received a rapturous reception at the 2020 Proms during the pandemic, is atypical Adès, more a homage to the minimalism of Arvo Pärt, while also recalling the processes of John Luther Adams (not his better-known contemporary) whose In the White Silence is not far away. This would prompt jubilation at the Last Night and will surely win the composer many friends.
There is further tintinnabuli, this time gloriously sonorous, along with a great deal to admire, in Oliver Leith’s Cartoon Sun. A sort of firework trio with imaginative and pleasing orchestration, it would have been just as enjoyable without the composer’s impenetrable explanations of what inspired it.
The unpromising title of Marsey’s Man with a limp wrist also defies expectations: it comes from a painting by Salman Toor, with additional works by the artist inspiring other movements. This is a most attractive procession of eight domestic scenes, none outstaying their welcome, with the orchestra used sparingly in chamber proportions. They include an inebriated Bar Boy who threatens to break into a dance but keeps dropping beats; a brass chorale for a Family Photo;a short effective Ghost Story, and much more.
Recommended for the curious with no Jamesian warnings.
Review by Andrew Plant