I would associate the first disc in this two CD set of British 
                  Viola music with Lionel Tertis but the second is largely the 
                  province of later violists. John McEwen’s 1941 Viola Sonata 
                  is an attractive late work of his. His violin sonatas are more 
                  striking and exploratory but this Viola Sonata explores the 
                  Reel and aspects of melancholy well suited to the more plangent 
                  and deeper instrument. It’s a cliché that the viola 
                  accommodates such sentiments, but McEwen keeps things balanced 
                  via piano tolling, fanfare figures, dextrous folkloric fiddling, 
                  and a well calibrated mix of faster and slower music. His Improvisations 
                  Provençales were composed in 1937 and are written 
                  for the violin, the only time that Louise Williams wields the 
                  instrument on which she was first trained. There are six little 
                  sketches in a set that is strong on characterisation and Francophile 
                  watercolour. Breath o’ June is his earliest work 
                  here, written on the cusp of World War I, and it was a Tertis 
                  favourite. That violist’s recording of it is incomparable. 
                  
                    
                  The final work in the first disc is the major sonata in this 
                  set, Bax’s. I can’t be sure, but listening to this 
                  performance by Williams and David Owen Norris I would be very 
                  surprised indeed had they not listened to Bax’s own recording 
                  of the sonata with Tertis. Williams and Norris take what most 
                  today will find as explosive tempi, especially as performers 
                  have tended to take their lead from the later 78rpm performance 
                  of William Primrose and Harriet Cohen; the Tertis/Bax wasn’t 
                  issued until late in the LP era. The interesting thing is that 
                  the faster the tempo, the more strikingly modernist the work 
                  sounds. No one will ever replicate Tertis’ tempo for the 
                  first movement but this new recording, more than almost any 
                  that I have heard in the digital era, certainly shows how fluid 
                  phraseology, abrupt conjunctions and restless dynamism fully 
                  do the work justice. 
                    
                  The second disc presents works that will be novelties for many 
                  listeners. Elizabeth Maconchy’s tersely succinct 1938 
                  sonata is full of brittle energy, albeit often of the spare 
                  variety, and there are alternately hints of English folklore 
                  in the slow movement and Bartók in the finale. Gordon 
                  Jacob offers more fluent and elegantly turned pleasures, with 
                  an especially beautiful slow movement and a high-spirited finale 
                  which, unexpectedly, is then accompanied by contrasting melancholy 
                  and funereal tread, with piano tolling to the very end. Perhaps, 
                  not so very unexpected given the 1949 date of composition. 
                    
                  Alan Rawsthorne’s Sonata was written around the same time 
                  as Maconchy’s and shares some of its tensile qualities. 
                  It’s less likeable as a work, though its harmonic implications 
                  are very much more complex, and it strikes a decidedly knotty 
                  note at times. It’s testing for the viola’s intonation 
                  and it’s a testing work for a duo’s ensemble as 
                  well. It’s certainly the most intellectually demanding 
                  work in the programme, through Kenneth Leighton’s outstanding 
                  Fantasia on the name BACH is strikingly conceived. 
                  Its contrapuntal lines moves seamlessly, fluidly but rigorously 
                  throughout, and it represents one of the finest achievements 
                  of this release to bring it so imaginatively to light in so 
                  conspicuously fine a performance. One shouldn’t, however, 
                  overlook Robin Milford’s Four Pieces of 1935, with 
                  their fresh and charming lyric gifts. 
                    
                    
                  Jonathan Woolf  
                see also review by Michael 
                  Cookson
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