Song is the thread that binds this invigorating disc 
          together. Whether it’s the insistent "rock and roll" of D’Almeida 
          or Oliva’s affectionate harmonization of old Portuguese melodies or 
          else Carrapatoso’s inventive fusion of idealised Azorean songs and his 
          own creations, this is a release that sings with life. Ironically it 
          also sings of death. 
        
D’Almeida’s Rock ‘n’ Roll, like other pieces on this 
          disc, summons up the ghostly presence of the fourth, missing member 
          of Opus Ensemble, the oboist Bruno Pizzamiglio, who died of cancer in 
          1997. Over a now arco, now pizzicato bass pattern a rocking rhythm is 
          set in motion which exploits elements of neo-classicism in its search 
          for the transfiguration of what its composer calls hope and coherence. 
          It is a little piece of no more than five minutes’ duration but one 
          that bursts the bonds and teems with interest. 
        
 
        
The dextrous Bass player of the ensemble, Oliva, contributes 
          eight traditional Portuguese songs, essentially limiting himself to 
          harmonization and an intriguing use of the trio medium as a means by 
          which both to explore and amplify the little songs. These are by turns 
          lyrical, beguiling, affectionate, skittish and expressive. In the third 
          song, Vai-te embora, o papao, for example, a vamping piano leads 
          to dancing string contributions, the two lines entwining affectingly, 
          leading onward, strongly, to the song’s close. Elsewhere felicities 
          of colour and sonority abound – pizzicatos and emphatic piano introductions, 
          high lying viola writing, dark and light tonalities, cannily exploiting 
          the double bass’s sonority. This is writing for the trio from the inside 
          by a musical colourist of discretion and imagination. Clotilde Rosa’s 
          Contornos is another tribute to the group and its late oboist; reflective, 
          ruminative and occasionally urgently impassioned it turns incendiary 
          before thinning to single lines and ending its journey in elegiac reflection, 
          part-resolved, part unresolved. Rosa’s skill in exploring the unusual 
          trio combination is manifest, as is her evocation of states of feeling 
          and expression. 
        
 
        
Eurico Carrapatoso offers seven melodies, alternating 
          his own with popular Azorean tunes. His own stabbing, thrumming and 
          mildly discordant pieces fuse remarkably effortlessly with the languid 
          and reflective native melodies to create a suite both mutually dependent 
          and ironically detached. The opportunity has given him licence to pile 
          on ostinato after ostinato, to assert his own allegro against the Azorean 
          tunes’ natural lento-largo. The result is fresh and exciting. Filipe’s 
          In Memoriam is once again dedicated to Pizzamiglio and to all victims 
          of cancer. Beginning bleakly with a piano crash and musing string figures 
          the hobbled trio try to find a way through the thickets, weighed down 
          by an insistent piano note, obsessively ticking away, Gradually first 
          the viola, then the double bass embrace a new figure and slowly, after 
          more figuration, the trio dances the tango. It is an exhilarating moment 
          and one freighted with meaning and curiously moving – the tango as both 
          liberation and celebration of a lived life. Finally Azevedo, who has 
          composed Ricordo, which is partly based on Dowland’s Flow my Tears, 
          which precedes it, played simply and without elaboration. It’s a tough 
          piece, exploiting the tonal potential of the trio to optimum effect. 
          The viola plays stratospherically high, the double bass throbs, the 
          piano contributes a hypnotic ripple of sound; there is a very bad edit 
          at 4.36 which disturbs and impedes the fractious final quarter of the 
          piece before a kind of stasis envelops everything in silence. 
        
 
        
The performances are superb, the sound good, the notes 
          are by the composers themselves, and the music is always quiveringly 
          alive. 
        
          Jonathan Woolf 
          
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