In my mind, Michael Finnissy occupies an interesting position among composers of his generation. The massive and seemingly impossible piano works, both musically and notationally explosive works of art, invite inclusion with the so-called ‘new complexity’ school. But for Finnissy and the more interesting composers of that school, I don't think complexity was ever a goal for its own sake: to paraphrase a comment from Brian Ferneyhough, modernism can be seen as late-late-late Romanticism. This connection to Romanticism is brought into especial relief in this intriguing collection of pieces. Ranging over nearly Finnissy's entire career, from 1966 to 2022, these ten pieces are all limited to the instrumental forces of the Marsyas trio: piano, flute, cello, with a guest mezzo soprano. From their great chronological spread and instrumental consistency, the works are unified by a unique sense of lyricism. One wouldn't necessarily associate this composer's work with lyricism in general; it's a function of the curation. These works are predominantly ‘little gems’, or ‘B-sides’: two or three short movements exploring a mood or some technical procedure. The connection to Romanticism becomes self-aware as more than one familiar moment from Beethoven or a fleeting stylistic allusion makes its way to the musical surface. His vocal writing is particularly foregrounded in this collection of works, and not only when literally writing for the voice. The treatment of the piano, cello and flute all feature highly vocal moments.
The disc begins and ends with the eponymous work, Alternative Readings, from 2002, first as a live recording and last as a studio recording. The texture and discourse are constantly cushioned by a murky haze of low-register chords in the piano. The three instruments occupy different temporal spaces; generally there is a fuzzy quality to this music. Towards the end, Bruckner's first symphony is alluded to like a distant memory. Both the live and studio iterations were recorded with the same performers and, in a demonstration of their fastidiousness, the durations of the two recordings differ by only five seconds.
Oxford 1817, I is the earliest piece on the disc, dated 1966–67. Composed in his early 20s, it is a cycle of three brief songs, none exceeding two minutes. In their concision, brevity and material, they are very effective, demonstrating the haunting lyricism to be developed further in the later work. However, these pieces lack an urgency that the later work has. Mezzo-soprano Lotte Betts-Dean balances a generosity of interpretation with an incisive musicianship.
Botany Bay, for cello, alto flute and mezzo, demonstrates a unique formal quality to this music. Further developing the connection to Romanticism, the music is both freely organic and clearly sectional. The sections alternate two characteristics: on one side, microtonal gestures from the flute and cello writhe about, while on the other, a drone anchors the musical landscape for the mezzo's music to enter.
Blessed be I (1992) and III (1996) are both settings of the Sermon on the Mount. The first is from the gospel according to Matthew. It is very pretty music indeed. The harmonic space is a sort of white-note-only, very gentle gestural language – quite surprising to hear from this composer. Blessed be III, from the gospel according to Luke, for mezzo, flute and piano, contrasts heavily. The harmonic and gestural language is much sharper and more dissonant. But lyricism is no less present here than in the other work on this album.
The longest work and undoubtedly the centrepiece of the disc is Wisdom, commissioned by the Marsyas trio. While the rest of the music on the album is interesting for any number of reasons, it is simply lacking a sense of scope that one would associate with the Finnissy of English Country Tunes or The History of Photography in Sound. In Wisdom, a wide interval between the cello and flute like a tolling bell encases the singer's song. She sings about isolation, abandonment, loneliness. This piece was written during the COVID-19 pandemic lockdown. Finnissy has very effectively captured the condition of that moment in time. The lyrical style remains, as ever, as does the balance between free organicism and clear structure: there are very narrow transitions that one doesn't clock as such until it's too late. A stratum of history has been peeled away or bubbled up and suddenly the piano quotes Beethoven op. 111, movement II. This beautifully voiced root-position C major sonority emerges like a picture of tranquility. Then in a moment the music progresses elsewhere, different material is explored, then a new quotation has emerged or else a later part of the same Beethoven movement. This piece is a real journey.
The next seven tracks, Salomé, June and An den Mond, all display similar artistic qualities: maturity of craft, focused creative scope, the same set of instrumental forces. In isolation each is a lovely piece, but in the sequence of this album they unfortunately lose their definition. Salomé I, for voice and piano, features three streams of music stratified by register in a kind of awkward conversation with each other. The pianist's left hand converses with the right, the right hand with the singer and the singer with Richard Strauss. Salomé II works with a much more unified texture than its predecessor. Gentle pulsations in the piano give the impression of waiting. Similarly, June has a first movement built around a kind of unquiet waiting or striving followed by a plateau. It ends with a beautiful flute solo, the pay-off of the whole piece. The three movements of An den Mond feature new configurations of the same elements explored elsewhere: Schubert quotations, the same text set differently, a general feeling of waiting. Betts-Dean delivers a particularly strong performance in these pieces.
