By Susan Miron

This is an album that I recommend heartily to anyone who enjoys exquisite music-making, stunning booklet artwork, and serious scholarship.

There is a great deal to admire and enjoy in bass-baritone Ian Pomerantz’s extraordinary new recording on Acis, Art Songs of the Jewish Diaspora, described by him in the album’s notes as “a story of stories, a project of remarkable composers, their lives, their music — and their people.” Focusing on a dazzling variety of poetry and music by 10 composers in six languages, the recording makes it abundantly clear that neither Israel nor the US was always at the center of Jewish music from the 19th century through today. Some of the composers here are rather well-known (at least in the world of Jewish music), including Lazar Weiner (1997-1982), Yehudi Wyner (b. 1929), Darius Milhaud (1892-1974), and Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco (1895-1968). Others are real finds, and the album supplies fascinating introductions to these lesser-known composers and the poets whose words they set to such poignant music.

Along with pianist Byron Schenkman (and lovely assorted appearances by cellist Sarah Freiberg), this unusual CD moves through a variety of languages and styles, from vocal numbers to solo piano or piano and cello pieces. This reviewer was touched to hear Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco’s rarely performed “Three Sephardic Songs” (sung in Spanish), which opens the CD. The same tune was featured on a CD I recorded (Harp Songs & Interludes) 40 years ago. Just as satisfying: the fact that so much on the disc was unfamiliar; it is a testament to the strength of Pomerantz’s wise choice of music. I have “listened” to so-called Jewish music for decades; this CD provided a look at composers I hadn’t ever come across. Even better, some really compelling music was accompanied by equally compelling backstories.

My favorite discovery on this musical journey through Jewish time, space, and melody was “Zol Shoynn Kumenn di Ge’ule” (May Redemption come soon, May the Messiah Come Very Soon), a rollicking dance tune (try getting this tune out of your head!) that serves as a pick-me-up for — no surprise here — a lament about how sorrow gives no one any rest. Everyone is sick at heart, and this generation is full of fools and sinners. May the Messiah not tarry!!! Pomerantz and Schenkmann outdo themselves in this spirited ballad.

Selections from Léon Algazi’s Six chansons populaires include the familiar “Hinné ma tov!” (Behold how good and how pleasing/For people to sit together in unity). Those numbers hand off to the Yiddish folk song, “Papir iz dokh vays” (Paper is white and ink is black — since you went away, I neither eat nor drink. I’m expiring).

“Dem Milners Trern” (The Miller’s Tears) was inspired by a sad Jewish subtext: “Who will care for me? I am already old and tired. The years disappear, and with them go the Jews.” Plaintively sung, beautifully played, the song sits on par with Schubert’s lachrymose “Schoene Mullerin.”

Lazar Weiner, often considered the Father of the Yiddish Art Song, was born in Ukraine. He is the father of Boston’s celebrated composer Yehudi Wyner. Weiner is represented by two songs: “Es brent, briderlech, es brent!” (It’s Burning Brothers, It’s Aflame), in which the piano delivers a frightening tremolo with the words “It’s burning, brothers, it’s burning! Our poor shtetel is burning.” The lyrics are from a poem that was written in response to the 1936 pogrom of Jews in the Polish shtetl of Przytyk. A second Weiner song, “Unter dayne vayse shtern,” draws on words from a poem by Abraham Sutzkever (1913-2010): “Under your white starry heaven/Offer me your pale white hand. /All my words are flowing teardrops. I would place them in your hand”; the tune is as bitter as it is beautiful.

Yehudi Wyner is represented by Psalm 119 for voice and piano, which was written in 1950. The tune was soon followed by a musical version of Psalm 66. They were conceived as a set. But here Psalm 119 stands alone, and the piece is receiving its first ever professional recording. Wyner described the mood of Psalm 119 as “penitential, yet hopeful … descending into an abyss of suffocating depression…. Overall, the atmosphere is intense and intimate, almost whispered and reluctant, as in a private confession.” This rendition is a must-hear for those interested in psalm settings, or in the music of this admired local composer.

Bass-baritone Ian Pomerantz. Photo courtesy of the artist

Famously known as a member of the French composers “Les Six,” Darius Milhaud is represented with two numbers. “Chant de Sion” is another text that is filled with horrors: It is neither dew nor rain,/ it is my tears that bedew /your mountains, o Zion./ It is neither fire nor sun,/ but our blood that reddens/ your skies, o Zion. (Text by Milhaud) and “Chant Hassidique,” based on the Passover Haggadah.

Henriette Bosmans (1895-1952) is the source for an enchanting cello and piano piece “Nuit Calme,” the central movement of her composition Trois Impressions, which was written for her lover Frieda Belinfante. A number of piano pieces by Joel Engel (1868-1927) are performed (eloquently) as they would be on your standard concert program — to give the singer a much-needed break.

If your heart hasn’t been completely broken before the album’s last two numbers, they might well finish the job. The first is a song with the alarming title “Ich wandre durch Theresienstadt.” Yes, that Theresienstadt. Ilse Weber (1903-1944) was a woman who accomplished just about everything — but survive the war. A Czech, Jewish, German-language poet, author, composer, and nurse, as well as a producer for Czech radio, she played balalaika and a host of other instruments. In this song she poignantly describes her feelings of homelessness: her heart is as heavy as lead, her path leads to the watchtower. In 1944, Weber asked to be deported with her young son. According to eyewitnesses, she sang, a cappella, “Wiegala” (a lullaby) to her son as they were being marched into the gas chambers at Auschwitz. A lone cello eventually accompanies Pomerantz on his march, then drops out. Unspeakably poignant.

“Wiegala” is a hypnotic ending to an album that I heartily recommend to anyone who enjoys heartfelt music-making, stunning booklet artwork, and serious scholarship. This is a recording that you want to listen to again and again.

Susan Miron, a harpist, has been a book reviewer for over 30 years for a large variety of literary publications and newspapers. Her fields of expertise were East and Central European, Irish, and Israeli literature. Susan covers classical music for the Arts Fuse and the Boston Musical Intelligencer.