***** Peter Navarro-Alonso both reminds us of the power of Gesualdo’s music in no uncertain terms, while introducing himself as a vital force in new music.


NAVARRO-ALONSO In flagrante delicto. Paul Hillier, cond; Theatre of Voices; Ens Stralo) OUR RECORDINGS 8.226933 (64:59)

The composer Peter Navarro-Alonso has long held a fascination for the music of Carlo Gesualdo (c/ 1566-1613). Here, in collaboration with Paul Hillier and violinist Christina Åstrand (who commissioned the piece), he explores this most fascinating of figures through a series of quotations from the Venetian Italian master filtered through his own language.
Nowhere can this be heard better than in the opening “Moro lasso,” one of Gesualdo’s most famous motets. The use of voices against strings itself perhaps references Gesualdo in arrangement (try the arrangement for string orchestra performed by the Tallinn Chamber Orchestra on ECM).; but Navarro-Alonso makes the piece his own, Gesualdo’s lines unraveling, the piece extended to nearly twelve minutes. A cor anglais seems to hold Tristan-like sadness; lies slip and slide like rain drops on a window pane. The sudden re-entry of voices is as poignant as it is unexpected; “Beltà, poi che l’assenti” in its original is spectacular in its voice-leading and resultant harmonies (anyone remember the Deller Consot’s astonishing, and perhaps ground-breaking, recording?). Here, we begin with a deep piano cluster and modernist surfaces which goes on to operate in juxtaposition to Gesualdo’s extraordinary piece. A moment that shows the skill involved here from Navarro-Alonso is when an oboe multiphonic shape-shifts into vocalism, a meeting of the centuries in music that really is not that far apart. The Theatre of Voices are superb throughout, but there is something about the high soprano part here, Gesualdo on repeat, that is haunting in extremis.
A slight departure: instead of using the first line (“Tu piangi, o fili mia,” from the Sixth Book of Madigals), Navarro-Alonso opts for the second line as the title of the next movement, “Che si picciol pianto” (That such a little cry). The piece in the original is of contrasting planes, here Navarro-Alonso almost dissects the Gesualdo into tiny, staccato shads which themselves form the contrast to the more expansive, legato sections, therefore retaining the contrasts of the original. The fast runs of the original, too, appear, superbly negotiated; more, there is a palpable feeling of elation in this performance. Again from the sixth book, “Io pur respiro,” stunning and daring in the original with its use of silence (a silence of the void, almost), a fearless exploration of the solo “I”. The doping chromatic imitations of the latter part of the piece cut to the quick; Navarro-Alonso’s response is perhaps surprisingly inviting at the opening, Per Salo’s piano almost healing; voices seem to ricochet off each other against this. Destabilizing treble lines on piano tell us we are entering Gesualdo territory, though: as do the chromatic descents; later, we enter into “puere” Gesualdo, with less manipulations, which seems to balance out the opening; not to mention reminding us of the great (if controversial) man’s genius. As the drooping lines are taken to their logical conclusion by Navarro-Alonso, a continuing spiral of descending sequences into the void, the first part of In flagrante delicto ends with the musical equivalent of “,,,”
Although not explicitly notated as such, the first four pieces comprise part one; part two (or, as notated, “PART TWO”) does not directly reference Gesualdo motets in the titles of its five sections.
So, “PART TWO” follows with an Energico of instrumental cries and choral retorts: the fifth text moves from “Io parto” to a final “Sancta Maria ora pro nobis” via “La folia” (the second part’s third and central part). “Con disperazione” is full of unstoppable energy, piano clusters up and down the keyboard, and features the amazing bass-baritone Jakob Bloch-Jespersen in terrific, forceful form. He concludes with the cry, “Llegamos a la folia!” thus ushering in the “Tranquillo (La folia),” Navarro-Alonso’s take on the famous tune.
I’m not sure what type of bubbles are here for “Gorgogliante” apart from ascending ones, but this is one hell of a post-Baroque toccata that cedes to a forbidding landscape which itself spirals upwards via piano arabesques. That landscape seems to affect the “Tranquillo,” a sort of unsettled tranquillity that does not quite reach serenity until the choral statement of the final “Sancta Maria / ora pro nobis” (Holy Mary, pray for us).
Peter Navarro-Alonso both reminds us of the power of Gesualdo’s music in no uncertain terms, while introducing himself as a vital force in new music. The recording is superb, as one might expect from OUR Recordings. Fabulous. Colin Clarke