Uploaded June 2026 | Updated September 2026, 2 weeks ago
Quincunx, op. 44 (1960)
Josephine Nendick & John Shirley-Quirk, soloists
BBC Symphony Orchestra
Norman Del Mar
Speaking once about the dedication of her Sixth String Quartet to the painter Francis Bacon, Elizabeth Lutyens compared the method of its composition with the artist’s tendency to work very quickly when he wanted to make a great nervous impact. The quartet was written at one sitting in twelve hours and produced something of the same nerve affecting qualities, and the circumstances of its dedication give us an insight into much of her subsequent music. The style which she subsequently evolved and refined, and which is seen to perfection in Quincunx has much to do with this immediacy of nervous impact. It is a style which above all enables her to compose with great speed. The result, as in a good improvisation, is that we feel the closest contact with the initial creative activity, and this lends her best work considerable directness and vitality. The compositional technique used is an analogy of her stream of musical consciousness, and places much reliance on a continuously evolving thread of melody. This supple melodic line, which in an orchestral work like Quincunx (1960) will be found scattered across the whole score, connects harmonic incidents of varying density and is in its turn punctuated by them. The scope of her melodic inspiration with its frequently wide spaced intervals and complex rhythmic organisation is considerable, and in Quincunx it embodies a vision of sombre beauty and deep elegiac power. The work encloses a setting for unaccompanied baritone of words by Sir Thomas Browne beginning: ‘But the quincunx of heaven runs low, and ’tis time to close the five ports of knowledge.’ This imagery is carried through into the musical structure where five tutti sections (the central one introduced by the unaccompanied baritone solo) sandwich four movements that feature in turn the main orchestral departments, wind, strings, percussion and finally brass. --Anthony Payne
Art by Nom Kinnear King
Quincunx, op. 44 (1960)
Josephine Nendick & John Shirley-Quirk, soloists
BBC Symphony Orchestra
Norman Del Mar
Speaking once about the dedication of her Sixth String Quartet to the painter Francis Bacon, Elizabeth Lutyens compared the method of its composition with the artist’s tendency to work very quickly when he wanted to make a great nervous impact. The quartet was written at one sitting in twelve hours and produced something of the same nerve affecting qualities, and the circumstances of its dedication give us an insight into much of her subsequent music. The style which she subsequently evolved and refined, and which is seen to perfection in Quincunx has much to do with this immediacy of nervous impact. It is a style which above all enables her to compose with great speed. The result, as in a good improvisation, is that we feel the closest contact with the initial creative activity, and this lends her best work considerable directness and vitality. The compositional technique used is an analogy of her stream of musical consciousness, and places much reliance on a continuously evolving thread of melody. This supple melodic line, which in an orchestral work like Quincunx (1960) will be found scattered across the whole score, connects harmonic incidents of varying density and is in its turn punctuated by them. The scope of her melodic inspiration with its frequently wide spaced intervals and complex rhythmic organisation is considerable, and in Quincunx it embodies a vision of sombre beauty and deep elegiac power. The work encloses a setting for unaccompanied baritone of words by Sir Thomas Browne beginning: ‘But the quincunx of heaven runs low, and ’tis time to close the five ports of knowledge.’ This imagery is carried through into the musical structure where five tutti sections (the central one introduced by the unaccompanied baritone solo) sandwich four movements that feature in turn the main orchestral departments, wind, strings, percussion and finally brass. --Anthony Payne
Art by Nom Kinnear King
![James MacMillan - Cantos Sagrados
Cantos Sagrados (Sacred Songs), for choir and organ (1989)
I. Identity
II. Virgin of Guadalupe [8:40]
III. Sun Stone [16:16]
Christopher Bowers-Broadbent, organ
Polyphony
James MacMillan
One of MacMillan’s most powerful works, Cantos Sagrados sets poems by Ariel Dorfman and Ana María Mendoza on the subject of political repression in Latin America combines with traditional religious texts in Latin. The choral writing ranges from agitated speech-like violence to rapt meditation, and the organ part is a showcase for a talented soloist. The composer created an alternative orchestral version in 1997 making the work equally accessible to symphonic choruses.
As MacMillan states in his preface to the score ‘the title Sacred Songs is … slightly misleading as the three poems are concerned with political repression in Latin America and are deliberately coupled with traditional religious texts to emphasise a deeper solidarity with the poor of that subcontinent’.
This is a powerfully effective work that is not very difficult for the singers (the organ part is quite virtuosic and needs an accomplished player) although there are, as usual, points in the work that present some challenges. The second movement is unaccompanied for a substantial part of the first section that could lead to pitch problems when the organ/orchestra eventually joins. The third movement (in which a political prisoner is shot and his executioner begs him for forgiveness) uses MacMillan’s effective chorale-like vocal parts (with Latin words) which are interspersed by increasingly neurotic interventions from sopranos and then other voices which build to a huge climax as the shots are fired, gradually subsiding to a whispered ‘forgive me compañero’ at the end. Paul Spicer
Art by Diana Dowek James MacMillan - Cantos Sagrados](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/b-96ijD4IpM/mqdefault.jpg)
![Henrique Iwao - Estudo para um Instante Vazio
Estudo para um Instante Vazio (2004)
In the laborious Estudo para um Instante Vazio, the imperfections of an extensive and problematic technically manual work constitute the main body of the piece, being such characteristics, on the one hand, determined by the chosen technique for the sound generation (synthesis by graphical representation) and, on the other hand, by one practical result of this technique (appearance of clicks - and the compositional option of accepting these clicks).
The sections and materials used in the piece are pre-defined abstractly and treated with maximum rigidity avoiding, thus, any didactism (meaning a direct induced correspondence between the compositional plans and an intended comprehension of the music). [Clinical Archives]
Art by Anish Kapoor Henrique Iwao - Estudo para um Instante Vazio](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/bHgdt77-IDI/mqdefault.jpg)
![Elena Kats-Chernin - Variations in a Serious Black Dress
Variations in a Serious Black Dress, for piano (1995)
Topology
Arrangement for quintet by Robert Davidson.
This piece is conceived as a set of variations on two contrasting themes-both stated successively at the very beginning. Theme 1 is a melody employing a limited number of pitches. Theme 2 follows as a cycle of 13 chords with A minor as the harmonic centre. In the first two variations these elements are treated simultaneously, whereas starting form the third they get more and more detached from one another. The means of varying the material are derived from aspects of rhythm, register and texture, while the melodic/harmonic shape remains static almost throughout. [australianmusiccentre.com.au]
Art by Alex Katz Elena Kats-Chernin - Variations in a Serious Black Dress](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/bguaaBHwDZA/mqdefault.jpg)
![Kaija Saariaho - Notes on Light
Notes on Light, for cello and orchestra (2006)
I. Translucent, Secret
II. On Fire [4:47]
III. Awakening [8:09]
IV. Eclipse [16:01]
V. Heart of Light [20:40]
Anssi Karttunen, cello
Orchestre de Paris
Christoph Eschenbach
On the last page of the score Saariaho has included a quote from T. S. Eliot’s poem The Waste Land:
... I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Kaija Saariaho’s works are not narrative in the sense that they would describe a specific event or tell a story. Nevertheless, through the musical textures and also through their titles they tend to evoke the listener’s imagination and provoke emotions. The title of the cello concerto, Notes on Light, gives a visual stimulus which is emphasized by the headings of the five movements. The piece starts ’Translucent, secret’ and the imaginary journey ends with ’Heart of Light’. The only direct litetary reference in the work is the quotation from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land on last page of the score, as the composer’s guiding post scriptum after the music has finished.
It is more fruitful to see Notes on Light in the context of Kaija Saariaho’s own œuvre than in the historical line of the concerto tradition. Before starting to write she studied the cello concerto repertoire, especially the conertos of Elgar, Dvorák and Schumann, but finally there is practically nothing that has been filtered to Notes on Light. The key elements of the great romantic concertos, virtuosic cello writing and expressive melodic lines on the A string, are absent in Saariaho’s aesthetics.
Kaija Saariaho’s music is born from a contact with musicians. Of her two previous concertos the first, Graal théâtre, 1994, was written for Gidon Kremer, whose playing inspired her to dedicate a work for him. Camilla Hoitenga was the solist designed for the flute concerto, Aile du songe in 2001.
If one would name one performer who has accompanied Kaija Saariaho most faithfully throughout her career, it is Anssi Karttunen, who has worked very closely with her since the last 25 years or so. According to the composer, it is Karttunen’s personality that inspires her most while writing for the cello. ”Through his playing, Anssi can create magical atmospheres like no one else” she confirms, and adds that in fact, the collaboration most often starts only when the piece is written. Then, Anssi may propose technical adjustments to certain details after trying them out. For Karttunen Kaija Saariaho is able to write very delicate, even fragmentary textures, yet he is able to make the music carry up to the audience.
Although Notes on Light is Saariaho’s first cello concerto in the traditional sense of the word, she has proposed other works where cello plays a central role, like ...à la fumée (1990) for flute, cello, orchestra and electronics, and Amers (1992) for cello, chamber ensemble and electronics, both naturally for Karttunen. Notes on Light is clearly a synthesis of all the music for cello Kaija Saariaho has written so far, both musically and technically.
As regards the form, Notes on Light may mark an endpoint in Saariaho’s production. The two previous concertos were divided into two main movements, whereas the most recent one is set in five separate parts. The pieces that have followed the concerto, Mirage (2007) for soprano, cello (again!) and orchestra and Laterna magica (2008) for orchestra, to be premiered by the Berliner Philharmoniker in 2009, are in one continuous movement. In Notes on Light the five movements allow the composer to play on contrasting elements, juxtaposing different characters abrubtly. The material from where the music derives from is, as Anssi Karttunen analyzes in his note, seemingly simple, but Kaija Saariaho is able to put it in different guises and to light it from different angles, showing the richness of the underlying structure.
The orchestra, deprived of other brass instruments except the horns, is always transparent, leaving the cello to be heard even in the very quiet passages. Energy is not created through making a lot of noice but through more subtle means. Yet, at times, especially in the second movement, the music achieves an almost violent driving force. The relationship of cello and orchestra is not as if a hero was having a battle with a crowd, as in the traditional concerto, but more a picture of an object seen in different lights. Every turn of the kaleidoscope gives a new image, another note on light. When you come to the end, all that is left is silence, the other side of sound. Or darkness, the heart of light. Risto Nieminen
Art by Santiago Rusiñol Kaija Saariaho - Notes on Light](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/buy2VZlctsA/mqdefault.jpg)
![Miriam Gideon - Symphonia Brevis
Symphonia Brevis (1953)
I. Allegro energico
II. Andante (Scherzo)—Chorale [3:14]
Radio Orchestra of Zurich
Jacques Monod
George Perle, a composer and colleague of Miriam Gideon, once wrote: “I recall a conversation between her and a fellow composer who was complaining about the composer’s situation in the world today—a world, he felt, in which it was impossible for a serious composer to find any motivation for composing music. Miss Gideon replied, ‘If you can relate tones to each other in such a way that they belong together, that’s enough of a reason for composing.’ The answer tells us us a good deal about her, as a person and as a composer.”
Miriam Gideon is an American composer by birth and training. Born in Colorado, her musical studies took place mainly in the East. In addition to an opera, Fortunato based on a play by the Quintero brothers, she has written a string quartet, a sonata for viola and piano, five piano suites, settings for solo voice and chamber group of Sonnets from Shakespeare, the Hound of Heaven (Francis Thompson), Sonnets from Fatal Interview (Edna St. Vincent Millay) and numerous songs, choruses and shorter chamber works. Her music has been performed by leading orchestras, chamber groups and soloists in the United States, Europe and South America.
The Symphonia Brevis was written in 1953 for the Orchestra of the College of the City of New York. The first performance was conducted by Fritz Jahoda in May 1953. The work is divided into two movements marked Allegro energico and Andante (Scherzo) Chorale respectively. In spite of its brevity, the Symphonia has the proportions and emotional range of a symphony. Each movement is terse and highly charged. D. Jennings
Art by Sead Kazanxhiu Miriam Gideon - Symphonia Brevis](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/c7Qp6w8wyjw/mqdefault.jpg)
![Witold Lutosławski - Little Suite
Little Suite (1951)
SWR Symphonieorchester
Bas Wiegers
The original version of this work, scored for chamber orchestra, was written in 1950 in response to a commission from Warsaw Radio. In the following year the composer revised and slightly extended the work, and rescored it for symphony orchestra. The first performance was given by the Warsaw Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Grzegorc Fitelberg, in Warsaw on 20 April 1951.
The work uses folk melodies form the village of Machów in the region of Rzeszów, east of Cracow. These meoldies are presented as themes, but in the manner of the Concerto for Orchestra (1950-54) they are also subtly transformed to produce motives for textural elaboration. [wisemusicclassical.com]
Art by Wojciech Wos Witold Lutosławski - Little Suite](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/cXed36U9OKA/mqdefault.jpg)
![István Láng - Variations and Allegro
Variations and Allegro (1965)
Orchestra of the Hungarian Radio and Television
János Sándor
In his early mature works, Láng adopted the serial techniques that had become fashionable in the early 1960s, showing the influence of Boulez and Schoenberg, but still managing a clever and effective synthesis of these styles with traditional Hungarian elements derived from Bartók in all areas: melody, harmony, rhythm, and texture—a synthesis perhaps best demonstrated in his Variations and Allegro (1965), which is an arrangement of an earlier symphony. His music from this period is marked by an absorption with the theatre, even in chamber and solo instrumental work. [Media Services and Support Trust Fund (MTVA)]
Art by Judit Fischer István Láng - Variations and Allegro](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/dj-CgpB57Mc/mqdefault.jpg)
![Maria de Alvear - En amor duro
En amor duro, for piano (1991)
I. En la más grande dulzura - Casi llorando
II. In Einer Kräuterwiese [13:19]
III. Me siento tarde a componer con las uñas pintadas de naranja [28:29]
IV. Besando una rosa rosa - Como el viento suave - Dramatiquissimo - Después de limpiar profundamente el alma [35:09]
V. Silencio para..... [48:09]
Hildegard Kleeb, piano
Large, white sheets of paper in oblong format, staves that end nowhere and have no dividing bar lines. On the sheets are dots and lines, a few notes, obviously written down in a hurry. No tempo is stipulated, and dynamic markings are rare. The notes on the staves for left and right hand are far apart, keep their distance from one another. Chords seldom thicken the brittle musical texture. Sometimes, the narrow range of sound is torn open by notes in extreme registers, but these cannot endanger its powerful gravitational pull. Small intervals and long, almost endless repetitions keep the music in the middle. They look so helpless you could almost think a five-year-old had written them, someone who can’t write music, Maria de Alvear says of these scores. But, of course, I did know how to write music. I just made a clean sweep.
The piece stretches over more than an hour. The music gives no visual clues as to why this is so. Perhaps, however, one can hear why; perhaps one feels, like the composer, that the music needs precisely this amount of time. An analysis of the score would not be of much help: it would not be possible to ascertain a structural plan or logical architecture. Maria de Alvear has not constructed this music, but just written it down: In my childhood I wrote quite a lot of automatic pieces from compulsion. But because it happened from compulsion, it was actually a lie. But then, in 1989/90 - I can still remember exactly - I sat down one afternoon and wrote a piece automatically that is in my opinion the most important work of my life: the piano piece De Puro Amor - For Pure Love. And it really was written from pure love. It was the point that brought me together with my childhood. Suddenly I understood: there it was. It was a present. One afternoon I simply scribbled it down - and that was also a new beginning as far as writing music was concerned.
With écriture automatique or automatic writing, Surrealism - as represented by André Breton - wanted to gain access to the Ich. This technical device was to be used to break through the blockade of the rational intellect and penetrate the subconscious in order to express the real function of thinking (Breton). Maria de Alvear’s technique of automatic writing, which she has used for a large number of pieces, is not intended to go more deeply into the Ich, but, instead, to emerge from it. She explains that her form of automatic writing takes place in a non-thinking state, and says it can be compared with the way a monkey plays by picking things up, looking at and examining them, before turning to so - either through boredom or because something new has attracted its attention. In automatic writing, the concentration wanders from one thing to another, without intent and without direction. Maria de Alvear says that automatic writing creates a free space far from any constraints or goals, far from society, and far from one’s own emotions. In this free space, the concentration is focused solely on musical energy and experiencing the present, and in this way it becomes open for spiritual experiences.
Spiritual experiences are the soil in which Maria de Alvears work takes root: spirituality permeates her art both as personal experience and as a message, and is defended there against the omnipotence of western rationality. Understanding that takes place somewhere beyond our brains is not accepted as understanding, and certainly not as knowledge, criticises Maria de Alvear. It isn’t even perceived as being knowledge. This is the problem. There is a lot of knowledge which people don’t know they have - because their brain doesn’t accept it as knowledge. The yardstick they always use is that of rational intelligence. But there are completely different forms of knowledge: there is also spiritual understanding. But this can only be learnt through spiritual experience, and, of course, remains incomprehensible to people that don’t have this spiritual experience. It could be compared with bodily experiences, which are not transmissible. Here we’re dealing with areas for which our civilisation does not have any tradition of interpretation. We don’t have any science of the soul except for psychology, which, however, as psycho-logy - is rational and therefore contradictory. There is no escuola del alma or escuola del espirito. Raoul Mörchen
Art by Kitagawa Utamaro Maria de Alvear - En amor duro](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/dwUVXqZ16zE/mqdefault.jpg)


