Five stars: This is the starkest of music, but somehow one emerges changed – for the better - from this disc

Inextricably linked since their meeting at the Moscow Conservatory, husband and wife Dmitri Smirnov and Elena Firsova have both made a considerable impression on the contemporary musical scene over the years.
Smirnov’s Abel was written in 1991; the title refers to the Biblical Abel, and there is a specific source of inspiration in William Blake’s 1936 paining, The Body of Abel as found by Adam and Eve (which is kindly, and usefully, reproduced in the booklet). Smirnov was saturated in Blake (he translated the poems into Russian, with commentary). The present piece was written in late 1991, and was one of Smirnov’s first works composed in England (the couple lived in St Albans); it was premiered on June 23, 1992 at the St Magnus Cathedral, Orkney (part of the St Magnus Festival that year). The four figures in the paining are each represented by an instrument (Abel is the clarinet, Eve, the violin, Adam, the cello, and Cain, the piano, with each allocated a motif). From such small forces, Smirnov is able to vividly portray the horror of the scene, and in particular, Cain’s horror. The imagination on the part of the composer is vast; this is effectively a canvas in music. The performance honors the work perfectly (it seems to sit alone in Smirnov’s discography so far): Jonas Frølund has ultimate control over his clarinet, Manuel Esperilla is the pianist; Christine Pryn is superb in the upper reaches of her violin, and John Ehde is the fine cellist. Smirnov’s score explores the gamut of sound available, and hovers sometimes on silence. This has the aura of a live performance; splendid.
A recently premiered piece (2019), to be or not to be ... is based on Hamlet’s famous speech. It was commissioned by the Rudersdal Chamber Players and its inspiration is a nod to their native Denmark. Scored for piano quartet, there are references to Messiaen’s Quatuor pour le fin du temps (specifically, “Louange à l'immotalité de Jésus,” its pulsings disembodied and deconstructed. The viola part, played here so eloquently by Maria Stockmarr Becker, takes the lead, and is often based syllabically on Shakespeare’s text. Darkness rules: pitch black low piano sonorities enshroud the viola’s “lines” (pun intended); upper string pizzicatos take on a macabre quality analogous to late Shostakovich. This is a glorious darkness, one to find true oblivion in; like late Shostakovich, there is no obvious window though which light can pass. Some of the imitations have the aura of Beethoven about them and indeed seem to stive upwards towards life (part of the dichotomous, even liminal, nature of the titular question). Smirnov himself references Beethoven’s “Muß es sein?" and its translation into music as a reference point for his “translation” of Shakespeare.
Wot, another four seasons? But not just any four seasons: Elena Firsova’s Second Piano Quartet is based on the specifically English seasons. She refers to a “mild” Winter (ha!; not in my experience), a beautiful Spring (possibly an over-generalization), a short Summer (she missed out the full form, “microscopically short”) and a “rather sad Autumn”. The last is right. I jest about my home county, of course (but only a little). And it is the musical results that count. “Winter” does sound like a laden affair. Pryn and Becker work so well together in the first movement; but it is the intensity of the score that is so impressive. It is unrelenting; octaves are used to fine effect, but offer no respite. Cold comfort, if you prefer. Spring does indeed have a radiant, and yet restrained, beauty, Firsova’s scoring crystalline, gossamer. Summer has the feel of a scherzo, scampering, piano exchanging motifs with strings. Esperilla is superb here in terms of lightness. Like the Summer in England, it is short (if not, as a more realistic portrayal might be, Webernian, or even Kurtágesque). The final season, Autumn (Fall, if you must; but it’s never fall in St Albans) appears to be a lonely time, solo “voices” alone, and when harmonies attempt to warm the temperature, the effect is short-lived. Pryns’ high harmonics ae so utterly pure here, worth the price of the disc for her alone.
Written in 2023, Firsova’s Quartet for the Time of Grief was written in the wake of Smirnov’s death in 2020 (he was an early covid victim, passing at the age of 71). Once again, the point of reference of the Messian Quartet, the quotation itself an act of homage to her husband. Here are violin gestures that sound like shrieks: a cry of denial, or howling against death itself? The hard edge of the pianos’ mini-toccata is perfectly captured here, a moment that seems to exhaust itself; out of its embers comes a clarinet. A phoenix clarinet?; no, says the piano, starkly. Abandon hope, all ye ... but, wait; the clarinet sings on. Hope in the face of severe, blackest adversity seems to be the message, and how cantabile is Frølund’s clarinet ... there is beauty even here in the darkest hours, Firsova seems to be saying.
This is the starkest of music, but somehow one emerges changed from this disc. And changed for the better. What dedication of the performers, what astonishing music (why are these two’s music performed so little? Why are there so few recordings?). OUR Recodings has made a great stride, I hope, in changing all of this and allowing for recognition of two genius composers who came as a unit but who have individual voices. Ad I do not use the word “genius” lightly. Colin Clarke