By John Tamilio III

The not-to-be missed Symphonic Chronicles IV is a very welcome alternative to much of the atonal, modern classical music currently flooding the market.

The fourth volume of Symphonic Chronicles (Navona Records) features selections by six celebrated composers, and it is an aural-cinematic masterpiece. Its 13 tracks could be incidental music to a film score, as opposed to an assemblage of memorable, hummable, John Williams-esque tunes.

This collection features the eight-part Korean Dance by Richard E. Brown, brilliantly executed by the Moravian Philharmonic Orchestra. These are the shortest selections on this recording, averaging two-and-a-half minutes in length, the longest two registering slightly over three minutes. Presented on this compilation as two sets of four movements, Korean Dance is exquisitely episodic. If it were featured in a film, the music would be tasked with dramatizing the dialogue. These pieces, on their own, would fill the silver-screen handily with their own melodic power.

The instrumentation is superbly crafted. The opening of “Korean Dance No. 1” is robust and melodic. The horns, undergirded by a foundation of strings and the timbre of a xylophone, exude an Eastern European feel. This is not surprising, seeing as this orchestra has played “at renowned international festivals both in the Czech Republic and abroad.” Brown, who identifies as “Korean by marriage,” acknowledges his debt to Brahms, Dvořák, Grieg, and Bartók. The stately texture of this “dance” is propelled by the explosions of majestic horns. One imagines a colorful, enthroned contingent watching an intricate cavort that mimics the festive score, one that befits an epic saga.

Intimations abound in these songs. One can hear strands of Pachelbel and Copland woven into the fabric of “Korean Dance No. 3.” The theatrical trek continues in the fourth movement as conductor Pavel Šnajdr employs a pulsating tympani that propels the brass and woodwinds to explore a range of emotions in a little over two-and-a-half minutes: from the subtle and inquisitive to the robust and elegant, piloting the listener to a riveting finish.

Before delving into the second half of this suite, Symphonic Chronicles presents Svítání by Christopher Jessup and the London Symphony Orchestra (under the baton of Miran Vaupotić) and Idyll by Matthew Busse, also performed by the Moravian Philharmonic.

The latter, the longest track on the release (conducted by Jiří Petrdlík and featuring Patrik Sedlář on violin) reflects its name. Idyll is relaxed and reflective. One gets the sense of a character sitting on a porch, thumbing through an old journal, realizing that her choices, which may have seemed convoluted at the time, have gifted her with insight, peace, and purpose. The music is warm and green, intimating Mark Isham’s score to A River Runs through It. The protagonist travels to a familiar place — one she has never really looked at distinctly, but is perceiving again. The piece conjures up a dialectic made up of subtle hues and pristine tones.  Indeed, Idyll is deeply picturesque, drawing profound, melancholic emotions from this listener. It is a track I will revisit often.

Svítání (which means “dawn”) is highly pastoral. Jessup confesses that his “objective in writing this piece was not only to create a simulation of a sunrise, but also to emphasize the remarkable steadfastness of the rising sun.” Single piano notes steer the listener into a gathering of ponderous strings, with an inquisitive oboe lurking leisurely around the corner. It is basically a tone poem dedicated to expressing intimations of recognition. Its protagonist is having an epiphany, inviting curious listeners to assemble crucial sonic clues. A flourish of harp strings brings us into a new day (hence the title), where the mystery is sure to be solved. At the end, timpani signals victory, only to bring us back to where it all began — delicate strings and a single keyboard stroke.

Miran Vaupotić and the London Symphony Orchestra recording Christopher Jessup’s Svítání. Photo: Facebook

Though far more than a segue, Svítání and Idyll are thematically placed on this collection, leading to the remainder of Brown’s Korean Dance. In the fifth movement, the strings are more prominent as they conjoin with a brass arrangement — an exercise in articulation sans verbalization. The spontaneity the music conveys and inspires is exhilarating. If this is a dance, one thinks, it would take consummate stamina on behalf of the performers because its movements are so swift and agile. Whether the piece would accompany images of a ship surging through swells or a hero on horseback, its theatrical cues are vivid.

The remainder of Korean Dance (Nos. 6-8) are more reserved and reflective. A sonorous amalgamation of woodwinds and brass in No. 6 lulls the listener into a rich, expansive landscape with ample space to breathe. This is followed by dialogical instrumentation (No. 7) as the assemblage embraces a wide pitch-range in order to offer a compellingly meditative conversation. In the eighth movement, Copland’s influence returns: this joyous, grand escapade moves with a pronounced gallop, propelling the listener to saunter in unison with it. It is jubilant. It is sublime. If Steven Spielberg gets his hands on this….

Three tracks bring Symphonic Chronicles, Volume 4 to a close. Monhegan Sunrise is actually the second of Tom Myron’s three-part eponymous symphony. As the composer explains, this gorgeous, ponderous instrumental “is meant to both illustrate and evoke the sites, sounds, and sensations of experiencing a sunrise from the spectacular 150-foot northeast-facing cliffs of Monhegan Island’s ‘Blackhead,’ some 12 miles off of Maine’s rocky coast.” It is to music what Robert Frost is to poetry and Andrew Wyeth is to painting: capturing what is quintessentially New England. Vaupotić, conducting the Royal Scottish National Orchestra, encourages flautist Katherine Bryan to soar above this exquisite vista.

Vaupotić returns with the London Symphony to present Patrick Brill’s Scherzo for Orchestra, Op. 37. This lively piece sounds as if it hails from the Classical period. Strands of Haydn and Mozart are dispersed throughout what Brill calls “absolute music.” The composition is the result of meticulous work; in fact, it was crafted intermittently over a seven-year period. The composer’s fastidious and determined effort is evident.

The collection concludes with Peter Dickson Lopez’s Song of Thirteen Moons: I. Adagio performed by Peter Dickson Lopez with Šnajdr and the Moravian Philharmonic. The arrangement is ethereal yet measured. Highly impressionistic, the piece advances through the propulsion of lengthy phrases, insinuating the interstellar while radiating enigmas. The arrival of golden supplications inaugurates a segment of more pronounced brass-based elucidation. That structural move encourages the listener to meditate on its themes, only to interrupt the interlude with dramatic turns that come to a finale with lingering chimes.

Executive producer Bob Lord has provided audiophiles with a treasure-trove of gems, a welcome alternative to much of the atonal, modern classical music currently flooding the market.  Even the album cover is hypnotic. This is a collection not to be missed.

John Tamilio III, Ph.D. is the Pastor of the Congregational Church of Canton, a professor of Philosophy at Salem State University, and a professional guitarist who plays solo acoustic and for the Boston-based classic rock band 3D. His playing has been applauded by David Brown (Simon & Garfunkel, Billy Joel), Jack Sonni (Dire Straits), and Carter Allen (WZLX). An aficionado of classical music, particularly the Baroque era, Tamilio’s publications are vast, covering not only music, philosophy, and theology, but the poetry of T.S. Eliot as well. He resides in Beverly with his wife Cynthia.