This generous helping of the witty and charming music 
          of Percy Grainger has been lovingly put together by his compatriot, 
          the Australian pianist Penelope Thwaites, and excellent playing it all 
          is too. One has this image from Ken Russell’s film of the wacky Grainger 
          pushing Delius’s bathchair downhill at breakneck speed or charging through 
          the house to catch successfully a tennis ball he has just thrown over 
          the roof from the back to the front. Occasionally this music brings 
          such images to mind. But he was more than just dotty. The very first 
          track, The Power of Love, was written after his mother committed 
          suicide by jumping from a New York skyscraper in 1922, and is an intensely 
          moving piece of music, while the last of the three constituting this 
          suite is derived from folksong, a hugely important influence in Grainger’s 
          musical thinking. Such folksong arrangements continue in familiar English 
          vein as the disc proceeds. In the hauntingly grandiose Colonial Song 
          (with its interesting chords in its latter stages), and one senses a 
          desire to employ twenty-one pianos at the climaxes rather than just 
          one, with all those glissandi not really an adequate solution. To conclude 
          this CD there are three arrangements by Grainger (discreetly done it 
          must be said) of the music of three completely varied composers - you 
          cannot conceive of a more bizarre journey than from Fauré back 
          to Dowland via a very camp Flower Waltz from Tchaikovsky’s Swan 
          Lake. It is a nice touch for Ms Thwaites to bid farewell to her 
          listener in the last track with such a highly appropriate title, though 
          whether Dowland would have come up with some of those final harmonisations 
          is highly questionable. 
        
 
        
Penelope Thwaites is a formidable pianist, always imbuing 
          her playing with a colourful palette of mood and tone. Some of the works 
          are exceedingly complex (occasionally more suited to other versions 
          made by Grainger himself for two pianos), others notably simple. Not 
          all the songs were the fruits of Grainger’s collecting labours. Cecil 
          Sharp was, for example, responsible for the familiar Country Gardens. 
          But Grainger’s work in this field from 1906 onwards was both vitally 
          important and technically imaginative, notating precise rhythms of the 
          singers by slowing down the recording process using a phonograph, hence 
          the varying time signatures in the piano scores of these tunes. He even 
          goes so far as to ask the pianist to imitate an Aeolian harp in The 
          Knight and the Shepherd’s Daughter. Further eccentricities abound, 
          such as using the fist to play the final bars in Country Gardens, 
          which puts a new slant on Morris dancing. Occasionally one feels an 
          urge to call out ‘get on with it’ but once he does just that, the music 
          has that irresistible Graingeresque rhythmic swagger. Country Gardens 
          is an unbeatable tune (so too are Handel in the Strand and Shepherd’s 
          Hey), beautifully arranged, and impressively played here (Grainger 
          was himself a pianist of considerable prowess). In short, a highly satisfying 
          mix of familiar fare with less commonly heard music by this fascinatingly 
          original composer and strangely complex man. 
        
 
         
        
Christopher Fifield