Uploaded July 2026 | Updated September 2026, 2 weeks ago
Cuban Overture (1932)
Rosa Linda, piano
Paul Whiteman and his Concert Orchestra
During his lifetime, George Gershwin was arguably the most successful and talented of America's composers of popular music. But he had cut his teeth as a young performer on the works of Chopin, Liszt and Debussy, and looked to France as the beating heart of classical music in the 20th century. So it was that, in 1928, he journeyed to Paris to study with the famed teacher of composition, Nadia Boulanger, as well as with Maurice Ravel. But neither would take him. Both potential mentors recognized the power of Gershwin’s unique voice and were afraid that their influence might taint it. And they were right. Less than 4 years later, Gershwin would achieve unparalleled successes with his Rhapsody in Blue, An American in Paris, and the Concerto in F. Gershwin had an uncanny ability to absorb the sounds and energy around him and distill them into music that immediately connected with audiences.
The 1930s also saw the rise of the rumba craze in America. Gershwin, ever eager to immerse himself in new musical experiences, was keen to go to the source. So, in February of 1932, he escaped a particularly brutal New York winter, and sailed with a handful of friends to Havana, Cuba (a popular, booze-friendly tourist destination during prohibition).
In almost every bar he visited in Havana, he heard strains of the hit song “Échale Salsita”, so it’s unsurprising that this catchy tune would find its way weaving in and out of a new piece Gershwin had decided to write, as well as brief echoes of another popular song called “La Paloma.” Also included in the new work were some authentic Cuban percussion instruments he brought home as souvenirs: a bongo drum, claves, maracas, and a gourd shaker. These latter instruments were of such importance to the piece that he insisted in the score that the percussionists be placed in front of the orchestra, rather than their traditional position in the back.
Within a few months, the premiere of what was then called Rumba took place during an all-Gershwin program by the New York Philharmonic in Lewisohn stadium, to a sold-out audience of 18,000. Three months after that, the composer himself conducted its second performance at a benefit concert in the new Metropolitan Opera House, but now with the new title Cuban Overture. As toe-tapping as it is, there are elements of musical sophistication in the work that reflect Gershwin’s desire to be seen as something more than merely popular. Odd-measured phrases, polytonal harmonies, canons and counterpoint, and ostinato-based climaxes all add a sense of the high-brow to this joyous romp. --Jamie Allen
Art by Raúl Martínez
Cuban Overture (1932)
Rosa Linda, piano
Paul Whiteman and his Concert Orchestra
During his lifetime, George Gershwin was arguably the most successful and talented of America's composers of popular music. But he had cut his teeth as a young performer on the works of Chopin, Liszt and Debussy, and looked to France as the beating heart of classical music in the 20th century. So it was that, in 1928, he journeyed to Paris to study with the famed teacher of composition, Nadia Boulanger, as well as with Maurice Ravel. But neither would take him. Both potential mentors recognized the power of Gershwin’s unique voice and were afraid that their influence might taint it. And they were right. Less than 4 years later, Gershwin would achieve unparalleled successes with his Rhapsody in Blue, An American in Paris, and the Concerto in F. Gershwin had an uncanny ability to absorb the sounds and energy around him and distill them into music that immediately connected with audiences.
The 1930s also saw the rise of the rumba craze in America. Gershwin, ever eager to immerse himself in new musical experiences, was keen to go to the source. So, in February of 1932, he escaped a particularly brutal New York winter, and sailed with a handful of friends to Havana, Cuba (a popular, booze-friendly tourist destination during prohibition).
In almost every bar he visited in Havana, he heard strains of the hit song “Échale Salsita”, so it’s unsurprising that this catchy tune would find its way weaving in and out of a new piece Gershwin had decided to write, as well as brief echoes of another popular song called “La Paloma.” Also included in the new work were some authentic Cuban percussion instruments he brought home as souvenirs: a bongo drum, claves, maracas, and a gourd shaker. These latter instruments were of such importance to the piece that he insisted in the score that the percussionists be placed in front of the orchestra, rather than their traditional position in the back.
Within a few months, the premiere of what was then called Rumba took place during an all-Gershwin program by the New York Philharmonic in Lewisohn stadium, to a sold-out audience of 18,000. Three months after that, the composer himself conducted its second performance at a benefit concert in the new Metropolitan Opera House, but now with the new title Cuban Overture. As toe-tapping as it is, there are elements of musical sophistication in the work that reflect Gershwin’s desire to be seen as something more than merely popular. Odd-measured phrases, polytonal harmonies, canons and counterpoint, and ostinato-based climaxes all add a sense of the high-brow to this joyous romp. --Jamie Allen
Art by Raúl Martínez





![Toshirō Mayuzumi - Mandala Symphony
Mandala Symphony (1960)
I. Tempo non équilibré
II. Extrémement lent [6:18]
The NHK Symphony Orchestra
Hiroyuki Iwaki
Toshirō Mayuzumi was born in 1929. He has been a leader of avant-garde music in Japan since the end of World War II, but it was not until his Nehan Symphony, in 1957, that he brought his own style to perfection. His Mandala Symphony was completed in March, 1960, and first performed that month by the NHK Symphony Orchestra under Hiroyuki Iwaki.
In this work, as in the Nehan Symphony, Mayuzumi has tried to express his own Buddhist view of an omnipotent universe. The mandala is a Buddhist and Hindu mystic symbol of the universe, usually taking the form of a circular design of the faces of the deities of Kongokai-Mandala and Taizokai-Mandala, the unit being called Ryou-Mandala. Kongokai-Mandala symbolizes spiritual awakening through contemplation and a sense of oneness with eternity; Taizokai-Mandala represents the world of Sokushin Jyobutsu, which is made up of phases of life, such as Gakido (a place of hunger and thirst where sinners go in the afterlife) or Shurado (passage of pandemonium, the world of the immature until they attain spiritual awakening).
Like the mandala symbol, the symphony is in two parts. The composer has said of this work: I aimed to illustrate in sound the basic thought of Buddhism, just as painters have done on canvas. Since the object of my aim is so abstract, I have used only pure collections of sounds. [Stereo 32 160152]
Art: Mandala of Jnanadakini, Tibet, late 14th century Toshirō Mayuzumi - Mandala Symphony](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/jFO6CJUvFNQ/mqdefault.jpg)
![Lukas Foss - Echoi
Echoi, for four soloists (1960-63)
1. Echoi I
2. Echoi II [3:50]
3. Echoi III [8:10]
4. Echoi IV [16:28]
Charles Wuorinen, piano
Raymond Desroches, percussion
Arthur Bloom, clarinet
Robert Martin, cello
Echoi is not serial in the accepted sense of the word. Series for pitches, durations, entrances, etc., serve to obtain a raw material, a scaffold which in the process of composition is gradually eliminated, destroyed. In composing in this manner one surrounds oneself with serially derived material, picks and chooses, and composes in a free, willful manner with these materials, these note groups, much in the way one used to compose with single notes. Or—to put it another way—the composer, after having obtained an abundance of serial material, composes not by adding but by deleting, erasing, arranging, choosing.
The title Echoi (echo in plural) has several connotations. Echoi were ancient Arabian modes; but it is obvious that the title is also reflected quite literally in the many echo sounds, imitations, instruments shadowing one another canonically, as in Echoi II, or echoes from the distance, as in Echoi III, where a children’s tune (vibraphone) is heard in the background (the past), then distorted, violated, in the foreground (the present), faintly emerging again in the distance (triangle beaters inside the piano strings à la mandoline), only to be annihilated, canceled out by the menacing activity in the foreground. Finally, echoes result from hearing double and triple at the end of Echoi IV. Here the clarinet and cello imitate their own performance as it emerges from two loudspeakers (two pre-recorded tape tracks). It could be argued here that the echoes do not follow, but precede, anticipate.
Throughout Echoi the four musicians play from the score. Where bar lines are absent, the rhythmic notation is proportional. They stay together by following the score and by listening to one another. Considering the high speed of Echoi I and the complex simultaneities of Echoi III and IV, a special skill is demanded here. Another dificult performance task occurs in Echoi IV when the players jump back and forth between different pages in the music (much like a phonograph needle on a defective record). This is done on cue from the percussionist, who strikes an anvil at random moments within a given stretch. This is the signal for the four players to skip from the moment of interruption to an earlier place in the music (idée fixe) and back, invalidating the carefully organized macro-structure. From the start of the obsessional piano monologue to the moment (climax) when the percussion resorts to what is a literal invasion of the piano strings (the only way to bring the piano to a stop), Echoi IV is a commentary on total organization, with the piano acting as protagonist. Though the aleatoric notion and even the musical happening are easily detected here, no share of the composition per se is ever relinquished to the performer—or to chance. Even the improvisatory moments toward the end are limited, directed, texturally controlled via footnotes or invented symbols.
Echoi was commissioned by the Fromm Music Foundation. [Monaural / LC3886]
Art by Eglė Ridikaitė Lukas Foss - Echoi](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/jNat3GQ8qpc/mqdefault.jpg)
![Harold Shapero - Sonata for Piano in D
Sonata for Piano in D (1943)
Frank Glazer, piano
Harol Shapero’s Sonata for Piano in D was completed in 1943, and was first performed by the composer at concerts of the League of Composers in New York City. It has since been played throughout Europe and Asia by several pianists, in arrangements for both piano and harpsichord. Frank Glazer has performed it often in his American and European concert tours.
Mr. Shapero has kindly provided the following analysis: “The Sonata is clearly in a style which has been often called ‘international neo-classic’, and takes its inspiration from the keyboard music of Scarlatti, K.P.E. Bach, and Haydn. Integrated with these traditional elements are familiar twentieth-century materials and some slight references to jazz. A formal analysis of the Sonata runs as follows:
Allegro precisco — sonata allegro in D
Poco adagio — five-part song form in G
Minuetto — three-part ABA Minuet-Scherzo in B-flat minor
Presto — seven-part rondo in D.” [CS-217]
Art by Emma Kohlmann Harold Shapero - Sonata for Piano in D](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/kMyUA10f_yo/mqdefault.jpg)


![John La Montaine - Concerto for Piano and Orchestra
Concerto for Piano and Orchestra, Op. 9 (1958)
I. Moderately Fast — Decisive
II. Elegy: Andante [10:02]
III. Finale [18:21]
Karen Keys, piano
Oklahoma City Symphony Orchestra
Guy Fraser Harrison
John La Montaine, though known among his professional colleagues for a decade as a highly gifted pianist, came into national prominence as a composer only in 1958, when the Piano Concerto recorded here received its world premiere on November 25 of that year with Jorge Bolet as soloist and the National Symphony conducted by Howard Mitchell. The music had been commissioned by the National Symphony Orchestra under a grant from the Ford Foundation, and in 1959 the score was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Music. This CRI recording was done under the terms of a 1962 award to Mr. La Montaine from the American Academy of Arts and Letters.
The reasons for the deep impression made by the Concerto on both lay listeners and on critics and professionals is not hard to discover; for in common with his senior colleague, Samuel Barber, La Montaine has displayed in his music a flair for intensely dramatic lyrical utterance in combination with virtuosic effectiveness in the best sense of the word that makes for surefire listener impact. For a contemporary composer to accomplish such a feat in a large-scale piece, sticking within a relatively traditional frame-work, and avoiding the slightest taint of the meretricious is a feat of no mean order, and one attainable only by a composer whose stylistic persuasions are backed by a solidity of craftsmanship that has become second nature. In this connection, it is sufficient to mention that Mr. La Montaine’s training, after studies in Chicago, was received from such august institutions as the Eastman School of Music and the Juilliard School, as well as from Nadia Boulanger.
Regarding the musical form and content of Mr. La Montaine’s Piano Concerto, the publisher has supplied a succinct and valid summation: The Concerto affirms both the lyric and virtuoso capabilities of the piano. The first movement is bold and decisive, classic in form, romantic in content. The second movement is slow and introspective, rising to an overwhelming climax. It is an elegy in memory of the composer’s sister, Isabel La Montaine. The Finale, in quadruple meter, is brilliant, rhythmic and march-like, interrupted twice by an extended songful passage of great intensity in triple meter. All the thematic and passage material of the final movement is derived from the opening of the first movement. [CRI SD189]
Art by Xenia Hausner John La Montaine - Concerto for Piano and Orchestra](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/m_XDC2b1624/mqdefault.jpg)