In both the Waldstein’s and Appassionata’s first movements, Brautigam’s fast tempi generate drama and tension, not so much through sheer speed (although they’re pretty darn fast!) as by way of characterful thematic contrasts, pointed accents and subtle yet expressively powerful modifications of the basic pulse. The slightly militant edge with which Brautigam phrases the graceful main theme in the Op 54 Sonata’s first movement makes the subsequent octaves in triplets sound less jarring in context. At first one fears that his brisk pace for the second movement leaves Beethoven’s humbler Allegretto directive at the starting-gate, but the clarity of the toccata-like part writing and off-beat accents make Brautigam’s conception work.

By Contrast, the little Op 79 Sonata’s outer movements are comparatively sedate and graceful. Not since Glenn Gould’s studio version or Rudolf Serkin’s live BBC Legends recording have I heard Op 78’s Allegro vivace dispatched with the joyful irreverence and comic timing that Brautigam serves up here. Wonderful sound quality too, in both SACD conventional two-channel formats. Don’t pass up this amazing release!

He is ably assisted on this Signum disc by The Sirens, a group of young professional female singers, brought together by Elizabeth Fleming and Chilcott himself, and pianists Iain Farrington and Alexander Hawkins, this last in the Little Jazz Mass along with bassist Michael Chilcott and drummer Derek Scurll. 

The first song, ‘Circles of Motion’, is an ideal introduction to Chilcott’s style; a subdued yet active piano part, like sunlight playing on waves, and a swaying, gently syncopated melody in the choir. ‘Like a Rainbow’ is more vigorous and assertive, but surprises with its sudden turn to thoughtfulness and mystery. That prepares the way for ‘All things pass’, a contemplative setting of 6th century words by Lau-Tzu. 

‘Making Waves’ was written for a TV programme celebrating Marconi’s life, and begins and ends with the quiet sound of Morse code signals. The piece is unaccompanied, and Chilcott develops wonderful vocal textures. It gives an opportunity for member of The Sirens to take solos, which, here as elsewhere, they do with aplomb. 

The next group of three contains some of his most irresistible songs. ‘The Lily and the Rose’ is an exquisite setting of a haunting 16th century text, while ‘Catch a falling star’ explores the gentle melancholy of the famous poem by John Donne. In between these comes – possibly my favourite track on the disc – a brilliant version of ‘So fair and bright’. The way Chilcott lifts the texture with his writing for the piano is a joy, as are his subtle touches of minor key harmony, clouding momentarily the brightness of the song. 

‘Swansongs 1’ is another fine piece of unaccompanied writing. I wasn’t so sure, though, about ‘Like a singing bird’, which combines Chilcott’s own melody with the famous one for Robbie Burns’ ‘My love is like a red, red rose’. I simply wasn’t convinced that Chilcott had made a musical success of this combination, and, maybe because of this, the track contains some of the least convincing singing from the choir. 

‘This Day’, tracks 12 – 16, is a short cycle of songs which are settings of, respectively, Emily Dickinson, Thomas Ken, a Jewish prayer, R.S. Thomas and John Henry Newman. All very attractive, though my only real ‘thumbs-down’ amongst all the tracks on the disc is for ‘The Bright Field’. It seems to me that Chilcott’s rather hum-drum setting with its twee melody entirely misses the sense of revelation, of epiphany that shines out of this very great poem. But my admiration for Chilcott is such that I must add a health warning to my criticism! It’s always problematic when one encounters a song based on a text that one knows and loves well, for the composer may have an entirely different ‘take’ on the poem. Sometimes this can be stimulating, at others, as here for me, it has a negative impact. 

The ‘Little Jazz Mass’ that completes the disc is, I think, great fun, largely because the composer has had the sense to keep the movements short and sweet. Again, Chilcott’s great gifts for melody, rhythm and texture are much in evidence, and the ‘Agnus Dei’, the most extended movement, is a beautiful and affecting concluding item. 

If you don’t yet know Chilcott, this is a great place to start; you are likely to be surprised and delighted, for here is an ‘accessible’ modern composer with a strongly individual voice and, at his best, the power to move deeply.

There are also two versions of Copland’s Short Symphony. It was first played in Mexico City under Carlos Chávez in 1934 but the rhythmic difficulties were considered so great that the American premiere had to wait 10 years. Meanwhile, despairing of orchestral performances, Copland made the version for sextet. There are no difficulties now for the BSO but Tilson Thomas with the San Francisco Orchestra (RCA, 3/97 – nla) had more sparkle and better recording.

There are odd circumstances about the Dance Symphony too. It was taken from the ballet Grohg – never performed – that Copland wrote during his student years in Paris. In 1992 Oliver Knussen conducted the full version, proved its quality as an outstanding early-20th-century ballet score, and recorded it (Argo, 10/94 – nla). In the absence of a full recording of Grohg, the Dance Symphony completes an essential CD.

Bonizzoni resists the temptation to ham things up too much, and directs the music with a judicious ear for striking yet tasteful sonority. Sopranos Maria Grazia Schiavo (Aminta) and Nuria Rial (Fillide) achieve the elusive synthesis between stylised poetry, musical refinement and dramatic character. The radiant violin-playing in Fillide’s “Fu scherzo, fu gioco” is a delicately playful illustration of the text’s reference to love being a joke and a game, and Rial sings the difficult vocal part effortlessly and with delicious sagacity. Schiavo is equally impressive in Aminta’s “Se vago rio”, which has a spellbinding pizzicato string accompaniment and strange harmonic twists (Handel later reused it as the Siren’s song in Rinaldo). Fillide’s surprise at her emerging feelings of love for Aminta, and his increasing elation are delightfully conveyed by all of the vocal and instrumental performers.

Clori, mia bella Clori (sung by Schiavo) also benefits from meticulous attention to detail, such as the exquisitely shaded duetting violins in “Mie pupille”. La Risonanza once again show that Handel’s youthful Italian compositions are breathtaking masterpieces of considerable refinement, subtlety and quality.

All three of these works have been recorded for the first time with this release. The opening Fanfare represents exactly what the title suggests: the emergence of the lost island of Atlantic from its watery resting place. Composed in 1975, this piece begins with a trumpet playing a melody typical of the composer: long-limbed and hymn-like, with interesting shifts in its implied harmony, sometimes suggesting his Armenian heritage. The scoring is dominated by brass and percussion, who contribute to a very impressive climax as the work progresses.

The Second Guitar Concerto was composed in 1985 for guitarist Narciso Yepes, whose premiere performance was delayed for five years following the death of his son. The first movement is mysterious, with pizzicato strings frequently used to accompany the soloist's understated melodies. The "turns" in the melody evoke the plucked instruments of the Middle East. The second movement uses similar devices, but is melodically and harmonically warmer. The much longer third movement gives more prominence to the strings, who sing another one of Hovhaness' signature hymns, as the guitar comments softly and reserves most of its thoughts for the cadenza near the end. The last movement gently bewitches with its additive rhythms before coming to a teasingly abrupt ending. Throughout, Calderón plays the solo part with dignity, which seems to be the most necessary emotional quality in this work.

The "Loon Lake" Symphony retains Hovhaness' fingerprints and goes further – specifically, into the realm of fingerpainting, if you will. In other words, this symphony is an extended nature portrait, and as such, sounds less like a symphony than like the soundtrack to an idealized documentary about life in, on, and around the eponymous lake in New Hampshire. Perhaps remembering the composer's use of actual whale song in And God Created Great Whales, the Loon Preservation Society in New Hampshire asked that the song of the loon be included in this symphony, which was commissioned in 1987. This Hovhaness did, also including the song of the hermit thrush, but rather than using actual recordings, Hovhaness used a piccolo. The rest of the orchestra provides the melodic argument, and imitates the movements of the lake, and of the wind that plays upon it. The results are pretty, cosmic, naive, or heartfelt, depending on one's point of view.

These are assured readings from a first-class orchestra and from a conductor who clearly doesn't feel that he needs to apologize for Hovhaness' music. Bombast is kept at bay, and the music is shaped with gentleness and understanding by Stewart Robertson. Hovhaness is one composer whose music I always plan to hear more than I do, and after hearing this CD, my resolution has been renewed, although it is difficult to know where to start, given this composer's enormous output!

The likeable booklet notes are by Hinako Fujihara Hovhaness – the composer's widow.

If you can imagine the combination of Bartók's alternately nocturnal and percussive keyboard writing (and scoring) married to the chromatic luxuriance of Szymanowski or Scriabin, then you have a good sense of what to expect from these two marvelous concertos. Saygun was without question a major composer, one of the last of the great ethnic nationalists. The influences of Turkish folk music have been fully absorbed into an evocative, personal idiom that has enough ties to Western tradition that aficionados of the great Romantic concertos won't lose their bearings while still savoring the many new, colorful, and atmospheric sounds that Saygun evokes.

The First Concerto dates from the 1950s, the Second (composed for the splendid soloist on this recording) from the 1980s. There's perhaps a touch more refinement to the scoring of the Second Concerto, but both are full of ear-catching ideas and offer plenty of virtuoso opportunities to the pianist. We probably won't get any more recordings of these pieces anytime soon, so it's a good thing that the performances here sound wholly fresh, idiomatic, and full of fire. I've been pushing Saygun's distinctive, masterful body of work for years, but if you haven't taken the plunge then this excellently engineered disc makes a great place to start.