Schubert is unique among great composers in having written almost as much piano music for four hands as for two. Piano duetting was a popular pastime in his day, and the prospects for having such pieces published were far healthier than they were for solo piano music, particularly when it came to works of the ambitious scope Schubert wanted to write. Several of his most significant four-hands works had their origins in his two protracted visits to Hungary, where he was employed as music-master to the daughters of Count Esterházy von Galánta at his summer residence in Zseliz (now Zveliezovce, in Slovakia). When Schubert first went there, in 1818, the younger countess, Karoline, was a girl of thirteen, but when he returned six years later she had blossomed into a young woman, and by all accounts he fell deeply in love with her. Schubert may have intended the piano duets he composed at Zseliz for his two pupils to play together, or he may have taken one of the parts himself, thereby from time to time allowing himself a degree of intimacy with Karoline. In all likelihood, the players would have assumed the primo and secondo parts by turns—as, indeed, do Steven Osborne and Paul Lewis on the present recording.One of the four-hands works Schubert composed during his first visit to Hungary was a set of variations in E minor on a French song (D624). It was his first piano duet to appear in print, and its title-page bore a dedication to Beethoven. Schubert returned to the key of E minor, and to ostensibly French sources, for a larger work which he may have composed during his 1824 stay in Zseliz. The piece had a somewhat chequered publication history: its first movement was issued in the summer of 1826, under the grandiose title of Divertissement en Forme d’une Marche brillante et raisonée pour le pianoforte à quatre mains composé sur des motifs origineaux [sic!] Français par François Schubert. The remaining two movements appeared the following year, under a different opus number, as an Andantino varié and Rondeau brillant. In dividing the work into two halves the publisher no doubt hoped to increase his sales revenue, but also to disguise the nature of what Schubert must have intended as a large-scale sonata in three movements. Just how unfashionable such serious fare was can be seen from the fate of Schubert’s great Piano Sonata in G major D894, of 1826: although the word ‘Sonata’ was prominently displayed on the title-page of his manuscript, it did not figure at all in the first edition, which marketed the work instead as though it consisted of four disparate pieces.In the case of the so-called Divertissement sur des motifs originaux français D823, the adjective ‘raisonée’ in connection with the opening movement was the publisher’s only hint that the piece was a rigorously argued sonata allegro. The work is seldom played in its complete form, but its slow movement, the Andantino varié in B minor, has achieved the status of a self-contained item—understandably so, since it is one of the most perfect and beautiful of all Schubert’s duets. The inspiration behind it is likely to have been Mozart’s piano duet Variations in G major K501, which have a similar chamber-music intimacy, and in which—as in Schubert’s piece—the theme returns in all its original simplicity to round the music off. Among Schubert’s variations, the second, with its toy-trumpet fanfares, has a Mendelssohnian lightness and transparency; while the third presents a continuous pattern of semiquavers in seemingly effortless counterpoint between the players’ right hands. In the deeply expressive final variation the tempo slows, and the music undergoes a sea-change into the radiant key of B major. Rather than offer a literal repeat of each half of the theme, as in the first three variations, Schubert now presents elaborately ornamented quasi-repeats, so that this is in effect two variations rolled into one. From here, the music dissolves into an abbreviated reprise of the original theme, its unadorned nature highlighted by the intricacy of the music that has preceded it.On a larger scale are the Variations in A flat major, D813. They were composed in Zseliz in the summer of 1824, around the same time as the most ambitious of all Schubert’s piano duets, the Grand Duo D812. Reporting from Zseliz to his artist friend Moritz von Schwind, Schubert told him that the new variations had been greeted with particular applause there. ‘But as I don’t quite trust the Hungarians’ taste’, Schubert added, ‘I shall leave it to you and the Viennese to decide about them.’Schubert’s variation theme is a march whose salient features are an unexpected turn to C minor at the end of its first half, and the canonic imitation of the melodic line at the start of the second half. Both these characteristics leave a mark on the eight variations that follow. The third of them transforms the theme’s march rhythm into Schubert’s favoured dactylic pattern (one long note followed by two short), with the melody given out in contrapuntal dialogue by the primo player, while the secondo has a pulsating inner voice and a delicate pizzicato bass-line. The same rhythm pervades Variation 5—a melancholy and deeply expressive piece in the minor (the turn to the minor at the close of the original theme’s first half is now replaced with a corresponding change to the major); but even more haunting is the penultimate variation, whose chromatic harmonies convey an infinite sense of longing. This time the music turns not to C minor at the end of the first half, but to C major, in a passionate outburst of overwhelming effect. The extended final variation brings with it a change in metre that allows the work to come to a brilliant conclusion.The remaining pieces recorded here were all composed in the last year of Schubert’s tragically short life. The Allegro in A minor, D947 and the Rondo in A major, D951 were written in May and June 1828 respectively, and may well have been intended to form a two-movement sonata along the lines of Beethoven’s E minor Sonata Op 90. Schubert’s rondo is lovingly modelled on the lyrical finale of Beethoven’s sonata: his theme follows a similar harmonic pattern, and even the keyboard layout of its opening bars, with the melody’s initial phrase followed by a more assertive answer in octaves, echoes Beethoven’s. Schubert mirrors Beethoven’s procedure, too, by transferring the final reprise of the rondo theme to the sonorous tenor register, with a continuous pattern of semiquavers unfolding above it. But Schubert’s piece is far from a slavish imitation, and it can more than hold its own against Beethoven’s. Particularly beautiful is the manner in which one of the important subsidiary themes returns towards the end, surmounted by a shimmering pianissimo accompaniment in repeated chords from the primo player.The A major Rondo was published in December 1828, less than a month after Schubert died, but its A minor companion-piece did not see the light of day until 1840, when Anton Diabelli issued it under the heading of Lebensstürme (‘The storms of life’)—a catchpenny title that belittles the stature of what is one of Schubert’s most imposing sonata movements. Its turbulent opening pages meet their obverse side in the serenity of a second subject given out in the manner of a distant chorale which leaves any notion of storms far behind. The piece as a whole is one that makes dramatic use of abrupt silences—nowhere more startlingly so than at the end of its first stage, where the music breaks off in mid-stream, only to be followed by an unceremonious plunge into a wholly unexpected key for the start of the central development section. The development is entirely based on the opening subject, which is transformed in its closing moments into a delicately tripping passage that throws the explosive start of the recapitulation into relief.The origins of the Fugue in E minor, D952 were recounted by Schubert’s composer friend Franz Lachner:    In the year 1828, on 3 June, Schubert and I were invited by the editor of the Modezeitung [Wiener Zeitschrift für Kunst, Literatur, Theater und Mode], Herr [Johann] Schikh, for a country outing to Baden, near Vienna. In the evening Schikh said to us: ‘Tomorrow morning we shall go to Heiligenkreuz, to hear the famous organ there. Perhaps you could both compose a small piece and perform it there?’ Schubert suggested the composition of a four-hands fugue, which was completed by both parties towards midnight. On the next day, at 6 in the morning, we travelled to Heiligenkreuz, where both fugues were performed in the presence of several monks. Schubert, who was about to embark on the composition of his Mass in E flat major, D950, was much preoccupied with fugal writing during the final months of his life, and he subsequently used the same fugue-subject for an exercise in counterpoint which he prepared in the hope of receiving instruction from the renowned theoretician Simon Sechter. Although Schubert’s fugue is laid out for four hands, the presence during its closing stages of a long-sustained pedal-note in the bass indicates that he had the sound of the Heiligenkreuz organ in mind.Throughout his life, Schubert was fascinated by the challenge of welding the various movements of a sonata into a continuous and unified whole—much as Beethoven had done in the first of his two piano sonatas ‘quasi una fantasia’, Op 27. Schubert’s earliest surviving composition, written at the age of thirteen, is a Fantasie for piano duet; and the famous piano duet Fantasie in F minor, D940, composed in the early months of 1828, was preceded by two important works of a similar kind, both in C major: the ‘Wanderer’ Fantasy for piano solo, D760, where virtually everything arises out of the repeated-note dactylic rhythm of the song-fragment that forms the basis of its slow second section; and the Fantasy for violin and piano, D934, which also makes use of a pre-existing song.Behind the Fantasie in F minor, D940, lurks the shadow not so much of Beethoven’s Sonata Op 27 No 1, as of Mozart’s F minor Fantasia K608—a piece written for a mechanical organ, but which circulated widely, as it still does today, in the form of a piano duet. Like Mozart’s, the final section of Schubert’s Fantasie incorporates a fugue (Mozart’s fugue is actually a contrapuntally intensified reprise of a passage from his first section); but no less significant is the presence in Mozart’s opening Allegro of a hair-raising excursion into the distant key of F sharp minor. Schubert treats the same startling harmonic shift on a vastly expanded scale, setting both middle sections of his Fantasie in F sharp minor. Moreover, just as the two outer sections of his piece are related to each other, so too, in a more subtle fashion, are the slow movement and scherzo, with the harmonic progression traced by the Largo’s grandiose opening bars returning in an accelerated form to underpin the scherzo’s theme.The Fantasie’s opening melody, with its expressive agogic appoggiaturas, is a not-so-distant cousin of the theme from the slow movement of Schubert’s C major String Quintet, composed in the same year. Both impart more than a trace of Hungarian speech-rhythm, and appropriately enough, when Schubert submitted a list of his available compositions to the publishers Schott & Sons in February 1828, he informed them that the Fantasie was to be dedicated to Karoline Esterházy.At the time Schubert worked on his F minor Fantasie, Paganini was making his sensational Viennese appearances. In the slow movement of the great violinist’s B minor Concerto Schubert had, as he told his friend Anselm Hüttenbrenner, ‘heard an angel sing’; and he tried to reproduce the effect, complete with a quasi-portamento, in the Fantasie’s slow movement, at the point where the forceful opening theme, in a sharply ‘dotted’ rhythm, gives way to the radiant calm of the major. When the initial theme returns, it does so at first in a distant pianissimo, as though it had been cowed into submission by the warmth of the violin-like melody; but the moment is short-lived, before the austere grandeur of the movement’s beginning is restored.The scherzo’s trio is a delicate piece in D major, but it had not always been so: Schubert’s sketches show that he planned to alternate the scherzo itself with a march, and to have each section appear twice. His instinct to make the whole design more compact was surely right; and at the end of the da capo a dramatic switch of key and an abrupt silence prepare the return of the Fantasie’s opening melody in dramatic fashion.The final section offers a substantial reprise of the work’s beginning, after which Schubert clearly needs to intensify his material in order to wind the piece up satisfactorily. His solution is to present the opening section’s march-like second theme in the guise of a double fugue. As the fugal section reaches its climax, the music is dramatically broken off, as though to renew the link between scherzo and finale. Once more, the silence is followed by the work’s opening theme, but this time the melody is presented in a new, chromatically enhanced harmonization that lends it added poignancy; and the chromatic guise is picked up in the work’s final bars—a cry of anguish that rises to a peak before sinking down onto a long-sustained final chord.

• Wykonawca Lewis Paul , Osborne Steven
• Data premiery 2010-08-01
• Nośnik CD

Chabrier’s extraordinary, if incomplete, opera is surely a precursor to Salome and approaches even that most lurid work in the gloriously opulent sensuality of its music. Performed at the Edinburgh Festival by some of the greatest singers of the day and recorded live by Hyperion, this thrilling performance stunned critics and public alike. A genuinely wonderful discovery.Goethe referred to his ballad Die Braut von Korinth (‘The Bride of Corinth’) as his ‘vampire poem’. It is true that there is a macabre element in it strong enough to have upset some of the more seriously inclined of the poet’s contemporaries, who felt that a great mind like his ought to have been devoted to higher things. But there are higher things in it too, the most interesting of which, from an operatic point of view, is the rudimentary Liebestod at the end: to be united at last in the marriage denied them in life, the blood-sucking bride and her bridegroom victim are consigned at her command to the flames of the funeral pyre. Their fate—in a Corinth split between converts to the new Christian religion of self-denial and adherents of the pleasure-loving gods still in place on Olympus—symbolizes to a bizarre extreme the rift in civilization as one faith declines and is replaced by another.In the hundred years between the publication of Die Braut von Korinth and the first (posthumous) performance of the one complete act of Chabrier’s Briséïs, Goethe’s ballad had become a minor cult with French writers and composers. Camille du Locle had adapted it as the libretto for Duprato’s La fiancée de Corinthe, which was produced at the Paris Opéra in 1867; Anatole France had written a verse drama Les noces corinthiennes, a frank celebration of paganism, in 1876 (Henri Büsser made an opera of it forty-six years later); and Ephraïm Mikhaël had collaborated with his symbolist colleague Bernard Lazare on a ‘dramatic legend’ in three acts, La fiancée de Corinthe, which appeared in Paris in 1888.By the time Chabrier got to work on the story the Liebestod element had become the principal and culminating feature. The vampire had disappeared, to be replaced by a bride who returns from the dead to claim her long-promised husband, as in Goethe’s ballad but now with no predatory intent. Both these developments had been made in Mikhaël and Lazare’s La fiancée de Corinthe which, though the structure was to be reshaped and the names of the characters changed, is clearly the basis of Briséïs. A significant refinement in the opera—introduced, presumably, by Catulle Mendès—is that the Christian-convert mother condemns her pagan daughter to a life of chastity as a bride of Christ not merely to save her own skin but so that she might continue to pursue her missionary work among the unconverted Greeks. Most important of all, the lovers’ union in death at the end of Briséïs inspires a reconciliation between the conflicting elements of Christianity and paganism.The background to the three-way collaboration between Mikhaël, Mendès and Chabrier is obscure but it is not difficult to work out what must have happened. It is surely not coincidental, for example, that Chabrier’s first recorded reference to the Briséïs project was made in 1888, the year in which Mikhaël and Lazare’s La fiancée de Corinthe was published in Paris—with a dedication to none other than Catulle Mendès. The likelihood is that Mendès saw the operatic potential in the ‘dramatic legend’, proposed to Mikhaël that they should collaborate in creating a libretto on the same subject, and suggested the idea to Chabrier. Certainly, it was in April 1888 that the composer wrote to Ernest Van Dyck (the Belgian tenor whom Chabrier had coached for the first Paris performance of Lohengrin in 1887 and who was now much in demand for Wagnerian roles in Germany) to tell him that although ‘I don’t yet have the libretto of my dreams, we are working on it and—big secret, keep quiet about it, you alone know this—it will be by Catulle Mendès, who is the only man capable of setting up a real lyric drama.’If Chabrier over-estimated Mendès’s literary abilities he was not alone among his contemporaries in doing so. Debussy was to see through the fashionable reputation to the (as Dukas later described it) ‘Parnassian bric-à-brac’ underneath when he abandoned his ill-advised collaboration with Mendès on Rodrigue et Chimène in 1892. But Chabrier was quite happy with the ‘very beautiful verse’ Mendès had written for Gwendoline, their first operatic project, and he was confident that Briséïs—which he described as ‘a paraphrase in three acts and four tableaux of Goethe’s ballad The Bride of Corinth’—would be ‘tender, poignant, super-passionate’.Declaring that his score would be the last word in modernism, Chabrier confessed that he did not know if it would be French but he was sure it would not be Wagnerian. ‘I try to inoculate myself with the aesthetic of the man of bronze’, he said, ‘but never with his music.’ In fact his music is harmonically ten years ahead of its time and is very French except where it is too plainly reminiscent of Wagner, which is mainly in the more dramatically significant modulations and in the shape of some of the leitmotifs.In August 1888 Chabrier reckoned that it would take him sixteen months to get to the end of Briséïs. Six years and one month later he died having completed the first act and leaving no more than a few variably decipherable sketches for later episodes in the opera.There are many reasons for Chabrier’s failure to achieve what he regarded as the climax of his life’s work. There were early delays caused by Mikhaël’s apparent unwillingness to get on with it, which the composer found intolerably irritating (although, had he known that the unfortunate poet was to die at an early stage in their collaboration, at the age of twenty-four, he would obviously have been more understanding). Chabrier had money worries at this period too: so, although he was a hopeless teacher, he had to give lessons and devote time to writing music which he could readily sell—hence the composition of some of his most delightful mélodies, including a setting of Mikhaël’s L’île heureuse and the farmyard songs to words by Edmond Rostand and Rosemonde Gérard. He had to keep travelling to Germany where, thanks largely to the efforts of Felix Mottl, his operas were far more in demand than they were in France. His wife’s already delicate health was deteriorating. Most distressing of all, his old nurse, Nanine, of whom he was inordinately fond and who had lived with him all his life, died in 1891, leaving him unable to work for months on end.He could probably have coped with all that but for the basic problem that, at the same time as he was making a supreme effort to expand his creative resources, his final illness was inexorably contracting them. On a visit to Bayreuth in 1889 he had seen Parsifal for the first time and (with Van Dyck ‘quite extraordinary’ in the title role) found it overwhelming: ‘One comes out after each act absolutely overcome with admiration, bewildered, distraught, with tears running down one’s cheeks.’ If he did not at first have Parsifal-esque ambitions for Briséïs he certainly had by now. But, as he forced himself to work on a structural and moral scale he had never previously envisaged, the paralysis associated with the terminal stage of syphilis was advancing on him.Even as he finished the first act Chabrier seemed to sense that he would not get much further: ‘Mottl could perform the first act, which I finished orchestrating the day before yesterday’, he wrote to Van Dyck in Germany on 29 September 1890. ‘I have worked my guts out’, he added inelegantly but ominously. He played what there was of the work to his friends in Paris and left for his country retreat at La Membrolle in Touraine ‘to hide himself away like a sick animal’.It was not until the end of March 1894—after a period of years spent mainly at La Membrolle where he could scarcely bear to let the score of his ‘dear Briséïs’ out of his sight—that he finally gave up and got Vincent d’Indy, the best-equipped among his composer friends, to undertake to finish the work for him. When eventually called upon to do the job, however, d’Indy, for all his good intentions, had to extricate himself from his promise. He was dismayed to find that what he had been led to believe would be just a matter of orchestration would really be a labour of composition from a few fragmentary sketches; and, anyway, he could not possibly work with Mendès’s libretto.Chabrier’s heirs had no more luck with Antoine Mariotte, Alfred Bruneau, Claude Debussy, Georges Enescu or Maurice Ravel, all of whom were invited to complete the work at one time or another. But, as the composer himself was aware and as d’Indy so wisely pointed out, ‘what there is of Briséïs can be perfectly well played and sung in concert and will be very interesting in that form’. The first act was, in fact, introduced to the world by Charles Lamoureux at a Chabrier memorial concert in Paris on 31 January 1897. The first staged performance took place in Berlin in January 1899 under the direction of none other than Richard Strauss (who seems to have remembered something of the work when he came to write his Salome) and the first Paris Opéra production opened four months later.Scene oneIn spite of his large-scale structural ambitions in Briséïs, Chabrier still preferred to construct his scenes as a succession of separable (if not exactly separate) numbers. While rejecting Wagnerian ‘declamation’, which he considered very boring, he insisted nonetheless on threading a Wagnerian network of leitmotifs through his orchestral textures. As he confessed, it was ‘a long and meticulous job’ involving the ‘twisting and torturing’ of themes which he was determined not to present in a string of literal repetitions.Whatever the problems, Chabrier’s motivation rarely seems anything but spontaneous. There is an appealing freshness, for example, in the rising and falling sixths of the serene sailors’ song at the beginning, and the ‘Briseis’ motif—introduced by the strings at the point where Hylas first mentions her name and then repeated in all kinds of variants before her first appearance—is as graceful as it is brief. The painful message of the harmonies associated with Briseis’s first mention of her sick mother is clear from the first tritone. On the other hand, which god it is—Olympian or Christian—who has given Thanasto temporary relief from her illness and who is briefly represented by a firmly diatonic melody in the orchestra, is not made clear at this point. Hylas’s invocation of Eros, the intervals of his vocal line gradually expanding over an ostinato of bounding octaves, is an extraordinary expression of pagan energy.Scene twoOne of the more Wagnerian of Chabrier’s motifs is the one which, striding up from the bass in fifths and fourths, accompanies the vows of Hylas and Briseis as they swear by ‘l’auguste Kypris’ (or Aphrodite) to love each other until their very last days. More characteristic of Chabrier, and even more significant dramatically, is the legato three-note descending phrase associated with Briseis’s apparently eccentric but actually ominous insistence that love must survive beyond death and into the tomb. Echoes of the lovers’ joyous anticipation of their wedding day—Briseis singing from the shore, Hylas from the ship—are combined with a varied repeat of the sailors’ song as they set sail again. Several of the foregoing themes are reviewed in the orchestral interlude accompanying Briseis’s reflections as she is left alone at the end of the scene.Scene threeThe suffering tritones reappear at the beginning of the third scene, both in the orchestra and in the choral exclamations of ‘Hélas!’. One or two other painful motifs associated with Thanasto contrast most effectively with the tenderness of the melody symbolizing the daughter’s love for her mother as Briseis first addresses Thanasto in ‘Mère, qui me portais …’ But the most memorable melody of the scene—and potentially one of the main themes of the opera—is the triumphant march tune which, in her missionary zeal, Thanasto twice sings to the words ‘Pour qu’au jour des moissons superbes’. If the presence here of a clear echo of the Chanson de l’alouette from Le roi malgré lui is frustratingly puzzling, the significance of a new vow motif in descending minor thirds, introduced as Briseis promises to give her life to save her mother, is all too clear.Scene fourThe last scene—Chabrier’s supreme creative effort—begins with an orchestral development and choral apotheosis of a simple diatonic theme briefly anticipated earlier and associated now with Apollo. The Catechist enters with his own motif in a fanfare of trumpets and prays for Thanasto in Gregorian chant. But far from insisting on the difference between them, Chabrier combines the Christian and Apollonian themes in a grandly ecumenical orchestral gesture. So the way is prepared for the eventual reconciliation between faith in the Olympian gods, now invoked with crown-imperial harmonies by Stratocles, and the radiant Christian message of the Catechist. There is no prospect of reconciliation of the dilemma facing Briseis, however. After a conflict between the motifs representing the two vows, her own to Hylas and her mother’s to God, she is compelled to comply with the latter and is banished to a life of chastity, accompanied by the melody representing her love for her mother and the latter’s triumphant march theme.In his pleasingly affectionate but often misleading little book on Chabrier, Francis Poulenc gives a brief (and inaccurate) description of the events so far and adds, ‘I do not know what would have happened in the following acts’. But it is all there in the libretto, which was published complete (with the vocal score of the first act) in 1897. Once she has made the Christian vows necessary to save her mother, Briseis kills herself and then calls upon Hylas to join her in the nuptial grave—which, after breathing in the deadly scent of the flowers she offers him—he joyously does, to the wonderment of Christians and pagans alike.This recording is of a concert performance given in Usher Hall during the 1994 Edinburgh Festival—the first performance ever in Britain, and the first for a long time anywhere.

• Wykonawca Rodgers Joan , Padmore Mark
• Data premiery 2012-07-01
• Nośnik CD

Tracklista:1. Flow, my tears, fall from your springs, for 2 voices & lute (Second Book of Songs) 4:052. Fantasia, for lute in G minor, P 7 5:043. Solus cum sola, pavan for lute, P 10 4:394. Come again, sweet love doth now invite, for 4 voices & lute (First Book of Songs) 2:185. Mr John Langton's Pavan, for lute, P 14 4:196. Round Battle Galliard, for lute, P 39 2:537. Say, Love if ever thou didst find, for 4 voices & lute (Third Book of Songs) 2:088. The Most Sacred Queen Elizabeth, her Galliard (Katherine Darcy's Galliard), for lute, P 41 1:229. Semper Dowland semper dolens, pavan for lute, P 9 4:1510. All ye whom love or fortune hath betrayed (First Book of Songs), for 4 voices & lute 4:2311. The King of Denmark, his Galliard, for lute, P 40 1:2412. Lady Laiton's Almain, for lute, P 48 1:2513. The Right Honourable Lord Viscount Lisle (Sir Robert Sidney, his galliard), for lute, P 38 (A Musical Banquet) 2:4114. In darkness let me dwell, for voice, lute & bass viol (A Musicall Banquet) 3:3915. Lachrimae, for lute, P 15 5:2516. I saw my lady weep, for 2 voices & lute (Second Book of Song) 5:2717. Burst forth, my tears, for 4 voices & lute (First Book of Songs) 4:2118. Farewell Fancy (Chromatic fantasia), for lute, P 3 6:38

• Wykonawca Various Artists
• Data premiery 2009-01-01
• Nośnik CD

Tracklista: LP 1 1. First Floor 2. Second Floor, Room 201 3. Second Floor, Room 202 LP 2 1. Seun's Room

• Wykonawca Karkhana
• Data premiery 2017-12-01
• Nośnik Płyta Analogowa

SPECIAL LIMITED COLLECTORS EDITION 1. I CANT HOLD BACK 2. HIGH ON YOU 3. FIRST NIGHT 4. THE SEARCH IS OVER 5. BROKEN PROMISES 6. POPULAR GIRL 7. EVERLASTING 8. ITS THE SINGER NOT THE SONG 9. I SEE YOU IN EVERYONE 10. THE MOMENT OF TRUTH

• Wykonawca Survivor
• Data premiery 2010-11-29
• Nośnik CD

Tracklista:1. I'm in Love2. Thin Air3. Hold On4. The Darkest Part of the Night5. I Have Nothing More to Say6. I Was Beautiful When I Was Alive7. The First Sight8. Live in the Moment9. Steady State10. It's a Sign11. With You12. Connected With Life

• Wykonawca Teenage Fanclub
• Data premiery 2016-09-09
• Nośnik CD / Album

Tracklista:1. First Light2. Explosive Colour3. Wonder and Delirium4. Escapism5. Dusk6. Desert Haze7. Cold Moon Rise8. The Bejewelled Sky9. Drift (An Interlude)10. Sleep Dance11. Lone Whale Song12. Dream in Paralysis

• Wykonawca Wicked Snakes
• Data premiery 2014-11-24
• Nośnik CD

Tracklista: CD 1 1. The First Meeting With The Railway 2. The First Meeting With Mr. Perks 3. The First Meeting With The Old Gentleman 4. Befriending The Russian Writer 5. The Landslide 6. Perks' Birthday Party 7. The Truth Is Uncovered 8. The Paper Chase Rescue 9. A Surprise Visitor 10. A Happy Homecoming CD 2 1. The Railway Children Overture 2. Roberta's Theme 3. Mother's Theme 4. The Robbers 5. The Paper Chase 6. A Kindly Old Gentleman 7. Perks Must Be About It 8. The Birthday Waltz 9. The Railway Children Finale 10. More Than Ever Now

• Wykonawca Johnny Douglas and his Orchestra
• Data premiery 2005-10-10
• Nośnik CD / Album

Tracklista: CD 1 1. Introduction 2. Circus 3. Interview 4. Blackbird 5. Interview 6. Saturday Night in Toledo, Ohio 7. Interview 8. Molly 9. Interview 10. Yellow Cat 11. Interview 12. Catch Another Butterfly 13. Interview 14. The Last Thing On My Mind 15. Interview CD 2 1. Me and My Uncle 2. Conversation 3. Starwood in Aspen 4. Conversation 5. Poems, Prayers and Promises 6. Today Is the First Day of the Rest of My Life 7. Follow Me 8. Conversation 9. Gospel Changes 13. Trolley Car Ride 10. Conversation 11. My Old Man 12. Conversation 14. Conversation 15. America the Beautiful 16. Conversation

• Wykonawca Denver John
• Data premiery 2014-04-28
• Nośnik CD

Among the many child prodigies that have made their mark in the history of music, Felix Mendelssohn is, along with Mozart, possibly the most impressive. By the age of fifteen he had already composed 13 string symphonies and a number of concertos, and his first ‘proper’ symphony was not far away. He wasn’t just highly productive, however – his contemporaries already recognized the high quality of the works he produced: ‘Felix Mendelssohn composes with the greatest conceivable ease and with inextinguishable abundance of spirit, the most difficult pieces…’ wrote a German reviewer in 1822. Both pieces recorded here were composed with Mendelssohn’s friend and violin teacher, Eduard Ritz, in mind. Felix himself premièred the Double Concerto in D minor with Ritz in May 1823 at one of the famous Sunday concerts at the Mendelssohn residence in Berlin, but except for a second outing later the same year, the work remained unperformed until 1957. Here the piano part – in turn quick-silvery and lyrical – is defended by the Russian-born pianist Polina Leschenko, making her first appearance on BIS. She is partnered by Richard Tognetti, artistic director and leader of the Australian Chamber Orchestra.  Tognetti also leads seven of his colleagues from the ACO in the String Octet in E flat major, which Mendelssohn composed as a birthday present for Eduard Ritz. Written two years after the concerto, the octet only received its first public performance in 1836 but quickly became immensely popular. Although it belongs to the genre of chamber music, Mendelssohn himself underlined that it was to be played ‘in symphonic orchestral style by all the instruments’. He also explored the orchestral potential of the work at a performance of his Symphony No.1 in 1829, replacing the symphony’s minuet with an expanded arrangement of the Octet’s scherzo.

• Wykonawca Leschenko Polina , Tognetti Richard
• Data premiery 2013-03-01
• Nośnik SACD