Increasingly
                    prolific Roby Lakatos here explores the affinities, cross-currents
                    and musical symbioses of Gypsy and Jewish music. He joins
                    with the singer and actress Myriam Fuks, to whom Lakatos
                    pays fulsome tribute, and who was responsible for promoting
                    the newly arrived violinist when he appeared in Brussels
                    as a seventeen year old. Aldo Granato also plays a powerful
                    part and his accordion playing exerts its own evocative spell.
                    The Lakatos ensemble, now finely honed, naturally join them
                    as does less predictably the Franz Liszt Chamber Orchestra
                    and its leader János Rolla. 
                
                 
                
                
                There
                    is a deal of variety here. Lakatos plays a poignant obbligato
                    to Fuks’s vocal on Yiddishe Mame alongside some tenser
                    harmonic material before they edge toward an unbridled tango
                    that suits the accordion perfectly. Tango and a certain Parisian
                    feel warmly enclose Neshumele. And if anything demonstrates
                    the coalescence of musics and traditions it’s the Papirossen Suite,
                    a supposedly Jewish song but one that all the gypsies and
                    Hungarians know as their own. They play it thus as well,
                    a kind of bipartite arrangement with Lakatos first laying
                    on Jewish ardour, followed by a kind of bridge passage from
                    the chamber orchestra and then a gypsy ferment to end. 
                
                 
                
                One
                    of Laktos’s most impressive moments comes in his own Klezmer
                    Suite No.2, a co-composition with Ferenc Javori and full
                    of some burnished attaca playing. The violinist’s own Empty
                    Pictures is a wistful oasis, quiet and limpid. The jazziest
                    track is Hatikvah, an intriguing playground for the
                    guitarist Attila Ronto to stretch out. And Fuks’s most vital
                    vocal moments come in Budapest. Disappointment comes
                    in the shape of funk guitar in Yiddishe Hassene, an
                    aberration of some magnitude. 
                
                 
                
                Throughout
                    in fact I felt the chamber orchestral support merely added
                    a tissue of refinement and not much else. And to be blunt
                    this is not Lakatos’s most inspiring moment on disc, nor
                    that of his band, which sounds oddly subdued. The Gypsy-Jewish
                    nexus might have proved rather more fruitful had an arranger
                    really got to grips with the material and produced something
                    viably alive. Treating songs episodically, gypsy-style then
                    Jewish-style, is not really the most creative answer. Extending
                    things to include Tango diffuses the focus still further
                    and veers dangerously close to Piazzolla. The funk guitar
                    is an embarrassment. No one wants to box Lakatos into a stylistic
                    corner but here he is only variably convincing.
                
                 
                
                    Jonathan
                        Woolf