The Seasons Daniel Levinson

James Oswald was born in 1710 in the village of Crail in Fife to John Oswald, a town drummer frequently jailed for drunkenness and public swearing, the younger Oswald quickly developed a talent for music. By 1734 he was active as a cellist, dancing master, and composer in Dumferline and Edinburgh. His early works, including a sonata based on Scots tunes, were published under two Italian pseudonyms, “Dothel/Dottel Figlio” and “David Rizzio.” A move to London followed shortly thereafter, where Oswald opened a music shop and became a music publisher in addition to his more creative endeavours.

The cycle of the seasons has been celebrated many times by composers, from Jean-Baptiste Lully (Ballet of the Seasons) to Alexander Glazunov, not forgetting Antonio Vivaldi and Joseph Haydn. In the 19 th century, composer-pianists such as Carl Czerny and Isaac Albéniz used the seasons as inspiration for keyboard pieces. Others imagined painting a little musical picture for each month of the year. This was the case for Fanny Hensel (the sister of Felix Mendelssohn) with Das Jahr (1841), for the French composer Charles-Valentin Alkan with Les Mois (1872) and for Tchaikovsky with his Seasons, which are undoubtedly the most famous of these musical calendars.

There are many different musical "Seasons" aside from Vivaldi's, and next to Haydn's oratorio of the same name, this is probably the most famous example. The complete ballet is of modest length–only 40 minutes or so–and the autumn "Bacchanal" contains what is probably the catchiest tune that Glazunov ever wrote. You'll probably think that you've heard it before, but can't quite figure out where. Neeme Jarvi is always at his best in big, splashy Romantic pieces, and this performance is no exception. He whips the orchestra up to a fine frenzy where necessary, and given Chandos's fine sound and a sensible coupling, you're in for some good listening.

Hungarian-born Sándor Veress (1907-1992) is a sadly neglected figure in modern music. Despite his pupilage under Bela Bartók and Zoltán Kodály, and even his succession over the latter as professor of composition at the Budapest School of Music in 1943, Veress has never attained the same international recognition as his two most successful compatriots. One might blame his preference for solitude or his idiomatic methodology for keeping him in obscurity. Yet as one who made the most of his outlier status and ideological exile, he seems never to have been one to wallow in self-pity. Exposed to much of the folk music that also captivated his mentors, Veress nurtured that same spirit when sociopolitical upheaval exacerbated his emigration to Switzlerland in 1949. Whereas Kodály in particular saw cultural preservation as central to the musical act, Veress saw it as an incision to be teased open and unraveled.