Francis Thorne’s 
                  1989 Concerto makes a real impression in this expert performance. 
                  Opening with a flourish – a real spiritoso drive – it draws 
                  on trumpet drama and efflorescence; bold, confident and brassy. 
                  There are hints of jazz in the writing, for soloist in particular, 
                  where Thorne alludes to Harlem Stride; at least that’s what 
                  it sounds like to me – a touch of Willie “The Lion” Smith expertly 
                  woven into the tapestry. There’s plenty of syncopation and counterpoint 
                  and listen from 4.00 onwards to a ravishingly beautiful theme 
                  and then again between 8.40 and 8.50 for some off-beat jazz 
                  percussion that sees us through to the climax of this invigorating 
                  and energising first movement.
                String choirs lead 
                  in the central movement, a reflective solo giving gravitas and 
                  thoughtfulness to the music-making. The finale is a propulsive 
                  toccata and the toughest of the three movements but one that 
                  dips into Thorne’s arsenal of delicious tunefulness as well 
                  – try the string cantilena from 3.10 on. His Third Concerto 
                  is a real find; try to get to hear it in this performance with 
                  Oppens a dynamic propagandist. 
                Sessions’s Concerto 
                  is now a half-century-old and its power and command have not 
                  faded. The delicacy of its opening is deceptive as it grows 
                  in force and builds through blocks of release, reprieve and 
                  renewed drive. The apex of the opening movement is however one 
                  of perfectly timed tranquillity and the kind of refracted Bachian 
                  procedures of the central movement – an Adagio of great concentration 
                  – are not untouched by the severe patina of the orchestration. 
                  The finale, as per Thorne’s much later work, offers a kind of 
                  syncopated toccata, one replete with a degree of pugnacious 
                  brass brutality alternating with solo piano writing of elliptical 
                  independence. Needless to say Robert Taub performs with considerable 
                  command of the unsettled idiom here, as elsewhere, and Paul 
                  Lustig Dunkel leads The Westchester Philharmonic - a name which 
                  sounds like one of those pseudonymous orchestras from 1950s 
                  LPs - with considerable distinction.
                Jonathan Woolf 
                  
                
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