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The programming alone is worth a medal of achievement in itself. Pianist Peter Friis Johansson has built a solo recital around American avant-garde composer John Cage's monumental, but very rarely performed, portal work “Sonatas and interludes” for prepared piano. It is a kind of tonal yin and yang music of sixteen sonatas and four interludes that draws inspiration from Eastern philosophy.

If you close your eyes, you might imagine that there are many more instruments on stage. So ingenious is Cage's concept of preparing the grand piano with screws, erasers and other objects between the strings to create percussion-like effects. In between, there are associations with both church bells and toy pianos, with both rhythmic and melodic figures to meditate on. Sometimes slightly annoying, but more often fascinating.

The fact that Friis Johansson manages to keep his concentration despite a couple of disturbing cell phone signals is in turn a wonder in this well-executed performance. Before the interval, he presented equally exciting sounds with rolled-up shirt sleeves. The composer Henry Cowell's “Three Irish legends” from the 1920s sometimes requires playing with the whole forearm. But these softly chiming clusters and masses of sound meet a melodic material with features of shimmering impressionism.

Cowell's musical mythological clash is an almost improbably beautiful and expressive synthesis of angular, clashing darkness and burgeoning light. Well found even as a precursor to Cage's prepared piano music. More easy-sounding, but still demanding in terms of playing, is Gävle composer Bo Linde's “Six Character Pieces”. It is secularly elegant music from the early fifties that has only recently been released on record.

Peter Friis Johansson is nowhere near as popular as next season's artist-in-residence Víkingur Ólafsson, but he is all the more interesting to listen to. He possesses both skill and obvious communicative qualities even in a boldly odd 20th century repertoire. In the hyper-commercial classical music industry, one can only regret that Swedish star pianists rarely have access to as effective a PR apparatus as their Icelandic colleague.

(translated from Swedish using DeepL)

The piano concerto - the bravura number with the soloist in front of the symphony orchestra - had its heyday in the 19th century. Franz Liszt launched Beethoven's “Imperial Concerto” as the matrix for the heroic version, while Chopin's piano concertos expressed the singable lyricism with the orchestra in the decorative background.

At this time, a talented pianist emerged in musically barren Sweden: Ludvig Norman. As a mere teenager, he was the first to perform a Mozart concerto (sixty years after its creation) and write his own piano concerto. Which no one heard - until now.

Peter Friis Johansson has long been exploring forgotten Swedish music. He found a brilliant piano concerto by Laura Netzel from the turn of the century, with a few lost bars that he was able to reconstruct. With Ludvig Norman's piano concerto from the 1840s it was worse - the whole finale was missing.

Rather than AI, Friis Johansson used his own creativity and insight. An odd sheet of music entitled “Fjälluft” was used to breathe life into the newly composed conclusion of the piano concerto. And the result is an outstanding addition to the Swedish 19th-century repertoire, which until now has only included two piano concertos by Franz Berwald and Wilhelm Stenhammar.

Peter Friis Johansson was also its elegant soloist at this world premiere in the Berwald Hall. Norman's D minor concerto usually rises above the salon level; though not original, it is nevertheless lyrical and captivating. I definitely want to be able to return to it - both live and on record.

(translated from Swedish using DeepL)

“Now Bo Linde is restored!” reads the press release from the ambitious dB productions label, which, after Grammy-nominated productions with, among others, Amanda Maier-Röntgen, is embarking on one of the most tragic composers of the 20th century: Bo Linde. Like many geniuses, he died young and forgotten in 1970, aged 37, in the hospital in his hometown of Gävle. Bullied by Swedish serialists in an uncompromising cultural climate that was then characterized by asceticism and public contempt. And, yes - if it was only up to individual musicians rather than concert hall program directors, Bo Linde would probably have been restored long ago. Not least the wonderful solo concertos for violin and cello, one wants to hear more often.

(translated from Swedish using DeepL)

Bo Linde! During his short life (1933-1970) he never had a real breakthrough as a composer. But the question is whether any of his more successful Swedish colleagues were as talented as he was.

On a new album, three superb chamber musicians - Peter Friis Johansson (piano), Ylva Larsdotter (violin) and Torun Sæter Stavseng (cello) - present as many works by Linde. Two of them have never been recorded before, and it is these two youthful works that fascinate me most.

The first movement of the piano trio unfolds from a tiny seed, unleashing violent forces but always maintaining its austere form - until the petals fall in the final bars. The second movement is a crazy dance that gets out of hand, but what takes my breath away is the way Linde then, instead of a bang-bang ending, allows the built-up energy to dissipate into ether.

The third movement could be called “The white clown's song” but gradually turns into a furious journey. Ridi, pagliacco! As the work fades out, the intensity increases. Even during the last floating note, I am on edge.

In “Six Character Pieces for Piano” Linde examines, even deconstructs, some of the bourgeois musical moods of the nineteenth century. (The movements are called things like “Salon”, “Pathos”, “Mondänt” and “Romantik”.) There is a latent social analysis here, but no rallying cry at all. It is more like Linde listening with the greatest interest to echoes from a distant time. Peter Friis Johansson plays with an acute sense of the values.

(translated from Swedish using DeepL)

The recent, better-late-than-never re-emergence of a startling number of accomplished female composers from centuries past has surely put to bed the indolent stereotype of male superiority in this field. Let me be clear; I am not suddenly adopting a stance which certain media commentators (and the odd right-leaning politician) might describe in the parlance of the day as ‘virtue signalling’. As a matter of fact I have long felt deeply uncomfortable about the debilitating resilience of patriarchal attitudes and systems which have persisted in the realm of classical music. Dare one hope that the day is nigh when they might crumble for good? To date there is little to suggest that posterity has overlooked a female Beethoven or Bach, but suspicions that the stature of many fine women composers has been deliberately diminished to the advantage of inferior men continue to abound. Nor should one always have to mention Clara Schumann or Fanny Mendelssohn (two figures whose reputations until recently were defined exclusively by their surnames) in this context; frankly give me the music of Louise Farrenc or Marie Jaëll any day rather than that of Heinrich von Herzogenberg or Théodore Dubois. Closer to home the adventurous, relatively experimental music of the likes of Rebecca Clarke or Elizabeth Maconchy always had to compete on a far from level playing field against the oeuvres of a large number of far less talented male contemporaries - readers can devise their own lists if they wish…

Two Swedish examples of women who have ‘come in from the cold’ are Amanda Maier and her contemporary, Helena Munktell. It is interesting to note that both women made their names in continental Europe, Maier in Amsterdam (after she had married the arch-symphonist Julius Röntgen) and Munktell in Paris. Whilst there has been a spate of recent recordings devoted to Maier, (mostly on the dB label – I think that the surviving movement of her Violin Concerto is especially fine) this enchanting SACD from BIS is only the second recording of Munktell’s oeuvre – its predecessor on Sterling included four lush examples of her immensely agreeable (and in the case of the Dala Suite, memorable) orchestral music and was originally issued back in 2005 (review).

The Dix Mélodies were published by Leduc as a set in 1900 but in her booklet note Christina Tobeck suggests they were written and performed as individual numbers over the previous decade or possibly longer. Two of the songs set original French texts by Amédée-Landély Hettich, a poet and singing coach who was a member of Munktell’s Parisian coterie. Hettich also translated the seven poems by Swedish writers in the sequence that the composer had already set. Armand Silvestre’s French text for the fifth song Cantilène already existed - Daniel Fallström incorporated the original words into his libretto for Munktell’s comic opera I Firenze. Fallström also wrote the original texts for the first two songs; Sérénade is serene and memorable, with a delightfully graceful vocal line, whilst Dans le lointain des bois is more austere and mysterious. One detects the influences of Faure, Duparc and even Chabrier (in Ce qu’entendent les nuits for example, a scurrying paean to nocturnal promise) throughout the cycle. Among the slower numbers D’un berceau and Exil d’amour are stand-outs and display the qualities of Sofie Asplund’s bright, silken voice to its best advantage, although she demostrates impressive agility and unfettered confidence throughout the cycle. This young soprano reveals abundant sensitivity to the texts themselves whilst Peter Friis Johansen’s steadfast accompaniment is tactful and discreet, nuanced and assertive as appropriate. On this showing whilst the French influence on Munktell’s art is obvious, her style is neither derivative nor obvious. Each of the songs inhabits its own world yet together the ten numbers comprise a convincing sequence.

Munktell’s substantial Violin Sonata dates from 1905 and marks a stylistic advance. It certainly leaps out of the speakers. As Christina Tobeck confirms, Franck’s great Sonata in A may be the obvious template, but Munktell’s conception implies a fully absorbed influence rather than a slavish imitation. Its four movements are perfectly proportioned and the sonata is generally sunny in disposition. It was premiered in 1905 by no less a figure than Georges Enescu at a gig organised by the prestigious Parisian Société Nationale de Musique. The Franckian influence is there in the open-hearted initial theme and the impassioned development of the opening Allegro non tanto. The second subject is reflective rather than melancholy and there’s plenty of sophisticated (rather Faurean) harmonic progression to be enjoyed in the fiery piano accompaniment. The second movement is described as a Scherzo Brusco, although the subsidiary marking Moderato Energico is a better reflection of a tuneful panel nudged along by lively sprung rhythms and varied with deft touches of tangy pizzicato. Munktell made a cut of 58 bars from the original in the version that was published; BIS helpfully offer the uncut version as an appendix to this disc. The slow movement projects quiet nostalgia rather than any sense of heartbreak – there’s a sense of emotional control (a touch of Scandinavian aloofness?) at play here which really suits this luminous music. Its closing pages prove to be unexpectedly touching however. The closing Allegro con brio oscillates between vernal optimism and affirmative action but still finds room for slower moments which are both ruminative and rapt. Violinist Tobias Ringborg proves to be technically assured and is an enthusiastic advocate for this fine work; he obviously holds a torch for Helena Munktell’s music – it was he who conducted the orchestral disc I mentioned earlier. Peter Friis Johansen is every inch the collaborator (rather than just the accompanist) in this elegantly made work. The BIS recording of both big works is clean and truthful.

Ringborg and Johansen are joined by cellist Kristina Winiarski for the Kleines Trio. Cristina Tobeck speculates that this is an early work; the French influence is certainly conspicuous by its absence which suggests it was probably written in Stockholm before Munktell embarked upon her Gallic adventures. The trio may be small in scale but compensates with its confident, melodic sweep which seems to owe something to Dvorak, most notably in the punchy finale.

The playing (and singing) on this rewarding issue is an absolute delight from first note to last. It’s blessed with the usual de-luxe BIS sound, recorded in what seems to be the ideal ambience of the Giresta kirka at Örsundsbro in Uppsala county the south-east of Sweden (it looks like an idyllic location from the image on the sleeve). For those who enjoy such things, the surround option emerges as vivid and impressively detailed, but this is chamber music and hearing it bouncing around the room still seems oddly synthetic for me – unlike BIS’s audiophile standard orchestral surround discs. Besides, the superb stereo (through my spanking new Dali speakers) is absolutely ideal for this music. This is a lovely disc, tastefully packaged, and it merits the widest currency.

French and feminine were a red flag for Swedish critics in the 1890s, and Paris was definitely a better platform for female composers than Sweden.

Helena Munktell, like her colleague Laura Netzel, enjoyed a considerable reputation in Paris, had her late romantic-sounding music published by French publishers - and played the piano both when Esther Sidner sang her songs in the Salle Pleyel, and when her opéra comique “I Firenze” was premiered in her sister's painting studio.

Classics alert for the irresistible Violin Sonata (1905), which takes its cue from César Franck's famous A minor sonata but combines sprightly Dala rhythms with heartfelt French melody. The songs are reminiscent in mood and harmony of Ernest Chausson and the early Fauré - and of the vocal splendor of the opera composer Jules Massenet.

Superb performances from Tobias Ringborg, Kristina Winiarski and Peter Friis-Johansson, and Sofie Asplund's light soprano and fine diction are perfect for Helena Munktell's Swedish-French pralines.

(translated from Swedish by DeepL)

The music of Helena Munktell (1852-1919) has been little exposed, at least outside Sweden, even with the new attention given to the music of female composers in the 21st century. The daughter of a well-traveled paper manufacturer, she was among Sweden's earliest female composers; she became a student of Vincent d'Indy in Paris, who admired and promoted her work. Munktell wrote orchestral music and an opera, but this is the first release to cover her chamber music. The Violin Sonata in E flat major, Op. 21, is the strongest work here, premiered by George Enescu. With its subtle touches of cyclic form, it takes after César Franck more than d'Indy, and its formal sophistication is caught well by violinist Tobias Ringborg and pianist Peter Friis Johansson. Also interesting is the Kleines Trio, presumably (because of its German title) written early in Munktell's career, before she went to Paris. Listen to its rhythmically bold and viscerally involving Andante espressivo movement. The Dix Mélodies, to French texts mostly translated from Swedish, are less distinctive but are given pleasant domestic performances by soprano Sofie Asplund. The chamber aspect of all the music is lost in BIS's rather chilly sound, but those interested in music by women and chamber music enthusiasts, in general, will welcome this fine release.

A red thread underlies this seemingly heterogeneous selection of Swedish works for piano and orchestra. It is Peter Friis Johansson’s commitment to, and championing of, Swedish composers. He has already devoted a BIS release to the music of Helena Munktell. Now, he turns to composers of later generations, two of whom I had not known.

Laura Netzel and her music must be new to many, so a bit of history may be useful. She was born in Rantasalmi in southern Finland but was brought to Stockholm when she was a year old. Being a woman made it quite difficult for her to make her mark on the Swedish musical scene of the time, more so because she was not content to compose songs and short chamber works. Her Swedish Wikipedia page shows an impressive list of works, among them this substantial Piano Concerto. She also had a predilection for French music, often suspicious to the generally German-oriented musical establishment. Critic and fellow composer Wilhelm Peterson-Berger went so far as to dismiss her as one of the “most domineering and French-mad patron saints of the Stockholm musical dilettantes”. Harsh words indeed. To complete the picture, the genesis of the concerto was far from straightforward. It is her largest composition, and she probably realised that the project was a bit too much for all her technical assurance. Clearly the piece was conceived on too wide a scope, so in effect it was never finished, and was never performed in its entirety.

There exist several handwritten versions of the concerto, none of them complete. The third movement ends rather abruptly after some 200 bars, despite the fact that the rest of the work is fully orchestrated. The final movement was performed in Paris and Berlin in a version for two pianos, but there were still doubts about how the conclusion of the work sounded. A number of technical weaknesses had to be put right, and much editing was necessary to produce a playable version. Klas Gagge of the Swedish Musical Heritage undertook this task. The more recent years saw two attempts at completing the concerto. Peter Friis Johansson plays his own reconstruction, in which he lets the work tie itself together cyclically. I think this is justified, since the music of César Franck hovers as a probable influence on much of the thematic material and the orchestration. Laura Netzel’s Piano Concerto remains, for all its weaknesses, a formidable piece of music of some considerable substance. It deserves to be heard, especially when played with such commitment and conviction as here.

The late Sven-David Sandström is much better known, since his music is regularly preformed and recorded. His wide-ranging output includes almost all genres: choral works including settings of the Mass (Freedom Mass and Ordinary Mass and Psalm), orchestral music, some eight concertos to which one might now add Six Pieces for Piano Trio and Orchestra as well as Five Pieces for Piano and Orchestra recorded here, and two large-scale choral-orchestral works (Requiem and High Mass). The Five Pieces were written at the request of Peter Friis Johansson, who also asked for a movement written as a cadenza of sorts that might be played separately. The composer agreed but eventually complied only partially, as I will explain in a while. Even so, the work lives up to its title and may be experienced as a suite of five contrasting movements which display various moods without any real link between them. Måns Tengnér in his informative insert notes writes: “It is as though the soloist […] faced with recurrent opposition seeks to twist dissonances and pain from the hands of a reluctant orchestra. In due course, there is room for increasing bright and diatonic colours, in sounds that constantly seek to rise in ever higher registers”. The work actually concludes high up in the air.

Now, a few words about the independent cadenza. It is to be heard in the third movement but in fact quite briefly, a minute or so. That did not dismay Johansson – “[Sandström] had used his prerogative to act on his own inspiration” – for this movement is full of surprises. It is literally at the heart of the piece. Be that as it may, the suite is a very fine piece of music, full of invention, with many arresting orchestral gestures. It amounts to a most satisfying whole, although some may find it less than the sum of its parts.

The third composer whose piano concerto is recorded here is Andrea Tarrodi, none other than trombonist, conductor and composer Christian Lindberg’s daughter. She also wrote her work for Johansson. The booklet says that her works are often inspired by natural phenomena. Indeed, the title of the fourth movement, Cosmic Nursery, refers to an occurrence when stars explode and stardust is created. Tarrodi’s First Piano Concerto has five movements framed by an introduction and a recapitulation that brings the piece full circle. The central fourth movement is dedicated to Andrea’s daughter Sigrid and to Johansson’s son Philemon. This is the first work by Andrea Tarrodi that I have heard. Her music sounds well written, with a sure sense of the orchestra. I would welcome any opportunity to hear more of it.

In short, this is a fine release, superbly played and recorded, and well up to the label’s standards. I must again mention Måns Tengnér’s notes, on which I have heavily drawn, especially as regards Laura Netzel’s concerto and her work in general. Well worth exploring.

Pianist Peter Friis Johansson presents an impressive program of Swedish piano concertos. All three have a direct relationship to the artist. The earliest is by pioneering female composer Laura Netzel. The other two come from the 2010s, but are very different in style.

Laura Netzel was a composer and pianist active in Sweden at the end of the 19th Century. Her only piano concerto was never published. It was lost for a while, but when found, it lacked the end of the third movement. Johansson completed the concerto. And he premiered the work in 2020 with the Royal Stockholm Orchestra.

This recording pairs him with the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra. And it’s spectacular. Netzel’s big melodic gestures rival Edvard Grieg’s. And though some sections have heroic grandeur, others evoke quiet contemplation. Johansson makes it all work. His performance is both enthusiastic and engaging.

Johansson commissioned Sven-David Sandström for a concerto. The result was “Five Pieces for Piano and Orchestra.” Sandström deconstructs the concept of the concerto. At times the piano and orchestra seem to be playing two different works. They seem to constantly interrupt each other in the process.


Andrea Tarrodi responded differently to Johansson’s commission. “Stellar Clouds (Piano Concerto No. 1) uses the piano and orchestra as a single entity. As the title suggests, clouds of sound swirl about, gradually changing and evolving.

In some sense, Johannson owns these works. Two were composed for him, and one he completed himself. His playing is flawless. And his expressiveness and phrasing vary with each work to match its style. And it’s the right choice every time.

A phenomenal collection of music that gives full reign to the artist behind them.

Although new piano concertos have been in steady supply recently, the new BIS Records album by the Swedish-Danish pianist Peter Friis Johansson and the Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra under American conductor Ryan Bancroft adds a nationalist angle by zeroing in on concertos by Swedish composers. Yet there is much variety among and within the three selections for piano concertos that span more than 100 years between the turn-of-the-century romanticism of Laura Netzel (1839–1927) and the natural-phenomena-themed, minimalism-tinged music of Andrea Tarrodi (b. 1981). Sandwiched between is the staggering last major work by Sven-David Sandström (1942–2019).

BIS Records, Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra, Peter Friis Johansson
Friis Johansson, who premiered all three of these multigenerational concertos between 2017 and 2020, revisits them here. He adopts phrasing that favors a well-articulated and sharply focused staccato touch, drawing out strong changes in temperament within each piece.

Sandström, one of Sweden’s most-performed composers at the time of his death, abandoned avant-garde composition in the 1980s and turned to neo-romanticism, Måns Tengnér explains in the liner notes. The Five Pieces for Piano and Orchestra fluctuate between the lush style that harks back to the 19th century and quicksilver harmonies that are subject to unpredictable changes. But Sandström maintains a cohesive through-line that ties the five untitled movements together, conjuring dissonances and dusky figurations between the piano and the ensemble.

Within the first minute, Sandström fashions bumptious percussion rolls, nervy brass, woodwinds, and strings, and a contrasting carefree piano part that gradually takes on a more assertive mood. Forte declamations and orchestral outbursts signal the end of each compact episode. The third movement opens with a dreamy, sunny short cadenza that displays Friis Johansson’s ease with the demanding passagework; he comes across as confident without being flamboyant. The mood changes with the entrance of a muted, foggy shimmer from the strings, against which loud pairs of notes ring out from the piano — an otherworldly, gripping sonority.

Esteban Meneses, Laura Netzel, Andrea Tarrodi
Swedish composer Andrea Tarrodi. (Photo by Louisa Sundell)
The roiling current of the jolting fourth movement segues into the stirring finale, emblematic of Sandstrom’s late-career pluralistic style. Tengnér notes that Sandström’s late works — including the Six Pieces for Piano Trio and Orchestra (2011), which prompted Friis Johansson to commission the concerto — are organized into what the composer called “pieces” of varying character. In the context of the full work, though, the pieces still function as traditional movements.

Stellar Clouds, Tarrodi’s first piano concerto, is also informed by past traditions, though it doesn’t shy away from contemporary and pop-minded hooks: the outer-space theme, with titles like “Star Formation” and “Constellations,” and a well-crafted minimalism. In the orchestral introduction, the strings billow repeatedly over two chords that are orchestrated in a way that elicits the grandeur of uncharted space. The piano enters on “Star Formation” — the second of seven movements — imitating in broken chords the harmonic progression of the opening.

In “Hypernova,” an eruptive brass motif delivers on the magnificence that the introduction promises, returning majestically in the finale. The introspective cadenza before the finale is modeled on Ravel’s “Ondine” from Gaspard de la Nuit; at first tentative, it later follows clear chord changes and rises to a clamorous theme with strong accents. The piece ends with solo piano, an intimate contrast to the celestial outbursts that came before. Stellar Clouds is a thoroughly engaging and accessible piano concerto — though never in a conciliatory way — that holds its own without the well-worn space theme.

Peter Johansson
Laura Netzel (1839–1927) in a portrait from 1863.
The most interesting thing about Netzel’s three-movement concerto is the completion by Friis Johansson, who wrote the missing 116 bars — roughly the second half of the finale — using sketches Netzel left behind. He takes a sensible cyclical approach, returning to the second theme of the first movement. In his own notes, Friis Johansson’s candid estimation is that Netzel “had much to express but, at the same time, [she] was not necessarily in full command of the seasoned composer’s complete toolkit.”

No point arguing with that, though there still are charming moments, like the turn to more intimate interplay between the soloist and single woodwinds — an oboe near the middle of the Allegro moderato, or a flute in the Lento — when the saccharine strings give way. Netzel otherwise tends to indulge in oversweet sentimentality. But then again, there are genuine Romantic swells, with transitions memorably punctuated by the harp.

At nearly 80 minutes — each piece around 25 minutes long — the disc packs in supreme pianism by Friis Johansson, sure-handed conducting by Bancroft, and an expertly recorded Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra, shedding light on three composers who might otherwise have gone unappreciated outside of Europe. And, with the historically informed completion of the Netzel, throwing in a bit of musicology for good measure.

Evidently a pianist keen to extend the repertoire through exploring its byways and extending its compass, Peter Friis Johansson demonstrates his intentions admirably with his new release of Swedish concertante works either only recently premiered or remaining long unperformed.

For over 120 years in the case of Laura Netzel’s Piano Concerto (c1897), which, despite at least partial hearings, was never finished. Johansson steers a secure course through its imposing if wantonly rhetorical Allegro, then draws no mean pathos from a Lento that is its undoubted highlight. His completion of the Presto makes cyclical use of the opening movement’s second theme as part of a majestic apotheosis, rounding off a work that almost vindicates its ambition.

The substantial and diverse output of Sven-David Sandström can seem to raise more questions than it answers, not least a late work such as Five Pieces (2017). Eliding styles and aesthetics across as well as between its constituents often renders formal cohesion at a premium, yet the gestural immediacy and tonal allure of these ideas afford a quirky continuity so that the whole becomes more than the sum of its parts – at least from the vantage of the inclusive final piece.

Those who have heard Andrea Tarrodi’s string quartets (dB Productions) will be aware of her acute sense of timbre and texture hardly less evident in Stellar Clouds (2015). Here the seven continuous sections invoke extraterrestrial or metaphysical associations through an inventive interplay between piano and orchestra: one whose often abrupt expressive contrasts meld with inevitability towards a balanced whole, with an evocative cadenza as its climactic focal point.

Johansson’s pianism lacks nothing in commitment or resourcefulness, not least as partnered by the Gothenburg Symphony with Ryan Bancroft. Those who have enjoyed his programme of Helena Munktell (3/21) should certainly investigate this engagingly assembled successor.

Three rare or new works for piano and orchestra, one fantastic pianist and a devoted performance from orchestra and conductor make this a recording out of the ordinary. The link is their soloist: Peter Friis Johansson has completed Laura Netzel’s turn-of-the century concerto and commissioned the works by Sandström and Tarrodi, premiering all of them in the last five years or so. Beyond this, they are all very different, and each has its rewards and also its drawbacks.

Netzel’s concerto is an intense, high-Romantic, Lisztian work with a currency of grand rhetorical gestures and occasional moments of searching lyricism. While the levels of musical inspiration and focus may not be quite strong enough to bring it rushing to a concert hall near you soon, it is an intriguing listen and its performers make the best possible case for it.

Sandström’s Five Pieces for Piano and Orchestra, is a thornier matter since this abstract piece is pluralistic in terms of style. It alternates a rewarding and original tonal idiom with incongruous passages of splashy atonality that continue for just long enough to overturn any sense of orientation, but not long enough to prove themselves fully worthwhile (the piano is trying to wrest back harmony from the orchestra, according to the background info). Both this and Andrea Tarrodi’s Stellar Clouds make reference to journeys of heavenly ascension; and Tarrodi’s is architecturally strong, with grand sculptural shapes and finely hewn effects of timbre and texture. Listeners must decide for themselves whether the astronomical titles are helpful.